It has been well documented that during Lindsay Lohan’s probation violation hearing, her left middle fingernail contained a profane message seemingly directed at Judge Martha Revel: “Fuck U”. However, it has recently come to our attention that many more secret messages were written all over her body. Our super-sensitive, high-tech cameras were able to capture these messages:
- On Lindsay’s right hand was scrawled “Eggs, Milk, Toilet Paper.”
- On the inner arch of her right earlobe was written, “Probation HEARing…LOL.”
- The inside of her left nostril said, “Pick Me!”
- The inside of her right nostril said, “No, Pick Me!”
- On the underside of her tongue was written, “Lindsay doesn’t drink, I do.”
- On the back of her left shoulder was a drawing of Judge Revel hitting herself in the head with a gavel.
- The underside of her right knee said, “Nobody ever thinks about the undersides of knees. They are the most neglected of all body parts. Rub me twice a day.”
- Just above her anus was written, “Exit Only.”
- Her left big toenail said, “Don’t tread on me.”
- Her right pinky toenail said, “This little piggy could use a dirty martini.”
It is unclear whether these findings will have any bearing on future legal matters. Lindsay was unreachable for comment, however the back of her neck said, “Talk to the hand.”
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Memo to Moscow
TOP SECRET
June 28th, 2010
Privyet Moscow!
After many long, boring years amidst the Americans our work here in Cambridge is coming to a close. It appears federal agents have been watching us, and so we are making plans to return to the Motherland. However, we would like to share the remarkable findings that we have discovered living the lives of our alter ego’s: Donald Heathfield and Tracey Ann Foley. Our status as embedded locals gave us keen and rare insight on the American as it lives and breathes, insight that could have tremendous global implications. We have entered the hearts and minds of Joe Six-Pack and Bessie Box-Wine and what we have seen is both immensely terrifying and terrifyingly dull:
- After painstaking undercover ops, Andrey was able to ascertain that all male leisure activities in America are an excuse to drink copious amounts of alcohol. This includes but is not limited to: bowling (getting drunk and rolling heavy balls at pins), golf (getting drunk and swinging sticks at balls), softball (getting drunk and swinging sticks at balls), darts (getting drunk and throwing sticks at walls), watching sports (getting drunk), and barbecuing (getting drunk and burning meat). The only leisure activity that does not involve getting drunk appears to be going out for drinks, during which the average American male actually enjoys quality, casual beverages.
- Any problem, fight, argument, melee, fracas, brawl, disagreement, dispute, or brouhaha can be blamed on “the economy”. In fact, blaming “the economy” often ends said brouhaha, uniting all parties in mutual, patriotic disgust.
- Lada Gaga is unattractive.
- Although the British monarchy was overthrown in 1776, there is a man Americans refer to as “The King”. Allegedly he moonlights as a basketball player named Lebron James, but his reverence and sheer influence clearly suggest a deeper, political connection to American society and international relations. He should be monitored.
- Miller Lite may have the funniest commercials, and all three beers target the same audience, but Americans actually prefer Bud Light and Coors Light.
- Baseball is boring.
- In America, vodka is a drink for women. This made Andrey incredibly surly, as he had to endure light beer. Whereas, Elena was viewed as a dynamic socialite who could hold her liquor. The next pair of spies will require a male who undergoes a rigorous beer drinking training regimen. The first time Andrey vomited at barbecues we were able to blame food poisoning, the second time a stomach bug, the third and fourth times a rare allergy. However, the fifth through fourteenth incidences were remarkably awkward.
- If you are a sardonic, dry Brit, your odds of becoming a judge on a television program improve by 7312 percent.
- Arnold Schwarzenegger is a governor. Initially we believed all footage of him as such was a movie preview, however we slowly came to understand that there is nothing fictional, ironical, or satirical about his role as an elected official.
- There is something called “flossing” that dentists recommend Americans do twice per day. However, never in our time here did we ever see or hear about anybody, anywhere, engaging in this activity.
- Although she has proven to be an insane, strangely attractive and ridiculously dumb human being, Sarah Palin’s commentary concerning Russia being “right over the border” from Alaska was a direct reference to our top secret underwater nuclear base right over the border from Alaska. She must be taken out.
This concludes our summary. Although we obtained little information regarding actual politics, we believe that we have cracked the code of the average American psyche. Just as Americans wrongly believed that Russians are comprised of vodka and pickles, we erred in our belief that Americans are comprised of hamburgers and beer. Actually, they prefer cheeseburgers.
Comrades in Arms,
Andrey Bezrukov and Elena Vavilova
June 28th, 2010
Privyet Moscow!
After many long, boring years amidst the Americans our work here in Cambridge is coming to a close. It appears federal agents have been watching us, and so we are making plans to return to the Motherland. However, we would like to share the remarkable findings that we have discovered living the lives of our alter ego’s: Donald Heathfield and Tracey Ann Foley. Our status as embedded locals gave us keen and rare insight on the American as it lives and breathes, insight that could have tremendous global implications. We have entered the hearts and minds of Joe Six-Pack and Bessie Box-Wine and what we have seen is both immensely terrifying and terrifyingly dull:
- After painstaking undercover ops, Andrey was able to ascertain that all male leisure activities in America are an excuse to drink copious amounts of alcohol. This includes but is not limited to: bowling (getting drunk and rolling heavy balls at pins), golf (getting drunk and swinging sticks at balls), softball (getting drunk and swinging sticks at balls), darts (getting drunk and throwing sticks at walls), watching sports (getting drunk), and barbecuing (getting drunk and burning meat). The only leisure activity that does not involve getting drunk appears to be going out for drinks, during which the average American male actually enjoys quality, casual beverages.
- Any problem, fight, argument, melee, fracas, brawl, disagreement, dispute, or brouhaha can be blamed on “the economy”. In fact, blaming “the economy” often ends said brouhaha, uniting all parties in mutual, patriotic disgust.
- Lada Gaga is unattractive.
- Although the British monarchy was overthrown in 1776, there is a man Americans refer to as “The King”. Allegedly he moonlights as a basketball player named Lebron James, but his reverence and sheer influence clearly suggest a deeper, political connection to American society and international relations. He should be monitored.
- Miller Lite may have the funniest commercials, and all three beers target the same audience, but Americans actually prefer Bud Light and Coors Light.
- Baseball is boring.
- In America, vodka is a drink for women. This made Andrey incredibly surly, as he had to endure light beer. Whereas, Elena was viewed as a dynamic socialite who could hold her liquor. The next pair of spies will require a male who undergoes a rigorous beer drinking training regimen. The first time Andrey vomited at barbecues we were able to blame food poisoning, the second time a stomach bug, the third and fourth times a rare allergy. However, the fifth through fourteenth incidences were remarkably awkward.
- If you are a sardonic, dry Brit, your odds of becoming a judge on a television program improve by 7312 percent.
- Arnold Schwarzenegger is a governor. Initially we believed all footage of him as such was a movie preview, however we slowly came to understand that there is nothing fictional, ironical, or satirical about his role as an elected official.
- There is something called “flossing” that dentists recommend Americans do twice per day. However, never in our time here did we ever see or hear about anybody, anywhere, engaging in this activity.
- Although she has proven to be an insane, strangely attractive and ridiculously dumb human being, Sarah Palin’s commentary concerning Russia being “right over the border” from Alaska was a direct reference to our top secret underwater nuclear base right over the border from Alaska. She must be taken out.
This concludes our summary. Although we obtained little information regarding actual politics, we believe that we have cracked the code of the average American psyche. Just as Americans wrongly believed that Russians are comprised of vodka and pickles, we erred in our belief that Americans are comprised of hamburgers and beer. Actually, they prefer cheeseburgers.
Comrades in Arms,
Andrey Bezrukov and Elena Vavilova
Friday, June 25, 2010
Diary of an Actor
October 16th
Filmed the Miller Lite™ commercial today, the one where I’m supposed to tell the girl I love her, and then tell the waitress I’d love a Miller Lite™, and she makes me choose, and I recite a sonnet, and she thinks its to her, and I lean in for the kiss, and she leans in, but instead my mouth goes to my Miller Lite™ and I take a long, sexual swig, and she slips off her stool and crashes to the ground in a heap, and I shrug. Only…something weird happened. As I was about to say “love” I felt something short-circuit up in my brain, like a wire snapped, and I couldn’t say it! I just kept mumbling stuff like, “Lueerrve.” Everyone was looking at me like, “Are you outta your mind?”, and then a crazy thing happened, they all started laughing! The director was like, “Great work Jason! That’s fantastic. Let’s roll with it!” I think it’s cause I faked that improv class on my resume. Anyway, it all worked out though my brain still feels kinda funky. Tried to brush my teeth with the comb, and instead of toothpaste I used hair gel (or maybe I was actually combing my hair! LOL!) Anyway, hair looks really good, as usual. I’ve been using DandRough™ to prep for shoot in four days.
October 18th
Brain still feels weird. Poured coffee in cereal, then tried to eat it with a fork. I normally eat my coffeereal (copyright: me!) with my Swiss Hunting Spork, so that’s odd. Also, instead of calling my date I called my brother, which was fine, except I talked to him for two minutes before realizing it wasn’t my date. Hair, just okay. Gotta condition, filming DandRough™ add in two days.
October 20th
Woke up with wild hair. Combed and gelled. Went to commercial shoot. All was well until I was supposed to turn to the camera and say, “DandRough™, the shampoo men choose who don’t want flakes to get in the way.” Instead, I said, “DandRough™, the men flakes poo choose the don’t want who get in the way.” Whaaa!? I couldn’t even say that if I practiced it. A couple people chuckled. The director was like, “Impressive. But we’re not adlibbing this one.” Apparently word has gotten around the commercial circuit that I’m a freestyler. Used a Q-tip™ when I got home, felt fiery sensation in my brain.
October 23rd
Hair is a mess.
October 25th
Called my bro again instead of my date. Conversation lasted four minutes. Tried to initiate phone sex. Woke up with phone in my mouth, on the kitchen floor, wearing only an apron.
October 29th
Gilette™ shoot. Nailed it. The director said, “Give me manly alpha male on the down stroke of the razor, but sensitive beta male when you splash the aftershave on.” No idea why but I said, “Sure thing Fuckhead!” Thankfully his name is Feukheide. Then on the down stroke I felt the flame in my brain again, and this time it was extremely painful and I gave a menacing, pained stare into the camera. When I switched to the aftershave tears of relief formed since the pain had subsided, and I looked sensitive as a baby. Feukheide loved it, although he was a little off-put when I drank the rest of the aftershave and proceeded to shave my head. Oh yeah…I HAVE NO HAIR!!!!
November 1st
Got a strange call from my doctor, who says I called him, and left him a message in which I was telling my brother how crazy it was that I kept calling him instead of my date. Scheduled appointment. Found myself combing my hairless skull and crying. What is wrong with me?
November 3rd
Finding ordinary things slightly difficult. Shot Q-tip™ commercial. Instead of inserting Q-tip™ in my ear, I inserted it in my asshole. Was asked to leave the set. Got a message from my date, who said to never call her again, due to all the phone conversations we had in which I began to think she was my brother half way through. I’m losing it.
Novvembrr 4th
Spleling is becalming diffikult. Dawkter aptmentt 2day.
November 6th
Doc said I was suffering from acute chemical poisoning, due to extreme overuse of hair product. However since I no longer possess any hair, my chemical imbalance has righted itself. I said, “Acute chemical poisoning? That ain’t so cute to me!” Looks like all those improv classes paid off. (LOL…there were no improv classes!)
Friday, June 11, 2010
A Helpful List
Prose
|
Cons
| ||
Montana: where mad men pen mad manifestoís, build bombs, and mail them.
| Ted Kaczynski - life sentence without the possibility of parole for sending bombs in the mail. | ||
’Tis a crime to murder women young at heart and supple of flesh. As the Son of Samís gunshot sounded, so did a midsummer nightís scream, another nubile victim snuffed out by evil.
| David Berkowitz - six life sentences for killing six people. | ||
| "When I get to the bottom/I go back to the top of the slide/Where I stop and turn/and go for a ride," sang the Beatles. "Kill innocent people," heard Charles Manson, and kill he did. | Charles Manson - life sentence for first degree murder and conspiracy to commit murder. | ||
| The fuel for the Roaring Twenties was provided by booze, prohibited by law, and distributed by Al Capone, gangster extraordinaire. | Al Capone - eleven years for income tax evasion. | ||
| Wanted: The meanest bastard you ever saw. John Dillinger was a handsome devil with a wisp of a mustache and a smile slightly askew, the corners of his lips raised in wicked delight, his eyes dark, his soul darker. | John Dillinger - 10 -20 years for assault and battery, and conspiracy to commit a felony. Later charged with murder and killed by law enforcement. | ||
| In the bronze glow of a scintillating sunset, tumbleweeds sway in the dust, caressed by a wind that sometimes whispers the name of the fastest draw in the Old West, Billy the Kid. | Henry McCarty - found guilty of murder and sentenced to hang. Escaped and later killed by law enforcement.
| ||
The Robin Hood of the American West, Jesse James stole and murdered, vile acts of crime. But at least he never cheated on Sandra Bullock.
| Jesse James - wanted for murder and armed robbery. Killed by a member of his own gang. |
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Wii Wii, the Wii Game for Parents
The game begins with the creation of avatars; those of your spouse and children. Realism is key here, as will later become clear. Following this you must now work to complete the following stages:
STAGE 1: You are lying in bed, allowing the delightful chirping of morning birds to gently pull you from sleep, when suddenly the bedroom door bursts open. Before you can react your children are airborne, their pointy little knees and elbows heading directly for you genital region (to enhance experience, place remote near genitals). Swing the controller left or right to avoid contact. When the children land, they begin a thunderous “We want a Wii!” chant, in crazed, shrill voices. Press the A button repeatedly and continue swinging motion with remote to thrust children off the bed. Hold down the trigger button and point it at the children to inform them, “Only good girls and boys who let mommy and daddy sleep get Wii’s.”
STAGE 2: You are driving to the store. If you completed Stage 1 in less than two minutes you are driving a Range Rover. If not, you are clearly not equipped to handle high pressure situations, no doubt have a low pressure, low paying job, and are therefore driving an early-millennium Dodge Caravan. Traffic is bad. Use the trigger to accelerate, and turn the remote left and right to steer. Deflect “We want a Wii!” chant with deft radio control (the 1 and 2 buttons). If you allow the radio to reach a commercial your children’s heads begin to swivel a la The Exorcist and they commence projectile vomiting. If you crash the car, you lose. If you drive too fast and get pulled over you must bribe the cop with the Wii money, resulting in Exorcist-vomit from your children. When you reach the store you must parallel park.
STAGE 3: You are installing the Wii. The children are in a delirious, anticipatory frenzy, chanting, “We want to play!” Silence them by working yourself into a rage that puts the fear of God in them (hit the trigger button 2x per second for one full minute). If you cannot, then Exorcist-vomit begins. Your spouse is mad that he/she has to figure out dinner all by him/herself. Appease him/her with a quick shoulder rub using the arrows and the 1 and 2 buttons. The dog is attempting to urinate on the Wii. Throw its favorite toy out the back door (hold down trigger and make throwing motion with controller).
STAGE 4: You are playing Wii Wii on your newly installed Wii. Re-complete stages 1-3 on your avatar’s TV, which will be a hi-def flat screen if you have successfully completed all the challenges thus far, but a 16-inch Magnavox if you have allowed any Exorcist-vomiting to occur.
STAGE 5: You are in bed with your spouse. Your children are currently in a Wii-coma, after hours of play. Pour yourself wine with the A button. Deflect your spouse’s amorous advances by swinging the remote evasively and then stroking his/her hair with the 1 and 2 buttons. Failure to do so will result in Exorcist head-spinning and vomiting by your spouse. You must stay awake for more than five minutes by repeatedly hitting the trigger button while stroking your spouse’s hair and drinking wine. If you are able to do this, congratulations! You have beat Wii Wii. Put down the remote and enter Wii-coma.
STAGE 1: You are lying in bed, allowing the delightful chirping of morning birds to gently pull you from sleep, when suddenly the bedroom door bursts open. Before you can react your children are airborne, their pointy little knees and elbows heading directly for you genital region (to enhance experience, place remote near genitals). Swing the controller left or right to avoid contact. When the children land, they begin a thunderous “We want a Wii!” chant, in crazed, shrill voices. Press the A button repeatedly and continue swinging motion with remote to thrust children off the bed. Hold down the trigger button and point it at the children to inform them, “Only good girls and boys who let mommy and daddy sleep get Wii’s.”
STAGE 2: You are driving to the store. If you completed Stage 1 in less than two minutes you are driving a Range Rover. If not, you are clearly not equipped to handle high pressure situations, no doubt have a low pressure, low paying job, and are therefore driving an early-millennium Dodge Caravan. Traffic is bad. Use the trigger to accelerate, and turn the remote left and right to steer. Deflect “We want a Wii!” chant with deft radio control (the 1 and 2 buttons). If you allow the radio to reach a commercial your children’s heads begin to swivel a la The Exorcist and they commence projectile vomiting. If you crash the car, you lose. If you drive too fast and get pulled over you must bribe the cop with the Wii money, resulting in Exorcist-vomit from your children. When you reach the store you must parallel park.
STAGE 3: You are installing the Wii. The children are in a delirious, anticipatory frenzy, chanting, “We want to play!” Silence them by working yourself into a rage that puts the fear of God in them (hit the trigger button 2x per second for one full minute). If you cannot, then Exorcist-vomit begins. Your spouse is mad that he/she has to figure out dinner all by him/herself. Appease him/her with a quick shoulder rub using the arrows and the 1 and 2 buttons. The dog is attempting to urinate on the Wii. Throw its favorite toy out the back door (hold down trigger and make throwing motion with controller).
STAGE 4: You are playing Wii Wii on your newly installed Wii. Re-complete stages 1-3 on your avatar’s TV, which will be a hi-def flat screen if you have successfully completed all the challenges thus far, but a 16-inch Magnavox if you have allowed any Exorcist-vomiting to occur.
STAGE 5: You are in bed with your spouse. Your children are currently in a Wii-coma, after hours of play. Pour yourself wine with the A button. Deflect your spouse’s amorous advances by swinging the remote evasively and then stroking his/her hair with the 1 and 2 buttons. Failure to do so will result in Exorcist head-spinning and vomiting by your spouse. You must stay awake for more than five minutes by repeatedly hitting the trigger button while stroking your spouse’s hair and drinking wine. If you are able to do this, congratulations! You have beat Wii Wii. Put down the remote and enter Wii-coma.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Devil, Inc.
To the Shareholder’s of The Devil, Inc.:
This year was a good year. How good? Almost fifty-nine million people died, setting a new world record. Furthermore, of those fifty-nine million, a record 63.7 percent were sinners. Why so much sin? The World Wide Web, of course. In the Digital Age, sinning no longer requires a victim. Instead of finding someone to assail, a potential perpetrator can go directly to their computer, a machine that is virtually a sinning jukebox. Advances in search engines allow the perp to find his or her vice almost instantaneously, allowing holy transgressions to occur at record rate. Type in “How to” on Google, and after “tie a tie”, “kiss”, and “lose weight fast”, the fourth most popular search is “get pregnant”. Evil is constantly available at one’s fingertips, making Hell a more attainable destination than it has ever been before (and if you don’t believe us, click here: www.perezhilton.com).
HOW WE MEASURE OURSELVES
Our main competition is Heaven. And we use the word competition lightly, considering a meager 28.2 percent of humans end up there (side note: all dogs, unfortunately, do go to Heaven. However, all cats go to Hell, so it’s a fair trade). Since the dawn of man, humans have shown incredible weakness. Adam bit the apple, Brutus stabbed Ceaser, Benedict Arnold was a turncoat, and Jesse James is a cheat. Humans are weak, and will continue to be weak, making Hell a popular post-life locale for eons to come (bring extra sunscreen!)
8.1 percent of humans end up in purgatory. These hesitant, waffling, wishy-washy individuals lack the mental fortitude to be really, really bad (like Michael Jackson) or really, really good (like Susan Boyle), and thus we don’t want them anyway. Enjoy their presence for all of eternity, God!
WHAT WE DO
We torture. We do it very well. We do it forever.
WHAT WE DON”T DO
We don’t rest. We don’t foreclose. We don’t accept government bailouts. We don’t give hefty bonuses to executives. In fact, we torture those very executives once they have reached the afterlife. We can assure you that they most definitely do not rest in peace. We save some of our most creative forms of torture for these individuals, such as texting on a Blackberry made of fire, eating their lifetimes’ net worth in pennies, and our favorite, starting a non-profit (hello Bernie Madoff!).
Our stunning success is all due to the tireless work of our founder and CEO, Lucifer. He has been there from the start, longer than the board of directors. Actually, longer than all of the 2,134 different boards of directors that this corporation has seen. He is the straw that stirs the drink, and what a wicked drink it is.
In closing, we’d like to assure those of you that have heard otherwise, that our founder does not wear Prada. No, the Devil wears Sean John (big ups Diddy!). And yes, he makes fabulous eggs. Here’s to our continued partnership and success.
Best regards,
The Devil’s Advocacy
This year was a good year. How good? Almost fifty-nine million people died, setting a new world record. Furthermore, of those fifty-nine million, a record 63.7 percent were sinners. Why so much sin? The World Wide Web, of course. In the Digital Age, sinning no longer requires a victim. Instead of finding someone to assail, a potential perpetrator can go directly to their computer, a machine that is virtually a sinning jukebox. Advances in search engines allow the perp to find his or her vice almost instantaneously, allowing holy transgressions to occur at record rate. Type in “How to” on Google, and after “tie a tie”, “kiss”, and “lose weight fast”, the fourth most popular search is “get pregnant”. Evil is constantly available at one’s fingertips, making Hell a more attainable destination than it has ever been before (and if you don’t believe us, click here: www.perezhilton.com).
HOW WE MEASURE OURSELVES
Our main competition is Heaven. And we use the word competition lightly, considering a meager 28.2 percent of humans end up there (side note: all dogs, unfortunately, do go to Heaven. However, all cats go to Hell, so it’s a fair trade). Since the dawn of man, humans have shown incredible weakness. Adam bit the apple, Brutus stabbed Ceaser, Benedict Arnold was a turncoat, and Jesse James is a cheat. Humans are weak, and will continue to be weak, making Hell a popular post-life locale for eons to come (bring extra sunscreen!)
8.1 percent of humans end up in purgatory. These hesitant, waffling, wishy-washy individuals lack the mental fortitude to be really, really bad (like Michael Jackson) or really, really good (like Susan Boyle), and thus we don’t want them anyway. Enjoy their presence for all of eternity, God!
WHAT WE DO
We torture. We do it very well. We do it forever.
WHAT WE DON”T DO
We don’t rest. We don’t foreclose. We don’t accept government bailouts. We don’t give hefty bonuses to executives. In fact, we torture those very executives once they have reached the afterlife. We can assure you that they most definitely do not rest in peace. We save some of our most creative forms of torture for these individuals, such as texting on a Blackberry made of fire, eating their lifetimes’ net worth in pennies, and our favorite, starting a non-profit (hello Bernie Madoff!).
Our stunning success is all due to the tireless work of our founder and CEO, Lucifer. He has been there from the start, longer than the board of directors. Actually, longer than all of the 2,134 different boards of directors that this corporation has seen. He is the straw that stirs the drink, and what a wicked drink it is.
In closing, we’d like to assure those of you that have heard otherwise, that our founder does not wear Prada. No, the Devil wears Sean John (big ups Diddy!). And yes, he makes fabulous eggs. Here’s to our continued partnership and success.
Best regards,
The Devil’s Advocacy
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Re-Inventing the Wheel
We, the Caveman Youth Council (CYC), would like to take this opportunity to file a formal complaint against the Caveman Elders (CE) regarding the invention of the wheel. Although the elders are adept at many things, like spearing sabre-toothed tigers, building fires, and the removal and consumption of lice, and their wisdom – even at the advanced age of thirty-five – is unsurpassable, we believe that the wheel, as presently constructed, suffers from several serious design flaws. These flaws, as presented below, severely inhibit the wheel’s ability to accomplish the goals originally decided upon at the last council meeting: namely, those of transportation and convenience. We understand that the wheel’s chief architect, Tuk Tuk, had tremendous success on previous invention projects – the statue, the sculpture, the effigy, and the bust – however we believe his skills do not translate well to this particular field. The flaws we have found are as follows:
- The wheel has not moved since that glacier deposited it in the Cave square three months ago and it was so named “the wheel”.
- It is made of rock.
- It is larger than a wooly mammoth.
- The massive spikes carved into the back side of the wheel not only inhibit motion, they have become a hindrance to the community, as just last week Ug, a skilled hunter, lost an eye while chasing a mastodon through the Cave square.
- Pteordactyls, as we know, are easily provoked. Thus the target on top of the wheel with the sign next to it that says “Pterodactyls! Poop Here!” has become a community nuisance.
- Since it is mating season for the wooly mammoth we believe it was a mistake to cover the front side of the wheel in wool. Confused mammoths have been doing things to the wheel that no Caveman should have to see until he or she reaches maturity, or age seven.
- The face carved onto the west side of the wheel that bears a striking resemblance to Tuk Tuk has in no way helped the wheel become a tool for transportation. Also, we disagree with the inscription next to the face that states, “Most handsomest Caveman.” Everyone knows Ong is the most handsomest caveman.
- Similarly, the wheel does not benefit from the sign declaring “Tuk Tuk wuz here.”
- The wheel is square.
We believe that these flaws will never allow the wheel to reach its full potential. Thus, the CYC would like to raise the issue to a vote at the next council meeting and make a motion to re-invent the wheel. It is our belief that a circular, wooden prototype, devoid of spikes, wool, targets, signs, carvings, and inscriptions would better accomplish the goals set out at the start of this project. Also on the agenda for the next meeting: the CYC believes the crude and primitive practice of grabbing one’s hand and shaking it vigorously upon introduction should be replaced by the much more informative sniffing of the genitals. It is much more practical for mating purposes. Thank you for your time.
- The wheel has not moved since that glacier deposited it in the Cave square three months ago and it was so named “the wheel”.
- It is made of rock.
- It is larger than a wooly mammoth.
- The massive spikes carved into the back side of the wheel not only inhibit motion, they have become a hindrance to the community, as just last week Ug, a skilled hunter, lost an eye while chasing a mastodon through the Cave square.
- Pteordactyls, as we know, are easily provoked. Thus the target on top of the wheel with the sign next to it that says “Pterodactyls! Poop Here!” has become a community nuisance.
- Since it is mating season for the wooly mammoth we believe it was a mistake to cover the front side of the wheel in wool. Confused mammoths have been doing things to the wheel that no Caveman should have to see until he or she reaches maturity, or age seven.
- The face carved onto the west side of the wheel that bears a striking resemblance to Tuk Tuk has in no way helped the wheel become a tool for transportation. Also, we disagree with the inscription next to the face that states, “Most handsomest Caveman.” Everyone knows Ong is the most handsomest caveman.
- Similarly, the wheel does not benefit from the sign declaring “Tuk Tuk wuz here.”
- The wheel is square.
We believe that these flaws will never allow the wheel to reach its full potential. Thus, the CYC would like to raise the issue to a vote at the next council meeting and make a motion to re-invent the wheel. It is our belief that a circular, wooden prototype, devoid of spikes, wool, targets, signs, carvings, and inscriptions would better accomplish the goals set out at the start of this project. Also on the agenda for the next meeting: the CYC believes the crude and primitive practice of grabbing one’s hand and shaking it vigorously upon introduction should be replaced by the much more informative sniffing of the genitals. It is much more practical for mating purposes. Thank you for your time.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
In Praise of Xe Services
“Blackwater, now known as Xe Services, has come under intense criticism for what Iraqis have described as reckless conduct by its security guards, and the company lost its lucrative State Department contract to provide diplomatic security for the United States Embassy in Baghdad earlier this year after a 2007 shooting that left 17 Iraqi civilians dead.” – The New York Times, December 15th, 2009
It all started when my wife whipped up a batch of her famous double chocolate chip cookies. After gorging on them, we placed the rest in a Ziploc bag, which I unfortunately forgot to zip lock, thereby inviting all creatures and critters within our home to feast.
And feast they did. The next morning, as I went to enjoy a post-breakfast cookie, there, treading on our cookies, were dozens of ants. Yecch! Ants – as you may know – have six legs, and who knows where those legs had been!?
A week later, as we were cleaning up after dinner, we noticed the cutting board was littered with ants. They were lifting up gigantic crumbs of sourdough bread and carrying them off to the bowels of our house. We weren’t planning on eating these crumbs but still, the audacity! Under closer surveillance (a microscope) I followed their trail to a crack in the wall by the microwave oven where the critters poured in freely. We had a regular insurgency on our hands!
I ran to the google machine and typed in the words “Insurgency” and “Defense”. I clicked on the first hit and was taken to the website for Xe Services, or the artist formerly known as Blackwater. It seemed they had recently lost a contract or something, yada yada, and were opening their doors to domestic employment opportunities. I called and scheduled and appointment for the very next morning.
Well, first let me tell you that those guys are punctual! At exactly 8:00 AM, or O-eight-hundred hours, as they called it, a black Hummer pulled up in front of the house. Three men exited the vehicle and I ran out to greet them. I was surprised they sent three people, and that they were wearing all black, including black face paint, but the Yelp reviews had been mostly positive so I held my tongue.
The driver introduced himself as Norton, ex-navy seal. He had a grizzly neck beard from which two veins as thick as breathing tubes ran down his shirt. He introduced his “associates”: ex-navy seals Thurman and Green, who were both, it seemed, incapable of blinking.
I welcomed the gentleman into the house and directed them to the last known whereabouts of the insurgency. Norton said something in unintelligible military jargon and suddenly Green began sniffing the cutting board. He followed his nose to the microwave oven, and then behind it to the crack in the wall. Thurman did one of those double-pointy things with his fingers, first at his eyes, and then at the microwave oven. I didn’t know ants had such good hearing! Norton nodded, and suddenly Thurman ripped the microwave oven from the counter. Underneath, dozens of ants scurried about in fear. Thurman made a strange sound in his throat, like someone attempting to start a lawnmower, and before I knew it, had spit the largest volume of saliva I’d ever seen onto the scurrying ants. I was about to say something like, “Hey, you just spit on my counter!”, but then I noticed the effectiveness of his technique: caught in the quarter-dollar sized globule were a dozen ants who could no longer warn the other cells of their impending doom.
At this point Norton told his men to retrieve the artillery, which sounded intense, I’ll admit, but they had located the insurgency in less than two minutes and were already reducing its numbers. At this point Norton also advised me to leave and return in no sooner than one hour, citing the “ugliness” of what was to come.
I walked to my favorite café, had a coffee, read the paper, and then made back for the house. At first I was quite concerned, due to the plumes of smoke rising from our home. I ran up the steps and found the gentlemen waiting in the kitchen, smoking cigars.
“What the hell happened here?” I screamed.
But Norton calmed me right down when he showed me the complete and utter thoroughness of Xe Services.
“Those ants will no longer conduct operations in the vicinity of your microwave oven,” said Norton with authority, and right he was! There was a gaping hole in the counter where the microwave oven used to be.
“We located all the cells and torched those six-legged freaks,” added Thurman.
They lead me down to the basement and showed me the charred remains of the ants. The main cell, they told me, was behind the washing machine, and was now totally incapacitated, due to the fact that the washing machine was now a smoldering pile of charred metal.
“We took out all the roaches too,” said Norton. “They appeared to be operating in league with the ants.”
“Great!” I responded.
Then I noticed the pile of dead spiders next to what used to be the dryer.
“And were the spiders in league with the roaches and the ants?” I asked.
“No,” replied Norton. “We dismembered those motherfuckers. For fun.”
I must’ve given Norton a strange look at that point, something that he probably interpreted as, “What could possibly be fun about dismembering spiders?”
“Oh and uh, also, the spiders appeared hostile,” Norton added, with a reassuring smile and wink. What a stand-up guy!
I’ll admit, the price was relatively steep, and due to the compromised structure of the house, and the toxic fumes that may have been released in the destruction of the insurgency, we have been spending the last month living out of a hotel. However, I have visited the house on occasion, and at no time have I seen any signs of the ants, roaches, spiders, or any living thing for that matter. They really did a meticulous job and therefore I can honestly recommend Xe Services. In fact, I’m thinking of calling them again. There is this girl at work who has been going all jihad on the communal coffee machine and boy am I miffed.
It all started when my wife whipped up a batch of her famous double chocolate chip cookies. After gorging on them, we placed the rest in a Ziploc bag, which I unfortunately forgot to zip lock, thereby inviting all creatures and critters within our home to feast.
And feast they did. The next morning, as I went to enjoy a post-breakfast cookie, there, treading on our cookies, were dozens of ants. Yecch! Ants – as you may know – have six legs, and who knows where those legs had been!?
A week later, as we were cleaning up after dinner, we noticed the cutting board was littered with ants. They were lifting up gigantic crumbs of sourdough bread and carrying them off to the bowels of our house. We weren’t planning on eating these crumbs but still, the audacity! Under closer surveillance (a microscope) I followed their trail to a crack in the wall by the microwave oven where the critters poured in freely. We had a regular insurgency on our hands!
I ran to the google machine and typed in the words “Insurgency” and “Defense”. I clicked on the first hit and was taken to the website for Xe Services, or the artist formerly known as Blackwater. It seemed they had recently lost a contract or something, yada yada, and were opening their doors to domestic employment opportunities. I called and scheduled and appointment for the very next morning.
Well, first let me tell you that those guys are punctual! At exactly 8:00 AM, or O-eight-hundred hours, as they called it, a black Hummer pulled up in front of the house. Three men exited the vehicle and I ran out to greet them. I was surprised they sent three people, and that they were wearing all black, including black face paint, but the Yelp reviews had been mostly positive so I held my tongue.
The driver introduced himself as Norton, ex-navy seal. He had a grizzly neck beard from which two veins as thick as breathing tubes ran down his shirt. He introduced his “associates”: ex-navy seals Thurman and Green, who were both, it seemed, incapable of blinking.
I welcomed the gentleman into the house and directed them to the last known whereabouts of the insurgency. Norton said something in unintelligible military jargon and suddenly Green began sniffing the cutting board. He followed his nose to the microwave oven, and then behind it to the crack in the wall. Thurman did one of those double-pointy things with his fingers, first at his eyes, and then at the microwave oven. I didn’t know ants had such good hearing! Norton nodded, and suddenly Thurman ripped the microwave oven from the counter. Underneath, dozens of ants scurried about in fear. Thurman made a strange sound in his throat, like someone attempting to start a lawnmower, and before I knew it, had spit the largest volume of saliva I’d ever seen onto the scurrying ants. I was about to say something like, “Hey, you just spit on my counter!”, but then I noticed the effectiveness of his technique: caught in the quarter-dollar sized globule were a dozen ants who could no longer warn the other cells of their impending doom.
At this point Norton told his men to retrieve the artillery, which sounded intense, I’ll admit, but they had located the insurgency in less than two minutes and were already reducing its numbers. At this point Norton also advised me to leave and return in no sooner than one hour, citing the “ugliness” of what was to come.
I walked to my favorite café, had a coffee, read the paper, and then made back for the house. At first I was quite concerned, due to the plumes of smoke rising from our home. I ran up the steps and found the gentlemen waiting in the kitchen, smoking cigars.
“What the hell happened here?” I screamed.
But Norton calmed me right down when he showed me the complete and utter thoroughness of Xe Services.
“Those ants will no longer conduct operations in the vicinity of your microwave oven,” said Norton with authority, and right he was! There was a gaping hole in the counter where the microwave oven used to be.
“We located all the cells and torched those six-legged freaks,” added Thurman.
They lead me down to the basement and showed me the charred remains of the ants. The main cell, they told me, was behind the washing machine, and was now totally incapacitated, due to the fact that the washing machine was now a smoldering pile of charred metal.
“We took out all the roaches too,” said Norton. “They appeared to be operating in league with the ants.”
“Great!” I responded.
Then I noticed the pile of dead spiders next to what used to be the dryer.
“And were the spiders in league with the roaches and the ants?” I asked.
“No,” replied Norton. “We dismembered those motherfuckers. For fun.”
I must’ve given Norton a strange look at that point, something that he probably interpreted as, “What could possibly be fun about dismembering spiders?”
“Oh and uh, also, the spiders appeared hostile,” Norton added, with a reassuring smile and wink. What a stand-up guy!
I’ll admit, the price was relatively steep, and due to the compromised structure of the house, and the toxic fumes that may have been released in the destruction of the insurgency, we have been spending the last month living out of a hotel. However, I have visited the house on occasion, and at no time have I seen any signs of the ants, roaches, spiders, or any living thing for that matter. They really did a meticulous job and therefore I can honestly recommend Xe Services. In fact, I’m thinking of calling them again. There is this girl at work who has been going all jihad on the communal coffee machine and boy am I miffed.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Zen and the Art of Zen and the Art of Books
Anything can be done gracefully. Consider: one can peel an orange such that the rind is removed in a single, spiraling helix of citrus. Or, one can carelessly stab at the rind with stubby fingers, extracting chunk by little chunk, ending up sticky and frustrated. Similarly, one can write a Zen and the Art of book using piercing wisdom to enlighten the reader on how a random hobby (archery, motorcycle maintenance, etcetera), when done correctly, can unlock the secrets of the universe. Or, one can choose a hobby, throw together some randomly selected clichés, and trick the reader into thinking they have unlocked the secrets of the universe.
Of course, peeling an orange perfectly is a painstaking, arduous task. Gaining piercing wisdom can also be painstaking and arduous. Sure if we had the time we’d all pick up an esoteric hobby and attain nirvana through our single-minded devotion to flower arrangement, or calligraphy, etcetera, but instead we have jobs, bills, and responsibilities. Thankfully, using my simple four-step process, you will be able to slap together clichés and publish your very own Zen and the Art of book, without having to do all that annoying soul-searching and grueling transcendence.
Step 1: Choose your subject and declare its utter simplicity.
Many people mistakenly believe that enlightening hobbies must be complex. This is not the case. In fact, the simpler the activity the higher the potential for melding hobby, mind, and body into an all-encompassing-oneness. Why? Because universal secrets cannot be divulged by building exact replicas of all thirty Major League Baseball stadiums. That is just dorky. However, knitting, now that’s a hobby! All you have to do is instruct your reader to lose their ego in the repetitive action of needle and yarn, to blur the line between self and other such that there is no longer any separation between little Timmy’s socks and Auntie Ruth. You must write about how simple said hobby is, because said hobby is not the important thing here, the important thing here is the metaphor: crocheting, stamp collecting, etcetera, is just like life!
Step 2: Declare the utter complexity of your hobby.
Many people mistakenly believe that enlightening hobbies must be simple. But wait! Am I not contradicting myself? Well, only if you think there is an I that I can contradict my self with. But let’s not jump the gun. Because this contradiction is not only pre-meditated (not to be confused with meditation), it results in paradox, and paradox is the life-blood of these books. People go totally ape-shit for it. If it were really just as simple as becoming one with a random hobby, nobody would need your book. However, it is in stage two where you show the reader that no, building model cars is not just about becoming one with super glue and plastic (note: if you become one with super glue contact a physician immediately), but it is about recognizing that in the act of building a model car you are actually deconstructing your own ego, that every creation is actually a destruction, that every birth comes with a life sentence, and so next time you glue a tiny little hubcap to a tiny little wheel, do so with the conviction of a God or Goddess building reality, because reality is what you make it, and you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take (note: if you don’t know how to finish a sentence, add a few clichés to the end so that the reader forgets how the sentence began).
Step 3: Resolve the paradox.
Of course, only those with a keen insight can truly understand the paradox, and thereby resolve it, attaining the highest hobby-chakra. Your reader is aware of this, and will be sucking at the teat of wisdom, nodding their heads and thinking, gee, I have pretty keen insight, I totally get what you’re saying, it’s simple, it’s complex, yin, yang, right on! Perfect. They are ready for the culmination, in which you resolve the paradox and blow their minds with your ridiculously good logic. Is kite flying simple or is it complex? Ha! Trick question. Simplicity and complexity are merely two points of view. How many points of view are possible? Three-hundred and sixty! All that talk about simplicity and complexity was merely to butter your reader up for the big revelation: kite flying is simple, it is not simple, it is both simple and not simple, and it is neither simple nor not simple! Just like life! (Note: exclamation points are the grammatical equivalent of mind-blowing! Use them often during the third step!)
Step three is the big payoff, where the reader understands how misguided he or she was all along. Jewelry making, pottery, etcetera, are simply the most complex things you can do. Because it is only through these hobbies that one can transcend the boring ol’ viewpoints of everyday life such as I and you, simple and complex, and bask in the metaphorical liberation one has not nearly attained.
Follow my steps and you will see that writing a Zen and the Art of book is actually the easiest thing in the world, once you have given up all distinctions between easy and hard, teaching and tricking, and can rest in the middle of the circle, looking at all the viewpoints surrounding you, and shaking your head, gently, but condescendingly, with a patronizing smile smeared across your all-knowing face.
Step 4: Rake in the cash.
But this is the main reason you are smiling.
Of course, peeling an orange perfectly is a painstaking, arduous task. Gaining piercing wisdom can also be painstaking and arduous. Sure if we had the time we’d all pick up an esoteric hobby and attain nirvana through our single-minded devotion to flower arrangement, or calligraphy, etcetera, but instead we have jobs, bills, and responsibilities. Thankfully, using my simple four-step process, you will be able to slap together clichés and publish your very own Zen and the Art of book, without having to do all that annoying soul-searching and grueling transcendence.
Step 1: Choose your subject and declare its utter simplicity.
Many people mistakenly believe that enlightening hobbies must be complex. This is not the case. In fact, the simpler the activity the higher the potential for melding hobby, mind, and body into an all-encompassing-oneness. Why? Because universal secrets cannot be divulged by building exact replicas of all thirty Major League Baseball stadiums. That is just dorky. However, knitting, now that’s a hobby! All you have to do is instruct your reader to lose their ego in the repetitive action of needle and yarn, to blur the line between self and other such that there is no longer any separation between little Timmy’s socks and Auntie Ruth. You must write about how simple said hobby is, because said hobby is not the important thing here, the important thing here is the metaphor: crocheting, stamp collecting, etcetera, is just like life!
Step 2: Declare the utter complexity of your hobby.
Many people mistakenly believe that enlightening hobbies must be simple. But wait! Am I not contradicting myself? Well, only if you think there is an I that I can contradict my self with. But let’s not jump the gun. Because this contradiction is not only pre-meditated (not to be confused with meditation), it results in paradox, and paradox is the life-blood of these books. People go totally ape-shit for it. If it were really just as simple as becoming one with a random hobby, nobody would need your book. However, it is in stage two where you show the reader that no, building model cars is not just about becoming one with super glue and plastic (note: if you become one with super glue contact a physician immediately), but it is about recognizing that in the act of building a model car you are actually deconstructing your own ego, that every creation is actually a destruction, that every birth comes with a life sentence, and so next time you glue a tiny little hubcap to a tiny little wheel, do so with the conviction of a God or Goddess building reality, because reality is what you make it, and you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take (note: if you don’t know how to finish a sentence, add a few clichés to the end so that the reader forgets how the sentence began).
Step 3: Resolve the paradox.
Of course, only those with a keen insight can truly understand the paradox, and thereby resolve it, attaining the highest hobby-chakra. Your reader is aware of this, and will be sucking at the teat of wisdom, nodding their heads and thinking, gee, I have pretty keen insight, I totally get what you’re saying, it’s simple, it’s complex, yin, yang, right on! Perfect. They are ready for the culmination, in which you resolve the paradox and blow their minds with your ridiculously good logic. Is kite flying simple or is it complex? Ha! Trick question. Simplicity and complexity are merely two points of view. How many points of view are possible? Three-hundred and sixty! All that talk about simplicity and complexity was merely to butter your reader up for the big revelation: kite flying is simple, it is not simple, it is both simple and not simple, and it is neither simple nor not simple! Just like life! (Note: exclamation points are the grammatical equivalent of mind-blowing! Use them often during the third step!)
Step three is the big payoff, where the reader understands how misguided he or she was all along. Jewelry making, pottery, etcetera, are simply the most complex things you can do. Because it is only through these hobbies that one can transcend the boring ol’ viewpoints of everyday life such as I and you, simple and complex, and bask in the metaphorical liberation one has not nearly attained.
Follow my steps and you will see that writing a Zen and the Art of book is actually the easiest thing in the world, once you have given up all distinctions between easy and hard, teaching and tricking, and can rest in the middle of the circle, looking at all the viewpoints surrounding you, and shaking your head, gently, but condescendingly, with a patronizing smile smeared across your all-knowing face.
Step 4: Rake in the cash.
But this is the main reason you are smiling.
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