Although I have neither the specific life experiences of Mimi in New York nor her skills, the chutzpah and contempt for the modern workplace she shows here make this the cover letter I would love to send. It's a masterful bit of self-parody and an attack on our corporate masters wrapped into one: 

Unfortunately, I don't possess any prior knowledge of Quark Express and have only recently discovered how to work the spell check on MS Word, but I can text up to 20 words per minute using predictive text, and always sport a well manicured bikini area, whilst I have also developed an unerring talent for tolerating those itchy, spangly g-strings comprised mainly of plastic sequins. My people skills have been impeccably honed due to two years spent on various large sailing yachts with multiple stinking, farting men, and combined with 14 months grinding corporate cock, I feel perfectly qualified to work within the high-stress, male-dominated atmosphere of Corporate America. I have an ability to compromise, perfected from the lengthy and demanding negotiations involved in my former employment (eg "Give me a blow job", "No, fuck off", "Give me a hand job", "No, fuck off", "Give me a lapdance", "OK") and yet a steely determination of where my goals are and how to achieve them ("It's 850 bucks for a private room, no fucking freebies").