Dear Mr. Claus,
If you are still seeking toy manufacturers for your workshop, I hope you deem me a worthy candidate. You will notice from my resume that I have years of experience in manufacturing, and still have all my fingers to handle small parts, as well as a good eye for detail.
My most recent work experience at my foster family’s basement demonstrates my ability to make +250 friendship bracelets per day, which is 30% higher than average. My friendship bracelets, in particular, have been modeled and sold online for charities, and marketed as, “Made by autistic children.” That said, autistic, I am not—however the high quality of my work may pass me off as such.
That said, my prior work experience is much more impressive. Before making friendship bracelets, I was consistently employee of the month for Foxconn, building iPhones. Why, you’re going to get a ho ho ho out of this, but iPhones and Droids are made from basically the same parts. I’ve made so many, I don’t doubt that my fosters use one of the very models I’ve constructed—complete with location trackers and listening bugs—to take pictures of my jewelry, or pictures of my coworkers who have moved out of the basement production-line to the upstairs massage parlor.
I can also carol and sing on the job, and have great experience working in loud, distracting workspaces, gained from my time producing weapons for Raytheon, and Lockheed Martin, installing computer chips for heat-seeking missiles, and the like. Why, you’ll get a ho ho ho out of this, but if I stopped production every time a gun misfired, and some other kid took a bullet to the arm and cried, I’d never meet my personal quota, which was 20% higher than the average. The Christmas caroling in the workshop would be a great improvement.
I hope that there is a performance-based promotional structure at the workshop, as in my current employment, it is based on age and looks, and they are readying to move me upstairs. As part of training, they have us watch the massages from behind a screen. It appears that my coworkers are expected to produce lubricant from their eyes when finishing a customer, and it is with great shame I relay to you this defect of mine: cry, I cannot. To move from bracelet production to handling the anatomy of these customers strikes me as a lateral move anyway—as it also appears that completing tasks quickly is a detriment to performance, which makes no sense.
There was one coworker, her American name is Amy, who, even with her blonde hair and extra chromosome, knew that moving up to massage would not benefit her career prospects. When our boss foster father came down to the basement to give her her promotion, she resisted. He grabbed her little wrist and, you’re going to get a ho ho ho out of this, but I’ve never seen an arm bend that way. It snapped like an AK-47 stock under a hydraulic press. With great shame do I say, that when Amy cried in that long Down Syndrome way, even I had dropped down to only 29% higher than quota in bracelet production that day.
Not to diminish your surveillance capabilities, but by now, maybe you wonder how I am able to write to you this cover letter and send you the resume attached. It is with great hope in my heart that you view this clandestine activity not as merit to put me on the naughty list, but as a symbol of my dedication to the work that you do, bringing children joy. When our foster boss father had brought Amy with her broken arm upstairs, I grabbed his iPhone and rewired it so that when he takes a picture, it will explode in his jolly fingers. With him crying and our foster boss mother driving him to the hospital, not even the mayhem in the basement and the attic can distract me from using the company computer to send you this letter.
I look forward to hearing from you soon, Mr. Claus.
Regards,
“Ben” Chin
Sounds like you’ve got two good arms. You know, for the work at hand. Merry ho-ho, Colton!
Oh my god! This was funking incredible! Thank you! Hail Satan and Merry Christmas!