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Shopping

Here’s an idea to prevent potential terrorists from boarding planes – have two separate security lines at airports:

Security Line #1: Young Muslim men

Security Line #2: Everyone else

Oh, and put Cheney and Rumsfeld in charge of security.

Now let’s get to work on creating more jobs.

Actually, I think there are plenty of jobs out there; it’s just too f’n hard to apply for them anymore.

I mean, have you applied for a job lately? It’s easier to pick the winning Daily 4 numbers in the state lottery.

Back in the day, you printed a 1-page resume on quality paper, attached a cover letter and mailed it to the company’s HR department.

A week later, you would call to set up an interview. If it went well, you might meet someone else in the company, or they might just offer you the job.

Nowadays you have to create a user account and upload your resume on websites like Monster, Career Builder, etc…Then you submit your resume to a specific job posting.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Oh, no.

Then you’re directed to the company’s website – and you have to enter everything on your resume again!

Only this time, it’s in their format. And by their format, I mean some impossible-to-use web page built by a programmer who has to justify his own existence after convincing the CEO they needed to spend $150k on a relational database management system.

And if you’re fortunate enough to navigate through that mess, you’ll probably have to answer demographic questions like age, sex, race, etc…

If it’s against the law for an employer to discriminate against the answers, why do they ask the questions?

You know what? I’m going to apply for the same job using two different resumes. One will be my own. The other will be from a 31-year old Puerto Rican woman named Catalina Aruca.

Once I find out that a fictional character from My Name is Earl gets an interview – and I don’t – I’ll hire a high-profile attorney, and win a multi-million dollar discrimination lawsuit.

I’ll have enough money to travel the world. But I won’t get on an airplane because some numb nut might have a bomb sewn into his underwear.

WTF?

Your finest hour.