Once upon a time there was a Little Weber. Little Weber went to a top-five university and was at the top of his class, but still, 20 years after graduating, no one was willing to give him a job. Boo hoo Little Weber. So Little Weber, poor and miserable, decided to find his college friends to see if they could help.
First, he went to Chicago and entered the CEO's office on top of the tallest, most exaggerated skyscraper he could find. Little Weber's friend, S-Factor, sat behind a desk, staring intently at a calculator.
"S-Factor, could you help me find a job?" Little Weber asked.
S-Factor did not look up but began to mumble to himself: "Greed is good, greed is good, greed is good..."
Little Weber tried a different approach and began naming as many professional athletes as he could until S-Factor started to smile.
"For the last time," Little Weber asked, "could you help me?"
Roar! All of a sudden a ferocious G-monster jumped out of the closet.
"No, he won't find you a job. I drove you around for four years and you never cheered at the basketball games, not like the greatest fan ever, and you never paid me the $1.46 you owe me, so I'm going to scar you for life."
The G-monster pressed a button and hundreds of magazines fell from the ceiling, crushing Little Weber and blinding him in one eye. S-Factor just shrugged.
Little Weber lay there in a bloody heap until someone pulled him out from under the pile.
"You know," Hard Core explained to Little Weber, in a voice not the least bit patronizing, "lying on the floor in a bloody heap is the most efficient way to search for a job. I've made out a list of 10 simple steps you can take."
Hard Core went on to explain that some people thought the list was good, others thought it was bad, but he couldn't say for sure. He quickly left Little Weber, and went to sit around the campfire and sing German folk songs with his 2.3 kids at Lake DoItYourself.
Little Weber, still confused, decided to visit E-Train for some advice. He found E-Train at his chiropractor's office, lying on a metal slab, pins in his back, and a tattoo that said "pedagogy" printed across his right shoulder.
"E-Train, could you help me find a job?" Little Weber asked.
In a calm polite voice E-Train explained to Little Weber that he was too busy trying to overcome his stress and to get some sleep before the LSAT in four months. Apparently, his former wife left him because he kept crying out Richard Nixon's name during sex, and he couldn't get rid of his new wife, who had single-handedly made anti-Semitism popular again, even though he kept dumping beer on her head.
Little Weber left E-Train perplexed and phenomenalogically dismayed. He decided a lawyer might be able to help. Little Weber journeyed to Atlantic City and Harrah's Casino, where he found Itchy, dressed in a parking lot attendant uniform, slumped against the entrance. "They broke my legs," Itchy whined to Little Weber.
Apparently, Itchy was never able to decide on a law school and had joined the mob instead. He'd told the Shady K so many times that he could kill a man that K had finally given him a chance. But Itchy had an itchy trigger finger and had shot himself in the foot.
"Where's your main squeeze?" Little Weber asked.
Itchy began to cry. "When I didn't go to NYU, a spot opened up for her, and she left me. I'm so unlucky."
Little Weber left Itchy in a state of paranoid despair and went into the casino to try his own luck. He put a quarter in a slot machine and pulled the handle.
"You're a lock to win," shouted the machine in a digitized voice until the line stopped on three pictures of Little Weber's friend Scratchy and a penny dropped into the collection bin.
"How do you like my new slot machines, Little Weber?" the real Scratchy said as he ran toward Weber and "accidentally" butted him in the head, as theme from Bonanza played in the background. "I felt bad for all you chumps who aren't locks to win, so now you win every time."
Unfortunately, even though he owned a casino, Scratchy couldn't help Little Weber find a job. He was too busy being a lock to hang a painting in the Museum of Modern Art, be a world class chef, own a sports team and become a millionaire selling remote-controlled rickshaws to investment bankers in Chile.
Little Weber, not knowing what else to do, hopped on a ValuJet flight to Washington D.C. and knocked on the White House's door.
The Crazy Cuban, dressed all in khaki answered the door. "I'm sorry, Little Weber, but as a limousine liberal, I'm too busy playing croquet with the Gore daughters to help you find a job. But don't worry, I'm not a sell-out. Fight the Man."
Depressed and angry at his friends for their lack of help, Little Weber did what Little Webers do best. He curled up in a ball on the White House lawn and took a nap, and everyone lived happily ever after.
Joshua Weber is a Trinity senior.
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