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    Dear Saturday Night Live with Tina Fey,

    I, a writer for the humorous aquarium Lance and Eskimo Dot Com, have now realized that the time has come for me to move toward greener pastures. And by “greener” I mean I would like to be paid in real money as opposed to “new republic credits” which I don’t think are truly worth anything until at least the erection of the 3rd Galactic Empire.

    Yes, the time has come for me to apply for a job at your televised thing. A thing which has enthralled and delighted countless generations of television sets.

    And those parody commercials you fellows do, what delightful fun. AT&T wireless internet access! Cars with 0% interest until 1999! What will your brilliant stable of writers think up next?

    As I could fill numerous creative posts, I will naturally be applying for the positions of writer, producer, costume designer, talent, on-air performer, cameraman, camerawoman, dancing electro-monkey, gaffer #1, gaffer #2, director, assistant to director, and the position of husband to Tina Fey.

    As husband to Tina Fey I hope to bring a whole new dimension to the marriage with my fresh brand of wit and determination. I’m extremely reliable (you can contact any of my past employers) and I can multitask many projects with a high degree of efficiency; tasks such as doing the laundry, preparing breakfast, sending out dinner party invitations, pretending to like ballet, and picking up our children.

    Granted, my previous work related experience is not in being married to Tina Fey, but I am more than willing to learn on the job. I am a quick learner and very enthusiastic. And, for a brief moment in the 1980s, I was indeed convinced that I was an alien whose memory had been erased and I had a wife on another planet. Perhaps that wife could have been Tina Fey. Hypothetically speaking, it is a distinct possibility.

    I would cherish Tina Fey for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. And when I get sick, I get sick. I remember this time I was so sick I would be puking in the afternoon, and then it would get a bit better in the evenings, but then I would be puking by the next afternoon and my temperature hit 105 that week, and I thought I was better because I was delirious, but I’d actually gotten worse. And I was watching a Scooby Doo marathon. Or perhaps it was just one episode that kept bouncing around in my delirious mind. And I had no more vomit in me after a while so I just started retching. I vomited up some noodles and for a confused moment I thought I’d just puked up my brains and intestines. But, following in the tradition of Descartes, the fact that I could rationalize such a notion led me to believe it was not in fact my brains I had vomited up.

    As husband to Tina Fey, even under such extreme conditions, I would be thinking to myself: “I wonder how Tina’s day went”... barf... “Can I still think?... Yes... not brains...”

    I have had plenty of experience in dealing with women and, as such, I have cultivated the necessary ability to simply ignore them and nod. I believe this skill might also prove an invaluable resource as husband to Tina Fey. Over the years, I have developed the ability of pretending to listen while in fact not paying any attention to anything. Preliminary MRI results from Harvard Medical School have indicated a complete lack of cognitive activity during conversations with women under laboratory conditions. Minimally, grunts and primitive vocalizations are uttered as reflexive motor responses to follow the appropriate cadences of the conversation and/or rant as the case may be.

    Also, it has been noted by many of my acquaintances on the New Jersey Turnpike that my mannerism may be described as “mildly gay”. Assuming that this is the case, I could easily adapt to “husband and best friend” status, and begin to take an interest in musical theater. My interest in musical theater may be extended, but not limited, to Cabaret and Man of La Mancha. There is a distinct possibility nonetheless that I would have to put my foot down on the matter of Ragtime and Evita though.

    In conclusion, please note on my resume that I studied ballroom dance. I am proficient in the waltz, the cha-cha, and various incarnations of polka. Athletics was a requirement for my college graduation. And although I could have proceeded to skip every academic class on my schedule, had I been absent for more than two gym classes, I would not have been allowed to graduate. Only now can I understand the importance of such a requirement. One course in the humanities department, one in nonWestern studies, one in the cognitive sciences, and one in seduction...

    Again, I feel it is important to restate this: I am only perceived within the inner circle of Lance and Eskimo Dot Com as “mildly gay”. I am otherwise quite rugged and I no longer wear constricting white underwear. Nevertheless, I would consider returning to said underwear should it be proven a necessity for this position.

    Warm regards,

    Lance and Eskimo Dot Com
    Where Humor Comes to Wallow in its Own Filth

    P.S. If I don’t get the position of husband to Tina Fey, can I still get an autographed picture?

    P.P.S. If I don’t get the position of husband to Tina Fey, can we still flirt?

    P.P.P.S. Can we snuggle?



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