THE NEW YORKER SUBMISSION

                Dear The New Yorker, 

 
                Last night I had a dream about you, dont worry our relationship was purely platonic and filled with business and prosperity for both you and me. 

                In this dream I was not lucid, I was led by a true subconscious force to submit to you, my cartoons. This force is the same as the one we feel in our guts before an important night,
              
                the same feeling that love is made from, has led me to submit my comics to you. In this dream I saved the cartoons department of The New Yorker from your boring fucking cartoons,
              
                ones about millennials being sad and dogs that talk about presidents, we need something beautiful and vulgar and not something made under the same malaise as fucking Marvel movies and Ted
                Lasso!
              
                  The submitted comics are blue for the most part, or in some way connected to a societal undercurrent of fascism in the banal. Some have Anonymous genitals.
                  
                  In one Iron giant has a gold eagle standard upon his chest as the caption bellow reads “I am Uber Mensch”. another has snoopy with a sniper rifle reciting a bible verse in reference to the
                  film saving private Ryan. 
                  
                I have something loud and stupid and real and angry. It holds much more energy than your 700 comics about the Trump trial. I could do that too, I can make you a comic about trump getting
                curb stomped by MS-13 in prison,
                
                or one about Biden letting his German Shepard kill every secret service member he has. You may say that any thirteen-year-old could make the same comics I make or even better,
               
                and your right, so please hire that thirteen-year-old writing their “Philadelphia but replace tom hanks with Garfield” comic. 
               
                For the short biography section, I am just now realizing that I need to put in, I will give you this. My name is Avery Neumiller, I am completely earnest (unless you take offence,
              
                then I’m joking). I am an artist, I am 19, I am 5,11 or 6ft (depending on the shoes I wear). I am a man, I am green, I have cystic acne, my parents love me, I have a girlfriend who I love
                
                more than anything, and I am normal. 
              
              Warm Regards,
              Avery Neumiller.