Fuck You, Kill Pretty! Also, Love You

WOW - ever since Kill Pretty started designating new company presidents at random, we’ve been collecting a real wild bunch of characters. But putting yourself out there means risking rejection. And it’s not like we’ve never been rejected before, our favorite local bookshop refused to carry the magazine because they’re “not enough cumshots,” but this letter cut deep.

So whatever, Jeffery - guess you’re not the right clown for the job. The hunt continues, so if you’re keen to run this clown-car of a freak media empire, email us your cover letter at sup@killprettymagazine.com

Look, I got your little letter offering the job of Kill Pretty President. But you ass whistles couldn't even bother to spell my name right. And you want me to be President of that kinda bullshit? Pfffffft.

That's like signing up to be Captain wart of the gential wart cluster brigade. And nobody wants to be a genital wart that's for goddamn sure, let alone the one in charge.

But just for piss and chuckles, what's the salary? I don't need the cash. I'm doing fine. A little stretched but who isn't, pal? I'm just saying it would be nice to know the pay. Since you offered me the fuckin’ job in the first place. 

Fair warning, I'm a shark at the negotiating table. Probably why you want me at the head of the metaphorical boardroom table. I'm like that Mr. Wonderful guy, but the name's not ironic.

I'm actually wonderful to be around. Even at the negotiating table. I smell that blood in the water and then nice the shit outta ya. So expect to pay me a lot or expect me to pass.

Metaphorically yours,
"Jeffery" as you rusty bed springs spelled it