A man walks into an employment office. He is naked with half-dead animals strapped to his chest with baling wire: half-dead chickens, cats, dogs, rabbits, raccoons, birds and rats are tied down to his torso in many bulky layers with the shiny black wire.

The man lumbers, with much difficulty, up to the reception desk and asks the woman behind it for an application. She is understandably startled but, not knowing what else to do, hands him a brown clipboard with an employ ment application attached to it. He takes it and goes to sit in one of the few unoccupied chairs in the reception area. The other applicants waiting there look up at the squirming menagerie attached to the naked man. Many get up immediately and leave, not even bothering to turn in their finished applications.

Just then the receptionist remembers that she forgot to give the man a writing instrument. "Would you like to borrow a pen," she asks him. "No thank you," he replies politely, "That won't be necessary." And he reaches down to his waist where he grabs the claw of one of the chickens strapped to his body. He brings the claw up to his face and bites off the tip of it with his teeth. Then he uses the blood oozing from it to fill in all of the information about his education, work history and references.

Once he has completed the application and signed his signature on the bottom line in chicken blood, the man gets up and gives it to the recep tionist. She accepts the application, saying, "Okay, now it's time for a little typing test" and ushers the man with the animals attached to his body over into a corner where several typewriters are set up. She says, "Now, when I say 'go' you will have five minutes to type the page in front of you...A bell will ring when your five minutes are up."

"Go," says the receptionist, and the naked animal-strapped man begins banging away at the keys in earnest, trying his best to type rapidly but with no mistakes. Things seem to be going well for him in the beginning of the test, and he begins to increase his speed with confidence. Just then, however, his concentration is upset as a shrieking and crying breaks out amongst the herd of beasts strapped to his belly. He pauses for an instant or so to pummel the half-dead carcasses with his fists. They quiet down at first. But then, as he restarts the test, they use their wings and claws and paws to hammer the typewriter's keyboard. Before long the man's test page is a mess of indecipherable errors and typos.

The bell rings and the receptionist says, "Time to stop, please," just as she's done at least two dozen times a day for the past seven years. The man is relieved. He stops typing and looks on as the receptionist prances over and removes the bespotted page from the typewriter's carriage. "Oh, too bad--looks like we had some difficulties, didn't we," she says to the man in a rote attempt at consolation. Then she motions him and his animal brood back over to the waiting area. She tells the man that a place ment counselor will be interviewing him shortly.

Twenty-five minutes pass while the man leafs through the ancient magazines scattered on the table in front of him. On two separate occasions various species of woodland animals, still not quite dead, attempt to bite persons seated in nearby chairs. One raccoon, too stupid to realize the difference in species, futilely attempts to mount a dead poodle. And, from inside the bundle attached to his chest, some creature breaks wind and then urinates against the man's naked back.

Finally, a spectacled, schoolmarmish woman enters the reception area from the offices behind it and calls out the man's name. He dutifully intro duces himself, shakes her hand and follows her down the institutional carpeting to her office, where she inquires as to the nature of the work he is seeking. "Public Relations," the man replies. And the woman interviewer says, "Well-- We'll keep you on file here...and we'll see what we can do." She gives him one of her business cards and walks him back to the reception area.

"Thank you very much for seeing me," the man says, as those few ani mals on his chest which have not yet expired go "UGGGHRAAWWR!" in unison.

The interviewer opens the door for him and the man leaves, shutting the door on his way out.

The odor of wild game lingers behind him.