Dear Gods of Fame and Fortune,

I am applying to join your society of stupidly rich and famous artists, in the realm of Pablo Picasso, Virginia Wolfe, and Andy Warhol. I discovered today while helping my cousin that it is not my fate to sit behind a desk, dialing numbers into a phone and trying to sell life insurance. I was good at it, yet, but the work was miserable, coworkers generally annoying, superiors rather rude, offices inconveniently located and the toilets are frightening. It just reminded me of all the responsible things that I should be doing, also. And so, I feel I am qualified for a position amongst the stupidly rich and famous because I am a talented woman with creative inclinations, I'm unwilling to settle, and I feel that it would benefit the most people if I were accepted. Not only will I spend money on other people, I'll spend money on myself as well.

Anyhow, omnipresent gods, I pass onto you whatever blessings I can and hope that you receive this application in a speedy manner. I can't wait to begin my life with you.

Dancer