This is the phrase that, when spoken by a potential employer, should send me running from the office at top speed. It will forever and always send red-flagged shivers up and down my spine.Am I only talented in the eyes of Middle Eastern immigrant magazine and newspaper publishers? Can Americans not appreciate my genius? Maybe I should just move to Damascus- I'd be a freakin millionaire journalist over there! And the men, of course, would love me out there for my dreamy bedroom eyes, my long sexy legs and my beautiful...US citizenship.
As I comb want ad after don't-want ad, I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to just marry someone who needs his papers, charge him fifty grand and call it a day? How hard can it be? It's like winning a lottery that pays in cash AND penis!
Oh! Don't look at me that way! Like you're so ABOVE entertaining the idea of marrying a foreigner for papers...
It's like this, people:
I don't have the time or patience to A) surf the net for any more jobs or B) surf the WORLD for any more eligible bachelors who will fulfill my every want and need and then leave me the fuck alone to party with my girlfriends. Marrying for papers might just solve all that. All I have left to decide is: Do I want to marry a crazy Muslim- who might be Al-Qaeda- who's going to try and run my life or do I want some crazy Dominican- who may very well be my cousin- who's going to try and run my life AND cheat on me? Decisions...decisions...
You know, Toothless and Hoover are starting to look real good about now, as is The Basement I just escaped from...
*smooches...without a dime or a dick*
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i will be picturesque
i will be picturesque
i will be nice
i won't do anything
you can't tell your wife
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