I wrote this a while back at a point in my life where I badly needed a job. We've all been there.
Dear Mr. McDonald,
For many years my senses have been enthralled and elated by your culinary mastery. From your slender, delicate fries, to your bold, imaginative, and dare say nuanced Double Big Mac with cheese; you have pleasured my palette to an extent that borders on the erotic. You sir are a God among men! And I— your humble servant —warship you in every bite, and every slurp my mortal form wills me to consume.
Good Sir! I ask of thee— nay! I beg of thee on bended knee an opportunity to prove myself worthy of the name, “McDonalds.” Bestow on me any task! Strip me of my sartorial splendour and allow me to expose my fragility to the elements! Find me he who unwisely stands in the way of a man and his fate— his destiny. Find me this insolent and insignificant fool, and I shall defeat him. For my heart, and its arteries, clogged as they may be, beat for your golden arches of glory.
To your establishment, I sacrifice myself, a noble warrior of the bun. I ask of you to lay upon this naked canvas, this bun, the juicy burger of minimum wage employment. Once your lordships meaty kindness gives dignity to this rounded bread, I shall provide the rest. I will place upon your charity the eye-watering onions of good communication, the tangy pickles of strong interpersonal skills, and the juicy tomato of great customer service. My fellow employees, my brethren, will serve as the bun opposite to my own thus forming a cosmic, culinary yin and yang alliance. The product, the sum total of our greatness in all its compact elegance, innocence and excellence would be yours to command.
The ketchup that courses through my veins, the cold, calm cola that exemplifies my nerves, and the meat-like substance of my muscles that provide me with strength make me an excellent candidate. Ba da pa pa pa— hire me.
For many years my senses have been enthralled and elated by your culinary mastery. From your slender, delicate fries, to your bold, imaginative, and dare say nuanced Double Big Mac with cheese; you have pleasured my palette to an extent that borders on the erotic. You sir are a God among men! And I— your humble servant —warship you in every bite, and every slurp my mortal form wills me to consume.
Good Sir! I ask of thee— nay! I beg of thee on bended knee an opportunity to prove myself worthy of the name, “McDonalds.” Bestow on me any task! Strip me of my sartorial splendour and allow me to expose my fragility to the elements! Find me he who unwisely stands in the way of a man and his fate— his destiny. Find me this insolent and insignificant fool, and I shall defeat him. For my heart, and its arteries, clogged as they may be, beat for your golden arches of glory.
To your establishment, I sacrifice myself, a noble warrior of the bun. I ask of you to lay upon this naked canvas, this bun, the juicy burger of minimum wage employment. Once your lordships meaty kindness gives dignity to this rounded bread, I shall provide the rest. I will place upon your charity the eye-watering onions of good communication, the tangy pickles of strong interpersonal skills, and the juicy tomato of great customer service. My fellow employees, my brethren, will serve as the bun opposite to my own thus forming a cosmic, culinary yin and yang alliance. The product, the sum total of our greatness in all its compact elegance, innocence and excellence would be yours to command.
The ketchup that courses through my veins, the cold, calm cola that exemplifies my nerves, and the meat-like substance of my muscles that provide me with strength make me an excellent candidate. Ba da pa pa pa— hire me.