“Shall we steer North or South sir?” asked the Skipper.

“West!” was the obvious answer.  But the Skipper refused to listen.

Soon, the HJS Network got shipwrecked on an uncharted island of  the Sea of the Lost Résumés and Forgotten CVs.

The candidate jumped ship to explore.

He saw a desperate woman.  “Go back when you can!”  she warned “there is a hungry headhunter in search for young blood!”

The other islanders warned him from behind bushes and on top of trees.

The islanders spoke as if they shared one mind.  “He has taken our guru from us!” said a voice, ”We are left leaderless.” wailed another, ”Leave this place before he binds you too!” shouted a third.  “He seeks you out!” shouted what might have been the fourth. (Or maybe the first voice was just trying to get in the last word.)

This state of panic convinced the Skipper to hide below deck.

“I will see this headhunter” said the galliant Candidate, “and I will end his search.”

The desperate woman then threw her arms around the candidate “do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

As the candidate shook his head she grabbed him tight “You do now.”

“Is that the headhunter?” asked the candidate.

“Ahh!” screamed his new girlfriend, and she ran and hid behind a nearby tree.

“I have come in search of a headhunter” the candidate said to the headhunter.  “What would you have me do?”

“I want you to die!”  Said the headhunter, as he raised a machete above the candidate’s head.

Just then, the candidate noticed something was wrong.  He grabbed the machete from the headhunter.

“Are you hunting heads with this?” The candidate asked.  “Well, look at it! The handle is all wrong.”  He shook his head.  ”You could get repetitive strain injuries from that.  I suggest something more… ergonomic, like say, a sword.”

The headhunter pulled a knife from his ankle.  The candidate grabbed that too.

“Now, look at this rusty blade.”  complained the Candidate. “Do you actually eat meat that you cut with this?  Think of the health and safety implications.”

Tool after tool, weapon after weapon, the candidate always found something that could be improved with every attack which the headhunter made.

Then, finally, the headhunter grew sick of the criticism.  He ran to the beach, past the HJS Network and swam deep into the ocean.  Suddenly, a greatful throng of islanders sprung from the jungle.

“Hooray!” the islanders shouted.  But the candidate did not feel like celebrating.

“I came in search of work!” he said.  “Show me another headhunter.”

But, as he went to the headhunter’s lodge, the others ran from his questions and criticisms.  The candidate started to regret that he ever had a mouth.

He entered the empty lodge, and saw an old man locked inside, with his hands tied.  “That’s the guru of our village!” the girlfriend said excitedly.  “He is a great medicine man, but he has been bound by the evil headhunters!”

The candidate cleaned the rust off the knife, and used it to cut the medicine man free.

Then the villagers told their medicine man the story of how the candidate scared the headhunters into the sea.

“You deserve a reward for such bravery,” the witch doctor said to the gallant the jobseeker, “what do you desire?”

“I’m looking for a challenging position.” said the gallant man “preferably something that pays well and cannot be outsourced.”

“I know just the thing!” said the guru. “Travel as much or as little as you like.  Create as much wealth as you can imagine.  Retire whenever you chose.  And, best of all, you get to chose who you work with.”

The candidate was intrigued, but he didn’t let his enthusiasm get the better of him.  “There must be a catch!” he proclaimed.

“No catch!” affirmed the witchdoctor.

“So?”  asked the exiced candidate.  “What’s the  proposition.”

The witchdoctor took the candidate into his hut.  The old guru of a witchdoctor looked around, making sure that no ears could hear.

“Promise not to tell anyone what the job title is first.” Said the witchdoctor.

“Oh-kay!” the candidate agreed.

The medicine man drew up an artificial midst.  Floating in the air was a tablet with the work contract.

“If you accept” said the medicine man “sign here.”

“What’s the catch?” asked the jobseeking candidate.

“I tell you, there’s No catch!” assured the medicine man.

“No one can hear us now.” said the candidate. “So, what’s the job title?”

The medicine man sent out a flurry of birds, which chased away evesdroppers.

“The position is.”

“Yes?!”

“Rotukog!”

“What’s a Rotukog?”

“Ruler Of The Universe, King Of Gods!”

Disappointed, the candidate slumped his shoulders, walked passed the witchdoctor and left the hut.

He passed his girlfriend on the way to his boat.

“I knew there was a catch.” the candidate uttered.

“What’s the catch?” she asked, confused.

The villagers gathered around the Candidate, and the Skipper did too.  All were ready to hear what this “catch” was.

“No room for advancement.”

Or are you just sick of rejection letters, and want to reject someone else for a change?

Share your frustrations by writing your own rejection letter to a fictional character.

The winner will get credit on this blog and within the participating networking groups.

If you’re too lucky to know what a rejection letter looks like, an example has been provided. Sorry Mr Igor

Deadline 19 March 2010 at 2 pm.

(You can enter for free.  Simply add your entry, or a link to it, as a comment on this blog.)

——

Edit: Winners announced. 

Lubna made me laugh and I’m glad to have her posts on the blog.  Laura Sherman’s was also entertaining. Any of their posts could have been a winner.

This time I’m going with Donna F. Hammett’s rejection of Scarlette. It captures the Old South, and looks authentic.

The winner of the “Write On, Networkers!” entries was Caroline Koepke’s rejection of Elmer Fudd.

The firing squad’s commander decided to shoot the retiree first, because he had the least time left to live. So, they blindfolded the poor old guy and the commander shouted:

“Ready!”

“Aim!”

The retiree, an avid birdwatcher, thought he saw a frigate bird (also known as the hurricane bird) in the distance.  So he immediately (and enthusiastically) shouted “Hurricane! Hurricane!”

The firing squad panicked and ran away. When they came back, the retiree had gone off to invent the game of golf.

Next they decided to shoot the “job seeker” -  in this economy he had the least to live for.

So they put him against the post and the commander shouted:

“Ready!”

“Aim!”

In the heat of the day, the job seeker hallucinated and thought he saw his girlfriend dancing with a cup of water and calling his name.

“Marcia!” he shouted with a dry mouth. “Give me some!”

The firing squad thought that he saw Martians, and they ran away screaming their heads off.

Well, when they got back, the jobseeker had gone off to establish himself as the world’s first career counsellor, and only the head hunter was left.

When they tied the head hunter to the pole, he was a very happy bunny.  He “knew” these assassins were idiots who’d run at a moment’s notice, and knew just how to outwit them.

So when the commander shouted “Ready!”

“Aim!”

The head hunter looked out into the distance with a false but convincing cry of alarm and interrupted:

“Fire, Fire, Fire!!”

Soon after the smoke cleared, the commander got a promotion and his squad were given hefty bonuses (subsidised by the taxpayer of course.)

Adapted from a playground favorite by Vasco Phillip de Sousa