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First off, I've been wanting to be an Apprentice for so long, I can feel my cheeks between my teeth. Where I come from, that means I'm jonesing to be an apprentice, bad. I've always considered Donald Trump a not-so-close personal friend. I have always been so cordial as to invite him to family gatherings, my high-school graduation, and my recorder recital in 5th grade. He never so much as once R.S.V.P.ed. However, being the gracious Armenian soul that I am, I forgave the Donald of all. Despite his shortcomings, (his hair most notably), within the tycoon lay a heart of platinum, for gold is too demure a metal for one such as he. Or so I thought, because then the darkness came. The Donald stabbed me in the heart. The Donald. The marvelous, floppy haired, Charlie Sheen-on-a-diet-of-Krispy-Kremes-and-ether Donald, comes to my place of work, Deutsch, an advertising agency, and urinates in my proverbial Cherrios without so much as a How Do You Do?. I've been wanting to be an Apprentice forever, as I've mentioned; it was my idea first. Then what happens? Donald Tramp, that's right, Tramp, comes up with the bloody brilliant idea to bring apprenticeship back to the forefront. Not for nothing, Donald, but maybe you could have offered me an Apprenticeship? Or at least offered some reverence for my greatness in the slightest way? Not even a Guest Appearance on your stupid show. Jerk. It's not like I wouldn't want to run around, learning cool things I don't know how to do, getting dragged through the mud all the while with some experienced money Liberace like yourself slinging phrases like, "It's for your own good, if you can't master the finer things, then you'll never get anywhere". Then you went a step further, Donald, and this is what is truly drawing my ire. You went and filmed an episode of your idea (Yeah, sure, your idea, Donald, it had nothing to do with my conversation with my good friend Sven at McDonald's on January 2nd of last year. Nothing, not a damned thing. You piker!), at my job. This is truly the portrait of your distaste for our relationship. You could have just told me. I want to be an Apprentice to a cool job, like a smithy or a piano tuner or a real-estate mogul (you're no longer my favorite real-estate tyrant, by the way). Need I be reminded daily that I am forced to pursue a different path? So then you come here, rub it in that I'm learning the ropes of advertising rather than being an Apprentice to something fascinating. Thanks, Donald. Don't you have better things to do than mock me thusly? I don't come to your home wearing funny wigs, do I? All day, I was just trying to do my job, then you have your Apprenticeships and all the crew documenting their misery in my very office. I got three pens stolen, Donald. You think that's a coincidence? I had one of the production assistants rip the phone out of my hand and hang it up because I was being too loud during filming. I LOST MY FAVORITE STAPLER! You're making me feel like Milton from Office Space. You feel good about that, Donald? ANSWER ME. From this day forth, I swear upon my mighty wind that I will work with all my intensity and what little desire and effort I can muster to think of a splendid idea that will enable me to topple your empire, built upon wheat thins and bad hair. In fact, as my first step, I hereby announce to all loyal Y.P.R. readers that I need an Apprentice. HEEED MY CALL! COME YE APPRENTICE, LEARN THY TRADE, BECOME YOUR DESTINY! |
