My Official Solicitation

Discussion in 'Creation Showcase' started by Defectus, Sep 15, 2018.

  1. Defectus

    Defectus I love my wife Donator

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    Good afternoon, friends.

    Over the past week, I've been working on a little project inspired by an idea @TheMint brought up. He offered that I make a fake staff application with a… shall we say, literary style. So I wrote up the ~10,000 character-long “official solicitation” that I put in a spoiler under this preface and sent it to the staff.

    Needless to say, the application was turned down. I'm still proud of it, though, and so I thought I'd share it with you.

    Have fun!


    My Official Solicitation

    General Info
    Minecraft username: Defectus
    Age: 14 summers, 8 lunations
    Gender: masculine
    Location and Timezone: Holy Land; 9 mileways preceding the Britannic clock
    Languages you can speak: Modern English; Lashon Hakodesh


    How long have you been playing Minecraft?

    Excellent query, good sir. ‘Twas a gelid night, methinks, whereon I’d acquired my precious account. Why do I presume ‘twas so frosty, that night? Why, it landed on the dawn of December. Though I can’t recollect much of anything from that night, I imagine the thrill must’ve been intoxicating. A wee youth at long last receiving the benefaction he always coveted. Why, I must’ve been absolutely ebullient. ‘Tis a pity, I confess, that I seldom find such zeal in anything nowadays. Mayhap due to the growing melancholy that oft accompanies age. But I digress; I shall go on to the next question.


    How long have you been playing on the server?

    Why, another fantastic query, good sir. You ought to become an interviewer, I tell you. At any rate, whilst I’m unable to ascertain the first time my diffident soul logged onto your prodigious, wondrous server and observed the myriad diversions you so munificently offered to me, most of them gratis (‘Twas magnanimous of you then and ‘tis magnanimous of you now!), I am cognizant of the date whereon I registered onto the forum I now type to. Why, it was the fourth sun of the twelfth moon, on the year that was twain chiliad and a baker's dozen of twelvemonths after the Nativity. I trust that should answer the question as best as is in my power.


    How active are you on the Server?

    Active? Active? Ho, you splendid questioner, you sublime prodigy, you! What in Tempter’s moniker are you doing here, frittering your priceless years punching buttons on a mechanical board to assemble a string of words for a pair of ignoramuses’ server’s official solicitation form? You should be on television interviewing major politicians! You’ve immense promise, good sir! Regardless, I suppose you’d fancy an answer—and an answer I shall provide you with!

    You see, I’ve never been one to fumble about at gatherings, not to mention virtual ones. You could look upon me as a solitudinarian, if so you wish, for your server is merely one of the multitudinous instances of such rendezvous I scarce visit. ‘Tis my hope that such aloofness shan’t deny me official assessment—everyone should receive a chance.


    How active are you on the Forums?

    By Odin’s beard, you mastermind! You’re a bloody poet, you are! ‘Tis my duty to stress this point—you squander your days in this downmarket métier! One day your heart, I hope, shall find its place in grandeur; your aptitude will transcend the mightiest of journalism; you shall one day, peradventure anon, be lauded as the nonpareil polymath the world needed for so long. Perchance you can’t behold it now—that’s acceptable. I, too, set aside the local praise at first. Fret not, though—ultimately, we all yield to hubris.

    Anyhow, good sir, my life on your glorious forums is magnificently rich. Recently, I appended my own contribution to that archaic and quaint diversion of yours—”Staff Interruption,” methinks you denominate it. ‘Tis a delightfully droll activity, and I confess, every so often, whilst my eyes wander to and fro the ceiling o’er my velvet cushion, I indulge in the vexing question, “Dost thou behold the holy game of Staff Interruption sufficiently oft?” to which I timorously respond, “Nay, perhaps nay. But ought I truly to visit that hellhole once more? May I spend a modicum out that hellhole more?” Quoth myself, “Nevermore.”


    How active are you on the Discord?

    The Discord? By that Heaven that bends above us! By that God we both adore! Thy soul’s endowment merits a paramount vocation! I kid not, my sir—nay, my lord! You must cease whatsoever preoccupies your superb mind and originate wonders the world hath never espied heretofore! Yes, my lord—your faculty, I surmise, is no serendipity, for your begetters—they were poets, methinks, and they bequeathed their profound forte unto thee. Prithee, I importune thee, m’lord: let not their gift go to waste, will you? For them. For me. For you. I know thy feats are near, and I’m assured their magnitude outstrips that which my rudimentary fancy can so much as crave to assimilate.

    In any case, just as my activity on the forums is bounteous, likewise, the discord I promote on your Discord is, I trust, plenteous. Why, I transmitted all eighteen stanzas of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven to it recently. Furthermore, I later sent an inquiry vis-à-vis the weather. It goes without saying that such colloquy presupposes further precursory confabulation, so I shall briskly proceed to the following query.


    Purchases made on our server (optional):

    …my god.

    I… I’m compelled to have You most fathom Your unexampled brilliance, My Lord, but… I fear that I’m not getting through to You. Not in the sense that You cannot comprehend what I speak of—why, I exalt Thee more than the penurious, star-crossed wretch exalts his petty god; for the grandest miracles his god can engender are naught when contrasted to what You hast crafted here. I say, My Lord, when I read the question You so beneficently bestowed upon me… ‘tis like floating on the placid waters of the Dead Sea whilst gazing at the copious wonders of the starry night sky. I liken the capitalized
    Purchases to the breathtaking band of the Milky Way; the possessive our to the scintillating sparkle of Venus; the parenthesized (optional) to the fuzzy flare of the Orion Nebula. ‘Tis nothing short of Homeric poesy.

    That being said, my chance is ephemeral. Though I’d love to panegyrize Thee further, this exasperating forum granted me a mere myriad of characters with which to craft my official solicitation, so I must reluctantly forswear further commendation of you in this document.

    With that out of the way, methinks I’d obtained the Premium title for my account some time ago. Nothing more, nothing less.



    Questions
    Why do you want to become a staff member?

    In the profoundest depths of my soul, the ambition to patrol the boulevards of my humble hamlet and shield my compeers from miscreants boiled since my nativity. ‘Tis a ubiquitous aspiration, I concede, but my desire is, I opine, prodigiously perfervid. Whensoever one inquired, “Would you like to be X? Maybe Y? Anything other than a policeman?” I would invariably rejoin, “NAY! DAMN THEE, BEGUILING SERPENT! BY TEMPTER THY DASTARDLY SOUL HATH BEGOTTEN, AND TEMPTER THY SORDID SOUL SHALL BRING TO NAUGHT! BEGONE, IGNOBLE FIEND!” whereupon one would reportedly phase out of existence.

    While I’m still much too youthful to police my town, methinks that moderation is practice meet for police work. After all, what gulf sunders the semblance moderation bears to police work? Consider that idea.


    Why do you think you are suitable for this role?

    Why did God delegate Noah to build the mighty ark? Noah was a man of the soil, and knew naught in woodcraft; yet, God named him. Why, if not merely due to his righteousness? When He saw the evil of man, He conferred the duty of the ark upon the only unsullied soul left. And so, I inquire of thee: Doth moderation verily necessitate but sheer rectitude? Why, on the topic, cogitate on this: Doth travail verily necessitate but sheer rectitude? For isn’t ineptitude a form of defectivity, and thereby vice withal? Why shouldn’t the meek degenerates live under our, the nonesuches’, regime? Of course, fate has it that in this day and age, the system is inverse—evil reigns supreme whilst the streets bristle with men like me—and though I’d fancy an ethical coup d’état, I shall make it clear that my answer may be abridged as such: I am suitable for this role because I am virtuous. Just how virtuous am I? That I shall exhibit next.


    Previous experiences as a staff member or otherwise relevant work:

    The following is one of my many virtuous deeds:

    ‘Twas a dull eventide, I recall. I’d taken a constitutional round the jollier enclave of my little town and was on my way home when I descried a mendicant beseeching passersby to throw a dime into his leather bag. I took pity on the man and dug into my pockets, merely to learn I had only a quarter—a solid fifteen cents over the beggar’s request. This man was visibly impecunious; surely he hadn’t enough change to return the additional cents. Perchance, I thought, I could scamper home, acquire a dime from my wallet, and return to the man. Ah, nay—I’d risk losing the path back. He might depart soon therewithal. Then, I saw the parsimonious fool in me, and I wept. Out of sheer righteousness, I gave him the whole quarter, then turned and happily went on my way.


    What are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?

    Ah, but if I speak of my greatest weakness, doubtless you shall use it against me!

    Jests and quips aside, my biggest weakness, perhaps, is… why, weakness itself. Yes, for you see, I, methinks, am unduly tenderhearted. He who lachrymosely sinks to his knees like the aforementioned mendicant beguiles my heart and renders me powerless. Like a siren, he wiles me into a state of serenity, of thinking that I’m aiding a wretch in need. When he sees my heart open wide, that’s when he strikes.

    He leaves, and I stare into the distance, my lips trembling, my throat sore, my eyes damp.

    I reach down and search around my abdomen. There’s my heart, yes—but it’s cracked. A narrow gap halves my credulous soul in twine, each half drowning forever in the melancholic profound. Out that gap oozes a narrow stream of red liquid—”Blood,” I whimper, but I’m already aware that it’s a trick. What truly seeps from that shattered heart of mine is what used to be my tenderness.

    As I collapse on the ground, I whisper to the heavens a sworn vengeance. A voice from above hushes me, entreats me to savor my final moments. I rise from the earth and disregard the offer; I don’t want to be tender anymore.

    I start walking.
    I keep walking.
    I start running.


    Extra comments in support of your application:

    Nought, good sir.
     
    Username, Memeh, Mxrk and 7 others like this.
  2. TheMint

    TheMint Former Mod+ Donator

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    C'mon it was funny xDD
     
  3. RulerofMobs

    RulerofMobs Fuck. Bye, survival. Donator

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    should've been accepted
     
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  4. dinoceros

    dinoceros Donator

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    shouldn't have been denied
     
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  5. NoThisIsAmanda

    NoThisIsAmanda manda Donator

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    this is kinda amazing
     
  6. Mxrk

    Mxrk The Nice Guy Donator

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    My god. I'm laughing so hard to this. lol
     
  7. Soap

    Soap Donator

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    why was it denied
     
  8. dinoceros

    dinoceros Donator

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    troll app
     
    Embracive likes this.