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Requiem for My Applications
| floppy indecent theater stage idiot | 03/04/05 |
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Date: March 4th, 2005 10:04 PM Author: floppy indecent theater stage idiot Subject: Requiem for My Applications So...I was having a beer, listening to some music, sifting through my rejection letters, and I felt compelled to compose a little ditty. I've been very liberal with the meter here. [Edit: Not sure how to fix the spacing.]
To the tune of "The Man Comes Around" - Johnny Cash - American IV: The Man Comes Around (2002)
(spoken, throaty)
And I heard, as it were, the noise of laughter; One of the mailmen saying "come and see," And I saw. And behold: a small envelope.
(music begins)
There's a man going 'round filling bins, And he knows who got dinged and who got in. Through my front window he gives a little grin And has a chuckle, pulling the flag down. When the mail comes around.
Kate Sullivan and Harold Honju Koh Hold the opinion that I can go blow. React maturely! (Though I fully know That in sweet booze, my sorrows I shall drown.) When the mail comes around.
[Yes, yes, I know Kathleen Sullivan is no longer the dean. Don't panic.]
(begin chorus) No acceptance, not a waitlist, Five thousand hopeful applicants pissed. Multitudes are marchin' to their TTTs. Akhil Amar and ol' Jack Balkin, Sitting over coffee talkin' About how they will never school me.
And my app-fee is in the coffers, Paying for next year's brochures' glossy shots. It didn't bring me "top three" offers. There's not a place for me amongst the slots. (end chorus)
'Til Armageddon, no more Yale, no Stanford. And the Harvard letter came in marked "Deferred: You thought you had a chance, you little turd? What's this fucking tripe that you wrote down?" When the mail comes around.
Whoever's not ivy, you won't be privy to. Whoever has low LSATs, you've become ersatz too. You didn't come from Oxford? Then you get deferred too. If you drank beer freshman year, you're going down! When the mail comes around.
(chorus)
Yale said: "Dear Sir, we truly regret that We invited you to our neat online chat. The adcomm slapped their knees, seeing your stats, And cast your extra essay to the ground." When the mail comes around.
Stanford said: "Dear Sir, such a pity, You're redolent with mediocrity. But don't fret - best of luck at your tier three! If you're in California, don't come down." When the mail comes around.
(chorus)
From Harvard: "Sir, you're on the reserve list. You're not quite what we want; you must have missed Some chances to render our asses kissed. We'll never see you here in Boston-town." When the mail comes around.
(end music - spoken, throaty)
And I heard a voice from the midst of the mail truck. And I looked and...behold! A big envelope! And the name that said on it was Yale. And my neighbor's address followed with it. |