Well, no callback for Dove.

Guess I’m not attractive enough to be real, too normal enough to be quirky, or uh… too concerned with her appearance to be natural?  Dunno.  Lucky for my wavering self-esteem I don’t dwell too much on commercial auditions since your look is judged in three lines of dialogue.  Just give me the opportunity to make you hate me more.  I swear I can do a lot of damage in 25 seconds.  Three is too little.

Tomorrow is Miller Lite.  Ah, beer commercials.  Where men are allowed to be fat n’ funny and women (obviously attractive, but less superior to water-booze) wonder why their men like their alcoholic beverage more than the relationship.  It’s really quite obvious, ladies.  Your relationship is awful because he’s just not into you and you can read a book to verify that insecurity.  He’s more into fucking a beer bottle than having sex with you because you won’t let him do it in the butt.  Now we know you drunkenly promised him otherwise if buys you that chocolate lab, but you have to come to terms that dog does not replace the fact that you want children and he prefers to put his weenie in a bottle.

At least this is the subtext I’m bringing to the audition tomorrow.