Category Archives: Formal Correspondence

Being unemployed is all the rage these days*.  Fortunately the writers of this website are paid handsomely by a D.C. based lobbyist group, which because of its ties to a pharmaceutical giant, will go unnamed. Be forewarned, the following is mere speculation, the writers of “Exchanging Pleasantries” know precious little about getting checks from the government while accruing hobbies to occupy “daylight hours”**.

Unemployment for better or worse exists for the following reasons: to keep gyms, grocery stores, the line-up at Malibu, 405 freeway, and every café in the city packed to nearly capacity during the hours of what I like to call “the work day.”

Moving on to employment. There are several types of jobs out there. For example, as a child I was told I could be the president one day if I liked. The common misconception would be the president in question is the President. Capital P, President of Los Estados Unidos. Commonly referred to as “ ‘Merica” or the “Land of the Free.”

Upon further research, I’ve discovered when parents and teachers tell recently spawned humans that, if they really want, when they grow up they can become the president (notice the lower case), the parents and teachers are not lying nor are they referring to the Capital P. There’s a Lions Club in every city in America looking for a president. I’m willing to bet, if the child is really ambitious, educated, slightly deceptive and prone to pretending to please all while pleasing none, the child in question could quite possibly blow the competition out of the water in Hollister, CA or Ghila Bend, AZ or even Sanibel Island, FL.

Let it be known, this is not an attack on the Lions Club*** Rather an example of a very attainable presidential position, which children (and adults alike) can strive for and feasibly achieve.

Other jobs that exist are parking lot attendant, food expo, product specialist (usually just a weekend gig involving one car and a bunch of tourists in a populated place where you explain the horsepower, power-steering, power-windows and anything else with the word power involved) and then the last job that exists is landlord, sometimes called building manager. I prefer the former, it’s archaic and it reminds the tenants that their menial domicile is not a refuge, but rather a rented habitation, which they can be tossed out of at a moment’s notice****

And those are all the jobs, which exist in the world. (With the exception of President of the U.S.A., which I didn’t think was worth mentioning, as you must be at least 35 years old and be a naturalized citizen of the country previously mentioned. Being neither, I don’t give a shit about getting that gig.)

To put it succinctly, if employment is what you seek. If a paycheck, benefits, a flush checking and maybe even savings account, is what you strive for, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. Try Craigslist.

-The Neapolitan Mastiff

*For reference sake, here’s a few things that are also all the rage: not getting diabetes, tattoo removal, free parking, thirty day treatment centers and opening a medical marijuana dispensaries on Melrose so the street can consist entirely of boutiques targeted at Armenian men and more dispensaries.

**It goes with out saying that filling nights and filling days are two very separate activities, which are nearly inextricably tied. Fact: a master of daytime hobbies is often a maestro of the hours, which transpire between sunset and sunrise.

***They seem like a really affable group of gentlemen. (This conclusion is based off driving past thousands of their blue and yellow signs on the freeway at speeds of, but not limited to 64 mph. With regards to the cities in question, it’s safe to say there’s an agenda.

****Usually there’s a thirty day minimum without just cause, but just cause is so relative and absolutely subjective, that despite a lease with rules, which no one, including the landlord, has ever read, you can basically be thrown out for pulling up the blinds and strutting around in your birthday suit.

Question: If you walk around your place of residency in your birthday suit, does the room become a birthday suite?

(Send all responses to exchangingpleasantries@gmail.com Attn:Letters To The Neapolitan Mastiff)