A Shameless Plea for a Job

John Waters

c/o Atomic Books

1100 W. 36th Street

Baltimore, MD 21211

 

Dear Mr. Waters,

 

I am writing in reference to a short portion of your book ROLE MODELS, which begins, in my version, on page 29:

 

“I hate to think about it –– what will happen when Johnny Mathis and I die?  Who will guard my humble tawdry belongings?  Will Johnny have to worry about the posthumous exploitation of his signature songs?  Will his estate deny the commercial use of his hits the way Johnny Cash’s did when Preparation H tried to license ‘Ring of Fire’ for a hemorrhoid commercial?  Or will they exploit his publishing copyright the way Elvis’s heirs did when they allowed ‘Viva Las Vegas’ to be resung as ‘Viva Viagra’ for a TV commercial?”

 

I would like to volunteer to be the caretaker of your possessions after you have passed on.  I have no doubt I will excel in this position, for reasons including but not limited to the following:

 

1. My favorite thing in the entire world is bathos.  I am highly educated in the useless (literature, philosophy, etc.) but only appreciate these things when they are juxtaposed with something else, such as a tasteless cancer joke.

 

2. I am terribly nurturing and sensitive, and will treat your possessions like my poor, deformed little inbred infants, and be insistent that they go to good houses as opposed to hemorrhoid commercials (well, depends on how well written the commercial is –– that has the potential to be hilarious.)

 

3. As long as we’re talking about Catherine of Siena, I have two enormous calluses in the middle of each palm from a lifetime of digging my nails into my hands.  Why?  I suppose I was just born very serious about reverse dogma.

 

4. It’s not all doom and gloom though –– I have a sense of humor.  I like to wear a baby alligator claw (I painted the “finger” nails bright red) as a brooch.  My favorite accessory, however, is a tear drawn on my face in thin-tipped Sharpie.  I’m about five foot nothing with blond hair and a chubby cherub face.  People think it’s funny when I say I got the tear in Rikers, but I don’t see what’s so funny about my prison ordeals.

 

I look forward to hearing from you and setting up an interview, preferably one that will occur on East Baltimore Street.

 

Regards,

Itinerant Daughter
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