"If I had a million dollars... I'd be (nowhere near) rich (enough to buy much of anything these days so, Tina Fey, please hire me)!"

Dear Tina Fey,

I'm pretty sure you need a homo-conspirator in your dwell-dom. I have copious qualities that qualify me as being nearly qualified to be be this aforementioned conspirator. For starters, I'm a Pisces. Secondly, I tend to go gay--and not just because I look like a boy, sleep with women, and haven't worn a skirt since boarding school-- no, it's because I actually enjoy lesbian leisure activities. Like screwing (wood together) to make stuff that I don't want. And red wine. At Home Depot happy hour. I'm not sure which is the pivotal quality here, but I think, together, they do a bang up job. And while I'm listing innate qualities over which I had absolutely no control, I'm just going to throw it out there that I'm of medium height, which, in social situations is very much like being Switzerland. And who wouldn't want to work with Switzerland? I don't know how up to date you are on neutral countries, but compared to the inebriated Irish, the scantily clad Costa Ricans, and the who the hell are Liechtenstein-ers, Switzerland is basically the David Beckham of neutrality.

Also on the topic of actual reasons for why you should let me hang around your office (or, possibly, farther down the hall, on a different floor, and right next to the bathroom (the MEN'S bathroom - woo!)), my lesser genetic though wildly ingrained qualities over which, in the vein of complacency, I wish I had less control, happen to be that I'm semi-articulate, enthusiastically sarcastic, hopelessly Romance-less, and willing to work for free. I'm also an ardent negotiator and if pushed, yes, I will actually pay you to let me work for you. (Which, in a sense, drastically undermines the employer-employee relationship in so much that there exists, then, a nonexistence of monetary struggle and over-utilization. But if YOU'RE ok with that, then so am I.)

The crux of the matter is that while watching varietals of comedic genocide, I typically lament that I'm not able to contribute to the preponderance of blatant mediocrity and massive failures that abound the television industry. I wish to rectify this. Even if it means fetching coffee to spill on a crotch in a dimly orchestrated live sketch wherein hot testicles become the fiery substitute for an actual punchline, which, if you ask me, is...

I've attached my CV (how that's short for resume is beYOND me) wherein my contact info is listed because, ultimately, with every ounce of sarcasm abated, I do hope to hear from you. Or, realistically, I hope to hear from that guy down the hall, some countless floors down, right next to the men's room, who probably screens and/or answers your emails. And that's why I pasted the contents of my CV below. If I were that guy, I sure as hell wouldn't open an attachment from a Pisces.

Best,
Casey

Resume for: Casey
Address: Recently relocated from UES to Park Slope, New York City Suburb, 3.46 miles SSE and 232 feet lower than Tina's Office. (I had to buy a stronger telescope.)

Education: Yes, but not at all what you're looking for.
Awards: I had a thing for Tina Fey since long before she became uber-famous. Like, back when she was only the weekend update chick and 30 Rock was just the name of a little known mid-life band out in Tulsa. I think that counts.
Work Experience: Only in every other industry than television.
Skills: Very solid Pisces. Born exactly at the peak of the sign. Also, kinda short BUT kinda tall, too. And gay. Mostly for the drink specials.