Sunday, May 13, 2012

An Open Letter to Kaddafi's Amazon Guard

The ugly face of unemployment
Dear Kaddafi's former bodyguards,

It's been a good handful of months since Kaddafi was 'removed from office'. Most of us, if not openly pleased by the death of a tyrant, were at least happy for the Libyan people to finally have this deeply symbolic victory over the harsh oppression of a cruel regime.

But it's not all cheering and celebration in Tripoli. In any conflict there is going to be collateral damage. Those who, caught in the crossfire, are caused to suffer. I refer, of course, to you - Kaddafi's all-female compliment of hundreds of highly-trained, nubile, sweet-smelling, virgin bodyguards.

With Kaddafi out of the picture, you poor young ladies are out of a job, and you don't even have a good reference to put on your resumes. Worse still, you completely dropped the ball in the defense of your previous employer. Not to rub salt in the wound, but keeping him alive was basically your entire job description - and you choked conclusively.

I just want to reach out to you ladies, and tell you "Hey, we've all been there before". It pains me to admit it, but one time I was a few days late with an important report at work, and it completely messed up several people's schedules costing the company hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars in wasted time. Mind you, it's time that would have been wasted after the meeting anyway, so the actual impact was negligible. Also, my boss is still alive, and that wasn't even part of my job description. What I'm trying to say is that I can imagine how hard it must be to recover from a workplace blunder like that.

I'll be honest with you: There's not a lot of people who are going to want to hire you. To use an American figure of speech that probably translates well in any language: You guys really screwed the pooch. You are hated in your own country as a symbol of past oppression. The remnants of the old guard are be given to certain, shall we say, 'abuses'. Through no fault of your own, you're out of places to go. You have no one to turn to.

However, I believe in second chances, because America is the land of second chances (no matter what that bitch Helen from HR says).  Just like it says on the Statue of Liberty "Give me your tired, your poor, your tender and unspoilt (or gently used) maidens between the ages of 16 and 35..."  Also, I think it says something about yearning.

And so, in spite of your past experience I want to offer you ladies a job as my personal guard. Part-Time.

Now, I won't be able to pay you right away, but I figure we can probably set you up with a ghost writer and we should be able to live off the proceeds quite comfortably. Do the talk show circuit, maybe some college lectures. Some modelling and stunt gigs. Maybe even some coyote work down on the border. I dunno - we'll brainstorm something when you get here. Speaking of which, you'll have to pay your own way over. Better still, you should all gang up and steal a military transport plane from the transitional government - that would be so cool.

Don't let the pay thing dissuade you. Salary is so 2001. These days, it's all about Total Compensation - a phrase that means counting your benefits as part of your pay, even if they're the exact same benefits you used to get when you were paid a lot more.  This makes it look like you're more successful than you actually are.  It's the latest craze here in the States - trust me, you'll love it.

You'll find that you get a lot of the same benefits that you had in your previous position. Like Kaddafi, I will allow you to continue wearing western hairstyles, makeup, and high heels if you so choose.  But I think you will find my benefits package is superior to the one you've had all these years. For example:
  • No one is trying to kill me, so your job will involve significantly fewer incoming bullets.
  • Flexible workweek means your free to pursue your other interests - like finding a side-job!
  • No more pesky chastity oath.
  • You will almost never be called upon to murder rebels as a sign of loyalty.
  • Rape-free work environment.
  • Casual Friday.

The entire job will mostly consist of walking around with me and looking badass wherever I go. Since I only leave the house for a few hours a few times a month, you will find that it's a laid back pace compared to what you are used to.

Now I know some people out there are going to read some kind of perversion into this. They'll accuse me of trying to fulfill some kind of bawdy man-fantasy involving 200 or more fit, lethal women oiling me down in my romper room in a figurative orgy of hedonism and literal orgies. To them I say: That is absurd. I don't even HAVE a romper room! Here I am, reaching out to these brave young women in their hour of fragility, at a time when everyone else has done nothing, and you have the nerve to accuse me of impropriety?

Detractors aside, I can assure you the thought of licentious misconduct hasn't even entered my mind. To me, the thought of having hundreds of beautiful bodyguards seems like a completely utilitarian thing. As my personal lethal entourage you'll help me accomplish common everyday tasks. Things like:
  • Helping me get to the front row of 'Festival Seating' shows.
  • Convincing bouncers to let me into the club.
  • Slashing the tires of every person who ever cuts me off in traffic. 
  • Wacky flash mobbing.
  • Waiting on hold for me when I have to call tech support.
  • Serving as my armada of 'Wingmen' at the bar, to help me pick up chicks.
  • Tasting foods likely to be poisoned (e.g. bananas, popsicles, foot long hot dogs, et al.).

I hope you ladies will consider this exciting employment opportunity. I'll admit, its not great work, but it's better than your last job, and a lot less dangerous. With your help, I will one day be able to say "I've got 99 problems, but 200 bitches ain't one"

Your only friend,
Generalissimo Avery

P.S. Please include a headshot with your resume


  1. Awesome post, dude! Had me in stitches. I stumbled across this site looking for info on Bering Sea Gold and thought to myself, "who the fuck is this raving lunatic?!" and to be fair, I still don't know the answer to this question. A cross between Ted Kazinski and Marsha Bradey, perhaps. Nonetheless, very funny stuff and much appreciated.

    No I am not your mother.


Say something, dammit!