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dear marc,

today you should hire me because a guy just got STABBED right outside my window. the cops are here now and i’m trying to piece together the story by listening on the balcony with all the other nosy arab women but i JUST can’t understand what they’re saying. maybe a pashmina would help?
GET ME OUT OF HERE.
xx

Plea #3

>Dear Marc Jacobs,

hire me for this picture alone. it clearly says, ‘i’m flexible and willing to exploit it because i don’t know what i’m selling in this ad and my gumby legs are all i have in this business.’ and also because i threw a party and no one came and i got too drunk and almost threw up in a cab. also, i really hate little pakistan. my room ALWAYS SMELLS LIKE CURRY and maggie LITERALLY has a stalker. every time i walk through the neighborhood and see men with beards wearing fabulously floaty robes and little kids beating each other with sticks and old car parts, i feel like i’m in baghdad and about to jihad my life. but marc, my room looks FILTHY DELICIOUS and you should come by and see it while you’re asking me to model for you. also, i think i smoked 2 1/2 packs of cigs last night. and the rest was… well you know.
hire me. i deserve better than this, let’s face facts.
xx

HEY

dear marc,

guess who’s got two thumbs, speaks limited french, and found out after two glasses of wine he can get internet access when he originally thought he couldn’t because his new flat in little pakistan is so ghetto…. THIS MOI.
HIRE ME.
xx

Plea #2

Dear Marc Jacobs,

today you should hire me because i’ve really broken out of my comfort zone and am demeaning myself for money. i walked the streets of london distributing my CV like it was the morning after pill in a whorehouse. my feet hurt and i have blisters (for ray ray). SOMEONE HIRE ME. to take a quote from the employable david worthington, in london “the days feel like weeks and the weeks feel like days.” so by this logic if i don’t find a job by friday it will be the middle of september and i would qualify for welfare and prostitution.
today wasn’t all seriousness though, i did have a few (possible) celeb sightings:
DUFFY: walking along bond street with three girls. she was cute and trying to hide her face BUT BITCH I KNEW IT WAS YOU.
JORDAN (aka katie price): she was a model over here and is so tan. so tan. and TALL. but honestly any tranny with a cheap weave could be kate price, so i don’t know if i should count it.
THAT ONE OLD MAN: he’s that guy that if you saw him in a movie trailer you’d be like, ‘is anthony hopkins in this movie? no, he’s too thin to be anthony hopkins. oh it’s THAT GUY.’ you know who i’m talking about? he plays crazy so well. anyway, it might not have even been him, because he may have enough money to avoid wearing a black backpack that says WANTED on it while he runs in his socks-with-sandals gear to catch the #27 bus. but who knows these days? actually, maybe i was just looking at my future self. yeah, that’s it.
well, tomorrow i’m going to walk my feet to the bone again and keep searching for a job. honestly, marc, this could all be avoided if you just put me in an ad. i’ll put up some pictures for you to consider later. you don’t even have to pay me, the press ALONE would get me enough free shit to survive for 6 months. think it over.
xx

Plea #1

Dear Marc Jacobs,

today you should hire me because my life is shit in london. i’ve made a list of good luck/bad luck that i’ve had since leaving the states. here it is:
good luck: survived the plane ride
bad luck: had to sit behind some fucking cunt kids who were moving around the entire time and whose mother did NOTHING to stop them from spilling their food everywhere and screaming, and whose father obviously just gave up on ever loving his family or himself because he just slept the whole time and sometimes would just shake his head and go back to watching kung fu panda, or whatever movie was playing.
good luck: have taken a portuguese lover named michel.
bad luck: i pissed him off at nottinghill carnival because i was obnoxious and talked to some old women about pole dancing on the tube? whatever, kid.
good luck: david and i are getting along swimmingly.
good luck: found a friend/flatmate named maggie (for margaret) who is a GEM. you’d love her. she’s got tig ol’ bitties and is SASSY like your drunk grandmother.
good luck: got an interview.
bad luck: interview got canceled THE SAME DAY IT WAS SCHEDULED. they found ‘a girl who is just perfect, so sorry.’ i hope she dies.
good luck: found a flat!
bad luck: i have no job so i can’t afford the flat and i’m CERTAIN that mags and david will get tired of telling me rent is due while i cry in the bathroom. i mean “water closet.”
good luck: found skinny cigs called VOGUE.
bad luck: they make me want to not give up smoking.
bad luck: running of out fashionable things to wear.
bad luck: GOT SHIT ON BY A BIRD. i was walking out of pret and opening my bag to put my sandwich in it when FWOOP, warmth on my hand and confusion as i think ‘this sandwich is supposed to be cold. WHAT THE FUCK’ shit shit shit everywhere. i was a walking public toilet with less cash in its pocket. because you know you have to pay for those sort of things here.
bad luck: my shoes are old and obvious.
bad luck: i over-paid for my phone.
bad luck: i’m constipated. and when i’m not constipated i’m clogging the toilet at the most inopportune times (see: clubs, gigs, etc.)
i guess that’s it. so come on, marc, THROW ME A BONE and ask me to model for an ad.