I just wanted to inform everybody that instead of my website, I'm using my time to write an e-book of the same topic. It gets my information out there quicker, since I have limited knowledge of technology and even more limited business knowledge. I may still do the site, but my primary focus is the book first, because I believe the info itself has real value in it.
So, again I apologize for the silence, however if you get bored, I do have plenty of stuff over on Uncyclopedia.org. I'm user:mrthejazz. I suggest looking up "GIANT NOVETLY FOAM HANDS!!!" It's my latest one. I will return.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
This is what "Non Sellout" music sounds like
This is the first song of musician Pogo's new album. For those of you who don't know who Pogo is, he has made a ton of remixes of popular media. Then he got an even cooler idea: He decided to remix the sounds of the world. He doesn't have any corporate sponsors for this project, so he needs help in the form of purchasing his music. Basically, if he runs out of money to keep making the tracks, then he has to stop. Listen to the video and tell me honestly there's no value in buying his tracks. The video here is a remix of Joburg, South Africa. His next remix is Tibet.
And for the record, I'm not supporting him because I'm some kind of promoter or anything like that. It's just that his music really inspires me.
You can support him here.
And for the record, I'm not supporting him because I'm some kind of promoter or anything like that. It's just that his music really inspires me.
You can support him here.
Renewed Wonder
Renewed Wonder is the name I've decided on for a website I've decided to create. I'm still in the early stages of design, making sure everything is in order before I go out and spend money on a domain and hosting. Also, I DON'T KNOW THE FIRST THING ABOUT WEB DESIGN. Needless to say, this will be fun at the least. I'm hoping this at least draws some serious interest. Here's the synopsis I plan on putting on the main page:
Renewed Wonder
Renewed Wonder
The point of this website is to help you regain a sense of wonder in your life.
Do you remember what life was like as a child? Do you remember how everything was constantly new for you? Do you remember how amazing everything was and how you looked at the world in such a way that it seemed like everything was exciting? My child has this. Every night before bed time he insists on seeing the moon, and he barrages me with a million questions about it, usually the same questions every night. Either way, he loves the moon. It’s this big, mysterious object in the sky and it really is something to watch him.
Some of us experienced this as children, but have forgotten this feeling by the time we’ve reached adulthood. Others were put in unfortunate situations as children where they grew up too fast and never really had the chance to experience a childhood like this. Still, there is the group of people who saw the world that way as children and still do, every single day. To these people, it’s like the world is constantly changing. While that change may be for the better or worse, they still see the outrageous beauty of it.
If you count yourself in the last group, then you are very fortunate, because there are few people who experience this in their lives. You are certainly in the minority. If you are in the first or second groups, don’t despair, because it’s not too late for you to experience a life like this.
My name is Casey Young, and I have made it my personal mission to help people understand that the world doesn’t make sense, and that’s okay. I want people to walk the earth in a constant state of wonder. I want to help people free themselves from themselves. I’ve started this site for this reason alone. This site isn’t just about pointing out interesting things in the world and saying “Ooh, look at that, wow.” While that may be a component of my site, I’m also about changing the mind frames of people, and showing them the mental blocks and attitudes that keep them from actually enjoying life. I also am a fan of absurdism because it teaches people that life can be quite silly at times, so we might as well just sit back and enjoy the ride. I mean, you’re already on the roller coaster, right? Why close your eyes and shiver when you can throw your arms up and scream at the top of your lungs? Which is more fun?
At this site you can expect to see:
1. Wonderful, fantastic things – They’re only wonderful if you open your mind up to them.
2. Articles designed to help people shed their cynicism and fear- You’re better off without either of them.
3. Information aimed at self-improvement – because growth and wonder often go hand in hand.
4. Satire/blatant mockery – I only aim to satirize the little things in our lives that make us feel annoyed or disgusted at the world, things like terrible advertisements on T.V or radio. If I can make somebody smile and discourage boneheaded thinking at the same time, then it’s a win-win.
5. Analysis of Media – More specifically, the valuable lessons behind everyday media, or the terrible lack thereof.
“Yeah, but all of that seems somewhat trivial. I don’t want to be entertained. I want a better life!”
I know that when you see the above listed things this can seem like just an entertainment site, but I promise that I can help you in real practical ways. Remember: the point of this site is to feel wonder in your life again. Here’s how I can practically help you:
Career Satisfaction: There are three kinds of people in careers. The wealthy and unhappy, the poor and unhappy, and the wealthy and happy. I suppose there are those who may be happy with a minimum wage job, but I sure wasn’t. I can help you find the direction you need to do something that brings you both wealth and happiness.
Soul Satisfaction: My goal with this site is also to advise people and help them grow. I earnestly hope that any information I can contribute will improve the quality of people's lives and help them see the wonder of the world. I also give practical advice on how to do the things the heart really yearns for.
Relationship advice: I'm no relationship doctor, but I do know that some relationships, whether with significant others or other family, can really put a damper on your personal happiness and cloud your thinking - If you allow them too.
Other stuff: Um, anything else I can think of that's relevant.
So that's the basic pitch, sound out and let me know what you think!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Another interruption
So, I've been contemplating a change here. A very radical change. I've been contemplating abandoning my blog and setting up a website with a very different direction. This has been after much soul searching and trying to figure out who I am and what I want to do in this world.
The name of the site would be Renewedwonder.com, or something along those lines. I haven't researched to see if the domain is taken yet. I also have no experience in web development...yet. But I do know that this is what I'm wanting to do.
The basic idea of the site is that people are cynical and they don't have to be. As we age, most of us lose our sense of wonder in the world, but the core idea behind this site would be that we don't have to. From there it would be part personal development, part discussion of media and how it either helps or harms our sense of wonder (with plenty of satire to be had by all), and the occasional artifact, either in picture, or video form, to show that the world is incredibly wonderful, no matter how much we've already seen.
If anybody else is interested in where I'm going with here, please give me feedback. I'm only contemplating it now, and it would take a lot of work, but I think it would be an excellent use of my time here on the planet.
The name of the site would be Renewedwonder.com, or something along those lines. I haven't researched to see if the domain is taken yet. I also have no experience in web development...yet. But I do know that this is what I'm wanting to do.
The basic idea of the site is that people are cynical and they don't have to be. As we age, most of us lose our sense of wonder in the world, but the core idea behind this site would be that we don't have to. From there it would be part personal development, part discussion of media and how it either helps or harms our sense of wonder (with plenty of satire to be had by all), and the occasional artifact, either in picture, or video form, to show that the world is incredibly wonderful, no matter how much we've already seen.
If anybody else is interested in where I'm going with here, please give me feedback. I'm only contemplating it now, and it would take a lot of work, but I think it would be an excellent use of my time here on the planet.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
What if...you Literally Obeyed Your Thirst?
Thirst is a physical sensation that is triggered when the human body needs water. "Thirst" is not sentient and cannot tell you what to do. The nice man behind the bullet proof window keeps trying to tell you that, anyway, but you know better.
The other day, your thirst told you to kill your roommate Devon. You didn't really want to, but your thirst kind of talked you into it.
"Alright thirst," you said,
"Just this one time."
Now, you don't have any roommates anymore. They moved you to a different section of the hospital, ones with bars on the windows and televisions made entirely of plastic so you can't break the monitor and use the glass to slit the doctors' throats. The room is quite empty, except for the aformentioned television, a bed with no bars on it so you can't give yourself blunt head trauma, and a plastic cup of water sitting on a padded stool in the corner. They put it there so your thirst would have less of a bad influence on you. You like the company that your thirst brings, however, so you never drink the water.
At this point, the effects of dehydration are really starting to get to you. Your skin is very flush from the lack of water. The nurses don't know what to do with you. They want to hook up an I.V. to you, but you're surprisingly strong and don't want you to pull out the needle and impale them. Your thirst would totally tell you to do that, too. Your thirst is just hardcore like that.
You have to call for a hospital attendant if you want to use the bathroom. Usually though, you just shit on your hand and paint the walls Marquis de Sade style. Your thirst likes it better that way. Sometimes the smell bothers you, but lately you are too busy passing in and out of consciousness that you don't really notice it. If your thirst wants things that way, who are you to argue with it? Your thirst seems to know what it's doing.
Deep down you have a secret. Even if your thirst didn't pressure you into it, you probably would have killed Devon anyway, because Devon stole your last pudding cup, and you were really craving some chocolate. Don't worry, it's understandable. I won't tell anybody. Have you thought about killing more people yet?
Now you know.
The other day, your thirst told you to kill your roommate Devon. You didn't really want to, but your thirst kind of talked you into it.
"Alright thirst," you said,
"Just this one time."
Now, you don't have any roommates anymore. They moved you to a different section of the hospital, ones with bars on the windows and televisions made entirely of plastic so you can't break the monitor and use the glass to slit the doctors' throats. The room is quite empty, except for the aformentioned television, a bed with no bars on it so you can't give yourself blunt head trauma, and a plastic cup of water sitting on a padded stool in the corner. They put it there so your thirst would have less of a bad influence on you. You like the company that your thirst brings, however, so you never drink the water.
At this point, the effects of dehydration are really starting to get to you. Your skin is very flush from the lack of water. The nurses don't know what to do with you. They want to hook up an I.V. to you, but you're surprisingly strong and don't want you to pull out the needle and impale them. Your thirst would totally tell you to do that, too. Your thirst is just hardcore like that.
You have to call for a hospital attendant if you want to use the bathroom. Usually though, you just shit on your hand and paint the walls Marquis de Sade style. Your thirst likes it better that way. Sometimes the smell bothers you, but lately you are too busy passing in and out of consciousness that you don't really notice it. If your thirst wants things that way, who are you to argue with it? Your thirst seems to know what it's doing.
Deep down you have a secret. Even if your thirst didn't pressure you into it, you probably would have killed Devon anyway, because Devon stole your last pudding cup, and you were really craving some chocolate. Don't worry, it's understandable. I won't tell anybody. Have you thought about killing more people yet?
Now you know.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
You give me an idea...what if?
All of my ideas are rubbish, let's be honest. So I'm offering a new idea to you.
You give me an idea to write about, I'll look through the ones I get, pick the ones I like best, and use that to write my stories.
That's right. You, the reader, get to help me write my stories. Shoot away folks! You can post your what if ideas either in the comment section of this blog...or you can @ message me on my twitter account.
www.twitter.com/mrthejazz1
You give me an idea to write about, I'll look through the ones I get, pick the ones I like best, and use that to write my stories.
That's right. You, the reader, get to help me write my stories. Shoot away folks! You can post your what if ideas either in the comment section of this blog...or you can @ message me on my twitter account.
www.twitter.com/mrthejazz1
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Trolling the onion part 3, the resume
In my last post, I said that I would show you the resume that I attached when I trolled The Onion editorial staff. Here it is:
Mr. Harry Wong (Ex Millionaire)
523 Broadway,
New York, NY 10012
212-627-1971 (Cell)
OBJECTIVE
My goal is to obtain a responsible position where my experience, accomplishments, and proficiency in wrestling all different varieties of bears in front of large crowds for the purposes of entertainment will allow me the opportunity for growth.
EDUCATION
Sven’s Large Animal Wrestling School Боровск, USSR (Now Russia)
M.A. Bear Wrestling
Graduated Spring 2008 4.0 GPA
Little Rock Community College Little Rock, AK (United States)
B.A. Jizz Mopping
Graduated Fall 2005 2.3 GPA
QUALIFICATIONS
1 Lit animals on fire during childhood.
2 Wrestled my dad on many occasions in youth.
3 Knowledge of Spanish
4 Can type 20 WPM
5 Frequent steroid user
6 Dresses like “Zangief” from Street Fighter
EXPERIENCE
2009-current Tex’s Rodeo and House of BBQ, Waco TX
Rodeo/Restautant
Bull Wrestler – Frequently risked life wrestling bulls both with and without clothing. Cuddled with bulls after whooping their ass.
2008-2009 McDonalds, St Michaels Church, WV
Restaurant
Burger Wrestler – Used spatula to wrestle multiple hamburgers on grill. Choked burgers into submission using clever combination of special sauce, pickles, and a sesame seed bun.
2005- 2007 At home
My Apartment
Unemployed – Spent the majority of this time jacking off.
REFERENCES AVAILABLE ON REQUEST. I CAN BACK THIS SHIT UP.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Trolling The Onion Editorial Staff, Part 2
I recently wrote an E-mail trolling The Onion editorial staff. If you want to read the entire post, you are welcome to go here. Otherwise, I've included the trolling letter in quotes. The basic idea was that The Onion has such a reputation for ignoring their E-mail, especially from wanna be writers that I figured that instead of trying to write from them, I'd just have fun with them sending silly E-mails. Here's what I wrote last time:
To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:
And now let's talk about something else that The Onion hates. Applications. They hate it when people send their editorial staff resumes and writing samples...so...let's do that. But it has to be absurd to make it stand out. Bear wrestling will do.
Two weeks have come and gone with no response, so it's now time to write them another E-mail! First, let's address this whole, "me being rich" issue.
Subject:I'm legally required to tell you that my dead uncle wants to give you money
To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:
Greetings, my name is Harry Wong, and I am well aware of your reputation of not reading your E-mails, due to the high volume of junk mail and resumes. In fact, I am counting on this.
You see, recently, my late uncle Ted Albatross passed to the other side in the middle of reading your article, "Man Already Knows Everything He Needs To Know About Muslims". He laughed so hard that he had a heart attack and died in his favorite lazyboy. My uncle Ted was quite well off, but nothing gave him more pleasure than opening up one of his many Onion anthologies or going online and reading one of your articles. He was so much a fan of your publication that he decided to leave all of his worldly possessions, including his Ford Coupe and mail-order bride, TinaLisa, to be divided among your on-staff writing team.
Fortunately for me, if the money is not accepted in two weeks, there is a clause that states the money instead will go to the executor of his estate (me).
I am quite confident that you will be far too busy driving around in your fancy Roles Royces and looking at your pretty Rolex watches to notice this single humble little E-mail, so I want to thank you in advance for your generous donation to the me fund. You have two weeks from today to reply to this.
Psh, good luck.
Sincerely,
Harry Wong (future millionaire)
P.S. That Jackie Harvey guy just cracks me up.
To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:
I just wanted to thank you all again for your great generosity regarding my late uncle Albatross. You are all truly kind and/or neglectful individuals to allow a humble person like me to have all of that money even though he offered it to you. Already I have taken the Coupe out for many a joyride, and I had my dentist replace my teeth with diamonds. They're pretty awesome, except for when I bite my lip. Albatross's late mail order wife, TinaLisa, has been pleasuring me once a week per her contractual obligations, although I have to say she really doesn't seem to enjoy it. I believe that she was a little disappointed that she didn't have the opportunity to pleasure any of you, as she too is a great fan of The Onion. In retrospect, I think that's why uncle Albatross chose her. I can assure you his choice had nothing to do with anything "performance" related. She has all of the skill of a wet noodle. Still, normal, non-onion editors would probably be jealous, so props to you all on your self control.
And now let's talk about something else that The Onion hates. Applications. They hate it when people send their editorial staff resumes and writing samples...so...let's do that. But it has to be absurd to make it stand out. Bear wrestling will do.
I confess that the thank-you is not my only reason for writing you. I saw that you have a bear-wrestling position posted on your site, and they said to apply here. I am skilled in multiple types of bear wrestling, including grizzly, black, and panda. I have also eaten teddy grahams on multiple occasions, so I'm certain that you will see that I am highly qualified. I find it hard to believe that you would have a need for bear wrestlers, but then I'm not one to argue with your site.
I'm sure you find it strange that I'm applying for a job here when I just received a major windfall. Unfortunately, as of the time of this writing, I have all but lost the money, except for the diamond teeth, which I'd rather die than lose. You see, I am a bit of a compulsive gambler, and I bet everything I had against my friend Mitch that he couldn't shoot heroin directly into his eye. The sonofabitch pulled it off, and then promptly OD'ed. Now, neither of us have anything, as the money he won from me was directly used to pay for his doctor bills. He is now blind in one eye and paraplegic, but none of that matters because the bastard won the bet. He wasn't supposed to take me up on it, the stupid idiot.
Anyhoo, if you could help me out with that bear-wrestling position, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm perfectly qualified, really hard up on cash now, and I know how to put on a real show, just in case the reason for the show is that you are all bored around your office. I have enclosed a sample of my bear wrestling resume as well for your further consideration. You can consider this letter your cover letter. Thank-you for your time, consideration, and money.
Stay tuned next time to see my "resume", and in the mean time, feel free to continue E-mailing The Onion about their bear wrestling position at this address: editorial@theonion.comSincerely,
Harry Wong (ex millionaire)
Enclosure
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
What if...you walked away in slow motion from an exploding giraffe?
You desire to do something epic, something noteworthy, something that society will remember forever, so you've decided to gather a group of your friends, sneak into the zoo, and go blow up a giraffe. The three of you have been planning this for weeks, trying to find the best way to gather the necessary materials without attracting the attention of the Feds. Thermite, for example, is way too obvious, and they'd catch on. Plus, it wouldn't explode the giraffe so much as melt it.
This isn't going to be as easy as you thought it would be. It turns out that you can't just go to your local superstore, and buy TNT. Luckily for you, you have a close buddy who runs a fireworks stand, so that giraffe is totally going to have artillery shells blowing out of his ass.
Early on the appointed morning, you sneak into the zoo. The cameras see you but nobody reacts right away because really, How often does somebody break into the zoo to try to blow up the giraffes? One of your friends will break his leg when he jumps into the pen and misses the tree that he was aiming for. It's about a fifteen foot fall. Really though, it's okay, because he's just the camera guy, and can film the explosion from where he is.
You and your other friend sneak up to the giraffe with the home-made M-One million-billion. There's enough gunpowder in that sucker to restart the Vietnam War. The tough part is getting it on the giraffe. First, you try holding some leaves next to it to see if you can get the giraffe to swallow it. It eats the leaves and ignores the improvised explosive device. Next, you try sticking it up its ass, but for some reason the giraffe isn't okay with that either. Luckily for you, you brought your duct tape. You manage to sneak up close enough to the animal to tape it to its tail. That's going to have to do.
By this time, the zoo park guards have finally noticed you and are beginning to work their way into the pen shouting things like,
"Stop it!"
and
"Get out of there, you stupid idiot!"
The two of you quickly light the fuse, and then walk away in slow motion like you're in a movie or something. At the last second, the tail swings in your direction and the bomb explodes in your faces, peeling the skin off your cheeks and blinding you in one eye.
"Coooooooool."
You say.
You'll look over to your injured friend to see if he got it all on tape, but by then he'll have passed out from internal bleeding and shock.
Now you know.
This isn't going to be as easy as you thought it would be. It turns out that you can't just go to your local superstore, and buy TNT. Luckily for you, you have a close buddy who runs a fireworks stand, so that giraffe is totally going to have artillery shells blowing out of his ass.
Early on the appointed morning, you sneak into the zoo. The cameras see you but nobody reacts right away because really, How often does somebody break into the zoo to try to blow up the giraffes? One of your friends will break his leg when he jumps into the pen and misses the tree that he was aiming for. It's about a fifteen foot fall. Really though, it's okay, because he's just the camera guy, and can film the explosion from where he is.
You and your other friend sneak up to the giraffe with the home-made M-One million-billion. There's enough gunpowder in that sucker to restart the Vietnam War. The tough part is getting it on the giraffe. First, you try holding some leaves next to it to see if you can get the giraffe to swallow it. It eats the leaves and ignores the improvised explosive device. Next, you try sticking it up its ass, but for some reason the giraffe isn't okay with that either. Luckily for you, you brought your duct tape. You manage to sneak up close enough to the animal to tape it to its tail. That's going to have to do.
By this time, the zoo park guards have finally noticed you and are beginning to work their way into the pen shouting things like,
"Stop it!"
and
"Get out of there, you stupid idiot!"
The two of you quickly light the fuse, and then walk away in slow motion like you're in a movie or something. At the last second, the tail swings in your direction and the bomb explodes in your faces, peeling the skin off your cheeks and blinding you in one eye.
"Coooooooool."
You say.
You'll look over to your injured friend to see if he got it all on tape, but by then he'll have passed out from internal bleeding and shock.
Now you know.
Friday, September 17, 2010
What if...Gregorian chanters?
This morning you going to win a contest that you didn't even know you had entered. It was from some unusual soda company that you had never heard of before called Bearoin.
"Feel like a bear, drink Bearoin." Was printed on the label.
You were disappointed and didn't feel all too bearish. You had opened the soda cap, drank your beverage, and thrown the bottle away, failing to notice the small print under the cap stating
"Throw this cap away for a chance to have a choir follow you around all day singing Gregorian chant"
The chanters arrive at your house and start doing their thing right at dawn, waking you to the sound of holy ancient men singing ominously in what could be Latin. When you slowly get out of bed, crack your back, and scratch yourself, everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Everything seems more interesting, more dramatic. You strike a pose while you are brushing your teeth, and raise both of your eyebrows suspiciously as you theatrically devour your Lame-Os (TM).
When you finally finish dressing yourself, you head outside and see them for the first time. There are about twenty of them, dressed in old brown robes.
"Why are you singing?" You say.
"You won a contest."
"Oh. Okay."
You get into your car, and the choir all piles into a tour bus that they had parked in the street next to your house. They roll down their windows and continue to sing while they follow you. Throughout the heavy traffic, the bus manages to stay right behind you the whole way. Every red light, the dramatic music crescendos into a peak frenzy. A guy cuts you off on the road and the choir sings in fortissimo.
When you walk into work, the choir follows you from a distance, still singing. The building security guard attempts to stop them. You explain,
"It's okay, I won a contest."
They all cram into the elevator with you. AS you go up 20 floors, they sing from a low to a high pitch,
"ooooooOOOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
They stand outside of your cubicle and sing as you check your E-mail, as you try to make a phone call to a client, and as you walk over to the water cooler to talk about that one new Tarantino movie you haven't seen yet. Several curious employees will ask you what the deal is with the choir. You will be forced to explain the contest thing to them over and over. By the lunch hour, you'll just resort to telling people to go away.
Your boss walks up to you and attempt to have you get rid of them. You explain that you just don't have the heart, and besides, you won a contest. He threatens you with your job.
Your boss finally tells you to take the day off, to get rid of the choir. They follow you in the bus again. On the way home, you get into a terrible car accident. Your leg bends in ways that it shouldn't, and a scrap of the car's twisted wreckage penetrates just past your right eye socket.
The bus full of chanters don't get out to help you though. Instead, they'll stay on the bus, singing all the more dramatically of your pain. It makes your death solemn, memorable, and special.
The choir will not stay around for your funeral, however, because the prize only lasts for a day.
Now you know.
"Feel like a bear, drink Bearoin." Was printed on the label.
You were disappointed and didn't feel all too bearish. You had opened the soda cap, drank your beverage, and thrown the bottle away, failing to notice the small print under the cap stating
"Throw this cap away for a chance to have a choir follow you around all day singing Gregorian chant"
The chanters arrive at your house and start doing their thing right at dawn, waking you to the sound of holy ancient men singing ominously in what could be Latin. When you slowly get out of bed, crack your back, and scratch yourself, everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Everything seems more interesting, more dramatic. You strike a pose while you are brushing your teeth, and raise both of your eyebrows suspiciously as you theatrically devour your Lame-Os (TM).
When you finally finish dressing yourself, you head outside and see them for the first time. There are about twenty of them, dressed in old brown robes.
"Why are you singing?" You say.
"You won a contest."
"Oh. Okay."
You get into your car, and the choir all piles into a tour bus that they had parked in the street next to your house. They roll down their windows and continue to sing while they follow you. Throughout the heavy traffic, the bus manages to stay right behind you the whole way. Every red light, the dramatic music crescendos into a peak frenzy. A guy cuts you off on the road and the choir sings in fortissimo.
When you walk into work, the choir follows you from a distance, still singing. The building security guard attempts to stop them. You explain,
"It's okay, I won a contest."
They all cram into the elevator with you. AS you go up 20 floors, they sing from a low to a high pitch,
"ooooooOOOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
They stand outside of your cubicle and sing as you check your E-mail, as you try to make a phone call to a client, and as you walk over to the water cooler to talk about that one new Tarantino movie you haven't seen yet. Several curious employees will ask you what the deal is with the choir. You will be forced to explain the contest thing to them over and over. By the lunch hour, you'll just resort to telling people to go away.
Your boss walks up to you and attempt to have you get rid of them. You explain that you just don't have the heart, and besides, you won a contest. He threatens you with your job.
Your boss finally tells you to take the day off, to get rid of the choir. They follow you in the bus again. On the way home, you get into a terrible car accident. Your leg bends in ways that it shouldn't, and a scrap of the car's twisted wreckage penetrates just past your right eye socket.
The bus full of chanters don't get out to help you though. Instead, they'll stay on the bus, singing all the more dramatically of your pain. It makes your death solemn, memorable, and special.
The choir will not stay around for your funeral, however, because the prize only lasts for a day.
Now you know.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Now for something completely different - Trolling the Onion Editorial Staff, Part 1
As you may or may not be aware, it is impossible to get a job as a writer for The Onion. For those of you even considering it, forget about it. Not going to happen. All resumes and cover letters are insta-trashed. The staff writers there are like sith, when one leaves, another immediately fills the void, and the writers who do step in have SHIT TONS of experience.
Due to my amateurish skills at satire, and tiny itty bitty puny resume, I decided I wasn't going to try to get a job writing for The Onion. I decided instead to do the next best thing: troll them. It's been said before that you don't kid a kidder, so I may experience some extreme backlash for this. I might be out-satired. But gosh darn it! I had to, man! I had to! I've decided to write some E-mails playing up to the fact that the onion never responds to it's readership. For one thing, I want to know if they do actually read their vast amounts of E-mail, and I also wanted to know how people with an incredibly well honed, piercing sense of humor respond to the bizarre. Chances are, they'll just ignore the E-mails, but I'm counting on that.
Here's the first E-mail I sent to them, and I'll post an update in about two weeks.
Subject:
To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:
Greetings, my name is Harry Wong, and I am well aware of your reputation of not reading your E-mails, due to the high volume of junk mail and resumes. In fact, I am counting on this.
You see, recently, my late uncle Ted Albatross passed to the other side in the middle of reading your article, "Man Already Knows Everything He Needs To Know About Muslims". He laughed so hard that he had a heart attack and died in his favorite lazyboy. My uncle Ted was quite well off, but nothing gave him more pleasure than opening up one of his many Onion anthologies or going online and reading one of your articles. He was so much a fan of your publication that he decided to leave all of his worldly possessions, including his Ford Coupe and mail-order bride, TinaLisa, to be divided among your on-staff writing team.
Fortunately for me, if the money is not accepted in two weeks, there is a clause that states the money instead will go to the executor of his estate (me).
I am quite confident that you will be far too busy driving around in your fancy Roles Royces and looking at your pretty Rolex watches to notice this single humble little E-mail, so I want to thank you in advance for your generous donation to the me fund. You have two weeks from today to reply to this.
Psh, good luck.
Sincerely,
Harry Wong (future millionaire)
P.S. That Jackie Harvey guy just cracks me up.
Due to my amateurish skills at satire, and tiny itty bitty puny resume, I decided I wasn't going to try to get a job writing for The Onion. I decided instead to do the next best thing: troll them. It's been said before that you don't kid a kidder, so I may experience some extreme backlash for this. I might be out-satired. But gosh darn it! I had to, man! I had to! I've decided to write some E-mails playing up to the fact that the onion never responds to it's readership. For one thing, I want to know if they do actually read their vast amounts of E-mail, and I also wanted to know how people with an incredibly well honed, piercing sense of humor respond to the bizarre. Chances are, they'll just ignore the E-mails, but I'm counting on that.
Here's the first E-mail I sent to them, and I'll post an update in about two weeks.
Subject:
To the Editorial Staff of The Onion:
Greetings, my name is Harry Wong, and I am well aware of your reputation of not reading your E-mails, due to the high volume of junk mail and resumes. In fact, I am counting on this.
You see, recently, my late uncle Ted Albatross passed to the other side in the middle of reading your article, "Man Already Knows Everything He Needs To Know About Muslims". He laughed so hard that he had a heart attack and died in his favorite lazyboy. My uncle Ted was quite well off, but nothing gave him more pleasure than opening up one of his many Onion anthologies or going online and reading one of your articles. He was so much a fan of your publication that he decided to leave all of his worldly possessions, including his Ford Coupe and mail-order bride, TinaLisa, to be divided among your on-staff writing team.
Fortunately for me, if the money is not accepted in two weeks, there is a clause that states the money instead will go to the executor of his estate (me).
I am quite confident that you will be far too busy driving around in your fancy Roles Royces and looking at your pretty Rolex watches to notice this single humble little E-mail, so I want to thank you in advance for your generous donation to the me fund. You have two weeks from today to reply to this.
Psh, good luck.
Sincerely,
Harry Wong (future millionaire)
P.S. That Jackie Harvey guy just cracks me up.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
What if...I'm out of ideas?
There I sit, staring, trying too hard to think.
I must think of an idea, and fast. I must write something brilliant. Think brain think...I have a brilliant reputation to uphold. If I don't write something absolutely amazing, absolutely mind-blowing, everybody will laugh at me, and say I'm washed up even before I'm successful.
Oh wait, here comes something. It's seeping into my brain. Yes. I feel an epiphany any moment now...
"Poop."
My eyes light up as I write the words. It...It's amazing! Top that world. I print off the word "poop" and attempt to sell it at the Louvre museum in Paris, because I'm uneducated enough to believe that that is the only art museum in existence.
Before the curator can even speak a word in Frenchy-babble to me about the sheer brilliance of my work, I demand a specialized payment. I tell the man that I will only accept payment in the form of toy poodles. There's a reason I want that many poodles. You know those ball pit thingies like they have at Chucky Cheese? Well, I always wanted to have one of those, only with poodles instead of balls. Ideally, there would be enough poodles in there that my weight would be evenly distributed amongst them, and no single poodle would be crushed. I mean, it's not like I'm some kind of monster or anything.
But yeah. "Poop"
Comic gold, amiright?
Now I know. (Seriously, I do)
I must think of an idea, and fast. I must write something brilliant. Think brain think...I have a brilliant reputation to uphold. If I don't write something absolutely amazing, absolutely mind-blowing, everybody will laugh at me, and say I'm washed up even before I'm successful.
Oh wait, here comes something. It's seeping into my brain. Yes. I feel an epiphany any moment now...
"Poop."
My eyes light up as I write the words. It...It's amazing! Top that world. I print off the word "poop" and attempt to sell it at the Louvre museum in Paris, because I'm uneducated enough to believe that that is the only art museum in existence.
Before the curator can even speak a word in Frenchy-babble to me about the sheer brilliance of my work, I demand a specialized payment. I tell the man that I will only accept payment in the form of toy poodles. There's a reason I want that many poodles. You know those ball pit thingies like they have at Chucky Cheese? Well, I always wanted to have one of those, only with poodles instead of balls. Ideally, there would be enough poodles in there that my weight would be evenly distributed amongst them, and no single poodle would be crushed. I mean, it's not like I'm some kind of monster or anything.
But yeah. "Poop"
Comic gold, amiright?
Now I know. (Seriously, I do)
Sunday, September 12, 2010
What if...That Monk Over there is really excited?
What if today you decide to make a visit to your local monastery, because you're one of those types of people who have that much time on your hands? For you, the "local" monastery is about a 16 hour flight, so make sure you bring some reading material.
When you arrive at the monastery, you will be filled with wonder and awe at the sheer calmness, the utter focus and concentration, as well as the happiness of these ascetics. All except that one guy.
One of the oldest monks approaches you and speaks with you. You can tell he's older because he has an eye-patch. You ask him if he's a pirate.
''Like I haven't Heard that one before,'' He says.
He explains the monks way of life to you, how they have taken a vow of mostly silence. How they've learned to live without excess, and learned to let go of the things in life that bog them down. Finally, he explains that this life has brought many of them a great inner calmness.
Then, you will see that other monk doing cartwheels over there, jumping up and down like he just won the lottery.
''Oh yes, and then we have Lenny. Don't worry about him. He's always like that. He's kind of new.''
Lenny will run around in circles screaming at the top of his lungs:
''OH YEAH! I LOVE BEING A MONK! DID YOU HEAR ME GUYS? I SAID I LOVE BEING A MONK!''
The elder will sigh, and give himself a facepalm.
"Lenny...he still has a lot to learn..."
The elder always carries a small clay bottle with him wherever he goes. You wonder if it's filled with whiskey. If it is, you don't really blame him.
Now you know.
When you arrive at the monastery, you will be filled with wonder and awe at the sheer calmness, the utter focus and concentration, as well as the happiness of these ascetics. All except that one guy.
One of the oldest monks approaches you and speaks with you. You can tell he's older because he has an eye-patch. You ask him if he's a pirate.
''Like I haven't Heard that one before,'' He says.
He explains the monks way of life to you, how they have taken a vow of mostly silence. How they've learned to live without excess, and learned to let go of the things in life that bog them down. Finally, he explains that this life has brought many of them a great inner calmness.
Then, you will see that other monk doing cartwheels over there, jumping up and down like he just won the lottery.
''Oh yes, and then we have Lenny. Don't worry about him. He's always like that. He's kind of new.''
Lenny will run around in circles screaming at the top of his lungs:
''OH YEAH! I LOVE BEING A MONK! DID YOU HEAR ME GUYS? I SAID I LOVE BEING A MONK!''
The elder will sigh, and give himself a facepalm.
"Lenny...he still has a lot to learn..."
The elder always carries a small clay bottle with him wherever he goes. You wonder if it's filled with whiskey. If it is, you don't really blame him.
Now you know.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
What if I want to sleep on the bedroom floor?
I deserve a little change, a little variety in pace sometimes. She'll be in bed already when I get home late. My soul will be in a pseudo whimsical, pseudo daring, pseudo defiant mood. My entire being will decide that I want, no need to lay down on the cold linoleum floor.
But what will that look like to her? She'll say I'm being silly, stupid. She'll ask me why I am doing this. She will make it about her, see it as a personal rejection, as an insult. She will see it as, "I would rather sleep on the floor then next to her."
She will think I'm crazy. She will scream a hushed, hysterical whisper about how I'm ruining her inner peace. She will cast a curse on me (oh yeah by the way, she's Wiccan). She will cause me to get audited. (She also works for the IRS). She will eat me alive. (I'm actually married to a dinosaur).
No. If I want to follow the deepest yearnings of my soul tonight, I'm going to have to make my floor sleeping seem as "accidental" as possible. I roll off of the floor as naturally as possible, pretending not to wake up. There will be a short pause of glorious proud silence. I will believe myself successful, but it will not last.
"Sweetie?"
Oh crap, I'll think.
"Sweetie? Are you okay?"
Terrified, I'll jump back into bed, pretending to still be asleep the whole time. She'll laugh a confused laugh to herself shortly, and then cuddle up next to me. I'll shudder at the sensation of her skin, because dinosaurs are cold-blooded. She'll rub my back with her tiny, T-Rex arms, and I'll eventually fall asleep in spite of her terrifyingly close, dagger-sharp teeth.
In the morning, she'll have a funny story to tell me about what I did "in my sleep" last night. I alone will know the truth.
Now I know.
But what will that look like to her? She'll say I'm being silly, stupid. She'll ask me why I am doing this. She will make it about her, see it as a personal rejection, as an insult. She will see it as, "I would rather sleep on the floor then next to her."
She will think I'm crazy. She will scream a hushed, hysterical whisper about how I'm ruining her inner peace. She will cast a curse on me (oh yeah by the way, she's Wiccan). She will cause me to get audited. (She also works for the IRS). She will eat me alive. (I'm actually married to a dinosaur).
No. If I want to follow the deepest yearnings of my soul tonight, I'm going to have to make my floor sleeping seem as "accidental" as possible. I roll off of the floor as naturally as possible, pretending not to wake up. There will be a short pause of glorious proud silence. I will believe myself successful, but it will not last.
"Sweetie?"
Oh crap, I'll think.
"Sweetie? Are you okay?"
Terrified, I'll jump back into bed, pretending to still be asleep the whole time. She'll laugh a confused laugh to herself shortly, and then cuddle up next to me. I'll shudder at the sensation of her skin, because dinosaurs are cold-blooded. She'll rub my back with her tiny, T-Rex arms, and I'll eventually fall asleep in spite of her terrifyingly close, dagger-sharp teeth.
In the morning, she'll have a funny story to tell me about what I did "in my sleep" last night. I alone will know the truth.
Now I know.
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