The Art Neuro Weblog

Glad I didn't bother
As a follow up to the absurd job-ad for Bulldogs CEO, I think it appropriate that I link this announcement today. So much for my master plan to fix that club. There go my 'Moneyball' ambitions to turn the Bulldogs upside down, inside out, and into a 21st Century Sporting Franchise that we would not feel ashamed to present to the world. While I do not know Mr. Noad, one gets the feeling it's going to be the same-old-same-old. Watch out for the next scandal folks, if Mr. Noad doesn't do what I would've done. :)

Now, the issue of job hunting. Is there anything more absurd than the job-ads that ask for "motivated" "energetic" "self-starters" who have "a fine eye for detail", who are "team players" and are "outcomes driven"? Are these people morons?

"Dear sir/madam, I am an undermotivated, lazy, selfish, tardy, messy, generally slack person who is applying for your advertised position of 'editor of on-line content'. As a supremely undermotivated, positively lazy, perpetually tardy, rather messy, intentionally slack person, I believe I bring absolutely nothing to the table except my meager skills as an on-line content editor; beyond that I wish to bring nothing more to the table than my Nintendo Gameboy platinum. Details bore me. So does criticism and analysis, constructive or not, I do not care. I don't care much either for company slogans, corporate identity, notions of loyalty to the company or loyalty to commerce, truth, justice, or the Amway way. In that sense, I am 'care-free'. I never do things unless I am ordered. I'd be damned if I'd do anything if nobody asked, and simply asking isn't enough to make me do it, even if you raise your voice. Frankly if you want me to do some tedious shite, you'll just have to scream at the top of your lungs, and pray for a miracle. At least I don't lie about myself, and I never let honesty have any discourse with my beauty whatever that may mean. I loathe the banal up-beatness of your ad calling for an energetic type when clearly you have not expended even a sad litttle erg in thinking what or whom may be out here in the real world. I hate the stupidity of your ad with which you ask for people to present themselves as somehow something that they might not be, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. I hate work. I really do. Especially repetitve stuff and un-intellectual stuff, and things that require I lobotomise myself for the sake of my sanity. I hate doing customer service; frankly I hate customers, clients and people I have to kowtow to for reasons that are in the scheme of things, rather trivial. I don't believe in dead-lines, I don't believe in quality, I don't believe that it can be "done by Friday" nor that it would be "good", let alone "be done well AND be by Friday". I take pride in how little effort I put in to my slipshod work, especially when I see it stand the test of time without falling over or getting torn down, in spite of its badness, awfulness, horribleness. I am an inefficient, ineffectual paycheck-collector; a disrespectful time-waster by birth and by choice; an eighth dan grand master of procrastination; and I even have a blog that I wish to continue writing on, on company time, on your company's computer on your company's internet account... And even then I am too good for your company and the money you're offering for the position just plain sucks. You really ought to be ashamed of yourself."

- Art Neuro

*addendum*: This joke came in yesterday so I thought I should place it here:
Little Brucie was in his junior school class when the teacher asked the children what their fathers do for a living. All the typical answers came up, fireman, policeman, salesman, etc. Brucie was being uncharacteristically quiet and so the teacher asked him about his father.

"My father is an exotic dancer in a gay club and takes off all his clothes in front of other men. Sometimes, if the offer is really good, he'll go out with a man, rent a cheap room and let them sleep with him".

The teacher hurriedly set the other children to work on some colouring and then took little Brucie aside to ask him, "Is that really true
about your father?"....
"No", said Brucie, "My father plays footy for the Bulldogs, but I was just too embarrassed to say.