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May 19th, 2020 | Classifictioneds |
 Despite what you've heard about creating PDF zines (or, P-Zines as literally no one calls them,) the reality, like most things in life, is a lot different from the Instagram feed. Sure, you've seen the partying in bars with famous artists, the endless row of sunset pictures on the beach/mountain/amazingly curated forest cabin, you've seen the dog photos where the dog just like somehow always looks like it's smiling, you've seen all the jet-setting and jet-grind-radioing that you wish you could do but you won't because you aren't running a zine. I'm sorry that you feel envious; it's not actually all that great. Truth is, running a P-Zine isn't always the most glamourous life. Sitting around thinking of dumb things to write, trying to figure out the best way to phrase things in a rejection email, panic-designing another page of things even though you literally have no concept or experience designing things of any kind, ritual blood-letting to feed the Elder Gods and allow respite from their fury, really boring Twitter stuff, totally zoning out for several hours as you let the Youtube algorithm take the wheel and your coffee sits on your table getting colder by the second as your jaw sits slack and your dead eyes just stare at the screen and your brain tries to calm down. Also, being bad at editing and writing. This is the reality of literally everyone who makes a zine. We aren't even doing this because we want to, this is a form of torture from a dark organization that's actually running the show. Maybe you peaked around a corner you shouldn't have, saw a knife sliding under someone's ribs. Maybe you opened an email that was never meant for you but landed in your inbox all the same. Maybe you fucked the wrong person after a night of heavy drinking. Either way, here you are: forced to create a useless and futile ugly zine for the amusement of a group of people so powerful they could fucking make it literally rain on you right now if they wanted. We're just fleshy cogs in the blood machine, hoping to walk away only slightly mangled. So, we're hiring for a few positions! Please take a look at the available open roles and if you're interested, please send your CV and application fee ($24.95 + postage) to the fake address for this bit. Director of Marketing - Social Media You're a natural born Tweeter. Your IG feed doesn't follow trends, it makes them. You ... have a Facebook account. The Director of Social Media is in charge of creating a marketing platform that feels genuine and organic but actually uses as many, if not more gamifying tactics as traditional marketing media, all sped up to unsustainable fucking hyperspeeds because every possible metric can be measured instantaneously. These fucking people just sign up for these accounts and let themselves have ads thrown at their faces, no, no that's not even correct, they actually subscribe to accounts that just shove ads down their throats. And they think it's real, I love it. You should love it, too. Director of Marketing - Traditional Media You have money to spend on ads. That's basically it. Creative Visionary for Arts Doodles. Man, I love doodling. It's so relaxing. I told the guys, "look, I can draw Spongebob pretty good, so I should just do all the art stuff, right?" They said no. So supposedly we're hiring someone to do all the art stuff. Also can you help us create something called a "Design Bible"? I thought it meant just like, have a bible that looks cool, which I thought was ironic, like a funny thing to have in the bookshelf right next to a coffee mug that says something like "I Ran the 1989 Detroit Marathon" and so I went to the local motel to just grab one from the nightstand next to the bed, because that's the only place I know where to even find a bible. I rolled up to the Skytop Motel and made my way over to the closest door, marked 36A. I knocked twice, waited for a beat, and then jiggled the door handle. Unlocked. I cracked the door open and peered through the opening. I checked behind me left and right, then swiftly opened the door just enough to fit my sideways body through and quietly closed it behind me. Ugly, deep green carpeting that's faded from the years. A sour-lemon smell, the smell of a shitty off-brand cleaning product. It's how something can smell clean and filthy at the same time, that sour-lemon stench. The bathroom door was closed. Light on. I kept my eyes on the crack underneath the bathroom door as I slunk over to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer. No bible. A note instead. "Come and get it, coward." My eyes darted back up to the bathroom door, she was standing in the jamb, the overhead bathroom light silhouetting her completely. I saw the bat in her hand. Only one of us could leave this place. We really need someone to do the art stuff for the zine, please.  Associate Editor Most people just write stuff for an open zine like this, and we have a lot of editing work that needs to get done. You'll pretty much just look through the slush pile for any stand out stuff, and then send it to me and I'll pretend like I found this good piece of writing myself and cultivated a relationship with the writer over a long period of time. You'll feel a bit hurt by the fact that you did the work but received no credit, I'll remind you that life isn't fair and I'm the one cutting your paychecks. You'll resent me, but shit, you need to eat, so you stick around. A little part of you quietly deteriorates away, and you are just slightly less whole of a person. This will repeat indefinitely until you eventually give up entirely. Assistant to the Associate Editor Jake just write something ironic about this one and don't send me the final draft of this stupid thing later than 11:00 tonight, okay? Thanks. So if you think you've got what it takes to rise to the challenge of the world slowly slipping further and further into an inescapable fate of death by flame (of sorts,) then please, send us a line or two about why you think you'd be a good fit! Please write "APPLICATION" in the subject line. Do not be alarmed if you receive an email back that's full of detailed plans for how to break into an underground facility on June 22nd at exactly 5:15PM EST (shift change) and also includes the location and combination for a storage locker somewhere in Northern New Jersey that contains a stolen ceremonial dagger covered with incomprehensible symbols. It's most certainly not the only weapon that can't defeat the Elders, and we haven't been planning this escape for years! Don't worry at all. When you're already dead, there's nothing to worry about. We look forward to hearing from you. |