I like to keep my eyes open for any writing gigs that might offer a little cash in exchange for my ability to string words together in a semi-coherent fashion. It’s rare that such jobs are advertised, as writing tends to be more of a “hat in hand” sort of venture, but it’s not unheard of.
And, lo and behold, just such a job popped up in my inbox last week by way of a LinkedIn recommendation. And not just any writing gig, but a company looking for a scriptwriter (hey, that’s something I do!) to join their media company. The key responsibilities included writing scripts for a variety of media platforms including YouTube; collaborating with production teams; conducting research on various yadayadayadablahblahblah.
It all sounded perfectly legit and right up my alley, so I fired off a cover letter and sent it along with my resume and links to some writing samples. And, much to my surprise, they wrote back to me!
They wrote back to me within a half an hour.
They wrote back to me within a half an hour saying they wanted me.
Yeah, no. That’s not how legitimate jobs work.
I started digging around to find out more about this company (which, yes, I should have done before I applied for the job, I know, leave me alone) and, sure enough, it was pretty sketchy. It is a company and they do likely employ writers, but … the content they’re putting up on YouTube? Conspiracy theory videos. Yeah.
The smart thing to do at this point would have been to disengage and report them to the fine folks at LinkedIn. But I was in a mood that particular day, so I thought first I’d take a moment to reply to their email and let them know I wouldn’t be pursuing the job any further. The exact email I sent them read:
Ah. So your company’s modus operandi is to post under-sourced conspiracy videos on Youtube. Gotcha. Well, allow me to withdraw my candidacy with a hearty “fuck you.” And may you and those you love contract syphilis and die a prolonged death.
I assumed this would be the end of it, but again I was surprised to receive a timely reply. Oh no! I’d offended them! Surely they were going to be incensed, indignant, OUTRAGED, and demand an apology for besmirching their good name!
Actually, the subject line of their email was: “Geoffrey Scheer we like you.”
At this point it became clear that I was receiving automated emails and no human was reading what I was writing to them. So, again, I should have left it alone. Why waste time screaming into the void?
Thing is, at this point, I was starting to have some fun, so I decided to keep it going. My next email to them read:
Wow. Really? I send you an email telling you to fuck off and die of syphilis and you STIILL want me to work for you? That’s sad. Are you like the girl who insists to her family and friends that the abusive boyfriend “beats me because he CARES?” Girl, get help.
Also, I’ll work for you, but my price is $7 million per article and the blood of your virgin daughters. I would also appreciate it if you would validate parking.
Yours in Christ,
The Guy Telling You (for the second time, mind you) To Go Fuck Your Mother So I Don’t Have To Do It Again
I felt I was getting into a zone here and kept my fingers crossed that yet another follow-up email would come my way. And they didn’t disappoint. This time, the subject line read: “Geoffrey Scheer we count on you.”
I was touched. I responded:
Actually, I count on YOU … to open your mouth wide and relax your throat, so that when I shove my cock in there it will hit tonsils. Still want me to work for you? Because my price is now $10 million per article. And I’ll expect a rimjob from the family member of my choice whenever the mood strikes me.
Yours in the warm embrace of our holy redeemer,
The Guy Who Hopes You Will Gag On My Taint Shavings
I waited with great anticipation for the response email. What would the next subject line read? Maybe, “Geoffrey Scheer we can’t live without you,” or, “We like the cut of your jib, Geoffrey Scheer.” But no. Nothing. I don’t know if someone actually read one of the emails and balked, or if the automated responses just shut off after three attempts. But it’s been a week since I sent my last email and so far … bupkis.
And so, alas, it appears that communication with this company has come to an end (which is a shame, because I’ve got this line about chewing on my long discarded foreskin that I’ve been dying to use). Maybe they’ll reach out again one day, but until that day comes, I’ll have to find some other way to amuse myself.
Ah, well. It was fun while it lasted.
Geoffrey Scheer 