Letter Home to Mom

Dear Mom,

I’ve got exciting news for you. No, I’m not getting married. I know that’s the news you really wanted to hear. Either that, or that I’m pregnant with your grandchild. This is not the news I have for you either.

I know you haven’t been a big fan of my pursuit of an acting career, but my job at Applebee’s pays the bills. Unlike you, I have confidence in myself. I knew that one day my agent would call to tell me that she has an actual paying gig for me. Well, guess what? Today was that day. Someone wants to pay me for my acting!

And before you ask, no, I’m not going to appear in a porno movie. In fact, you may actually get to see me on a screen near you. You see, I will be spending two days in a park here in L.A. filming what in the industry is known as “stock footage.” I’ll be in a flowing dress, frolicking around the park with a male actor. The footage will then go into a database, where producers can purchase it for their own projects. After that, who knows? I might be in the background of a karaoke video. Or maybe I’ll be in a dream sequence of an independent Latvian film. Or it’s possible I’ll be in a sexual harassment video for new Safeway employees. The possibilities are nearly limitless.

Yes, it isn’t the romantic lead opposite Zac Efron I guaranteed you that I would be cast in when I stormed out of the house two years ago, but it’s a start. You should be proud of me.

Your loving daughter,

Wendy

Hoarding

I know I have obsessive traits. That’s why it didn’t surprise me that I spent all weekend watching every episode of A&E’s “Hoarders” and TLC’s “Hoarding: Buried Alive” that was available on demand on cable. The shows are gripping, telling the stories about people who’s OCD caused them to acquire so many useless possessions that they can no longer use their homes, resulting in broken families.

After watching all of these shows, I started thinking about my friend Matt, who recently graduated from college. Matt’s apartment is cramped with books, magazines and furniture, and trying to walk through it is dangerous, which I learned is an obvious sign of a hoarding problem. I’ve talked to Matt about this in the past, but he denies that anything is wrong. Emboldened by the knowledge I gained from psychiatrists and other experts on the shows, I went about trying to help Matt with his problem.

Since Matt wouldn’t admit to hoarding, I took matters into my own hands. I rented a large dump truck, hired two Mexican day laborers, retrieved Matt’s spare key from under a flower pot, and went to work clearing Matt’s apartment of clutter while he was at work. By the time we had finished, I was pleased. Matt’s apartment was spacious and easy to navigate.

When Matt came home, he was not happy. To him, the reason for all the clutter was that he lived in a small studio apartment. He claimed the books and magazines that we disposed were needed for his job as a technical writer. He also claims that although the furniture we removed did clear space, he no longer has a TV or a bed or futon for sleep.

Sometimes you do a good deed and the recipient is still ungrateful.

The Copier

How could she decide to leave me? I know we had problems, but we could have worked through them. There’s no reason to end it when we were so good together. Just writing about it makes me want to cry again.

If only she could see how hurt she has made me, maybe she would reconsider. She’s a kind and sympathetic person. She wouldn’t want to see someone in pain, especially someone she cares about. Somehow I have to show her.

I’ve been working late a lot to try to take my mind off of her. This hasn’t been successful, as I’ve had to stifle crying at work, and sometimes stifling doesn’t work. So I came up with a plan. Instead of holding back the tears, I let them out and put my face on the copier. Then I made a bunch of copies. When she saw page after page of my sadness, she’d know just how hurt I am and want to comfort me.

Of course, the copies didn’t turn out perfectly. My face pressed against the glass, complete with flattened nose and opened mouth, looks more grotesquely humorous than sad. Also, after crying for a short time, the condensation from my breath and pool of tears and saliva that collected on the copier glass quickly turned my face into a white blob with blurry eyes. Regardless, I collated the copies, put them in a manila envelope, addressed it to her, and sent it in the company mail. Maybe she’ll still get the message. Maybe she’ll see how pitiful it is and feel sorry for me.

If this doesn’t work, I’ll just have to try an even more pathetic gesture, because I haven’t got any better ideas.

Spousal Revenge

My wife makes me so mad. I work just as hard as she does, even though my job isn’t a physically taxing as her nursing job. Still, I’m stuck watching our daughter almost every night. Don’t get me wrong, I love little Casey. She’s the only thing I enjoy coming home to anymore. Still, I need a few nights off, to unwind, hang out with the boys, or just sit at home and masturbate. Instead, six to seven nights a week I’m watching the two year old while my wife Jill goes out with her friends, watches TV alone in the bedroom, or watches dumb clips on Youtube. I’m beginning to forget why I fell in love with Jill in the first place.

My friend Don had a party last Friday. Don’s parties are legendary. I’ve missed the last two and would be damned if I miss another one. Of course, Jill was reluctant. I begged Jill to no avail. It was only after I agreed to eat Jill’s pussy with no reciprocation that I got “permission” to see my friends. Needless to say, I was resentful.

I get off work earlier than Jill on Fridays, so I picked up Casey from daycare. I offered Casey her first can of Coke. Casey loves sugary things, so it didn’t take much for her to down the whole can. Then, while she was watching Veggie Tales, I replaced the battery in the smoke detector in the attic with a dying battery. Finally, right before Jill got home from work, I read Jill a couple of my favorite scary passages from Stephen King’s “It.”

When Jill came home, I kissed a crying Casey and left the house. Using Casey to get back at Jill was wrong. I should get a divorce instead.

Guitar Hero

For various reasons, I haven’t seen my younger sister Sandra in many years. I was seven years older than her and moved to Chicago when she was still in high school. After many years in rehab, I have finally settled down. Part of my healing process is reconnecting with family that I ignored during my meteoric rise and lost crash years.

It was exciting to see Sandra as an adult with her own family. She helped me make a huge dinner. Working with Sandra in the kitchen reminded me of doing the same thing when we were kids doing the same thing in Mom’s kitchen. Sandra has two kids - twins Barry and Barbara who are 11. With incredible speed, they turned my library into their own makeshift concert hall with a Nintendo Wii connected to the small TV and plastic instruments that somehow connect to the device.

While we were cooking, I heard some familiar sounds coming from the library. The twins were playing Cherub Rock. I played bass on that song! I’d been getting royalty checks for the game, but I’d never seen it in person. I told the twins about my days in Smashing Pumpkins and showed them pictures of me performing. They seemed unimpressed and asked if I could play bass on the Wii. Seeing as how I was a professional bassist for one of the most popular bands of the 90s, I figured it would be easy. I failed miserably, getting booed off the stage in less than a minute.

Although it’s cool to see a younger generation rediscover the music I made, it’s sad to me that kids are more into the artificial experience of playing games than something genuine like making actual music.

The Lawsuit II

Dear Mr. Lafferty,

Thank you for taking the time to read my email. I saw your ad during an episode of Judge Mathis and think I have a legitimate lawsuit.

With the decline of the manufacturing industry in America, much of the value that this country produces is intellectual property. Some of our largest companies like Microsoft, Disney, and Google have value only because we place value on intellectual property. This makes it all the worse when one of these large companies steals their ideas.

Back in 2003, my friend Bobby and I were watching TV. (We were smoking a lot of pot at the time and probably drinking, but you don’t have to mention that in court.) While flipping through the channels, we stumbled across the movie Tron and were mesmerized. I found the movie very entertaining, but I was also struck by how poor the special effects looked. The movie was made in 1982 when computer animation was not as good as it is today. After the movie, we flipped through the channels and landed on music videos. I said to Bobby, “they should do a sequel to that movie. I bet it would do really well if they used some of the modern special effects. This band with the robots [the one on TV at the time] could make a cool soundtrack for it.” The band was no other than Daft Punk.

As you know, Disney will be releasing a new Tron movie this weekend, with a soundtrack by Daft Punk. I find it highly unlikely that Disney came up with the same idea I did. They must have overheard me and stole my idea. Do you think we have a lawsuit? I’m thinking $30 million, plus an associate producer credit.

Sincerely,

Craig Rollins

Christmas, by Will Divide Jr., Age 10

A lot of people think kids my age only like Christmas because of the toys. I’m here to tell you that this is not true. I think Christmas is great because of the DVDs and gift cards I get as well. DVDs are cool because you can watch them when playing with toys, and gift cards are cool because you can use them to buy toys, DVDs or nearly anything else.

Christmas is also Jesus’ birthday. I like the way Jesus celebrates his birthday. My friend Carson had a birthday last month. My mom bought Carson this cool Lego spaceship/astronaut thing. I wanted it for myself, but Mom said I could play with it when I went to Carson’s house. I told Mom that this doesn’t help me when I want to play with the Legos and Carson is not around, but she didn’t care. On Jesus’ birthday, everybody gets presents except Jesus.

I guess you could buy a present for Jesus, but it’s not like Jesus would ever come to get it, so it would be a waste of money. I asked my mom what would happen if Jesus did show up for his birthday, and she said that the world would end. I’m glad that doesn’t happen when I show up at my own birthday.

Don’t get me started on Santa Claus. I know that he’s not real. Why would he show up at the mall in late November and December to ask kids what they want for Christmas? Wouldn’t it make more sense to do that in January so he and the elves would have more time to make presents? (He could start in February if he wanted to take a vacation in January.) Also, I know elves don’t make the toys; the Chinese do.

How to Save Your Favorite TV Show from Cancellation

It’s the topic for many a drunken barroom conversation. Ask someone about theirs, and you liable to get a very emotional response. It’s your favorite TV show that was canceled prematurely.

Many people will say "Arrested Development" takes the prize. Those that were teenagers in the 1990s will claim "My So-Called Life" or "Freaks and Geeks." Personally, I’m partial to the recently canceled "Better off Ted" and "Party Down."

When good shows get canceled, fans try everything to prevent the shows from ending, starting internet petitions and forming protest groups on Facebook. These efforts are fruitless. Networks are interested in ratings, and no matter how angry devout fans are, they can do little to make ratings sustainable.

But what if you could change the model? What if your favorite endangered show rather than bending over backwards for ratings tried to make itself more profitable? In the past, shows have tried product placement, but these attempts appear conspicuous and hackneyed.

I recommend a different approach – one that has nearly limitless potential to make money. It’s negative product placement. The producers of the show bribe companies to give them money or they will include the product in their show in a negative light. Here are some examples.

• “Did you catch the child molester?” “Yes Barbara, we did. He was eating Nabisco Cheese Nips at the time. He said they get him in the mood.”
• “What happened to all that money I won at the track? Well, I invested it in a Met Life annuity. Now it’s all gone.”
• “What’s up Bill? That’s your third trip to the bathroom this morning.” “I know. It’s the damn Nestle Crunch I had this morning. It always gives me the runs. Strangely, this never happens when I eat a Hershey’s Crackle.”

My Job

In many ways, I have the best job in the world. Granted, the pay is poor, but I work as a barista in a coffee shop that also sells comic books. When business is slow, I get to read all of the comic books that I want. I know comic books are usually the purview of boys, but I love comic books. The gallantry of heroes, the darkness, the silliness, the drawing, I adore all of it. To me, it’s much nicer having a discussion about how “The Authority” changed comic book superheroes forever than my last job, where I got to discuss the proper industrial tubing width with customers.

I’d say I’m attractive. I’m not the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model type. I don’t have flowing blonde hair, and my breast cannot be used as a flotation device in case of an airplane water landing. I’m short but perky with cool glasses and a few tasteful tattoos. Men inside and outside of the shop compliment me on how I look.

Here’s where I have a problem with my job. To certain comic book store customers, a non-traditionally cute, perky barista in their favorite store that actually reads comic books is the ideal woman. I’m constantly fending off invitations to dinner, flowers, and expensive action hero gifts. Just because I like comic books doesn’t mean that I want to be with a man that does. I’m a woman. I prefer my men to be bad assed – tattooed, motorcycle riding, and with a list of sins that would require the crucifixion of seven Jesuses to atone for. Poorly dressed, meek comic book fans don’t do it for me, no matter how polite, nice, and generous they are.

Is it too much to ask to treat a woman like a person?

TV Commercial Transcript

Opening a bottle of wine is a hassle. Traditional corkscrews require a lot of pulling to get the cork out, resulting in messy spills and strained muscles. Winged corkscrews break the cork, getting cork fragments in your delicious glass of wine. Who wants that?

If only there was a better way to open a bottle of wine, one that didn’t require pulling or breaking the cork. Well now there is! Introducing Corky – the world’s finest electric wine bottle opener. With Corky, there’s no mess, no strain, and no broken corks. It’s now simple, easy, and fun for you to open your favorite bottle of wine.

Corky is fully rechargeable, so there are no cords to get in the way. If you buy Corky you also get a foil cutter to remove the outer foil from the bottle. Then put Corky over the top of the bottle and press the button. It’s that simple! Corky removes the cork perfectly every time without piercing the bottom. It’s great for dinner parties, camping trips, formal events, wherever you want to enjoy a delicious bottle of wine. And Corky makes the perfect gift.

But wait. If you act now, in addition to Corky and the foil cutter, as a special gift you’ll get the Passages Malibu book “The Alcoholism and Addiction Cure.” With a 90% success rate in curing alcohol and drug addiction, “The Alcoholism and Addiction Cure” has been used successfully by thousands of people all over the world to cure pesky addictions once and for all. The book can also be used as a handy bottle coaster, eliminating those annoying wine bottle rings on countertops.

Call today, and you can enjoy Corky, the foil cutter, and “The Alcoholism and Addiction Cure,” all for just $29.95. Operators are standing by. Call now.

A Modest Proposal for Porn

You work in one of the most exciting and talked about industries. People all over the world view and admire your work. You get to make some of the most desirable people in the world do and say whatever comes into your head. And yet, you do a really poor job.

I’m talking of course about pornography screenwriters. Granted, these people have to work under some limitations. Usually, their budgets are rather small, so the special effects budget is more like TV’s “Land of the Lost” than the movie “Avatar.” Also, the volume of porn being made dictates that the scripts are written quickly. It can be difficult to come up with new and unique reasons for two (or three or more) people to have sex. Regardless, this is no excuse for lazy scriptwriting.

• “Bill told us that we should stay here and wait. What should we do while we’re waiting?” “I have an idea.” [Sex ensues.] Really, is this the best you can do?
• [Someone walks in while two people are fucking.] “What are you two doing?” “Come join us.” Has this ever happened to anyone ever outside of a swingers’ party?
• I also have a hard time thinking that bored, attractive housewives spend all day waiting for the plumber/pool guy/pizza deliveryman to come by so they can screw. The concept has become a tiered cliché.

Look, I’m not asking for David Mamet, but is it too much to ask for something new and fresh to fill in the gaps between naked people sucking on things and sticking body parts into other body parts?

What the hell am I saying? As long as attractive people are having sex, I don’t care what they say.

Found in My Spam Folder XI

Hello. My name is Arnold Goldman. I’m a world-renowned author, famous for his book “The One Word” which is a simple and effective method that has taught millions how to get other people to conform to their wills. People come to me at book signings and telling me how much my book has changed their lives for the better. So what can I do for an encore? I’ve written my second book, which is a simple and effective way to pass on information and have the listener believe it.

Let’s say you overslept but told your boss you were late for some other reason. My new book “Three Little Words” may be what you need. “Three Little Words,” is effective if you spend the night hanging out with your boys or banging the mistress but tell your wife you were working late. It also works on people at the customer service desk when you’re returning damaged merchandise. If you’re an awkward teenage boy that scratched up dad’s car while drag racing to impress a girl, “Three Little Words” may be all you need to keep you from being grounded for a month.

Many times when we tell misinformation, the listener replies with disbelief. “Three Little Words” will show you how to respond by simply repeating your explanation while prefacing it with the phrase “I’m telling you.” The book will show you how saying, “I’m telling you there was an accident on the on ramp,” or “I’m telling you I had to work late,” or “I’m telling you the camera was nicked when I bought it,” or “I’m telling you someone backed into me in the library parking lot,” will enable you to get away with your deceit.

Buy “Three Little Words” today. You’ll never know when you need it.

The Other Stuff in the WikiLeaks Documents

The world is abuzz with the avalanche of classified information contained in the latest WikiLeaks document dump. Over 250,000 cables have been made public, and the press is busy devouring them to give us the juiciest bits. Of course, 250,000 documents is a lot to read and digest. Some of the contents are mundane or don’t do much to further our understanding of the US and its relations to the world. My crack team and I have spent hours combing the documents to bring you the highlights (or dimlights) of the least important leaked documents from WikiLeaks.

• Osama Bin Laden is a big fan of Martha Stewart. His cave is filled with paper mache ornaments and decorative gourds.
• Russian President Dmitry Medvedev claims to know a lot about Sarah Palin, since he’s flown over her state many times.
• The Saudi Royal Family is really, really rich.
• French President Nicolas Sarkozy is so vain that he thinks Carly Simon wrote a whole song just about him.
• The Prime Minister of Canada Stephen Harper is considered by American diplomats to be pleasant and polite. It’s also believed that he has a speech impediment, as he has trouble pronouncing the word “about” and frequently ends sentences with “eh.”
• Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych thinks that Gem is truly outrageous. Truly, truly, truly outrageous.
• According to comments overheard by US diplomats, Japanese Prime Minister Naoto Kan has a very small penis. Later, it was determined that someone in the other room was watching a rerun or South Park.
• George W. Bush liked to play with green plastic army men in the Oval Office and was particularly adept at making the “phew phew” sound whenever someone used a laser.

Bring Back Literacy Tests

In the US, a “literacy test” was used in the Jim Crowe era to disenfranchise black voters in some southern states. Essentially, white poll workers could ask voters questions to determine if they had a sufficient level of literacy to vote. In practice, this meant questions that were nearly impossible to answer for most black voters while white voters got softball questions. In 1965, the Civil Rights Act outlawed literacy tests. This is unfortunate, because literacy test could really improve elections in America.

No, I am not advocating a return to the Jim Crowe system. What we should do is have a bipartisan commission come up with a list of hundreds of multiple choice questions and have each voter receive ten of them at random. If the voter is unable to get seven of the ten correct, that person’s vote won’t count.

Imagine how this would change elections. Cable news channels, instead of focusing on how the horse race will end, will offer program after program trying to educate voters to pass the literacy test. Dishonest attack ads will be replaced with ads targeting likely voters for a candidate and try to ensure that they can answer seven of ten questions. Candidates for office, instead of trying to mislead the public, would be well served trying to educate voters. Talk around the water cooler, instead of passing the latest bullshit propagated on cable news and campaign ads, would be about new factual discoveries about the state of politics and the empirical affects of recent legislation.

And the electorate would vote for candidates based on how they actually performed in office instead of how their PR people and financial backers framed the debate.

The Breakup

After you’ve been with the same woman for seven years and living together for five of those years, it was particularly difficult when the relationship dissolved. Although the time was right for us to break up, there are lots of things I miss about being in a relationship. Obviously, I miss the sex, but I also miss having someone around to do something with. I don’t have the courage to go to brunch or the movies by myself.

The worst part of the breakup though was the splitting of the things we had acquired together. In the end, I gave up the LCD TV, the living room and most of the bedroom furniture, and the apartment we shared. I got the microwave, the bed, and most importantly, I got the dog Wendell. I felt that I got the better of the break. Granted, I have less stuff, but I couldn’t imagine dealing with the breakup and loneliness without having Wendell to cuddle and hang out with. I had to spend a lot on a security deposit for my new apartment and I can’t live in the cool neighborhood that I want to, but it’s worth it to have Wendell around.

After two weeks of living in my new apartment, I had to give Wendell back to my ex. Wendell’s been great, but he has an annoying tendency that I can’t live with. Every time I masturbate, Wendell stares at me. I don’t know if Wendell is driven by sexual desires, curiosity, or some strange instinctual compulsion, but his peering eyes ruin the moment. I’ll miss Wendell, but I know I’ll miss orgasm more.

My New Reality Show - Will Divide Conquers

Fashionable Amish has been gaining steadily in readership over the months, but there are still forces that are holding back its popularity. Perhaps the greatest force is the belief that I’m somehow not “genuine.” My critics have accused me of being a professional writer’s side project.

I’m eager to prove them wrong. Sarah Palin’s new reality TV show demonstrates that she’s a real Alaskan. Maybe I can prove my bonifieds with my own six-part reality TV show – Will Divide Conquers.

Episode 1 focuses on getting to know Will. You’ll see his cramped studio basement apartment with pictures of naked women on the wall. There, Will writes his blog unshaven and in his underwear. Will visits his dealer (face blurred) where he buys copious amounts of pot.

Episode 2 is my favorite. The theme to this episode is, “Can Will Divide go the whole day just smoking pot, masturbating, and eating Cheetos?” I don’t want to ruin the ending for you, but I will say chaffing is involved.

Episode 3 has Will trying to drunkenly pick up women. Needless to say, this is unsuccessful. The episode ends with Will masturbating to Hentai with a tentacle monster.

Episode 4 is a visit from Will Divide Jr. The elder Will let’s junior go on a $20 shopping spree at the 7-11. This episode contains a lot of farting and giggling.

Episode 5 has Will trying to kill all of the roaches in his apartment. Exacerbated, Will gets high and masturbates. He then writes a blog about it.

In episode 6, Will is dressed in a suit explaining that the whole series has been a ruse to establish his reputation as a legitimate blogger. Later in the episode, we find out this is all BS, and Will really is a degenerate loser.

How to Write a TV Comedy

Writing a comedy for TV isn’t all that difficult. Take some characters that people can either relate to or find intriguing for some reason. If possible, make most of your characters single, because clumsily finding love is comedy gold and make for easy storylines. Sprinkle in some references to things that the “kids” are in to (Lady Gaga, Twitter, Facebook), and you’re well on your way.

What about plots for episodes? That’s easy too. Years of successful comedies are built on one of these hand situations.

• A character takes a drug unwittingly and acts funny, discloses something he or she shouldn’t, and/or gets in trouble because other characters don’t know that it’s the drugs making the character act funny.
• A character overhears something, misinterprets it, and takes action as if he or she heard it correctly. (In the industry, this is known as the Three’s Company plot.)
• A character gets a new boyfriend or girlfriend that everyone else realizes is terrible. Other characters try to subtly tell the newly smitten character, but this usually ends in either misunderstanding or resentment.
• A character tells a lie to make him or herself seem more important or lass of a loser. The character is later confronted with the lie, making him or her look like an even bigger loser. (In the industry, this is known as the Ricky Gervais plot.)
• A character inadvertently says something racist, sexist, homophobic, or otherwise bigoted. He or she is then confronted by the oppressed minority and concocts a defense that makes the character appear more bigoted.

At this point, you may be asking, “but what is the show about?” If you follow these plot outlines, it doesn’t matter. Keep the hijinks coming, and you too can be a successful TV comedy writer.

The Wedding Announcement

After four years of dating, I finally decided to make an honest woman out of Kathryn, so I proposed. Luckily for me, she said yes! We couldn’t be happier.

I’ve always like Kathryn’s mom Carol. That is, until I became engaged to her daughter. Now Carol thinks she can dictate every aspect of our lies. Kathryn and I aren’t particularly religious. Kathryn’s friend Barry is a minister in the Church of Universal Life, which allows anyone who signs up on the internet to be a minister. I thought he would be perfect to preside over the wedding. Carol insisted that we be married in a church. So guess where we’ll be married.

Carol also demanded that we publish an engagement announcement in the newspaper. Apparently it’s family tradition to do this, although none of the family got married in the internet era. Carol says it has to be the big, three-column announcement. This cost me $1,500. Still, I know that it’s important to Kathryn that I do what her mom wants, so I saved up for a month and drained my savings to get our engagement announcement in the newspaper. After submission, it takes two weeks before the announcement is published. (Of course I put the news on Facebook for free the day that we got engaged, but that doesn’t count as a wedding announcement.)

The newspaper published our announcement yesterday. Much as Carol wanted, today we are the talk of the town. Unfortunately, it’s not for the reason that Carol would hope. Our announcement of the future union of Harold Prince and Kathryn Middleton was trumped by another engagement announcement by some similarly named people. While Prince Harry will have a royal wedding, I’m beginning to think my wedding will be a royal pain in the ass.

Michael Vick Bitten by Dogs

PHILADELPHIA, PA (AP) - NFL star quarterback Michael Vick was released from the hospital earlier this morning after receiving treatment for lacerations on his right thigh and hand that he received after being bit by several dogs, Philadelphia Eagles’ team spokesman Greg Panner announced today.

Vick, who was from federal prison in 2009 after serving a sentence for animal cruelty stemming from his involvement with a dog-fighting kennel, was walking from a friend’s home to his car when two to three dogs approached and repeatedly bit him. A neighbor who heard the commotion used a garden hose to disperse the dogs .Vick was taken to Temple University Hospital where he was treated and released.

“Vick is a strong man. He could have fought off the dogs and minimized the injury, but because of his history he thought better of it,” Panner explained. “Vick is recovering at home and is questionable for next week’s game against the Giants.”

Vick was coming off of one of the best games of his career, throwing four touchdowns and running for two more in a 59-28 victory against the Washington Redskins. After his incarceration, Vick had stayed out of trouble and was working to reestablish his reputation as a premier quarterback in the NFL.

The irony of Vick being injured by dogs was not lost on supporters of animal rights groups that have protested Vick’s return to the NFL last season. “Of course I don’t want to see anybody get hurt, but if the story has a headline of ‘Dog Bites Man,’ there is nobody more appropriate to be the subject of that story than Michael Vick,” Dan Shannon, PETA’s assistant director of campaigns said. “Last night, the dogs got their revenge.”

Buying a Mattress

While on business in Toledo, it occurred to me that my back pain was gone. I usually wake up feeling sore and stiff, but in Toledo my back felt fine. The return to normalcy was pleasantly jarring.

When I returned home, the pain resumed. It had to be the bed. My bed was only seven years old, but I could feel the springs under the pillow-top foam. It was time to buy a replacement. I’ve heard a lot of good things about memory foam mattresses. They don’t have springs, so there are no pressure points. Memory foam is supposed to be great for people with back problems as well.

I’d never slept on a memory foam mattress, so I was concerned. Would I feel comfortable enough to sleep on it? What happens when I toss and turn in my sleep? Would my girlfriend Olivia like it?

I decided to become an informed consumer. I read everything I could on the internet and determined that it seem like a good choice. My dog would even like it, and it may help me toss and turn less. Nothing would prepare me for how it actually feels though, so I took Olivia to the mattress store with me.

We sprawled out on the Serta mattress, and it felt great. The foam contorted to our bodies perfectly, providing great back support. I wasn’t sure how to have sex on a memory foam mattress. Will the lack of springiness of the mattress make sex too much of a chore? Olivia and I proceeded to test it out, but we were interrupted by the salesperson. Apparently they have a policy against having sex in the store. So I decided to buy a standard spring mattress. I don’t like back pain, but I like celibacy even less.

We Need Something Better than Democracy

Democracy is called the freest and fairest way to anoint representatives to lead people. We’ve fought wars to institute democracy to replace authoritarian and theocratic governments. While democracy is certainly preferable to authoritarianism and theocracy, it is proving itself to be a failed system itself.

There’s a paradox in democracy. In order to be fair, it insists (with exceptions for convicts and children) that every person should get one vote. At the same time, giving everyone a vote is what makes the system inherently unfair.

People vote for candidates because they are attractive. They vote for candidates because they remember them from sports, TV, and movies. Some people vote based on information they saw in a commercial paid for by persons unknown. There are people who vote for a candidate who holds views that the voter doesn’t share just because they want change or hope. Some people vote for candidates that promise to cut the deficit and taxes, even though these acts contradict each other. There are people who will vote for a candidate because he drives a pickup truck, or because he claims to be so rich that he doesn’t need the position. Some people even vote for a candidate because of his name.

I follow politics closely. I can tell you the major tenants of the health care law, the stimulus, and financial regulation. I know how the filibuster and cloture work. I can name the last three Speakers of the House. Yet, despite my advanced knowledge of issues, candidates, and politics, my vote counts the same as the yahoos I mentioned above.

It’s about time the smart political scientist got together and devised a new system. Democracy is broken.

For White Dudes

There’s a movie coming out Friday called “For Colored Girls.” It’s described as a poetic explanation of what it’s like to be of color and a woman in this world. I’m guessing that they don’t include the mundane aspects of being a colored woman in the world, such as sleeping and pooping. For all our differences as people, everybody poops.

I’m glad this movie is coming out, because it means someone may finally produce my screenplay for “For White Dudes.” I feel it’s important because what it means to be a white man in the world is so infrequently explored. Here’s a brief synopsis.

Four white guys are sitting in a bar watching a football game. They all cheer their favorite players, all of whom are black. After downing a few Budweisers, they leave the bar victorious. A black man approaches them for directions, and the white guys run away scared.

One white guy then walks into an office for a job interview. He’s is obviously underqualified, but the white guy interviewing him hires him anyway. The interviewer then tells the room full of applicants (white women and minorities) that they can go, the position is filled.

Another white guy goes with his girlfriend to a club. He dances poorly but thinks he’s great. He takes his girlfriend home where they engage in 30 seconds of sex accomplished with his penis that’s the size of a AA battery. Then he sleeps.

Another white guy goes to his job at the bank, where he denies loan requests to anyone who isn’t a white guy.

The last white guy is a cop. He goes around harassing minorities and confiscating drugs, which he promptly uses when no one is looking.

Just another day in white male America. It should be a classic.

Facebook Friends

So here I am minding my own business on the internet, when a message comes to me on Facebook. It’s from Lois Ramos. I don’t think I know anyone named Lois Ramos. Maybe she’s a long-forgotten ex-high school classmate or someone I used to work with in the grocery store. The message itself offered no clues. It merely said “hi” and ended with a smiley face emoticon.

The picture of Lois Ramos on the message was one of those generic Facebook silhouettes, so I decided to check out Ms. Ramos’ profile to see if I recognized the picture. There I found a private Facebook account. That’s understandable in this day and age of internet identity theft. The privacy is not what stood out to me most though. Ms. Ramos had now posted a profile picture. There she was in bed – pretty, young, blonde, and completely naked! Now I’m thinking I don’t know who Lois Ramos is, but I want to!

I befriended Lois Ramos. Her Facebook profile said I should go to a website if I wanted to see more pictures of her and meet her personally. Of course I want to meet the beautiful Ms. Ramos, so I went to her website, where I gave her my email address.

That was four days ago. I still have not heard back from Ms. Ramos. Now my email is filled with spam wanting me to buy watches and enlarge my penis. I’m beginning to think that Ms. Ramos isn’t real and that it was all just a scam to get my email address.

It’s not all bad, though. One of the emails I received is from this young woman named Marina who is beautiful and wants to chat with me. Maybe she’s local and we can meet!

The Great Plane Lottery

I’m on a plane, heading for a long flight across the country. The plane looks like it will be full, but it may have a few open seats. I’m in the isle seat, and a guy approaches me to occupy the window seat. I get up to allow him to sit, conversing with the minimal amount of talking and eye contact possible.

This leads to the great plane lottery. The lottery establishes how the middle seat in the row will determine my level of enjoyment on the flight. If I’m a big winner, the middle seat will remain unoccupied. I will be able to stretch my legs and may be able to catch a little sleep. If I’m the big loser, an obese, sweaty man will occupy the middle seat who will use the flight to sell me life insurance or convert me to Mormonism or tell me in exhausting detail about his antique flour container collection.

Then there are degrees in between. Slightly better than the sweaty man is the old woman who frequently uses the phrase, “back in my day.” I used to think that the next best thing to having an empty seat next to me on the plane is to have an attractive woman who I could flirt with and maybe convince to join me in the mile-high club. Then I realized that I don’t live in a porn movie. Women don’t fly across country hoping to hook up in a tiny bathroom with a dumpy guy who farts every time the pressure changes.

If the middle seat has to be occupied, let it be filled by some quiet, thin man who smells neutral and doesn’t seem to care about my farts. Also, he has a bladder of steel and never needs to use the bathroom.

Art Brut

People who know me well know that I like to play pranks. The larger the audience, the better. I especially love conning a whole group of people, which is called culture jamming. Other pranksters like the Yes Men or Joey Scaggs do it to further a cause such as pointing out corporate hypocrisy or media culpability. I just like fucking with people.

I just turned 70, and it’s important to me to finally reveal my greatest prank before I die. I can now tell the world that I am the Philadelphia Wireman.

First some background. The artistic world is always looking for the newest thing. Unsatisfied with people that study art in universities, the artistic world turned to outsider art, essentially untrained artists that made art for the sheer joy of doing it. Outsider art made by simple folk generated the most interest, leading to frenzied interest in the work of the deaf and probably autistic James Charles Castle and the 10,000+ page novel and drawings by janitor Henry Darger.

The Philadelphia Wireman story says that an art student found over 1000 sculptures made of wire and garbage in a box next to a dumpster outside of a Philadelphia transient home in 1982. The artist is believed to have died, and the sculptures, assumed to be his life’s work, were discarded by staff. They are now featured prominently in some of the finest galleries in the world.

The truth is my late wife and I spent a year haphazardly putting together these sculptures, finishing several each day, and the art student was a friend of our son who was in on it. There was no transient. The prank was easy and fun. And in the end, this prank was more artistic than anything that the Philadelphia Wireman created.

Googling Will Divide

At some point, everyone should Google themselves. In addition to finding out what there is to say about you personally on the internet, you can also find out what other people with your name may be up to.

Google Will Divide, and you won’t find me until the 37th link, which goes to show you that I’m not very popular. Most of the links ahead of me are about how you can buy property without having to purchase the full tract of land. There’s also a doctor based out of Oklahoma who apparently offers free proctology exams for the poor, which sounds both very generous and somewhat creepy.

Then there’s this one link about a guy name Will K. Divide from Boston who lived in the 19th Century. He apparently killed a bunch of kids before the cops could catch and execute him. He went by the cool name of the Boston Orphan Strangler.

There is this one website called reefermadness.com that has the story of a teenager named Will Divide. He lived in Kansas City in the 1930s and was found menacing in downtown while apparently delusional from smoking marijuana cigarettes. The cops shot him to death before he could menace some more.

My favorite though is the wikipedia entry on Will Divide. He apparently helped the Nazis during World War II even though he was gay. He was no subversive; Divide kept his homosexuality a secret because he believed in the cause. Although Will was not directly responsible for the killing of Jews, he did set up concentration camps. Reports are that his concentration camps were the best decorated in the whole Nazi camp system.

I’m just a simple blogger. As you can see, I have a lot to live up to.

Craigslist Ad - M4W - Honesty Is the Best Policy

I think that honesty is very important in a relationship. That’s why I should point out now that I have a big penis. Some men claim to have a big penis, but mine is especially large. When erect, the head easily goes past my belly button. And it’s got some girth to it too. It’s about the same circumference as a can of Red Bull. I have to wear loose-fitting jeans because if I don’t my penis is both very noticeable and very uncomfortable.

Look, I’m not saying this because I think women will fall all over themselves to sleep with me. I firmly believe that sex will come in time. When that time comes, I don’t want the woman that I am with to be surprised. Think about how horrible it would be if I’m in the moment with a woman who interests me. We get naked and she sees what I’m packing and is scared by it. That’s unfair to everyone.

I also know that some women don’t care for large penises. I get it, it can be painful having all of that manhood inside of you. Sex is supposed to be pleasurable, not painful. It’s no fun for me either trying to unsuccessfully cram my erect penis into a vagina that won’t stretch to fit it. That’s no fun for anyone.

At this point in most personal ads, you should post about yourself, what you look like, hobbies, pets, musical preferences, career, etc. I don’t feel the need to do that. Look, I have a large penis. Porn stars are jealous of me. I can carry your hanging laundry from the dryer to your bedroom with it. Isn’t that enough?

Rated R Movies, By Will Divide, Jr., Age 10

What is it about women’s boobies that make them turn a movie into a rated R movie? I have boobies. When I go to a pool, I don’t wear a shirt, and parents don’t seem to care. Babies get milk from their mom’s boobies. Apparently, it’s okay to see boobies as a baby, not ok to see them when you’re my age, and ok to see them again once you’re 18. Why is that? Does the sight of boobies at age 10 make you go crazy or turn into a witch?

Last spring while staying at my dad’s apartment, I found a bunch of pictures of naked women on his computer. Seeing those pictures didn’t turn me into a crazy person or a witch. The only thing I could tell from the pictures is that women’s boobies get bigger when they get older. This makes sense. Feet get bigger when you get older, so why shouldn’t boobies? They can show girls naked feet all the time in movies, but if they show a booby, the movie is rated R.

This makes me really mad. The movie could have a really cool explosion, or it could have some guy getting killed and his brains and skull spray all over the place. I want to see that stuff. The same movie has naked boobies in it, and suddenly it’s not allowed.

Even worse is swear words. Do you think I don’t know what they are? Do you think I don’t listen to Li’l Wayne? Do you think I don’t swear when talking to my friend Jimmy? I know all the swears and what they mean, so let’s stop pretending I don’t and let me watch an R rated movie with swears and boobies.

Restoring Sanity

All throughout the land, sanity was restored. Harsh partisans whose venom is spewed on cable TV, droplets of spit collecting on the camera, toned down their rhetoric, calmly and rationally explaining themselves. Political operatives put down the signs and stopped screaming, preferring to calmly text their opinions to those who care to listen, expletive-free. Tea partiers decided that rather than bluntly force their views on people, they would invite people over for tea. And not just any tea. Good tea, not just Lipton but Earl Grey and even chamomile. Those that thought Bush was responsible for 9/11 calmly reviewed empirical evidence and determined that in fact it was Al Qaida responsible for the catastrophe. Their signs ended up in the recycling bin.

It was a glorious day throughout the country. People realized that the end of days wasn’t coming. It became evident that no matter who held the levers of power, those people were uninterested in handing the country over to economic oblivion, totalitarianism, or Muslim extremists. Gay people felt comfortable to be out in public. The war on Christmas officially ended. (We won!) It was ok to be a witch, masturbate, or eat arugula. Peaceful Muslims built mosques, and no one seemed to care (except the peaceful Muslims, who were happy. Also, the guys who work construction and got paid.)

No, John Stewart and Steven Colbert, despite their best efforts, did not succeed in restoring sanity. Instead, the election finally came. As a result, the political advertising stopped. No longer did we have to hear about people being bad for schools/jobs/morals. Now we can go back to hearing about the newest burrito available from Taco Bell and how fuel efficient the new Toyota is. And the country got back to normal.

Pandering for Web Hits

I’m on a constant quest to find more readers. One way that I have found to do this is to use terms that people might Google that would cause this blog to hit. Of course, most people Google and porn. With that in mind, here’s a story.

Dick was no ordinary man. Like George Foreman, Dick’s parents named all of their six male children Dick. Dick was easily the biggest of all the sons, earning him the nickname Big Dick.

Dick loved animals. As a kid, he went to a petting zoo where he was especially fascinated by the donkey. The zoo keeper explained that donkeys have thick skin and usually can’t feel normal pats. So Big Dick slapped that ass, repeatedly, grunting and moaning with excitement each time he did it.

When Dick got a little older, his parent bought him his own cat. Dick loved stroking that pussy. One time the cat came home with matted fur, but Dick still cared for it. Even though people laughed at his shaved pussy, Dick still loved it.

As an adult, Dick’s love of animals made it difficult to keep regular work. He’d blow job after job. When Dick had money, he’d enjoy going Greek or going Russian for dinner, but when poor, he’d frequently dine at the Y where he would pay for dinner by working in the kitchen tossing salad.

One night, Dick had a dream that he could come all over the country advocating for animals. The next day, Dick was on a hike in a forest and had a massive heart attack. When he was discovered several days later, Big Dick was stiff and hard with a purple head due to rigor mortis.

Big Dick will be missed.

A Tretise on Driving

There’s a simple rule when it comes to driving – all drivers suck except for me. I’ve tried leading by example, following all traffic laws (except the stupid ones that don’t hurt anyone when violated), and exercising the correct social norms such as letting someone into my lane unless I’m in a big rush. Despite the shining example I’ve set, people continue to drive as though they just left a three-day all-you-can-snort party at Paris Hilton’s condo.

How else can I get people to drive better? I tried putting up a sign in my neighborhood that said “Drive Better for Fuck’s Sake,” but someone took it down. My homemade speed bumps ended up getting crushed under the weight of cars. (Too bad my budget only allowed me to buy cardboard as building materials for the speed bumps.)

Then there’s the least effective method of all, and it’s one I’m ashamed to admit that I used recently. I was at a suburban shopping strip where the “roads” go in odd directions, and often the stop signs are a yellow painted word on the pavement. There was a 4-way stop, and the car to my left stopped a good five feet before the yellow line, so I went through the intersection. As I started to go, the other driver went as well. I let the other driver through while complaining and pointing to the yellow line that she missed. Then I thought, “What is this accomplishing?” It’s not like she can hear me, and if she could, she’d still think she was right.

From now on, I vow not to yell at other drivers. No, fuck that. I’m getting a microphone and external speaker for my car. Other drivers need to know that they suck.

Elitism

I have a real problem. I think I’m an elitist. Until recently I didn’t know this was a problem. Sure, I heard pundits call Obama an elitist in 2008 because he ate arugula, but I never felt that applied to me because I didn’t know what arugula was. Today if you watch TV for any length of time, you’ll see political ads claiming that everyone is either an elitist or extremist.

At first I thought I might be an extremist, since I’m against cutting $500 billion from Medicare. (At least I think I am; cutting all that money from Medicare seems like it would harm kindly, wrinkled grandmas.) Then I realized that thinking that gay people are cool means that I can’t be an extremist.

Oh my god, I think gay people are cool! That must make me an elitist. So I started thinking about it in more detail. I’m not a fan of NASCAR, because I think that any activity that requires the same skillset that my mom utilizes when going to the grocery store is a competition but not a sport. I watch Mad Men because it’s smart and entertaining, and I don’t watch CSI because it isn’t smart or entertaining. Sometimes I read books. Hell, I drink lattes. And wine. How more elitist can I be?

Starting today, I’m going to take the steps necessary to not be an elitist. My first steps will be drinking instant coffee and eating white bread and iceberg lettuce. I’m also selling my books to an elitist bookstore to fund my expanded cable subscription. This is just the beginning. I’ve determined that it’s more important to meet a standard strangers have set up for me than to do things I actually enjoy.

Found in my Spam Folder X

You have a lot of strong opinions. You’ve thought long and hard about religion, politics, art, and philosophy. You post your well-thought out comments on Facebook, and have succeeded at annoying all of your friends, relatives, and that girl you had a crush on in fourth grade. Even though you care deeply about your opinions, you have no audience for them, and no one to debate with.

That’s where we come in. Timony Industries is proud to announce its new subscription-based email service – “We Argue with You.” No longer will your brilliant opinion fall on deaf ears. Our team of underemployed college educated readers will read your screed, whether coherent or incoherent. You’ll know that we have read your email, because you’ll receive a response saying something like, “You’re right,” or, “Wow. I never thought of it that way,” or, “That point you made about Obama being a secret Muslim born in Kenya really resonates with me.”

Not satisfied with a simple response? Want to have a real discussion? For a larger subscription fee, we will write a response that is sure to ruffle your feathers. Our readers have extensive experience researching all sorts of issues using the latest in Google search technology to come up with reasonable-sounding arguments to counter your opinions. You’ll be angry, but mostly you’ll be engaged.

Not fully satisfied to debate over email? For a platinum-level subscription, you get the additional “Full Satisfaction” service. Someone from Timony Industries will visit your home or a location of your choosing. Our representative will berate your ideas to your face. When you reach the boiling point, you can slap, kick, or otherwise inflict violence on our representative until you feel satisfied that your opinion is superior.

Don’t keep your thoughts to yourself. Try “We Argue with You” today!

Killer App

One of the greatest innovations of new smart phone technology is the “app.” It allows you to customize your phone with on the software that you feel is useful to you. Even better, software developers are coming up with mew apps all of the time, so there’s always potential something new and great your phone can be doing.

About a week ago, I discovered the best app ever. It’s called “Subtexting,” and is used in conjunction with the texting functionality already built into my phone. Here’s an example of how it works, as demonstrated by a text conversation I had with my girlfriend Heather.

Will: Do you want to go out to dinner tonight? I have a taste for Mexican.

Heather: I’m not really hungry right now. I may warm some soup later.
Subtext: I’d like to go out to dinner with you, but only if you pay.

Or here’s another example of “Subtexting” working its genius, shown in a conversation I had with my mom Jane.

Will: Did you get the card I sent you for your birthday?

Jane: Yes Will, it was lovely.
Subtext: It bothers me that my relationship with you has devolved into birthday cards and text messages, but I’m hoping for grandkids someday.

This is a conversation I had with my boss Gary.

Will: I emailed you the 3rd quarter report.

Gary: Thanks Will. I’ll read it when I’m back in the office.
Subtext: I can’t be bothered to read my underling’s drivel, but I’ll take credit for it if my boss likes it.

Here’s one from my pot dealer Chris.

Will: Is now a good time for a visit?

Chris: Still at work. Come over in two hours?
Subtext: I’m almost through with Disc 3 of Season 2 of The Office. You can wait.

The True Story of Maurice Jarre

Editor’s note: The following is the second entry in Fashionable Amish that is factual. Sometimes the truth is more compelling than bullshit I make up. Enjoy.

One of the truest tests of fame is whether people will remember you when you’re dead. Many people have committed acts when living that cause people to remember their names and deeds long after their deaths. Other people achieved a small level of fame (enough to warrant an obituary in several newspapers) but are remembered by few today.

Then there are people remembered mostly for their death, like Lupe Valez. She was a minor actress in the 1930s whose name would be lost to history with all the other minor actresses of the 1930s if only her suicide weren’t so graphic. Today, her death is immortalized forever in an Andy Warhol movie and references in TV shows like Frasier and The Simpsons.

Perhaps more unfortunate is the case of film composer Maurice Jarre who died in 2009. Newspapers around the world published his obituary, and he would have been quickly forgotten, except he was the subject of an experiment in media fallibility by college student Shane Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald made up a quote attributed to the deceased Jarre and posted it on Jarre’s Wikipedia page. The fake quote was included in Jarre’s obituary in newspapers throughout the world. As a result, instead of being famous for his multiple Oscar wins by the handful of people that pay attention to these things, Jarre will be remembered for his death punking the media for using Wikipedia for primary source material.

Editor’s note: I used Wikipedia as source material for this post. I can do this because I am not a journalist. That said my choice of source material may make some of this entry fictional.

Delaware's Moment in the Spotlight

Several years ago, Sufjan Stevens started an ambitious project where he would produce an album based on each state of the union. His first two albums about Michigan and Illinois received much critical acclaim. Websites conducted surveys to help Stevens pick his next state. Then he dropped the project altogether, which is too bad.

Imagine the album Stevens would have been able to put together about Delaware. Sure, Delaware is the first state of the union, having been the first to ratify the Constitution, but it’s small in both in geographic size and population, dwarfed by larger and more influential states like Pennsylvania, Maryland, and New Jersey.

Then a handful of the small population turns out for the Republican primary and nominates Christine O’Donnell to be the candidate for Senate. Suddenly, the press is fixated on Delaware, despite O’Donnell trailing badly in the polls. (Where’s the national press coverage of the Democratic candidate from Utah? Or the Republican running in Oregon?)

Why is this? It’s because O’Donnell is a train wreck that is fundamentally unprepared to participate in a neighborhood watch group, let alone the US Senate. Most high school civics teachers understand the functioning of government better than she does. There are people in federal prison with fewer skeletons in the closet than O’Donnell.

If the popularity of Jersey Shore has taught us anything, it’s that people like watching train wrecks, which is why I’m hoping that the election isn’t the last we’ve heard from Christine O’Donnell. If an enterprising cable TV producer has any sense, he or she will cast O’Donnell in her own reality series. And the rest of the country can breathe a sigh of relief that the new reality series isn’t the Senate proceedings on C-SPAN.

My Rap Moniker

You gotta give some love to Kanye West and Tupac Shakur. At least they have (or in Tupac’s case, had) the balls to rap under the name on their birth certificates. Just about every other rapper chooses a rap moniker. Some rappers put a profession in their rap name. Other than the obscure rapper MC Rap, most rappers don’t use their actual profession in their name. (I’ve yet to see MC UPS Delivery Guy or Java Sophware Developa’.) Instead, we have Dr. Dre, Professor Griff, or Queen Latifah. All of them have succeeded in their professions. Dr. Dre makes more money and has access to more drugs than a doctor. Professor Griff had the ear of more young people than any college professor. And Queen Latifah lives the life of a modern queen.

With this in mind, I am proud to introduce my new rap persona, Dr. President. I’m hoping this new moniker will instill me with the powers of the professions in my name. It would be great if I could prescribe medical marijuana and Percocet to help deal with my “issues.” I also like the idea of telling some attractive woman that she suffers from a case of the “vapors,” and that I can cure it with a steady course of clitoral stimulation and vaginal penetration. With my Presidential powers, I’d declare Will Divide as national blogger and make my birthday a national holiday (which it already is, but I’d change it from “New Years Day” to “Everyone Get Drunk Because Will Divide’s Momma Popped Him Out X Number of Years Ago Today Day.” It has a nice ring, doesn’t it?).

Also, I might rap.

The Drive

Make no mistake about it, you are a thief. You know the person who locates unsuspecting people, pulls a gun on them, and asks them for their wallet and jewelry? You’re just like that. Or the person who walks into a convenience store, stuffs a couple Twix bars in his or her pocket and then departs without paying? You’re like that too.

It takes farmers, factory workers, executives, transit employees, accountants, HR people, graphic artists, janitors, robotics specialists, chemists, clerks, marketing specialists, quality testers, lawyers, and many others to put that Twix bar on the shelf of the convenience store. All of them put in hard work to be able to deliver a product they hope that the public finds desirable, and you just stole it. Now the only way for the hard-working people to get paid is to have the rest of their customers cover the cost of your theft. Essentially, other hard working people are paying for your criminal rewards.

But, you say, you don’t steal candy bars from convenience stores. You’ve never mugged someone at gunpoint. You consider yourself a law-abiding citizen, pay your taxes, and even give to The United Way or the collection plate at church. So what? You’re still a thief. Just because there are no safeguards to prevent you from stealing and no consequences for your actions doesn’t make your theft any less of a crime.

No, I’m not talking about pirating copyrighted material off of the internet. I’m talking about listening to Public Radio without becoming a contributed member. Quit making other people pay for your crimes and reward the hard-working people who make Public Radio a reality. Become a contributing member of Public Radio today.

Amy Winehouse Should Die

I was at a bar a few days ago playing a typically poor game of pool. My third attempt to pocket the #4 ball failed, setting up my opponent for two easy shots. While sipping on my gin and tonic, Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good” came on the jukebox, and I remembered just how much I love that song.

It got me to thinking that society would be better off if Amy Winehouse were to die soon. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t know Winehouse personally and don’t generally wish death to people who don’t deserve it. For her own sake, I hope she lives a long and healthy life. But as a member of the greater community of pop culture consumers, I know how much better the future will be if the #3 story on Yahoo!’s news-in-brief on Wednesday is that Winehouse is found dead of a drug overdose in her London flat.

Jim Morrison passed on in 1971 at 27, sparing us from seeing a bloated and balding shell work his way through “Love Me Two Times” at the Indian casino in Washougal. Kurt Cobain killed himself in 1994 so that we didn’t have to witness Nirvana’s “challenging” follow-up to “In Utero” that critics love but that you never quite got (and think most fans who say they like it are faking).

Winehouse’s “Back to Black” is an incredible album that will reach legendary status if she died. I strongly suspect that if Winehouse is able to make a follow-up, it will suck. Radio stations will feel compelled to play her new singles anyway, and some will gain popularity. And five years from now, I will have to hear her crappy single on the jukebox while I try in vain to sink the #4 ball.

Michelle Obama Admits President to Seek Reparations for Slavery*

I read that there were subtle differences between the Eastern and Pacific broadcast of the live 30 Rock episode from last night, so I downloaded off of a torrent what I thought was the Eastern broadcast. What I ended up downloading was far more noteworthy. It’s the videotape of one of a Jesse Jackson-sponsored Rainbow/PUSH Coalition events from 2007 (or at least that’s what a banner in the back says). The event appears to be over or in a recess, as there is no one on stage, but you can clearly see and hear Michelle Obama having a conversation with someone off camera. The other person is inaudible, but Michelle’s words are usually clear.

In the tape, Michelle admits that her husband’s political ambitions are mainly an attempt to get reparations for African Americans! She says that Barack Obama will run for President in 2008. Once in office, he will raise taxes on the wealthy to give black Americans reparations for slavery, he will push for universal health care for African Americans, and he plans on pardoning most African Americans currently in prison before leaving office.

I’ve watched the tape several times and it appears to be real. You can clearly see Michelle’s lips movement matching her words. I’ve enlarged the video, and it shows no signs of being doctored. If anyone else wants to see the video, email me at wmdivide@gmail.com, and I will send you a copy.










*Thanks for all of your suggestions on how I can become famous. I’ve settled on duping the conservative media. This approach is easy (just pick a conservative boogeyman and allege that said boogeyman is doing what they suspect he/she/it would do), and it has happened many times (like here, here, here, and here for example).

My Quest for Fame Continues

It’s hardly a secret that I would like to be more famous. One reason I want fame is that famous people get to have sex with other famous people, instead of just masturbating to images of them on the internet. Also, the Will Divide action figure isn’t selling well enough to recoup my initial large investment. Plus, it would be nice to be remembered by the kids in my elementary school as something other than the creepy kid that accidentally exposed his left testicle in gym class.

With this in mind, I watched in interest as the miners trapped in a well for over two months were rescued in Chile. Congratulations to them for surviving and all, but what really interests me about their story is how they became international celebrities. Miners die all the time. If the story were “33 Miners Killed in Chilean Mine Collapse,” you would have skipped past it to read the story about the winner of the ugly dog contest or the dumb thing that Christine O’Donnell said. (Here’s a story from July about 38 Chinese miners being killed. Remember this incident? Of course you don’t.) Instead, the miners in Chile were trapped alive, which captured the imagination of people all over the world.

How can I become world-famous like the Chilean miners? I thought about hanging myself outside the proposed site for the Islamic community center in Manhattan, but I think a prerequisite of my fame should be that I survive the incident that precipitates it. I’ve considered falling down a well, but that would be considered brazen copycat-ism and would hamper my ability to blog. So I’ll solicit ideas today on how to be more famous and print the best idea in my blog tomorrow.

Stay tuned.

Women, Are You Dating an Asshole?

Women, it can be difficult to get an objective opinion on the quality of your man. You may view him as a “good guy” or even a “guy with a lot of potential,” but he may really be an asshole. That’s why I’ve devised this survey to help you determine if your man is an asshole or a regular guy.

1. Has your man had sex with a close friend or relative after you started seeing each other?

2. An important anniversary is today. Your man is most likely to:

A. Buy you dinner and flowers.
B. Apologize for forgetting it.
C. Watch sports with friends.
D. Have sex with a close friend or relative.

3. Has your man ever taken money from you without your knowledge, even if he had a “good reason?”

4. Your boyfriend has a difficult day at work. He is more likely to:

A. Engage you in conversation to reduce tension.
B. Drink every ounce of alcohol in the house.
C. Beat something or someone.
D. Job? My man doesn’t have a job!

5. The last gift you received from your man was:

A. Jewelry.
B. A vacuum.
C. A book on dieting.
D. An “I’m with Stupid” t-shirt for him.

6. While engaging in lovemaking, your man will:

A. Make sure your needs are met, ensuring you orgasm before or while he does.
B. Treat you like a sex doll, pleasuring himself without any regard for your desires.
C. Call out an ex-girlfriend’s name.
D. Call out your mom’s name.

Normally, at the end of a survey like this, there would be a key telling you how to grade it. If you are unable to grade the survey yourself, however, you are dating an asshole, and there’s ample reason for it. Get a clue.

"It's the Little Differences," New Food Network Show

There is an underlying theme to most travel shows. The host goes to some interesting or exotic location. He or she marvels at the breathtaking beauty of the landscape and/or architecture. The host then samples some local cuisine, either mundane, or fancy, or bizarre. These shows can be fascinating, but they get a little repetitive after a while. Watching someone eat a scorpion on a stick is shocking the first or second time you see it, but after a while, it becomes ho-hum. Yes, Hawaii is beautiful, but we’ve already seen a similarly charismatic host view the white, sandy beaches in awe. These shows appeal to the more cultured traveler, but they don’t give the typical American perspective on travel.

That’s why the Food Network is proud to announce its new show “It’s the Little Differences” premiering this Wednesday at 8:00PM EDT. Former baseball star and ESPN commentator John Kruk travels the world, one scenic location at a time, starting with Berlin. Unlike other travel shows, Kruk doesn’t dine at fancy restaurants, food markets, or even in the homes of locals. Instead, Kruk eats at multinational food franchises and documents the subtle differences. Does a “Royal with Cheese” in Amsterdam taste the same as a Quarter Pounder in St. Louis? What odd side dishes can you get with your KFC Original Recipe in Moscow? Experience the way a typical American dines abroad through Kruk’s eyes.

In addition to eating at common food establishments, Kruk stays at common western hotels to document the subtle differences there. What do they put on pillows instead of mints at the Hilton in Prague? Does the Holiday Inn have normal commodes and toilet paper in Bangalore? Tune into “It’s the Little Differences” Wednesday’s at 8:00 PM and find out.

Reason #381 That Men Suck

If you’ve never had the privilege of cleaning a men’s bathroom, consider yourself lucky. Men are naturally smelly, and have little regard for cleanliness. In high-traffic bathrooms, the battle to maintain cleanliness is especially important. Beyond the usual, “Who smeared shit all over the walls and toilet seat?” nonsense, cleaning staff have to be concerned about keeping frequently-used urinals clean.

Urinal manufacturers are aware of the need to maintain cleanliness. One of the primary defilers of the urinal is backsplash. The stream of urine hitting the urinal splashes in all different directions, getting droplets of piss on the edges and outer walls of the urinal (and also the man peeing and possibly the guys peeing next to him). So engineers developed the perfect urinal to reduce backsplash. The only problem is that bathroom patrons were offended. It seems that the best design for reducing backsplash is to have a large bowl at the bottom and a large semi-cylinder sticking up from it. Essentially, the perfect urinal looks like a giant, hollowed-out penis and testicles. Men didn’t want to pee in it.

The engineers for the urinal manufacturers went back to the drawing board. This time, they consulted behavioral psychologists to assist in the battle against backsplash. They realized that they could reduce backsplash by having men properly aim their urine stream not at the urinal cake or little puddle of water but at the upper part of the urinal. The psychologists determined that the best way to get men to aim properly was to put a drawing of a housefly at the sweet spot. A dot, bull’s-eye, or sign explaining the process were not as effective as appealing to men’s sadistic nature, the psychologists determined.

A man with his dick in his hands is a dangerous, overly-sensitive, pathetic creature.

Hoping It's a Phase

Lately, my 11 year old son Eddie had been acting funny toward me. Usually when I pick up him and his friend from Pee Wee Football, they are talkative in the car, talking about sports and kids in school. For the last week, the two of them have been mostly silent.

Confronting Eddie about anything is like trying to interrogate a Mafia Don. The kid will just lie about everything, take the conversation on bizarre tangents, and in the end make me feel as though I did something wrong. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’ve decided to rely on the method parents have used throughout the years to overcome odd behavior in children. I’m assuming it’s a phase, and he’ll get over it.

My wife and I are attending a Halloween party in a couple of weeks, and my wife Megan wants to go as a sexy Indiana Jones. I have a fedora that would be perfect for the costume in a trunk in the basement, so I went down there to retrieve it. When I opened the trunk, everything was tossed about, which was strange since I remember keeping it neat and well organized. Then it dawned on me. For my bachelor party 15 years ago, my brother gave me a gift he said would get me through my married years. He spent hours scouring adult bookstores searching for the most depraved porn magazine he could find for me. We all had a few laughs over it, and then I put it in the trunk along with other things I haven’t looked at since the Clinton presidency. That magazine is missing from the trunk.

When I confronted Eddie about it, he cried immediately. “You don’t do that stuff with Mom, do you?” he asked.

Running for Office

In 1987, President Reagan nominated Douglas Ginsberg for the Supreme Court. Shortly after the nomination, revelations surfaced that Ginsberg had used marijuana when he was younger. Facing mounting criticism and uncertain confirmation, Ginsberg withdrew from consideration.

Fast forward 20 years to 2007. Barack Obama announced his candidacy for President. Obama wrote in his 1995 book Dreams from My Father that he used pot and cocaine in his younger days. Since these revelations long predate his candidacy, the country treats Obama’s drug use with a collective meh, and Obama is elected in a landslide.

At some point in the future, I may want to run for elected office. I think I would make a fine county comptroller. That, or US President. One or the other. With that in mind, it’s probably best that I come clean about my past. That way, no one will care about them when the time comes to run.

I have smoked pot. I have also done coke. Also, Oxycondone, PCP, crack, meth, Vicodine, heroine, Extacy, Methadone, LSD, Valium, and this one drug who’s name I forgot but is used to tranquilize black bears and makes you feel like the king of the paisley weasels. In fact, I’m on three of the drugs listed above right now.

I have hired undocumented workers to do stuff for me around the house. Specifically, I hired two of them to pleasure me physically. This is probably a good time to point out that I have slept with prostitutes.

I once wrote a blog that had certain “blue” elements that could prove embarrassing if taken out of context. The blog could also prove embarrassing if used in context.

I regret these errors in judgment I made as a younger man, or at least I will when I’m running for office.

The Nobel Prize

I hate the Nobel Prizes. Every year, they give it to some egghead at a university somewhere. The prize comes with $1.4 million. The people who win the award don’t need the money, since they make so much from their fat academic jobs. They should give the award to average people who make life better for their friends and community. If you just focused on my group of friends, we should have several Noble Prizes by now.

After getting high in the parking lot, my friends and I went to Denny’s for some grub. Ed ordered some chicken strips with barbecue sauce, and Pam got a Caesar salad with the dressing on the side. When our food came, Ed came up with the idea of combining the barbecue sauce with the Caesar dressing. The resulting Caesarque is a delicious concoction that we now order every time we’re at Denny’s. For coming up with Caesarque, Ed should be awarded the Noble Prize for Chemistry.

About 10 years ago I was at a party. Sandra was passed out after drinking Jager shots as if they were Hawaiian Punch. This guy Steve who we used to hang out with was there too. Steve and Sandra were flirting earlier, so Steve thought it was his right drag Sandra into a bedroom and have his way. Fucking a passed out chic is not cool, and I told Steve that. Eventually, I had to shove Steve to stop him, which drew the attention of other partygoers. When I explained Steve’s intentions to everyone, the host made him leave. Since I prevented a sexual assault, I should get the Nobel Peace Prize. Shit, I’m at least as qualified to win the Peace Prize as Obama. Unlike him, I am not the Commander in Chief during two wars.

The Worst Sin

In my long tenure as a blogger on these fine internets, I’ve been accused of many things, mostly that I am not funny. I get it. Many people took Jonathan Swift’s satire seriously and pilloried him for it. Mark Twain wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Richard Pryor rubbed a few people the wrong way. I can’t please everyone.

This latest piece of criticism, however, was particularly painful to read.

Dear Mr. Divide,

I know that journalistic standards and integrity on the internet are close to non-existent, but I still believe that anyone with a modicum of decency should be appalled by your recent work. I am a journalism graduate student who is required by my professors to post my work on the internet. I have no problem with people linking my work in their blogs, but you have taken my words and put them unattributed under your byline.

Here’s what I wrote in a July 22 news story.

As a result of the sentence Mr. Bernoulli is likely to receive for embezzlement, police have decided not to pursue forgery charges.

Here’s what you wrote on September 29.

Police have decided not…

I hope as a person of honor, you refrain from plagiarizing mine or anybody’s work ever again.

Sincerely,

Jim Claybourn

I’m afraid Mr. Claybourn is right. I looked over more of my blog posts and found I do this regularly. For example, on August 11, I wrote “I was bewildered until I remembered,” which I apparently ripped off of this post about kayaking. On May 31, I said, “A trip to the hardware store netted,” which I swiped from this poor guy’s blog.

From now on, I will only write a jumble of words in Dadaist nonsense, which I hope will truly qualify as original content.

Found in My Spam Folder IX

You’re a good person. You consider yourself to be honest, and you love and respect your elders. So why would you lie to your grandma?

Sure, you’re intentions are good. You want to show her that you love her and that she’s special, so you bought her a “World’s Greatest Grandma” mug. By doing this, you’ve dishonored her greatly.

How is this possible? Well, there are literally millions of grandparents in the US, with more added every day. Unless you surveyed e very one of them every day, you have know way of definitively knowing that your grandma is the best. Yes, your grandma makes the best Christmas cookies and buys nice birthday sweaters, but some grandmas are working to cure cancer, alleviate hunger, and fight the terrorists. No matter how great the Christmas cookies are, they’re no cure for cancer. The mug you lovingly bought is a big lie.

But it doesn’t have to be. Here at Timony Industries, we are proud to unveil our new line of Asterisk Novelties. Yes, our sweatshirt says “World’s Greatest Grandma,” only our sweatshirt has an asterisk after it. On the bottom of the shirt in the back, in small print, it says, “Based on an unscientific and highly biased survey.”

Why limit the honesty to grandmas? We also have products that say “World’s Greatest Lover,” with the disclaimer saying, “That someone with my appearance and socioeconomic status can reasonably have without too much effort.” Or “World’s Greatest Boss,” where the small print says, “Ok, I realize you’re probably not he greatest, but at least you don’t berate me in front of coworkers. Please don’t fire me.”

Whether it’s a mug, keychain, license plate holder, or a sweatshirt, Timony Industries Aserisk Novelties allow you to show you care without making you a liar.

Note on a Break Room Refrigerator Door II

Dear Members of the Cleaning Staff,

I cannot commend you enough for the work you do. The last cleaning crew that we had in the office would dump coffee grounds down the sink. I’d come in in the morning and wash my mug, only to find the sink filled with brown, sludgy water. Artie in maintenance had to spend all day unclogging drains instead of replacing light bulbs or whatever he does. You properly dispose the coffee grounds in the trash, which is preferable.

I am also very impressed that you cleaned out the refrigerator over the weekend. The sign that says “Any items left in the refrigerator over the weekend will be thrown out by the cleaning staff” has been there for the two years that I have worked here, but its message was never carried out. I bring a lunch nearly every day, and some of the stuff left in the fridge was disgusting. I once threw out a half piece of pizza in a brown paper bag that had a full inch bluish-green fluff on it.

Since no one was enforcing the “no food in the fridge over the weekend” policy, I kept a bottle of ranch dressing for dipping carrot sticks that is now gone. I guess this is a small sacrifice to make to prevent the break room refrigerator from becoming an antibiotic laboratory. What’s more alarming though is that you also managed to throw out all of the refrigerator shelves and the compressor. The refrigerator is now useless. I appreciate your thoroughness, but you may have gone a bit overboard.

Do you know where you threw that stuff out? My Lean Cuisine is getting warm.

Sincerely,

Ted Nancy, Accounting

Will Divide Attempts Live Blogging

A common aspect of blogging that I have not employed is live blogging. Live-blogging is when you take an event and blog short entries while it is happening. Since this blog is updated once daily, I decided to do live blogging as a guest on a friend’s blog. Here is the transcript of my live blog of having sex for the first time in 17 months.

9:37 PM –Katie and I have been very flirty. I think tonight’s the night.

9:41 PM – Katie secretly brushed her teeth. I think she’s planning to do some kissing. Oh shit, how is my breath?

9:44 PM – Great kissing. Katie doesn’t seem to mind my hand on her thigh. I’m going in for the kill.

9:45 PM – Katie asked me why I keep using my iPhone. I explained I’m dealing with a work emergency. (I’m actually updating this blog.) She apparently bought this.

9:52 PM – OMG Katie’s got nice breasts. I hope there’s not a puddle in my boxers.

9:57 PM – I have found the clit. At least I think I found it. Katie seems happy.

10:01 PM – I’m putting a condom on! It’s really happening. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!

10:03 PM – I came. I was hoping to last longer, but what do you expect after 17 months of celibacy? I sure hope Katie’s ok with it.

10:07 PM – Katie is leaving. I thought she would stay the night. This is probably bad.

10:11 PM – Lonely and feeling like a failure. I wish I could delay coming, but it just felt too damn good.

10:27 PM – Drank a lot of Smirnov I had lying around. Not feeling lonely or like a failure. Not feeling anything but goooooood.

10:29 PM – Feeling something else now.

10:30 PM – Puking.

High School Student Dies from "Vampire Bite"

PORTLAND, OREGON (AP) – Zachary Connor, 14, died last night from the effects of a massive tetanus infection he acquired after receiving a “vampire bite” from a high school classmate, officials at Providence Medical Center reported Tuesday.

Connor, who was a first-year student at Central Catholic High School, received a bite on the neck from a classmate sometime last week. The student that bit Connor is also being treated at Providence Medial Center after doctors determined that she was a carrier of the tetanus virus. Police have decided not to file charges and have not released her name.

School officials claim these attacks are common but that there is little school officials can do to prevent them. “Vampires are popular in youth culture,” Central Catholic Assistant Principal Mary O’Brien said. “Over the past year, we’ve seen numerous incidents of kids biting each other in the neck. It’s usually done among friends to show a form of ownership. One student we disciplined last year claimed that the bite doesn’t ‘count’ unless it draws blood.”

A classmate of Connor’s who asked not to be identified, added, “We all feel terrible about Zach. Everyone bites. It’s a way to show you love your friends. We thought the worst thing that could happen is that someone would turn into a vampire.”

Dr. Gordon Baker, a microbiology researcher at Oregon Health Sciences University, explained that human bites can have serious medical consequences. “The human mouth is full of bacteria, and introducing the pathogens to a person’s bloodstream through a bite puncture is an easy way to cause infection. The Connor case is not the first report of a person dying from a human bite in the medical literature.”

Connor is survived by his parents, grandparents, and two sisters. Funeral services are still pending.

It's Tough Being a White Guy

There are lots of advantages to being a white male in America. Shop owners don’t feel as compelled to follow you in stores to see if you are shoplifting. You can drive an expensive car in any neighborhood in America and the cops won’t assume you stole it. You’re odds of being a politician, CEO, head coach of a professional sports team, or high-grossing movie star are greater than any other gender, ethnic, or racial combination.

These advantages are diminishing, though. White men’s string of 43 consecutive US Presidencies ended in 2009. Minority coaches have won championships in three of the four major US professional sports leagues. Also, by 2042, white people will make up less than 50% of the US population, making white men less than ¼ of the population. (There tend to be more women than men anyway, since men are more likely to die in wars and Darwin Award winning “hey check this out” stunts.)

Perhaps the worst part about being a white male these days is applying for a job. This is not due to affirmative action. Large employers don’t necessarily favor women and minority candidates; it’s just that when they hire these candidates, they like to trumpet how diverse they are. Look at a job application. They start gently, asking if you are a Hispanic. That’s usually followed with a question about ethnicity, then one about gender. As a white male, after you’re done filling that out, you’re left felling, “No, I’m not some pretty feather to put in your cap. I’m nothing special. I’m just a white guy.”

So next time you see a white guy, hold a door open for him, or let him merge into your lane. After all, white guys have been through a lot.

The Final Taboo

We’ve come a long way, baby. In 1960, NBC censored Tonight Show host Jack Paar’s joke that mentioned the phrase “water closet.” In 2010, NBC might tell Jay Leno not to tell a joke with the phrase “water closet,” not because it is indecent but because most of his audience won’t know what a “water closet” is.

Short of hardcore pornography, there isn’t much that is forbidden on TV. Showing taboo used to be limited to premium cable channels with their unedited movies and adult-themed original programming, but now regular cable networks like FX and AMC have gotten into the game. Shows like Mad Men have no qualms about using whatever language seems to suit the moment. Take this exchange in the elevator between Don Draper and Pete Campbell from last night’s episode. (I don’t have the transcript, so this is an approximation.)

DON: Shit on a shingle, Pete.

PETE: Shitty, shitty, shit, shit, shit, Don. Drinking, smoking, womanizing, and trying to hang onto the 50s before the hippies and civil rights era takes over, you shit-faced shit stain.

Later in the same episode, Roger chastises Pete and uses the word “fuck.” At least I think he said, “fuck,” as AMC muted the word. “Shit,” which was on George Carlin's list of seven words you can’t say on TV now flies freely, but “fuck,” which was also on the list, is not allowed. Why is that? The show is already rated TV MA, and if you’re offended by the word “fuck,” you’ll probably find “shit” offensive too. It’s 2010. Shouldn’t “fuck” be allowed to have a place of prominence next to “shit” on prime time cable TV?

And while you’re at it, can you show a little tit?

How to Help Your Favorite Sports Team

One of the most frustrating things about being a fan of team sports (besides the fact that your tam never wins) is that no matter how much you care, there’s nothing you can do to help the team win. Sure, you could buy expensive season tickets, but the revenue from that is merely a drop in a large bucket (and besides, your team could just spend the extra money on a big name wide receiver who underachieves). You can take the Steve Bartman approach and physically interfere with a ball being caught, but those opportunities are rare. Unless you can ice skate really fast, are 260 pounds of pure muscle, or can throw a 93 MPH fastball, there isn’t much you can do. Until now.

Inspiration for this approach comes from a non-team sport – golf. Once, Tiger Woods was the undisputed best player on the planet. Then it turned out that he liked to have sex with lots of different women that weren’t his wife. After the scandal, Woods couldn’t get a ball between Abe Lincoln’s legs in putt putt. Exposing extramarital affairs to the public is kryptonite to athletes.

So here’s what you need to do. Find out where the best player for your opposition hangs out. Then stalk the guy. Keep a digital camera on hand at all times, preferably with a great zoom on it. Then, take a picture of the athlete leaving the strip club at 2:00 AM with the big breasted blonde. Next, send the pictures to favorite sleazy media outlet (the Daily News for athletes in the New York area, TMZ for everywhere else), and watch your team paste the newly weakened opposition. Most male athletes have extramarital affairs, so this shouldn’t be difficult.

Sports fans, you’re welcome.

The Recession is Over?

I went on Yahoo! the other day to check my email and saw a link to a story that said that economists declared the recession over. I don’t read a lot of news, but I think I do a good job of keeping up on current events. This just sounded preposterous to me, so I clicked on the link and read the first couple of paragraphs. It said something like although economists know that the country is still struggling, the recession is over. What’s more, they also said that the recession ended in June. Of 2009.

I’d like to know if economists get drug tested, because they are obviously smoking crack. Seriously? June of 2009? My wife was laid off in March and still can’t find work. My job at the auto parts factory cut all overtime, so I’ve had to take a second job at a convenience store. I now work more hours for less pay. My neighbor recently moved out and his house is in foreclosure. Our house isn’t worth what we paid for it.

The other day, I was on the bus talking to my co-worker Jerry. I told him that I want a job as an economist. I’m sure it pays well, and I know more about the economy than they do. The guy behind us interrupted us. He’s apparently an economics professor at the community college. The guy said that a recession happens when the economy is contracting. Although we haven’t dug out of the hole yet, he explained, the economy isn’t contracting anymore, so it isn’t in a recession. I told him that may be his definition, but I know w a recession when I see one.

I may not be the most informed person, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have an opinion.

Response to Craigslist Ad in the W4M Section

Hi there,

After reading your craigslist ad in the W4M section, I think we would be a good match. Allow me to elaborate.

You said you like a man in uniform or a man that works with his hands. I actually qualify as both, since I work as a garbage collector, and wear a jumpsuit to work every day. I think I look pretty sharp in it (before it gets covered in gunk), as it does a good job to cover my belly.

Another thing you said you were looking for was a guy that does not have children. I had children, but the state has custody of them. I wasn’t a bad father or anything; I made sure that they had all their shots and got ice cream when they were good. It turns out though that if you use your children while committing a felony, you’re not allowed to keep them.

You mentioned that you are looking for a man with a sense of humor. I’m always cracking up my co-workers on the truck or at the dump. I collect old Playboy and Penthouse magazines. Although I do look at the pictures, I’m also interested in the writing. Specifically, I read the jokes on the back of the centerfold picture. Then, when the time is appropriate, I tell one of the jokes I’ve memorized from the magazines. Once I got in trouble for telling a dirty gay joke when a Fernando was present. That’s why I only tell jokes at appropriate times.

Although I don’t have a computer, I can write you back the next time I am at the library. My cell phone is disconnected due to non-payment.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Eddie

How to Have a Long Life

People are always looking for ways to be healthy and live longer without having to subject themselves to the hardships of dieting and exercise. The internet is full of dubious ads telling you how to do this.

Luckily for us, we have empirical evidence on how to live longer. Rather than subject yourself to harsh exercise and bland food in small portions, all you have to do is ask those who have succeeded. The world is full of centenarian, and their habits are things that you can emulate in order to live longer.

Take Walter Breuning for example. Today is his 114th birthday, making him the oldest person alive. Breuning wakes up at 6:00 AM every morning and dresses every day in a suit. He claims that his biggest regret in life was not enlisting to fight in World War I.

Or you could look to 106 year-old Isa Blyth for guidance. Blyth is a regular church attendee and enjoys gardening and golf. She’s also a virgin, claiming to have never been kissed.

Then there’s Zhang Shuqing, who is 103. He credits his long life to a strict regiment of drinking strong liquor after every meal and smoking cigarettes. His grandson claims that he has consumed over 15 tons of liquor and a ton of tobacco in his lifetime.

The lesson to be learned here is that if you want to have a very long life, you should wake at 6, wear a suit daily, avoid war, got to church, garden, golf, refrain from sex, and smoke and drink like a frat boy during pledge week. If years of medical research seem like too much effort, a few pieces of anecdotal evidence may be your cup of tea.