It's funny 'cause it's true

6- "Why are gays and old black men wise?"

Dear everyone,

So I was sitting near the receptionist, waiting for them to call my name. This time I was in line for the job interview, you know, in Pact Gen, the company that had been calling me all this time and also, the company where my ex-girlfriend works. I was donning a black and white suit that my mother purchased for me so I'd look good for the interview. She said you have to look appealing in front of the head people. I slightly bragged, saying I already looked good with my own clean-shaven handsome face, joking that no matter what I wore, whether it was just a bow tie and pair of clown shoes or a leaf over my crotch, I'd still get the job. That's just how handsome Maxwell James is. But still, she insisted. So yeah, I put on the suit and honestly, I kinda liked it. I'm not that kind of guy who always wants his fashion sense to be on point, you know, since I'm not gay, but I felt really great wearing the suit. It made me look more professional, more appealing. I even thought of wearing it later when I perform onstage.

So yeah, I was there waiting. I had my requirements in my briefcase: the pictures, the application forms, the diplomas, everything. I looked like a law student who was about to solve a mind boggling case. Then, in the entrance of the building, caught by the corner of my eye, walking inside after tapping her ID was my ex-fucking-girlfriend, Kitty Summers, the bitch who shattered my heart to a million pieces. I was once again fueled by anger, hatred, and my brain was filled with several murderous thoughts, several fantasies of me beating the shit out of her. But to avoid her from seeing me, I lifted the brief case and covered my face with it. She looked like a different person, to be honest. Physically, she wasn't the girl I fell in love with. Her hair was short and dyed blonde, and her face looked thinner and paler. Not to be bitter or anything, but damn, what happened to her? She looked like the hybrid of a rapist clown and an alien skull. She was one hair dye away from being a Holocaust victim. Get it? 'Cause if she dyed her hair black she'd look like a Jew, and since she was already thinner, then...Never mind. So I watched her walk to the left hallway of the reception desk. She seemed to be in a hurry. She was so thin her legs might fall apart from all the running.

Why is this taking so long? I looked at my watch. It was already 8 AM. I came here at 7 since my mother told me it'd be better if I was early. I don't even know why I still need a job interview, when I was already interviewed by the time I applied. They asked me so many things about me. They asked me what my favorite movie was and I said Fight Club. They told me to explain the plot, and so I did. It's about a group of dudes with daddy issues who have fun in the basement then decides to destroy buildings. Then they asked what my favorite novel was. I said 1984 by George Orwell. The book's about a perfect government that actually cares for its people, providing free healthcare, free education, and free housing, uniting the nation through an influential and charismatic leader, inspiring everybody to love each other without complete regard of religion and dogma, has perfect surveillance for the safety of everyone, and they try to hide the destructive reality by only telling the good news. They said that my two answers were the same as someone's who's working there currently, whom I assume to be my ex-girlfriend since I'm the reason she knows those things. Then they also asked me about my personal life. I told them that my parents are biracial, that I was always an achiever in high school, and that I am politically and philosophically aware. So that was the interview. Maybe today's just a short exchange of dialogue about my requirements and what they should assign me with. Still, if that is the case, then what the fuck is taking so long!?

Later, my ex-girlfriend walked out the left hallway again. This time she wasn't alone and she had her camouflage backpack hanging. Walking with her, holding her hips, was the retarded hobo swagger faggot named Matt, whom I refer to as "that Matt guy" in my comedy routines. The guy, looking at him close up in person, looked uglier than in the pictures. He had a flat nose, a brown skin, and his hair was dyed orange. Not blond. Orange, like the fruit. He had an ear piercing, he's not that built nor is he skinny nor fat. He's just average and he's slightly taller than her, possibly just as tall as me. I covered my face again with my briefcase with only my eyes revealed, watching them as they giggled and talked and walked to the exit. Once they left, I put my briefcase down again.