This is a tough world kids. I’m sitting here, sucking down my fourth pack of camels in as many days, trying to break into the world of competitive orgy comedians. I’ve always been funny, a real fucking hoot, y’know? But my shrink says I should write my feelings out. “Who knows” she says, “you have an interesting life, maybe someone will read your memoirs. Okay, now juggle these pies in your face you naughty satirister.” Yeah, I met her at last year’s Dallas orgy for Democracy.

So I did some research into writing good and stuff, y’know? And all the books say you gotta have a killer opening sentence, something with flair and pop and zing, or whatever. Something… unique. So I’m reminded of when I tried to break into professional comedy, not tangential comedy like I was doing in genetics, but real, hard-hitting comedy–comedy that meant something. I remember when I tried applying to be funny at The Onion News Network. I’ll never forget the rejection notice. It was oddly specific and long winded, especially for a stamp. It crushed me for a few weeks, but I learned from it. I grew as a comedian. It shaped me so much that I now have this tattoo’d above my belt line, but below my belly button. I’m an outie, in case you were imagining it.

So there it is, this will be my opening sentence:

I’m including a copy of my application so you can see what they’re still missing out on.