Archive for April, 2010

Jersey Shore is returning for another season to wreak havoc on unsuspecting Americans once more. Nobody likes this, but it’s happening. Remind you of anything? How about the declining test scores of America’s youth? Nobody wants this, but it’s happening. Whatever we’ve done in entertainment and education, both aren’t working out too well. As always, I have a solution. Let’s combine Sesame Street and Jersey Shore into one, crazy entertaining/informative program. Sesame shore.

Snooki Monster

What would happen would be great on two levels. One, this could serve as punishment to the cast of Jersey Shore. Two, your kids would be SO enthralled, they’d watch and learn something. I actually think this thing could draw a massive audience of people of all ages. The concept would be that every day, on a beach in Jersey, kids can visit their friends and learn. There’s an entire cast of vaguely Italian characters to interact with. Each episode would be brought to you by a different letter. H is for Hair gel. V is for Vagina wax. N is for not knowing how to count. Etcetera. You get it. There would also be other older and wiser characters whose sensible advise is routinely ignored in favor of dancing.

Oscar the situation

Children of America, after one weeks exposure to Sesame Shore, will possibly have improved test scores. Especially if they’re being tested on Ed Hardy merchandise. Plus, the show would air during the day so the dials are clear once you return home to your family. And, as you can tell, I pretty much blew my entire budget on photo editing. So if this show doesn’t sell, I’m out on the street. Again. I can’t have that happen again. I already gave Vagabond Vern by old box and bottle of schnapps. LOL. jk. I kept the schnapps. But seriously, I need this to happen.


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James Carville would make a terrific comic book villain.

Charles Krauthammer could have halloween masks molded from himself.

Frank Luntz could be a professional Perez Hilton impersonator.

Paul Begala may be that obnoxious guy in the corner office who says hi to everyone in the morning.

Bill Kristol could be just a regular, creepy, uncle.

John Stossel would continue his duties as vigilante crime fighter “The Stoss” by night.

Rachel Maddow could star in a series of Mac advertisements.

Ed Schultz could play Sam the butcher when the Brady Bunch Movie 3D is released.

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As exam week nears, students cross-country inevitably freak out. They lock themselves down in this state of studiousness. You can see it clamped down around them like a suit designed by Tony Stark. They lash out at friends and family at random, sleep deprived and hungry, as facts and quotes swim aimlessly in their heads. For about a week, these are people on the edge. But not me.  I am immune. Because some time ago I completely gave up on studying and haven’t looked back.

But that’s crazy, you say.  Why would you not study? Well, my working  theory dictates that if I don’t know something the night before a test, I’m not going to know it during the test. No amount of cramming is going to help as far as I’m concerned. If anything, my cramming will result in me memorizing one particular thing and then pushing out the rest. That’s no good. So instead I gave up the entire thing. And so far, I’ve been monumentally successful at skating through things unscathed. By not studying, my blood pressure remains steady and I stay well rested (as well rested as I ever am, at least).  The best part of the system thus far has been receiving the same grades (sometimes better grades) than those who completely exhaust themselves studying.

Let me walk you through some of my studying alternatives; things I busy myself with while everyone else is locked away reading and re-reading. These are activities I suggest you try at some point to keep yourself cool and collected.

Get into your car and begin drive around town with your windows down. Whenever you see a pedestrian, scream insults at them. This is way more fun than studying. Keep it simple, too. Simplicity is key. If you see an old person, yell “YOU’RE OLD!” If you see a fat kid on a bike, yell “FAT KID ON A BIKE!” Instant gratification. If you see someone in a Yankee’s cap, yell “YANKEES SUCK AT SCORING BASKETS” (Whatever the fuck that means). You get the idea.

Another great way to blow off steam during finals week requires first the rounding up of some friends. Once you’ve got them, head to the campus library. There will probably be lots of people studying. Use this opportunity to enact the last, tearful scene from “Schindler’s List” until you are A) forcibly removed from the library, or B) met with resounding applause. This should be a self esteem booster. Don’t forget to update your foursquare from the Library. Priorities.

Occasionally, instead of studying, I’ll go down to the retirement home and practice aiming my air soft gun at precious moments figurines. It’s okay because the residents don’t even remember that they have them. Also, there are lots of great people there to talk to and play chess with. And oatmeal. There’s lots of oatmeal. Served by foxy caretakers. If I could live at the retirement home I think I would. I digress.

When all else fails, you can always make yourself a sandwich. Just because those are good. And throw on Boys for Pele (in the Barnes and Noble music section under “Manly Men”). Then chill the fuck out. Worst case scenario: you flunk. So what? You still have your Tori Amos albums and can make a kickass sandwich. Best case scenario: everything turns out awesome and you’re now known as the Liam Neeson of your campus (If you’re not known as that, tell everyone that you will find them and you will kill them).

All in all, it’s best not to sweat these types of things. Sweat when your cat is diagnosed with feline diabetes and starts growing out a Wilford Brimley’ stache. Fret openly when George Lucas announces plans to put a CGI short round into the next Indiana Jones movie. But not because you have a test coming up. Small potatoes (innuendo? Maybe. LOL.)

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Dear Carnival Cruise Line,

There are few feelings in this world more disappointing than boarding a Carnival Cruise ship and not being greeted by the smell of greasy churros and vomit. Talk about false advertising. As someone who spent some of the greatest years of their life making out behind various carnival tents and awkwardly sharing cotton candy sticks with gangly band girls, I can attest that your ships are nothing like carnivals.

The various employees on the ship were clean-shaven, friendly, and generally pleasant. These are not the carnies I know and love. A true Carnival cruise line would be loaded with cigarette smoking men with mullets in purple shirts, bearing their three-toothed grins at everyone who passed by; men who bark at you in a Beetlejuice voice, taunting you to spray water at a rubber duck that’s been nailed to a wooden post. But no. There was none of that. I couldn’t even find a port-o-potty. How do you explain that? I doubt you can.

It’s time to get your act together and deliver to the people what you’ve actually promised. Namely, floors covered with popcorn and littered with used condoms, tents with novelty items sold at unbelievably high rates, and funnel cakes.  If I don’t receive back word that you’ve started serving drinks in elongated, green, alien-shaped, plastic cups and dolling out generic Tweetie Bird stuffed animals with stuffing coming out and discolored beaks to avoid copyright infringement, I will be switching to Royal Caribbean.  Sincerely,

Unsatisfied customer

PS: I do have to give you credit for the copious amounts of alcohol on board. But that’s it.

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Time-ravaged Eddie Money will celebrate your coming-of-age while wearing a hockey jersey! He’s not clinically depressed! He has an extra ticket to mundane, middle aged, paradise! Pack your bags, kiddies!

If you book now, Eddie will personally bake you betty crocker muffins (all clients must provide muffin mix)! All you have to do is compensate him. Or even pay attention to him for longer than ten minutes. Eddie Money will do your dishes and clean your pool. Seriously. This is a fairly indefinite offer! CALL NOW!

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Dear Mr. Lucas (or his’ peons),

It has come to my attention that you’re now in the advanced stages of planning a Star Wars sitcom as well as a live action drama based on the same franchise. This is understandable, given your insatiable urge to ruin classic things. In the case of Star Wars, I don’t much care. For starters, you’ve already ruined it. Bad SW officially outnumbers good SW (if you count the Christmas special). I do care in the case of Indiana Jones, and I shan’t forget what you did to my favorite film trilogy.

But if you’re going to insist on working, which you don’t need to do, you should at least ruin things in new and exciting genres. Instead of producing things seriously that turn out to be laughably bad maybe you should shoot to produce things purposefully awful and hope they turn out to be masterpieces. And I’m here for you, George. I have the perfect project. You may or may not know that your peers have already greenlit a remake of Hitchcock’s “The Birds.” They cast Naomi Watts in the lead. Whatever. I think you can screw it up even worse than they will.

First off, forget Watts. I’m thinking Lindsay Lohan. Wait. You’re George Lucas. So, Lindsay Lohan with all CGI clothing or something. You’re welcome. Anyway, for the male lead: John Cryer. So Cryer plays a wealthy jetsetter who meets Lindsay Lohan’s character inside a crack house because he’s looking for a rare parrot on the black market. Yadda yadda yadda, you can hammer all this once you accept.  Let’s get to the good stuff.

The birds will be entirely CGI, of course. Not only entirely CGI, but every bird will have the face of Tilda Swinton digitally added onto it. YES. Imagine fifty Tilda Swintons sitting on a telephone line watching you in silence. Now tell me you didn’t just shit yourself. That’s what I thought. Anyway, so Tilda Swintons are flying all over the place, pecking peoples’ eyes out and stuff. There should be a few added sequences not in the original. At least one where a guy is hitting them out of the sky with a bat. Just because that’d be fun to film. And another where a huge flock of Tilda Swintons devours a velociraptor. I trust you’ll be able to work that in.

Instead of the lame “driving off into the distance” ending, I think John Cryer should commission a scientist to build a device that can be worn like glasses and shoot lasers at the birds. The scientist will be played by David Carradine by use of stock footage that we possibly dub over with Morgan Freeman’s voice. From there, Cryer holds up in a church tower and stages a shootout with the Tilda Swinton birds. Just as he’s running out of peaches (the device runs on peaches. Duh.), Lindsay Lohan sneezes on one of the birds and realizes that puffs of cocaine mortally wound them. So they call the FBI and the government crop dusts the nation with coke and humanity wins.

That’s it. I don’t have people for you to get in touch with, so basically you have to @reply me on Twitter or leave a comment here. I understand if you’re not interested in doing these negotiations in public. You can just email me. We’ll work it out. Thanks for your time (you should really be thanking me, but whatever). Sincerely,


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There are people in society who, at this very instant, are seeking to perpetuate your slow demise. They want to murder your children in a slow, horrible, painful way and you’re completely surrounded by them. The barbarians do so all under the guise of “smoking.” These are ungrateful, ignorant, people who somehow believe that they can do whatever they like with their bodies (which, by the way, is pretty much the antithesis of being American). They continue to assert this despite the fact that there  is of documented evidence are some more than dubious tests to show that passive smoke may increase the risk of cancer.

I, a non-smoker, feel these injustices have occurred for far too long. I will not have my god given right to not be smoked around deprived from me (That’s in the constitution. Look it up.) So, I’d like to propose a massive counter protest to make sure we never have to inhale smoke again. I’ve given this some thought, and there are a few different options we could go.

The first is a really crazy one. I was in the shower this morning, minding my own business, and upon looking down found two long stumps growing from my torso. I know, right? I was all “What the fuck is this?”  Turns out, I can actually manipulate these things to maneuver away from where the smoke is. Holy shit. Breakthrough. But then I realized that this wasn’t enough. After all, what if there’s a person with just a torso surrounded by smokers? Who is protecting these torso people?

Well, the second option is the biggie. A constitutional amendment. Think about how beautiful the world would be if we all had the right to not be around things we didn’t like? I could jail up that douchebag in my multimedia course who does that half-assed drumming thing with a pencil on the rim of his desk. Men who order iced strawberry drinks at Starbucks in the morning can be thrown into cages. I can ban your ass fron Twitter even if I don’t receive your updates. LOL. It’s going to be amazing. But wait. What if the politicians don’t go for it?

I have a backup plan. How can we even get a bigger message to all those deviant public smokers? Two words: mass suicide. That will show them, right?  But it also hits multiple birds with one stone. Effective immediately after your death, you no longer have to worry obsessively about running into someone smoking on the street. Your potential-future-might-have-been health problems are put to bed. Just like that. It’s like a huge,  non- nicotine stained, middle finger to smokers. Imagine the look on their faces (Seriously. Imagine, because you’ll be way too dead to actually see it.) If smokers refuse to acknowledge our right to not be around smoke, we can show them how we exercise our right to not live.

It’s just an idea, anyway. Mull it over and get back to me. We can make a difference, you and I. We can show those bastards.

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