Ap-pli-ca-tion (n)

I was searching for jobs the other day when I found an advertisement on the Glasgow International website for a vacancy of programme coordinator. I thought it would be an amazing opportunity, not to mention fairly paid, so I decided to put in an application. I downloaded the PDF and told the programme to start printing, but as I watched it slowly unfurl, revealing itself line-by-line I felt myself stiffen unexpectedly. Instinctively I worked myself hard, and with concentration, I began to masturbate furiously with both hands. Within minutes I'd screwed myself vigourously to a roaring climax, bellowing at the top of my lungs as my primal fluids spattered across the not-yet-dried ink of the GI application form. Body quivering and head spinning from the glimpse of ecstasy, I watched in a daze as the inky text blotched and slowly bled out into little clouds, mixing gradually, chaotically, with my own matter. A sudden pathetic guilt overcame me, la petit mort perhaps, as the worthless, insignificant, futility of my actions dawned; guilt like painful death inside, crushing me down, and tears poured from my eyes, dripping like a tap with a dodgy washer on the GI application form. I don’t know how long I sat there curled up and dripping, but eventually I awoke with a spasm, and looking up, wiped the dribble from my mouth. Realising it was all I could do, I quickly gathered up the now sodden pulp of GI application form and slid it tenderly into a stamped, addressed envelope. Blinking away my tears as my eyes slowly reddened, I nipped out to the post box on the corner. I think the interviews will be held next month, so keep your fingers crossed! It says on the website that the deadline for applications is Monday, but if any of you fancy it, it could be worth applying.

Ever faithfully,

Michael