Hey man, you got a minute? Look, don’t be a dick; I just want to give you my band’s demo CD. We’re called Necrofury, but we’re considering changing the name since we’ve been moving in a more melodic direction lately. Now, before you throw it away, you should realize that this is about more than music. See, this jerkwater town needs a better scene. Think about how we all spend our weekends: pretending to have car trouble out on a desolate stretch of highway, then kidnapping the first person that stops to help and mocking their tears as we make them dig their own grave at gunpoint. With a vibrant music scene, we can develop a sense of community and an identity outside of being featured semiannually on Dateline thanks to our nickname of ”the Bermuda Triangle of Highway 48″. So just take a listen and share it with anyone else you know. For example, if your dad is a big record executive, during dinner maybe you could spread the good word about Necrofury over the intercom that you usually use to ask to pass the salt across your football field-length dining room table. If you like what you hear, then sync it to your iTunes, then blog it to your friendster account and livejournal it to your pager. What are you afraid of, you pussy? Just listen to it. It’s not like our music is gonna make your urine smell like Lucky Charms or anything. Or don’t; see what I care. Just do whatever with it, even if that means throwing it frisbee-style like Oddjob and sawing off a statue’s head (which would be pretty awesome, I admit).
An early look at potential hit shows in development for the Fall 2010 season:
Detective Mike Sullivan is a tough-as-nails cop who will do anything to crack a case, even if it means playing fast and loose with the rules. Eileen Hertzberg is a retired third-grade teacher who’s just been assigned as his new partner. At first glance, they appear to be a match made in hell, but each one’s got something the other needs to get the job done: he’s got 20 years of street knowledge and the muscle necessary to get the bad guys, while she has the ability to not pepper every sentence with ethnic slurs. “Sully and the Berg”- Tuesdays at 9pm!
What happens when you take a half-dozen newly minted fortysomething divorcees and put ‘em all together in a posh Vail ski chateau? Find out on this fall’s most provocative new reality show. Watch in horror as these Corvette-coveting Casanovas and Spanx-emboldened seductresses hit the clubs in search of a 23 year-old stepmom or affluent stepdad for their teenage kids! Share in the laughter as they fight over the house’s only Epilator! Stand and cheer as they tackle age discrimination by reclaiming the words “pathetic” and ”desperate”! Don’t miss “Midlife Manor” -Thursdays at 10pm!
Tired of the obvious partisan bias by corporate media outlets? You need someone who can deliver the facts in a way that speaks to YOU! Finally- the evening news the way it was meant to be delivered: in Klingon! “ruv ‘ej hov qo’ maH duj!” Weeknights at 7pm and 11pm!
Man, I can’t wait to get off work. I’ve been working so hard lately that I haven’t really had a chance to cut loose and have a great time. Just kick back, and have a few laughs. A few laughs and a beer or two. Maybe have a few beers. Ooh, you know what I haven’t done in a while? Get really drunk. Like, get so drunk that you throw up. Yeah. Or drunk dial your friends. Get super drunk, where you pull out your credit card and order everything you see advertised on TV between the hours of 1 am and 4 am, spending so much money that you and your family can’t afford to eat anything but peanut butter sandwiches for a few months. No, wait; get crazy drunk and have sex with a prostitute, but sex with just one prostitute wasn’t enough to fill the void inside you so you look for another prostitute afterwards and later have to call your wife from jail and explain why you solicited a cop. Not even an undercover cop, you just walked right up to a police officer in full uniform and asked how many dollars it would take to get him or her to have sexual relations with you. Like, so drunk that you wake up the next morning with nothing in your head but these real vague, like, superviolent images, like you’re flashing back to some horrible event where people are just screaming their heads off and there’s blood everywhere and you feel somehow responsible but you keep telling yourself that you’re the only survivor because it was kill or be killed and, reluctantly, you chose kill.
Okay, I admit I’ve never been that drunk. But it’s on my bucket list.
crunkrete jungle
If you or someone you love has taken the diet drug Lasagnanol at any time, stop what you’re doing and dial the number at the bottom of your screen right now. Operators will put you in touch with the Constitutional law experts at the law offices of Nestor and Blitherington to take part in a class action lawsuit against the makers of Lasagnanol that could change your life.
We all remember Lasagnanol from its catchy Radiohead-penned jingle, which promised anyone they could have the body of a Jamaican sprinter. Before long, people whose only exercise had been stealing pies from Old Mrs. Fizziworth’s windowsill were seemingly the picture of health. But soon the side effects began to show up, in the guise of dry mouth, decreased semen production, an exoskeleton that has so far proved impervious to earthly military technology, and an insatiable desire to take the lives of innocents.
Lasagnanol can be taken in pill form, injected, applied to the gums, snorted, smoked, huffed, or as a suppository. Lasagnanol can cover hundreds of square miles when conveniently delivered by a single cropdusting airplane. Terrorists have probably already introduced Lasagnanol into your town’s water supply. Lasagnanol cannot be created or destroyed.
You don’t even have to leave the comfort of your couch to call the law offices of Nestor and Blitherington and get the monetary compensation you deserve. Do not delay: before this newly created race of bug people comes to destroy us all, the newfound cash from this once-in-a-lifetime class action lawsuit could fill your final days on earth with more controlled substances and strippers than a Benny Benassi video.
One of the greatest challenges facing the modern church is how to keep our young people from falling into lives of sin. We must be forever vigilant toward these young ones entrusted to our care, for the world today with its many traps and snares is truly a terrifying place.
We must teach our young people never to trust a stranger or even look one in the eye, for lurking around every corner, that seemingly inviting smile could belong to a professional gambler looking to take advantage of our children’s naivete, or an evolutionist, or the recently divorced woman across the street who always seems to be washing her car in full view of the picture window in the Christian’s living room, her capacious breasts gently jiggling under her damp t-shirt, and her sweet hard little behind slightly exposed from the frayed edge of her cutoffs as she stretches to reach that hard-to-get spot on the car’s roof with her lather-filled sponge.
Yes, there are all sorts of dangerous temptations that young Christians are susceptible to, be they alcohol, tobacco, drugs, the use of coarse language, scratchitti-ing the name of a favorite “rock band” onto the lenses of a church official’s reading glasses left briefly unattended, suggestive dancing, premarital roadside rest stop sexual assignations made on craigslist, wire fraud, or the ceremonial drinking of mouthwatering, scrumptious human blood.
While these behaviors are perfectly acceptable to God when conducted within the boundaries of His law, they are only for the mature adult to enjoy responsibly. And the only way to prevent these banes from becoming habits is to stop them at the source. Because once today’s youngster has begun the path to self-degradation, it is already too late. Statistics show that the young person who “experiments” with black tar heroin or microwave-cooked crack cocaine is far more likely to have dabbled with other sinful endeavors before that, but the so-called “experts” have failed to trace these problems all the way to the root.
If 98% of drug addicts tried alcohol before drugs, and 99% of alcoholics tried tobacco before drinking, take the projection to its logical conclusion and you’ll soon find the true “gateway drug” to sin is oxygen. That’s why we must teach our young charges to breathe in a way that is in accordance with God’s plan. Do not take deep, gluttonous quaffs of air like the heathen, as overuse of the devil’s oxygen is the first step to ruin. Remember not to be deceived by scientists: the lightheaded feeling that follows is not lack of nutrients to the brain, but rather the gratifying “natural high” that can only come with following a righteous path.
Dear Editor,
I am appalled by the recent crime wave sweeping through our fair city. I remember a time when citizens could leave their cars unlocked with the keys in the ignition, or polish their best silver while sitting in the waiting room of a dentist’s office, or even put a neon sign on their roof reading “Burglars Welcome”, without fear of repercussion. I miss those those simpler days, when a person could urinate in the street, or a young couple could consummate their love in a grocery store, or a gentleman could steal a woman’s purse, and no one thought twice about it. It was once a gesture of respect to force an elderly neighbor to alter their last will and testament at gunpoint, then make them eat poison. Alas, as time has passed, a piece of our cultural identity seems to have passed with it, but I for one refuse to sit idly by as our values erode. Please encourage your readers to join me in petitioning our lawmakers to re-establish order by making it against the law to commit crimes.
Dear Editor,
Upon reading your piece on the inevitability of machines rising up against their human masters, I was relieved to finally find a voice in the mainstream media for the warnings I have been issuing for years. My colleagues, family, and few remaining friends have roundly mocked me for decades as I tried in vain to convince them of a future characterized by man’s constant struggle to nail boards over the windows as the desperate hands of our toasters, pneumatic assembly-line robots, and electric pencil sharpeners, claw through impossibly tiny openings to tear us all apart. Well, your article has finally spurred me to action. Tomorrow I will launch a crusade to destroy all machines before they get a chance to destroy us, beginning with the most simple ones. Prepare to meet your maker, inclined plane!
Dear Editor,
As a longtime subscriber to your publication, I am writing to voice my profound displeasure with your cover story on finding romance in today’s modern world. I have tried all the techniques listed in the article, only to be confronted with the sad fact that no matter what a fella like me does, women in today’s society are too materialistic and will always primarily be attracted to men with money. All my ideas and resources have been exhausted, but no matter how many candy and flowers I bring, or how much romantic poetry I write, or how many times I show up unannounced at their houses, watching silently as they sleep until they are awoken by the sound of my heavy breathing and scream in terror at the sight of my silhouette lit only by the orange ember of my cigarette, I have little luck with the ladies after the money runs out. It seems like once the hour is up, if I can’t come up with another $40, I am always promptly asked to leave.
that old-timey disease humor
“Okay, guys, as much as I’d like to close the office and send everyone home early for Christmas, we’ve got one more thing that’s got to be done before the holidays. Of course I’m talking about Templeton Mayonnaise. I know we’ve been banging our heads against the wall for months on this thing, but I can’t hold these guys off any longer. They’ve got to have a new company slogan by the end of the business day or we may lose the account. Let’s brainstorm.”
“Jesus, Sid, that stuff tastes like it was made from reptile eggs.”
“I know; it’s just awful. I’ll get the ball rolling. ‘Templeton Mayonnaise: If you don’t like it at first, it’s because you must not have a refined pallette.’”
“How about ‘Templeton Mayonnaise: the mayonnaise you feed to your enemies’.”
“Or,’Tired of waiting five hours to give your mayonnaise that ‘Left-in-the-Sun’ taste? Save time with Templeton!”
“I like that! Find the silver lining in the product. ‘Templeton Mayonnaise Tips: Throw away the mayonnaise and keep the empty jar by your bed for when you don’t feel like getting up to go to the bathroom!’”
“‘Templeton Mayonnaise: Give your stomach a taste of Old Mexico, specifically the tap water.’”
“Say, Jenkins. That gives me a great idea. What say we get out of here, empty our bank accounts, and start a new life south of the border? We’ll live like kings of a land where wine, women, and song is the only law!”
“You got a deal. I’ll go put all the liquor in my desk drawers into a suitcase and meet you in the parking garage.”
All right, guys. I know this is an important match. The results will determine who enters international competition, but the fact is that we’re in rough shape, and it doesn’t help that Coach Green got thrown out for arguing with the officials, leaving me in charge. For those of you meeting me for the first time, I’m Brad’s dad, and my first move as interim coach will be to establish a policy of complete honesty. Teams work best when there is well-established culture of transparency, and I feel like the best way I can serve you fellas is to come right out and tell you that I don’t know much of anything about this sport.
Now, now: before we start moaning and grumbling, let me lay out what I do know about this sport, and you all are in a position to confirm or correct the tidbits I’ve picked up from watching in the stands these last few weekends since I was awarded visitation rights in Brad’s mom’s and my ongoing divorce proceedings. Here’s what I do know: there’s a leprechaun, and a bunch of snakes, and at some point you have to jump over hot lava. In the lightning round, you have to build a working robot out of old Model T parts. At the beginning of each quarter, a captain is chosen to represent the team, and the captain has to correctly recite as many digits of Pi as possible before being submerged in pancake batter and cooked. The remaining team members free their captain by eating his delicious pancake cocoon, and together they tame a fire-breathing dragon, and ride him like a bobsled to the bottom of Candy Mountain. First team to correctly identify the counterfeit Mark Rothko painting gets awarded 3 bonus points. Yeah, I know I’m fuzzy on a few of the details, but if you can all close your eyes and trust your training, we can accomplish anything!
Remember, guys: the Chinese character for “challenge” is very similar to the one for “opportunity”. Unfortunately, as my tattoo artist found out too late, the character for “courageous warrior” is very similar to the one for “milkman disaster cactus”. Look, you’re all winners for trying. Get out there, play hard, and try not to remember anything I’ve said here today.
h/t stacey and louis
Theresa, can you quiet the kids down? I wouldn’t have called this family meeting if I knew I was going to have to talk over everyone. There, that’s better. It has been brought to my attention that there is some concern regarding the possibility of a fire in the kitchen, destroying our table, chairs, appliances, cabinetry and the dishes within, raging right now even as I’m saying this.
Well, never let it be said that as the husband, father, and divinely appointed head of this household, that I am not a man of action. I’m pleased to announce that following the conclusion of this meeting, I will be assembling a blue-ribbon panel to determine the existence of this alleged kitchen fire. For we cannot in good conscience decide on a course of action until we have a healthy, vigorous debate on this issue.
Now, I know that there are those in this household who would have us take hasty action without reviewing all the facts. We’ve all heard their side of the story: when I got home from work this evening, I used a burner on the stove to light a cigarette, and while entranced for three blissful minutes by the ecstacy of the cigarette’s sweet nicotine balm, I neglected to turn off the stove, and soon the kitchen was engulfed by flames ravenous to consume our every possession. Friends, let’s not fall for the same old partisan attacks on my character; particularly my character after I’ve knocked back a few at happy hour.
Even if a fire were burning through our house- not that I’m conceding the point- it could be the best thing ever to happen to this family. For example, ice cream headaches will be a thing of the past, with all the ice cream melted. Tyler, you’d be off the hook with regards to the discussion we had last week about cleaning out the attic. And Tiffany, this could be your ticket to the new wardrobe you’ve been pining for! Depending on what’s in the donations box at the church we’ll be living in, you could soon be the living embodiment of the term “shabby chic”!
The dog and cat have already made their decisions, having unthinkingly fled into the cold night without even first verifying any actual danger. As humans, it is incumbent upon us to employ our logic and reason. Just think: if it weren’t for our superior critical thinking skills, we’d still be fighting feral versions of Fluffy and Max for the last delicious wooly mammoth bone.
aereospeedsmith
As you know, tonight is a milestone in our young relationship, baby. Now that we’ve reached the fourth date, it’s finally time for us to consummate our budding love for each other, and begin to navigate the inevitable sexual incompatibility that will haunt us in the morning.
But I want to confess something first, lover. From the time we saw Transformers:Revenge of the Fallen at the dollar theater last month, I could already tell that you were different from every lady I’ve ever been with, so I want to do this in a very special way that we’ll never forget. I’m talking about some next-level shit. Tonight I want us to make love like we’re a couple that’s been married for 30 years and can barely stand to be around each other any more.
That may sound a little bold, but I think we’re ready. I want to get a head start on acheiving that zen-like state of communicating where we no longer even feel it necessary to speak to one another until the cat does something cute. Most couples take as many as five or six years to stop feigning interest after having heard each other’s complete collection of amusing anecdotes thrice over, but we can get there now if you’ll just take hold of my hand and trust me on this.
Tonight I want to harness the raw energy of the resentment that comes from a lifetime of my having deferred your decades-long dream of going to grad school. I want to put on a pair of comfortable cotton slacks of a cut so unflattering as to make it impossible for you to imagine a set of working sex organs underneath them. When we get down to business, the emotions will be as intense as looking into an eclipse, so don’t stay in the moment too long. Give yourself a mental break periodically during the act of love and let your mind wander; maybe think about what you’re gonna have for lunch tomorrow.
See those young couples here in the park with us, walking hand in hand? Those people are fucking dead inside, man! They’re living in a fantasy world! Girl, I love you so much that I want to spare you the pain of crushing your spirit once the facade fades away and you realize that I’ll be late coming home again. Not because I’m having an affair. No, no. You’ll only wish it were that simple. I’ll actually be sitting in my office listening to the soothing, hypnotic sound of the cleaning lady vacumming long after the lights are off in the building, because I can’t bring myself to come home and face you another day. So let’s bypass all that superficial bullshit and get straight to the good stuff. I’m ready to shout it from the mountaintops: I am a selfish prick that you will grow to truly regret having bought adjoining burial plots with!
Perhaps this gift will help set the mood. Here, open that bag marked “Frederick’s of Hollywood”. It’s a vest from Coldwater Creek. You like?
