The latest Marmadukes

A line to look for in a future edition of Shrimp Products

ever get high and talk about ships?

Clippers

PRITCHARD: Timothy, come in here!
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir.
PRITCHARD: I need some nail clippers.
TIMOTHY: To clip your nails, sir?
PRITCHARD: Yes, they’re getting a bit long and I think it’s time for a clipping. Where do we keep the clippers?
TIMOTHY: I’ll bring them right to you, sir.
PRITCHARD: That should be fine.

[TIMOTHY sprints offstage at top speed and returns, also at top speed, almost immediately, holding two pairs of clippers.]

TIMOTHY: Here you are, sir. There are two pairs here for you to choose from.
PRITCHARD: Two pairs? Well how am I supposed to choose?
TIMOTHY: Whichever one you’d like, sir.
PRITCHARD: Are they identical?
TIMOTHY: Almost. I don’t think it would matter much either way which one you chose to tell you the truth.
PRITCHARD: Mmm hmm. Now you said they were almost identical—is that correct?
TIMOTHY: Yes. Their design appears to be the same.
PRITCHARD: Well what is this difference? I only ask because I need something on which to base my decision, and any difference will help make the decision easier and will ensure that I make the best decision.
TIMOTHY: I understand. The only difference I can see is that this one says “Mexico” and this one says “Made in Korea.”
PRITCHARD: The first one says “Made in Mexico?” Or just “Mexico?”
TIMOTHY: Just “Mexico,” sir. But the second one says “Made in Korea” in full.
PRITCHARD: I suppose the inclusion or exclusion of the “Made in” doesn’t make much of a difference. Although if it was a significantly large “Made in,” it could affect the overall feel and design of the clippers. Does the “Made in” appear large enough to affect the clipping itself, Timothy?
TIMOTHY: If there is a difference, it’s only negligible, sir.
PRITCHARD: I see. I suppose the decision then comes down to the country itself. Korea and Mexico did you say?
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir.
PRITCHARD: I see. In that case, I’m going to have to choose Korea.
TIMOTHY: Because they’re manicurists, sir?
PRITCHARD: Yes. Very good, Timothy. Bring over the Korean clippers, please.
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir. Here you are, sir. Shall I dispose of the Mexican clippers?
PRITCHARD: No, we’d better hold on to those. Perhaps we can barter them later in town.
TIMOTHY: I’ll put them back in the drawer, sir. But in the lower drawer so we don’t get confused.
PRITCHARD: An excellent idea, Timothy.

Mickey Mouse is a pretty unhappy guy

Start from the beginning

Written in my notebook, approx. 5:04 PM

Last words of one about to be executed, to his executioner:
"I boned your daughter"

The Daily Free Press has outdone itself once again

A-plast poor Yorrick

Jesus lord.

Answers found on fraternity tests (or why you should make sure you have all your paperwork with you before you leave a public conference room)

In your own words, please explain the meaning of brotherhood.
Brotherhood is a special link among men. Men in a brotherhood look out for one another, like the man in the Bridge Builder. Brothers share a deep commradery where no matter what you do, you will always have the brotherhood there for you.

Like the name implies, the link among men in a brotherhood is similar to the link shared in a family. Brothers will help each other out; brothers will have arguments and fights; brothers hid nothing from each other.
-Nathaniel Steiger

Why do you want to be a part of this fraternity?
I want to be in this fraternity because it is now my home on campus. The brothers are my family, I look out for them and they look out for me. I could not see my life without them, they make me laugh, encourage me to exceed in school and life, and they have helped me (in one semester) to become a better person. I love every one of the brothers of T. E. Phi, they are now my family, and hopefully always will be.
-John (Nipples) Rankim

Charles Barkley on the recent Celtics trade

"This deal totally shifts the balance of power in the East. Now we can add the Celtics to the list of teams that UConn could beat."

Severe weather watch for Boston

HIGH ASTRONOMICAL TIDE MAY CAUSE MINOR SPLASHOVER SUNDAY MORNING

Is that so/So bad

CHRISTIAN
How are you doing, Joe?

JOE
Eh.

CHRISTIAN
Yeah. Well I didn’t sleep well last night.

JOE
Is that so?

CHRISTIAN
Yeah. Yeah.

JOE
Sorry. I guess I just don’t care.

CHRISTIAN
What?

JOE
I don’t care how you slept, Christian. Well or otherwise.

CHRISTIAN
Well—I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.

JOE
Thank you.

___________

CHRISTIAN
A new study shows that the literacy rates of college graduates are declining. We figured this was something we needed to research, so I took a camera and went out on the street to—

JOE
I’m going to murder you when you fall asleep, Christian.

CHRISTIAN
Jesus Christ, Joe, what did you say?

JOE
Oh. What? Nothing. Nothing.

CHRISTIAN
OK, well as I was saying—

JOE
That’s right, Christian. Nothing is afoot. Fall asleep in your little bed, confident that you’re safe and sound and that no one is watching, watching, waiting for just the perfect moment to strike and shatter your pretty little dreamland once and for all! No, Christian Lynch, you won’t live to see the morning. Not if I have anything to say about it! Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

CHRISTIAN
Joe, what are you talking about?

JOE
Huh? Nothing. I didn’t say anything.

CHRISTIAN
Joe, I could hear you, you were making explicit threats against my life.

JOE
Nah.

CHRISTIAN
Yes, you were.

JOE
No thanks.

CHRISTIAN
Joe, you said you were going to kill me. Now are you going to do it when I’m sleeping like a coward?

CHRISTIAN pulls a revolver out of his desk.

CHRISTIAN
(con’t)
Or are we going to settle this like men?

JOE
What did you have in mind?

CHRISTIAN
Pistols at dawn. Ten paces.

JOE
Nah. Never mind. Forget I said anything.

CHRISTIAN
Are you sure?

JOE
Yes.

CHRISTIAN
All right. That’s much better. Well we’re short on time, so—

JOE
I am going to murder you so bad.

CHRISTIAN
Stop!

Yeah OK so you're going to watch this

Background: I just saw a story on the news about a book about potty training with Sesame Street's Elmo that is supposed to say "Uh oh, who has to go?" But, basically, it doesn't.

STAND UP

WHERE: Dick Doherty's Comedy Vault (take the Green line to Boylston, directions here)
WHEN: Sunday at 9 PM
HOW MUCH: Last time it was $7
WHY: Because they won't let me perform unless I bring two people
WHO ARE YOU AGAIN: Shut up

I cannot think of a single practical use for a shrink ray

FACT:

Every year, the government pours billions of dollars into scientific research. A lot of this goes to worthwhile endeavors like medical research, alternative fuel systems and new military technology. But don't put it past our wasteful pork-loving government to squander your tax money on foolish and useless projects.

FACT:

One of the fields that receives the most government funding is in the area of shrink ray research. Every year, millions upon millions of dollars are allocated to various firms earmarked for the development of shrink rays.

FACT:

Over fifty shrink ray prototypes have been created to date and none of them have a single practical use. Only three out of fifty-plus prototypes enable the user to control the degree of shrinkage, and even then, the largest size available would render the average human to the size of an ant. Shrinking inanimate objects are also out of the question, as prototypes either cause objects to light on fire, come to life and attack anything within sight or, perhaps most shockingly, grow.

FACT:

The CIA has been testing conventional and weaponized shrink rays on people for the past fifteen years. The results have been shocking. Most disturbing of all, shrink rays are impossible to control, shrinking everything within the Shrink Radius. This has resulted in the floorboards beneath the subject shrinking, causing the section of the floor with the newly shrunken subject to plummet to the floor below, resulting in fatality in 90% of government tests.

FACT:

Once shrunken, there is no way to regain your size besides drinking a lot of milk and eating a lot of meat. And even then, no subject has been able to grow any larger than a goldfish.

FACT:

YOU CAN DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!

Write to your local representative and tell him/her that the danger and wastefulness of shrink rays is too great to ignore! Act today, before it's too late! Click here to find your local representative and send them a piece of your mind, as I did (click picture below to see a full-sized version).

That'll do it

“I asked her if she gained weight.”
“That was clearly a mistake.”
“Yeah. I almost saved myself, though. I told her I meant like significance or importance.”
“Mmm. She didn’t buy that one, huh?”
“No, she bought it, actually. I’m a smooth talker.”
“So what went wrong?”
“I accidentally introduced her as Anna Fatrick instead of Anna Patrick.”
“Oh yeah. That’ll do it.”

He's very fast

(2 enters, panting. 1 looks up from a magazine to see 2 leaning against the door frame)
“Are you OK man?”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
“Well where is it?”
“I don’t have it?”
1 stands up, concerned.
“You don’t have it? Where is it?”
“Jason has it. He got away.”
“He got away?”
“Yeah. We were in the Friendly’s and he went into the bathroom so I followed him in, but I couldn’t because it had a lock and he locked the door, so I waited for him outside the door, and he came out and I threw him against the wall and tried to get his wallet because I figured it was in there, but he hit me in the stomach and just booked it.”
“So did you chase after him?”
“Yeah. Well yeah, but he was too fast.”
“Too fast?”
“Yeah.”
“He weighs three hundred pounds.”
“I know. He’s very fast.”
“What do you mean he’s very fast? He weighs three hundred pounds! He weights twice as much as you do! How could he possibly outrun you?”
“Hey, man, you think I feel good about this whole thing? I got outran by a three hundred pound man, I have that to live with for the rest of my life, so why don’t you just cut me some slack right now?”
“Because it’s absurd. There’s no way—was he wearing roller skates?”
“OK, now you’re just—”
“No, no, I’m just trying to understand this! Was he wearing jets on his feet or something?”
“Stop laughing!”
“Oh no, I’m not laughing. I’m not laughing because you had a fucking simple task and you couldn’t get it done and now we’re fucked. Do you understand me? Fucked.” There is a long pause. “Did he have a scooter?”
“All right, really, that’s enough.”
“Well how could a three hundred pound person possibly outrun you?”
“It’s all in the strides, man! My legs are short, he’s got long beefy legs, it was like watching someone do the triple jump in the Olympics.”
“Oh my God.”
“He’s like a T. Rex. He’s all legs, no arms, every stride was like three feet long. You can’t outrun a T. Rex, man.”
“He’s not a T. Rex, he’s a Brontosaurus! He’s a docile fat creature with a long neck and a tiny head that feeds on foliage. He can’t run!”
“Actually, it’s not Brontosaurus, it’s Apatosaurus now. They changed the name, something about the Latin meanings.”
—“I don’t care.”

Aging

[This one is pretty absurd and inside, but if you've got a better idea for how to dress Ben Simpson in a bathrobe and slippers and drape an afghan over him and put him in a rocking chair, then I'd like to hear it. Obviously inspired by the mental image I was given by Christian somewhere in here.]

CHRISTIAN
Well now that Terriervision is up and running, people have been able to watch the show in their dorm rooms for the first time. So some of you home viewers may not know this, but we’ve been taping episodes for more than a year now. So to give you a little taste of what we’ve been doing with the show, our editor Ben Simpson has put together a little Best Of package. So let’s roll that.

Pause

CHRISTIAN
(CON’T)
Uh, do we have that package? We don’t? What happened? Ben?

CUT TO

BEN, sitting in an old rocking chair, wearing a bad sweater underneath a bathrobe, slippers and small reading glasses. He is covered by an afghan. He is rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

BEN
Yes?

CHRISTIAN
Ben? Do we have the package?

BEN
Yeah, yeah. Let me get that.

BEN tries to lift himself out of his chair with great effort, but eventually sinks back down, exhaling deeply.

BEN
(CON’T)
Ooh. That hurt.

CHRISTIAN
Uh Ben, is something wrong?

BEN
Oh you know. I’m just getting older. The joints aren’t what they used to be.

CHRISTIAN
I guess. Could you just—

BEN
The knees are acting up.

CHRISTIAN
The knees? You mean your knees or some other knees?

BEN
Oh, they’re aching. Must be a storm rolling in.

CHRISTIAN
OK, well could you get the tape please so we could roll—

BEN
I’m going, I’m going.

BEN finally pulls himself out of his chair, grunting and carrying on.

BEN
(CON’T)
Boy, it’s muggy in here.

CHRISTIAN
Yeah, I’m sorry about that.

BEN
Can’t you do something about that?

CHRISTIAN
I don’t know.

BEN
What’s that? Speak up.

CHRISTIAN
(shouting at first before becoming embarrassed and speaking normally)
I don’t know. Ben, are you OK?

BEN begins shuffling around aimlessly, patting his bathrobe and pants to check if he left the tape in his pocket.

BEN
Oh, you know how it is. The years fly by. Where did I put—

BEN pulls a remote out of his front pocket.

BEN
(CON’T)
Oh, here it is.

BEN walks over to CHRISTIAN, handing him the remote.

CHRISTIAN
No, Ben, this is a remote.

BEN
Oh, daggum it, I was looking for this—oh no, not this one, is this the remote to the VCR? Or maybe the DVD, I can't tell them apart. Where’s that TV remote?

BEN begins walking away and CHRISTIAN grabs him by his bathrobe to stop him.

CHRISTIAN
No, Ben. Not now, we’re looking for the tape.

BEN
Right, right, right. Have you seen that remote though? Because I—

CHRISTIAN
No, Ben. I’ll help you look for the remote later. Right now we just need that tape.

BEN
All right, all right, don’t get upset, now. I think I put it in your desk, could I just—

BEN tries to step up onto the couch but trips on the platform and lies motionless, making a number of quiet noises of distress and embarrassment. CHRISTIAN steps out from behind the desk to help Ben up.

CHRISTIAN
Oh my God, are you OK? Let me just—

BEN
(panting, out of breath)
Oh, I’m fine, don’t—don’t worry yourself with me. Just put me down on the couch.

With CHRISTIAN’S help, BEN sprawls out on the couch, puts his hand on his chest and breathes heavily for a few seconds. Christian tentatively returns to his spot behind the desk.

CHRISTIAN
So, uh, Ben. Are you OK?

BEN
Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. I don't know where I put that remote, though.

CHRISTIAN
All right. I guess the tape will have to wait, we’ll be right back.

The title of the poem recited by Ayman al-Zawahiri on a recent Al Qaeda tape

Tears in the Eyes of Time

Trash talk

Christian and I have been talking about competing in MVP baseball for months now and today was finally the day when both of us were free and we scheduled a game for after class. What follows is the entire conversation we had, almost completely unedited. Note the timestamps.

Clynch753 (1:19:12 PM): yea booooooooooy
ShrimpSar (1:19:26 PM): is today the day?
Auto response from Clynch753 (1:19:26 PM): doing some reading

Clynch753 (1:19:40 PM): today is the day, im gonna chill with killian at 2 for a cup of coffee
Clynch753 (1:19:46 PM): or some shinanigans like that
Clynch753 (1:19:50 PM): i've talked a big game
Clynch753 (1:19:54 PM): i better come up big
...
ShrimpSar (1:21:04 PM): ok i'll be here
Clynch753 (1:21:10 PM): you will
Clynch753 (1:21:28 PM): well, you might want to go out and buy some ben gay...cause you gon' be in pain when i dones with you
ShrimpSar (1:21:56 PM): please, i've been preparing for this moment my entire life
Clynch753 (1:22:02 PM): hahaha
Clynch753 (1:22:04 PM): im sure
Clynch753 (1:22:34 PM): well, im sorry if you have to clean up the blood on your carpet when im finished with you, but it comes with the game
ShrimpSar (1:23:18 PM): we have a hardwood floor, which should make it all the easier to find your teeth when i scatter them around the room with a beanball
Clynch753 (1:23:54 PM): oh hard wood floor, well, you should throw down some wood chips so no one will slip in your vomit
ShrimpSar (1:24:45 PM): that's a real possibility, the tears of a weaker opponent do make me feel a little queasy
Clynch753 (1:25:48 PM): i cant even come back from that
Clynch753 (1:25:51 PM): ive trapped myself
Clynch753 (1:25:55 PM): in insults
ShrimpSar (1:26:21 PM): haha
Clynch753 (1:26:23 PM): but seriously, you should go out and buy a disposable camera for insurance purposes
ShrimpSar (1:27:20 PM): a camera's probably a good idea because you won't be able to see it coming
ShrimpSar (1:27:30 PM): BAM and it's over
Clynch753 (1:27:55 PM): i just want to let you know that the last person i played in MVP was, believe it or not, Terri Shiavo. some people said she got into an accident....tis was no accident. it was shame from losing MVP against me that made her fall
ShrimpSar (1:29:33 PM): you'll wish you were schiavo after i'm done with you. even delay will be like, "damn, that kid is fucking done."
Clynch753 (1:30:25 PM): i mean i have to tell you upfront, i have a contract that i need you to sign before we play that clearly states that you knew that death was possible while playing MVP against me. Cause when i send you home to your parents in a body bag, i don't want them to think you didn't know it was a possibility
ShrimpSar (1:31:55 PM): ok. sorry i don't have a contract for you, but the government recognizes playing mvp against me as an illegal unsanctioned bloodsport.
ShrimpSar (1:32:05 PM): we might have to move the game to international waters
Clynch753 (1:32:26 PM): oh, and what to you want your obit to read, cause "Loses Game Horrifically to Superior Player/Friend/Coworker" is a bit weird....maybe "Autoerotic Asphyxiation" would be more dignified?
ShrimpSar (1:33:24 PM): nah, probably just something like "exploded in a white-hot inferno of mvp baseball superiority"
Clynch753 (1:33:25 PM): nah, no need to move it to international waters, we can just play in the basement of Myles...they have pitbull fights there
ShrimpSar (1:33:47 PM): that basement is pretty dank
Clynch753 (1:34:21 PM): yes it is, but not as dank as your soul will be when i give it a lethal dose of shame
ShrimpSar (1:35:49 PM): i have no soul. i am not a human. i am an mvp baseball machine.
Clynch753 (1:37:41 PM): well, i am a virus. and all machines get raped by viruses
ShrimpSar (1:39:59 PM): fat chance. i am updating my mcafee right now.
Clynch753 (1:41:41 PM): see, the thing about machines is that they think that they can replace human intelligence, but the truth is...they just cant. they are cold heartless machines, that will never understand, nor capture, the true passion behind a MVP Baseball prodigy
ShrimpSar (1:43:54 PM): i'll let you in on a secret. i'm not really just a machine created to play mvp baseball. i am mvp baseball. i am infallible.
Clynch753 (1:45:08 PM): oh chris, all machines are fallible, you just havent been hacked yet....and today, youve met your match. it's ok, i wont tell your friends about the level of disgrace you will feel this afternoon
ShrimpSar (1:46:34 PM): well it'll be hard for them to miss your screams of torment and anguish. i've done this before and believe me, it will hurt.
Clynch753 (1:48:28 PM): well, im not one to make lofty comparisons, but today i'll try. you will be the christians to my romans
Clynch753 (1:48:32 PM): thats all im gonna say
Clynch753 (1:48:41 PM): the christians to my lions
ShrimpSar (1:50:29 PM): it's funny you mention that because there is a small breakaway sect from the greek orthodoxy that now recognizes the holy trinity as compising the father, the son and chris sartinsky: supernatural mvp baseball master
Clynch753 (1:51:51 PM): really, well, probably some fanatic nuts worshipping a false god...just like the mormons. people make mistakes chris, especially in religion.
Clynch753 (1:52:33 PM): well, if you are holy, well see when i beat you and you cry blood from your eyes and hands
Clynch753 (1:53:02 PM): you're going to die for the sin of saying you are the greatest MVP player
ShrimpSar (1:54:14 PM): even jesus had to die, but like him, i will have eternal life in my mvp superiority
Clynch753 (1:54:57 PM): there will be no transfiguration today my friend. for i am a prophet, and my prophecy sees nothing but pain in your future
Clynch753 (1:56:03 PM): hmmm, ben simpson just told me that his knees acting up. must be a storm coming
ShrimpSar (1:57:14 PM): this upcoming mvp baseball game reminds me of a latin phrase "ipse ipsi dictum" which means death to all...i'm boxcar
Clynch753 (1:57:49 PM): hahaha
Clynch753 (1:59:35 PM): really, cause i think you got the translation wrong...the phrase is actually ipsi ipsae dictum" , now i took latin, and the use of -ae is clearly the 2nd person. so it translates to "death to you", and in that sense, yes, the phrase does seem relevant to todays matchup
Clynch753 (2:00:56 PM): TRASH TALK UPDATE: We just hit the 40 minute mark of this verbal battle
ShrimpSar (2:02:03 PM): so you know a little latin, do you? well here's a translation you might want to work out before today's game. "please, sir, find me morphine to take my mind off the pain"
ShrimpSar (2:02:06 PM): hahaha awesome [in reference to the conversation hitting the 40 minute mark, not an appreciation of my own comeback]
Clynch753 (2:05:35 PM): well, in those days, morphine didnt exist, and typically they used alcohol to numb pain. NOW, as you know, i am usually sharper when a bit tipsy. so you have to ask youself chris? do you want me to hit the bottle before playing...cause i will. if you feel you need me to handicap myself, because you cant handle the real me...i'll do it, and still kick your nuts so hard they will shatter through your skull and through the ceiling...and travel at such a fast rate that they break the sound barrier....and make their way through earths atmosphere...then due to graviational pull, get sucked into the sun, where your very manhood will be burned up like the rest of your legacy
ShrimpSar (2:08:59 PM): i don't think you should be as concerned with bringing alcohol as you should be with bringing a revolver and a single bullet so the humiliation can be over as quickly and painlessly as possible for you
Previous message was not received by Clynch753 because of error (2:08:59 PM): User Clynch753 is not available.

ShrimpSar (2:09:31 PM): i don't think you should be as concerned with bringing alcohol as you should be with bringing a revolver and a single bullet so the humiliation can be over as quickly and painlessly as possible for you
Auto response from Clynch753 (2:09:32 PM): doing some reading

Clynch753 (2:10:27 PM): hahaha, i got singed off for a second, is that all you said, or did i miss a little
ShrimpSar (2:11:01 PM): no just the one thing, the sheer heat and fury of the burn must have incinerated a cable or a chip somewhere
Clynch753 (2:11:30 PM): perhaps, perhaps
Clynch753 (2:12:12 PM): oh man, well, im gonna go meet up with killian, and then i will come over sans gun and bullet
ShrimpSar (2:12:31 PM): excellent
ShrimpSar (2:13:09 PM): tell killian i'm sorry i had to do this to you
Clynch753 (2:13:24 PM): and i'll bring over a little memorial plack, like the one in miles, commemorating your life by saying "Student Chris Sartinsky died in Room ____" and will creep out every student in the future who lives in your haunted room
Clynch753 (2:13:52 PM): a room where dreams die
ShrimpSar (2:13:56 PM): does myles really have something like that?
ShrimpSar (2:13:57 PM): haha
Clynch753 (2:14:00 PM): yea, they do
ShrimpSar (2:14:10 PM): oh man i never knew that, that's awful
Clynch753 (2:14:25 PM): next time you go check it out
ShrimpSar (2:14:32 PM): yeah i will
Clynch753 (2:14:39 PM): its where to sofas are in the lobby on the wall
Clynch753 (2:14:40 PM): its crazy
Clynch753 (2:14:42 PM): anywho
Clynch753 (2:14:46 PM): i gtg prep
ShrimpSar (2:14:54 PM): ok, i'll let you go "meet killian" or more likely phone your lawyer to make sure your estate is in order
Clynch753 (2:15:11 PM): and by prep i mean drink coffee leisurely, without fear of loss
ShrimpSar (2:16:57 PM): ok well i'm gonna let this end for both of our sakes
Clynch753 (2:17:16 PM): see ya in a bit
Clynch753 (2:17:20 PM): i'll call you when i get there
ShrimpSar (2:17:30 PM): ok bye
Clynch753 signed off at 2:19:39 PM.

For those keeping score at him, the time from Christian's first insult to my graceful bow was 55 minutes and 29 seconds.

The final score of the game? The Christian controlled New York Mets pulled off an inexplicable miracle victory over my Minnesota Twins by the score of 4-2 in (and the following will not be a typo) the TWENTY-FOURTH INNING. That's two and a half regulation games. I have never been so crushed.

Don't worry. I'm coming back in game two.

Found in my inbox

(excerpt from a mass email sent to one of my English classes by a fellow student)

some friends and I have been working on a zine for a few years, now were going digi.

(full email intended for the professor but actually sent to the entire philosophy class mailing list which I was on even though I didn't take the class)

Hi prfessor

I was writing to apologyze for not being in class twise this week. I have not
been feeling very well. I am caught up with the readings, and I will ask
someone for their notes next week. Sorry for the invonvinience.

Dr. Seuss grapples with a short spell of writer's block

What rhymes with “Tragorbler.”

Ahhhhh…dammit…

Tra…Gra…Fla…fuck fuck fuck…

Think, Seuss, think...

...

...motherfucker, I need a drink.

Pra, pha, pla--Platrobler! There we go. Platrobler. Phew.

I am terribly afraid of my new roommate

My roommate from last year and the first semester of this year is studying abroad in London this semester. One would think that BU would inform people like me of who they were planning on filling his space with, but no. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of people across campus are moving into rooms that have been vacated by their roommates wondering who they will find when they move in. Because BU is stupid. But I digress.

I arrived tonight finding the room empty but for what I left here before I went home for winter break. This made me hopeful that, despite the almost impossible odds, I would have the double all to myself this semester. But I just returned from dinner to find my new roommate’s things in my room, though he went somewhere and is nowhere to be found. I don’t know his name, what he looks like, anything about him. All I have to go by is the stuff he left behind (and the strange fact that he left the bathroom light on, though I don't have any idea what that could mean).

There’s a guitar, an amp, an ugly hat, a jacket with a ski tag, a couple bags, a water filter (he gets a few points for this one) and a dress shirt folded up on his bed.

And then under his bed, there is a large white furry thing.

I have no idea what it is. It could be a jacket, but who would wear that for a jacket? It could be a rug, but I don’t want it sitting on my floor, scaring me all the time. I could be a living thing that is asleep and I’m afraid to turn my music or TV too loud for fear it will wake up.

It’s scary, though.

What am I to make of this? Am I reading too much into it? It’s probably nothing to worry about, but from here, it certainly looks like something I should worry about. The safest thing to do would probably be to set fire to it before he comes back or the furry thing wakes and swallows me whole. All I know is I’m deathly afraid of this kid, most likely a freshman, and I haven’t even met him yet. He could come in here and ask to trade beds, desks, closets, belongings or anything else and I would immediately do it with no questions asked simply out of the fear that he would unleash whatever dark power is in that white furball sitting under his bed without a second thought. It could kill me. It could wipe out the entire city.

Don’t worry, though. I understand my obligation here. I will do what he asks me. There will be no trouble. I won’t let millions die because of my own obstinacy. Just pray for me.

Honest-to-goodness search query that led someone here

can a christian masturbate

A semi-incoherent parody of MTV's Made

[Is it supposed to be funny because it transplants an odd situation into a predictable show? Is it lampooning the banalities of the show? Is it doing both? Neither? Is it even possible to lampoon the banalities of the show while simultaneously transplanting an odd situation into it? Is it a complete failure? WHO KNOWS! All I know is I started this three days ago (note I didn’t say I spend three days writing it; give me a little bit of credit) and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to post it on this stupid site. So just shut up about it.
By the way, the following is not the only possible path an episode of Made can follow. There is also the popular kid who needs to prove he or she is more than just a pretty face, but it was enough trouble to get through this one, so don’t hold your breath.]
(shots of kids in front of the school, people pumping gas at Cumberland Farms, standing outside Dunkin’ Donuts, etc.)
This is Burlington, Connecticut. About thirty minutes from Hartford, Burlington is about as sleepy as suburbs get. The most exciting thing to happen to our town of 8,000 in years was the building of a Dunkin’ Donuts next to the gas station in the center of town.
Yeah. It’s kinda dull!
Lewis Mills High School. Serving the towns of Burlington and Harwinton, it’s a pretty nice place to go to school
(shots of band practicing, sports team in gym, kids in cafeteria, drama on stage, etc.)
…Sometimes!
Our school is full of cliques.
(shots of groups of friends talking innocuously, then looking understandably suspicious as they are being filmed by an unfamiliar camera crew which will nevertheless feelings of terror in high schoolers who will automatically be overwhelmed by feelings of exclusion and extreme paranoia whenever they see people other than themselves socializing)
Since the same people have been sticking together since we started at the local elementary school, the cliques can sometimes leave people feeling left out.
(shot of a kid by himself, taking notes at a table alone, then looking up and around the room to see if anyone is willing to be his friend)
That’s me. My name is Jeff and I’m a junior in high school and sometimes I feel left out. Like I don’t have any real place in the school or the social world. Everyone else has their clubs and close friends, but what do I have?
(cut to fat and therefore inadequate and unsatisfactory friend)
FAT FRIEND: Hey, man, are you gonna finish that?
That’s my best friend Murray. We’ve been friends since first grade. We do everything together. Well, almost everything.
(cut to Jeff lying on the grass with a viciously unattractive girl)
That’s my girlfriend Katie. We’ve been going out for almost three weeks and it’s getting pretty serious.
JEFF: So what do you want to do this weekend?
KATIE: I dunno. Watch a movie?
A good friend, a great girlfriend, you might think I have a pretty good life. But I can’t help feeling lost. Like I don’t have an identity. And there’s always one identity I’ve always wanted.
(shots of people on Wall Street, the chaos on the stock market floor, a man in a suit making a phone call, etc.)
I’ve always wanted to be a millionaire investor.
The highs, the lows, the pressure, the money—that’s the life for me. But I don’t know how to get started.
RANDOM KID: I can’t say I know who Jeff is.
RANDOM KID WHO WANTS TO BE ON MTV: Jeff’s a fucking loser. He’s ugly, he breathes through his mouth, I don’t know why anyone would want to be near him, never mind having him in charge of their money.
ANOTHER KID WHO WANTS TO BE ON MTV: He will fail. He doesn’t have what it takes to be an investor, that’s for sure.
I want to prove them all wrong. So MTV, please, I want to be made into an investor.
The next day was another normal day at school, until lunch.
(Jeff pulls a note out of his locker)
JEFF: (reading) Meet me at Ruth’s Chris Steak House tonight at 7:45 PM. Your coach.
I could barely make it though the rest of the day I was so excited to meet my Made coach. At 7:15, I left my house to meet him at the steak house. Unfortunately, I didn’t know where I was going.
(shots of Jeff in his car, fumbling with his directions, realizing he has gone the wrong way, almost getting into an accident, swearing, pulling over and calling for directions, etc.)
Finally, at 8:10, I got to the restaurant.
(Jeff walks into a fancy steakhouse. All of the patrons are wearing jackets and ties while Jeff is only wearing a dirty sweatshirt, ratty jeans and old sneakers)
JEFF: Whoa. This place was pretty ritzy. I didn’t know I was supposed to dress up.
COMPLETELY INSIGNIFICANT MAN AT A BOOTH THAT WILL BE TREATED AS AN EXPERT IN HIS FIELD FOR THE SAKE OF THE EPISODE: Jeff?
Wow. Bob Winslow, giant in the investment world. He’s worth three million dollars and is one of the most powerful men on Wall Street.
BOB: Jeff, over here. Now what are you wearing?
JEFF: Well this is just what I wore to school.
BOB: This is unacceptable. First of all, you’re almost a half an hour late—
JEFF: I’m sorry, I got lost.
BOB: You got lost? Listen, if this was a business appointment, I would have walked out by now and you might have lost out on millions of dollars. And even if I hadn’t left, I certainly wouldn’t stick around for someone who looks as if he just ran a few laps at the gym. Do you understand me?
JEFF: Yes.
BOB: OK, good. Now before you want to be an investor, you have to look like an investor. Right?
JEFF: If you say so.
BOB: All right, let’s go.
Bob took me to Brooks Brothers for some new threads.
(shots of Jeff being dressed in suits and feeling uncomfortable while Bob and the employee tell him he looks great.)
BOB: So what do you like.
JEFF: Nothing.
BOB: Well you have to get something.
JEFF: These clothes aren’t me! OK? I just don’t like them!
(Jeff storms off into a dressing room. Bob rolls his eyes at the camera. Cut to Jeff sobbing in the dressing room. Bob sits next to him.)
BOB: You all right, buddy?
JEFF: Eh.
BOB: Look, I heard you wanted to be an investor. And if that’s not true, then tell me now because I’ve got a lot of other things to do. But if you want to be an investor, then you’re going to have to work with me, OK? Because there are a lot of things I’m going to have you do that are a lot harder than putting on a suit. Now do you want to be an investor?
JEFF: Uh huh.
BOB: OK, then. In six weeks, you’re going to have an interview with a major Wall Street firm. And you’re going to be going up against people with years of experience and college degrees, so you’re going to have to look your best, OK? So we’ve got a lot of work to do. Let’s go, yeah?
Bob convinced me that it was going to take some work to become an investor. And the next day, we got right to work.
BOB: OK. How do you like the suit?
JEFF: It’s all right.
BOB: Yeah. You look good. Well anyway, here’s your first assignment. Tomorrow, I want you to go up to three people in your school whose financial skills you admire and introduce yourselves.
Introduce myself to strangers? Clearly, my Made coach had no idea what it was like to be in high school. Certainly not my high school, where the cliques are simply out of control.
(more shots of kids standing around)
But an assignment was an assignment. So I had to swallow my insecurities and just do it.
(shots of Bob shaking hands with strangers who looked bemused by the spectacle)
To my surprise, they were nice! It’s as if they were actually real humans! Unfortunately, Bob’s assignments were about to get a lot harder.
BOB: OK, here’s what I want you to do. It’s time to do some research. I want five stock tips by tomorrow morning. And I want you to be able to convince me to invest in these companies. Got it?
JEFF: Yeah, I guess so.
But by the time I got home, I found I had a lot of other things to do. Like homework, band practice, and jerking off.
(shots of lazy kid doing nothing)
So the next day, I was a bit worried.
BOB: OK, Jeff, what are your stock tips.
JEFF: Here’s the thing.
BOB: Oh no.
JEFF: Well I was busy last night.
BOB: Busy? Jeff, I thought you wanted this.
JEFF: (hissy fit) I do want this, OK? I just don’t see what the point of your stupid assignments are when I’ve got a lot of other things to do!
BOB: Are you through? (Jeff storms out of the room, sobbing) OK, he walked out.
After that, I knew I had to get into shape. But I had other problems, too.
FAT FRIEND: Jeff, you’ve really changed.
KATIE: Yeah. You never spend time with us anymore. It’s like you think you’re better than us or something.
JEFF: Can’t you see? I am better than you! God. Here’s ten bucks, buy a clue.
My friends and my girlfriend clearly didn’t understand the kinds of sacrifices I had to make for this dream to come true. But I couldn’t worry about that. I had more training.
(uneven and poorly unedited montage of kid struggling with stock picking, then almost instantly becoming much better with no shots of the progress in between)
But as I was becoming a real stockbroker, my world came crashing down around me.
JEFF: (crying) I just heard that my girlfriend was cheating on me. I just feel so used, you know? I mean—God. I’ll tell you this. I’m through with her. Murray too. Not that he did anything, but he’s so fat. I’ve got better friends now.
And I did.
MARGINALLY MORE ATTRACTIVE GIRL: (disinterested) Uh, what was your name again?
That’s Sherry. I’ve had a crush on her since sixth grade. And now, with Bob’s assignment, I had a chance to get close to her.
JEFF: So I need to make a financial presentation to a friend and convince them of my competence. Could you help me?
SHERRY: (realizing that rejecting this dud on the spot would make her look bad on MTV, the only entity whose opinion she values) Uh, I guess so.
Training was going great! Bob was impressed with my progress, I was spending more time with Sherry, and before I knew it, the day of the big interview was here.
(we see a large lobby with marble floors and a grand fountain in the middle of the floor)
This was huge. Suddenly, I was nervous.
BOB: Don’t be nervous, OK? You’re as good as any of them.
CANDIDATE 1: I have a degree in business.
CANDIDATE 2: I got my masters.
CANDIDATE 3: I’ve been in the business for thirty-four years and I just thought it was time for a change.
When it came to the interview, I did the best I could.
JEFF: Well I really like Google.
INTERVIEWER: Yes, everyone likes Google.
(more clips which show that the kid is grossly under qualified for the competition he is in)
Wuh oh! Maybe I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.
BOB: How’d it go?
JEFF: I don’t know. Not so good.
(interviewer steps out of his office as the candidates sit on a couch outside. The interviewer gives the cameraman a nervous look and the camera shakes and the cameraman nods his head)
INTERVIEWER: OK. Uh, before we reveal who we decided to hire, I wanted to give you the—first runner up for the position. Jeff?
(Jeff gasps and hugs his coach as his competition applauds politely and looks at each other skeptically)
BOB: (on the verge of tears) I’m so proud of you. I am so proud of you.
Well I didn’t get a job at a high-powered investment firm. But I sure learned a lot about myself! And since I didn’t get the job, now I have no obligation to do any of the work that I grew such a strong aversion to. Thanks, MTV!

Banter

CHRISTIAN
So, Joe, how was your vacation.

JOE
OK.

CHRISTIAN
Just OK? Not good or bad or—

JOE
Nah.

CHRISTIAN
Uh huh. Uh huh. Anything interesting happen over break?

JOE shrugs.

CHRISTIAN
Yeah. Well it’s funny that you mention that, because a funny thing happened to me over vacation, I—

JOE
Oh yeah?

CHRISTIAN
Yeah. Yeah, I—

JOE
What?

CHRISTIAN
Well, my father was putting up our family’s Christmas tree, and I—

JOE
Those Christmas trees can be tough.

CHRISTIAN
Uh huh.

JOE
Tough to set up. And to take down.

CHRISTIAN
Yes. I agree. So anyway, he was stringing the lights on the tree, and somehow—I don’t know if there was a short in the lights or what, but the tree caught on fire.

JOE
Huh. Fire, huh?

CHRISTIAN
Yeah. And we don’t know what caused it.

JOE
Maybe it’s on account of your father being so hot.

CHRISTIAN
Pardon?

JOE
(pause)I don’t know.

CHRISTIAN
All right, we’ll be right back.

Check the shirt

(1 enters wearing a “Department of Redundancy Department” tee-shirt)
“Yo. Check the shirt.”
“Wha?”
“Check the shirt.”
(2 looks down at his own shirt and brushed off a few crumbs)
“No, my shirt. Check it.”
“Oh. ‘Department of Redundancy Department.’ Oh.”
“It’s funny, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess so.”
“What do you mean you guess so?”
“It’s funny, OK?”
“You’re not laughing.”
“I’m just—not out loud, I’m just not in a laugh-out-loud kind of mood.”
“I don’t think you get it.”
“What do you mean? I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. The Department for Redundancy Department is an appropriately redundant name.”
“It’s irony! Maybe that’s too sophisticated a thought for you to handle, but—”
“Actually, it’s not ironic. It’s completely appropriate which in fact makes that shirt the exact opposite of ironic.”
“That where you’re wrong. The very department set up to combat redundancy is falling prey to its own enemy! It’s not that complicated a concept or shirt.”
“Well I can’t say I know exactly what the Department of Redundancy does, but the Department of Motor Vehicles does not exist to identify and wipe out motor vehicles wherever they appear.”
“Yes. But! But! The Department of Motor Vehicles exists to what? To what? To service motor vehicles. Likewise, the Department of Redundancy exists to service redundancy.”
“Bryan—”
“Wait! Wait! Let me finish. Now, how does one service redundancy?”—“No answer. Typical. Well let me tell you that one services redundancy by eliminating it from conversation, thereby streamlining the language and making things clearer and easier for everyone, yeah? But. This department is so inept that it cannot even correct the redundancy in its very name! And this is the department that’s meant to rid the world of redundancy? It’s ironic, it’s a biting satire of ineffectual government bureaucracy, it’s fucking brilliant and I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you trash this shirt because you don’t understand it. OK?”
—
—
—
“You’re right, the shirt is hilarious.”
“Yeah. I could get you one if you wanted.”
“No thank you.”

Inkblots

“OK, this is a simple test. I will hold up a card and you tell me what you see. Got it?”
“Yes, Dr.” (Dr holds up an inkblot) “Umm—a woman with a long flowing dress.” (another inkblot) “That looks like a spider.” (another inkblot) “I think that looks like a couple clouds in the sky.” (Dr looks worried and discouraged) “Is there something wrong?”
“Well, yes. You failed that test miserably, to be honest.”
“How so?”
“There were no pictures on those cards. They were just abstract blots of ink.”
“Oh, well I knew that, but I thought the point of the exercise was to—”
“Never mind what the point of the exercise was, it’s fairly clear to me that you are delusional to the point where you could present a danger to you or the people around you.”
“With all due respect, Dr., even if I was delusional, which I can assure you I am not, how does seeing objects in the place of splotches of ink present a danger to anyone?”
“Oh sure, you’re calm now in this office. But what happens when the day rolls along where someone spills ink on their shirt and you see a gunman, and you grab a knife and stab your poor innocent friend directly in the abdomen? Now where are we?”
“That seems unlikely.”
(Dr. spits on the floor in fury) “I’ve seen it happen plenty of times! Why just yesterday, I dealt with three murderers, all of whom attacked inkblots they thought were kidnappers or cougars or something! And if I hadn’t had my wife carry my inkblot cards to the car one afternoon, she might be alive today and I might be dead! So if you don’t think I take this affliction seriously, you are dead wrong!”

Birthday

I turned 20 in December. I didn’t really think it was a big deal, but apparently it is for some reason. Why, though? What does it mean really? That the earth has revolved around the sun exactly twenty times since I was forcibly expelled from my mother’s womb. Big deal. It’s not like I grew or matured in any appreciable way from the night before. It’s such a meaningless landmark. It would make a lot more sense to me if birthdays were scrapped and we celebrated more concrete achievements and signs of maturation. Like the first time I rode a bike without training wheels or when my pubic hair began to sprout. These are real monuments to aging, not silly things like an arbitrary calendar.

I didn’t have a birthday party, but one of my friends had a birthday on the same day so I went to his party. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but apparently this is the saddest thing in the world. At the party I would tell people that it was my birthday too, and they’d say “What? But—but why are you here? You should be—you should be—” everyone looked like they were about to cry. I didn’t get it. I think they all thought less of me after they heard, it was like I just told them I had leprosy. “You have leprosy? Why are you here? You should be in a clinic!”

I spent most of the evening trying to envision something more pathetic than going to someone else’s birthday party on one’s own birthday, and I came up with only one: if my parents had attended my friend’s birthday party rather than my own. I think that would have been pretty bad.

So anyway, I decided that I needed to do something to regain my social standing. Luckily my roommate’s birthday was only a week or so after mine, so I spearheaded a surprise party, and I had streamers and decorations in our room and a cake and he was shocked when he saw the party and then he was even more surprised when he found out the party was for me. So it worked out great.

He’s studying in London second semester, so I even threw myself a going-away party, it was great. He’s kind of mad at me, he won’t talk to me anymore. But nobody really talks to him anymore. Loser.

Socialist realism

A few writers are around a table, making their finishing touches on the script.

WRITER 1
So we’re going to cut the greasy Italian joke and the one-legged hypnotist joke, OK?
The writers grumble in reluctant agreement.

WRITER 2
I love that greasy Italian joke.

WRITER 1
I know, but it’s no good. OK, so we’re set, where’s Christian?

CUT TO

CHRISTIAN in the bathroom, staring into the mirror looking terrified.

SPY (V.O.)
(in a thick Russian accent)
Is the earpiece working?

CHRISTIAN
Yes.

SPY (V.O.)
Good.

CHRISTIAN
Look, what do you want with me?

SPY (V.O.)
Never mind! If you ever want to see your wife and your son and your three daughters and your ex-wife and your stepchildren and your niece and nephew again, you’ll do exactly as I say, understand?

CHILD (V.O.)
Please, Uncle Christian! Do what he says!

CHRISTIAN
All right! Just tell me what you want to do.

CUT TO

Back to the writers.

WRITER 3
The sketch isn’t impractical, I’m telling you, I know a guy who keeps iguanas, they’re docile creatures, they’d wear a pair of wings.

WRITERS
Oh, that’s ridiculous! No way, etc.

CHRISTIAN enters, standing stiffly at the door. The writers look up at him.

WRITER 1
Here’s the script Christian.

CHRISTIAN
How—how’s it look?

WRITER 1
It’s looking pretty good.

WRITER 2
It could be better.

WRITER 4
Shut up.

CHRISTIAN takes the script and flips through it, obviously not reading anything.

CHRISTIAN
Uh huh. Uh huh. Well it’s good, but—I think it needs something else.

WRITER 1
What’s that?

CHRISTIAN
Socialist realism.

WRITER 4
Socialist realism?

CHRISTIAN
Yeah. You know, praising the virtue of the proletariat, encouraging spontaneous revolution, honoring to our hero Lenin, stuff like that.

WRITER 2
That doesn’t sound funny.

WRITER 5
Proletariat? Socialist realism? What happened to you, Christian? The Communists haven’t gotten to you, have they?

CHRISTIAN
Uh—

SPY (V.O.)
Kill him.

CHRISTIAN
(whispering)
What?

SPY (V.O.)
You heard me! He is an enemy of the people.

WRITER 5
Christian what’s going o—

CHRISTIAN punches WRITER 5 in the face. Writer 5 drops quickly.

WRITER 5
Ow! Jesus, what was that, man?

CHRISTIAN
Hey! Don’t question my authority, just write it!

CHRISTIAN exits awkwardly.

WRITER 1
So—what are we going to do?

Pause

WRITER 3
How about Lenin and Trotsky sock puppets?

The writers agree enthusiastically.

Trauma

JORDAN and JOSH stand in the studio, chatting about the week’s show. CHRISTIAN enters, looking distracted.

JORDAN
Hey, Christian, you ready to go?

CHRISTIAN
I—I don’t know.

JORDAN
Well what do you mean? This is the first show of the spring semester, we have to make a good impression.

CHRISTIAN
I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do the show this week. I just—I’m sorry.

JOSH
What do you mean you can’t do the show?

JORDAN
Christian, the show is about to start in fifteen minutes. Why—

CHRISTIAN
I shot a gorilla!

Everyone is silent, shaken by the gravity of the situation.

JOSH
Jesus Christ.

JORDAN
Wait, you shot—

CHRISTIAN
(frenzied, on the verge of tears)
I shot a gorilla, Jordan! You didn’t hear me the first time? I shot a gorilla!

JOSH
OK, I know you feel bad, but it’ll be OK. Was he attacking you?

CHRISTIAN
(shaking his head)
Nuh uh.

JOSH
So why—

CHRISTIAN
No reason. I just—I saw him—and there was a rifle on the wall, for show—and I took it down…oh God.

CHRISTIAN breaks down and collapses into JORDAN’S arms who tries to comfort him by caressing his hair.

JORDAN
There there, Christian, there there.

JOSH
(to Jordan as Christian continues crying uncontrollably)
So what do we do?

JORDAN
There’s only one thing we can do.

CUT TO

Opening sequence.

UCW

The Fork showed me this.

Ultimate
Christian
Wrestling.

Spreading the Gospel through kicking the crap out of one another. It's a beautiful thing.

Of the many things worth seeing on the site, the Talent page is worth browsing in full. My favorite is either "Batman," "Beautiful" Bruce Biggins (who wasn't looking so beautiful when his picture was taken way back in 1992--check the lower right corner of his photo), Dustin Powers or Josh Storm, born in 1988. And--I can't believe I'm saying this--I think Scottywood could take him.

The site also has a message board or "prayer board" that has some great stuff too. Though it seems to be gone from the site now, there was a suggestion that UCW create a video game. The suggestion was about seven lines long and contained no punctuation of any kind. I almost passed out by the time I got to the end and I hadn't even been reading it aloud. After someone replied to criticize the fellow's grammar, he shot back with what is my new life's philosophy or catch phrase or something:
"jesus wouldn't care why should you"
I've even considered making that the new subtitle for the site (or whatever the thing up there below "SHRIMP PRODUCTS" is called) but I'm not sure I'm sick of the one I've got up there yet.

Other choice lines, and I've got to say, the way the religion mixes with the wrestling is nothing short of brilliant:

"NAY SAYER, You asked, "What would Jesus Do?"
Jesus would put his name on everything he said.
JESUS would not be a coward and hide behind a "SIGN ON NAME."
When Jesus speaks - he has the AUTHORITY OF GOD in each phrase.
WHen you speak - You just have an opinion behind you.
Opinions are like rear ends - Everybody has one - Yours really stinks.
If you don't like what we put on the UCW Web page - come to a crusade and talk to me about it like a man.
Bring your literature and research and let's sit down and go over it.
Otherwise - shut up with your whining and crying.
I am certain that the FOUNDING FATHERS were Far from perfect. They DID, HOWEVER, bring this country about based on CHRISTIANITY.
I really don't care how they felt about anything else.
I refuse to sit here, LIKE YOU, and pass judgment on them for their sins.
That is GOD's Job.
Why don't you back up - shut up - get prayed - and look up.
Christ is coming soon.
GET READY!!!!!
ADONIS - OUT"

"I do not see how drop kicking a ladder into another man's chest or suplexing a man through a table is teaching the ministry of Jesus. What would Jesus do? He would probably condemn you all to hell for this blasphemous act."

"One of the first matches I went to was about when two good guys for team UCW was battleing two bad guys from evil inc. and one of the good guys turned on his partner and team evil inc. won the match, and it didn't take me long to get the message from the match, Judus sold out JESUS, PLAIN AND SIMPLE [...] Remenber!! Satin is everywhere."

That's right, folks. Satin is everywhere. And now, a special Shrimp Products phototribute to the brave ministry of UCW.

Art Horn in: "The Wreck"

(background)

From: boxley fryer
Mailed-By: gmail.com
To: [ART HORN]
Date: Dec 22, 2005 11:00 PM
Subject: Art Horn in: "The Wreck"
Reply Reply to all Forward Print Add sender to Contacts list Delete this message Show original Message text garbled?

Dear Art Horn,

My name is Boxley Fryer. I am a student at Trinity College in Hartford and an aspiring filmmaker. I am writing to you today to ask if you would be interested in making a film I would like to make. It is called "The Wreck" and it is the story of four people who are shipwrecked on a tropical island. The characters are as follows:

NEIL: Neil is a nervous professional wrestler who goes by the name "Woodywood" in the ring. He is recently divorced and, as a result, has begun cutting himself again as he did back in high school. He is asexual. If you were to play this part, you might need to build some muscle to play the part of the professional wrestler, but if you're still in the shape you were in from the last time I saw you, then there shouldn't be much of a problem.

MAXWELL: Maxwell is a spoiled urban teenager who does little else but sit around and sunbathe and masturbate while the others work and gather food and supplies. He throws himself off a ledge midway through the movie which sparks the turning point in the other characters and brings them together. Though I had envisioned him as a teenager, you could play this part if you wanted, it would only take a few rewrites and creative camera work.

EMILY: Emily is a mother of three. She believes her husband and children died in the shipwreck. She is only a secondary character as I don't really know how to write dialogue for women. This is the only part you could not play as it is a woman.

MUHAMMAD: Muhammad was arrested by Coalition forces in Afghanistan and was on the ship as he was being shuttled to Guantanamo Bay. He is virulently anti-American and devoutly Muslim. He violently lashes out at each and every one of the characters at one point during the movie, but by the end, being in such close quarters with these people gives him a renewed appreciation for western life and ideals and the realization that they too have a right to exist. I think you would be great in this role myself, but again, I am leaving it up to you.

I have not yet written the script, obtained funding, scouted locations, etc. Writing the above and coming to you is the first work I've done on this film so far; I felt it important to secure marketable talent before embarking on what could eventually be a futile quest. I cannot even guarantee this film will ever be made, but please let me know what you think regardless. Your help would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Boxley Fryer

Fryer Films

You can't touch a Flame when it's red hot

I'll say

So many great moments in this video, I'm compelled to give you a play-by-play.

0:14--We see fingers moving on a trumpet as the note stays the same. And I think a deaf person could better approximate the sound of a trumpet with a cat and a mailbox.

0:30--A trombone player looking absolutely petrified. Never have I seen a man more frightened in my entire life. God knows what's happening off screen, but whatever it is, it's horrific.

0:39--CUT TO: The worst moustache you've ever seen in your life for entirely too long.

0:49--And suddenly a new contender has emerged.

1:02--Three singers, once voice. They obviously got the job with the sheer intensity they show when they lip sync.

1:13--The guy who was just singing into the camera turns away, revealing the most self-satisfied look I've ever seen. This guy knows he is better than you.

1:37--The keyboardist is so intent on getting his part right that he can't even break his focus long enough to look at the camera until he absolutely must.

1:40--The singer looks like every Russian foot soldier villain in every video game I have ever played.

2:14--Nice transition from the petrified trombone player to the trumpetist who could not possibly be more bored.

2:22--How long do you think it took the choreographers to get those hockey goons together on that neat little guitar move?

2:47--Gay.

2:58--Who gave the equipment manager a verse? And how did the equipment manager get six inch dents on both sides of his head?

3:07--This guy's straight out of a Nazi propaganda film. I've never seen a more perfect Aryan in my life.

3:21--"Like a magic thing that can't be bought."

3:30--Like the Joe Cocker of hockey.

3:46--RED HOT!

Hurricane Rita

From Wikipedia:

The reported death toll as of 10 p.m. CDT on October 3 (0300 UTC October 4) stands at 119. Only six of them were direct deaths. One was caused by a hurricane-related tornado in the outer bands, and three others were caused by fallen trees during the storm. The two Florida deaths were both in rip currents on beaches caused by Rita's distant waves.

Direct deaths indicate those caused by the direct effects of the winds, flooding, tornadoes, storm surge or oceanic effects of Rita. Indirect deaths indicate those caused by hurricane-related accidents (including car accidents, fires or other incidents), as well as clean-up and evacuation incidents and health issues (i.e. poisoning, illnesses, waiting for help). Hurricane Rita has also long been suspected by conspiracy theorists as having played a role in the Kennedy assassination.

OK, so I made that last sentence up. But basically, Hurricane Rita was some rough shit. So imagine how shocked I was when culling the Marmaduke archives for yesterday's post to discover this.

That's unedited, folks. I clearly couldn't have posted it yesterday because it simply would have overshadowed anything fake that I could have possibly come up with. It's like Brad Anderson saw my slight alterations and said "Murder? Disease? Anti-Semitism? Is that the best you can do? I'll show you what Marmaduke is capable of."

And then drew a fucking Hurricane Rita cartoon. This guy has balls.

I also love how, in typical Marmaduke Sunday strip style, the entire middle section is basically just Marmaduke running around barking as this guy desperately tries to fill up space until he gets to the punch line. And the asterisks below the barking that help us figure out what Marmaduke is saying are especially helpful. But that's beside the point.

Look at Marmaduke flying away. Was he counted among the casualties? This simply begs the question: did the family survive? Were they washed away? What did Marmaduke do to commemorate Hurricane Katrina? Or the tsunami? Or 9/11?

Don't think about those things too hard, kids. Those are future posts in the making. Stay tuned.

DEFAMATION OF HURRICANE UPDATE: In honor of the John Seigenthaler flap (and my God, what a whiny bitch he is, go buy yourself a sense of humor and take it like a man), the fake last sentence has been added to the actual Hurricane Rita article on Wikipedia. Let's see how long it lasts.

WOW, THESE GUYS ARE GOOD UPDATE: Less than a minute. Christ. If you blinked and missed it, my edit lives on in the page's history.

Marmadukes

Replacement for "cocksucking" according to my Microsoft Works Word Processor AutoCorrect function

crosskicking

(before anyone asks, it's a quote from a book on which I'm writing a paper)

An angry response to all (and none) of your letters

[click on the link to see the picture that accompanied the article]

This column has been lots of fun for me and I've had a great time writing it all year. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity I was given and I want to thank all of you for reading. That's why I decided at the beginning of the year to dedicate this last column to answering some of the letters you sent me.

As it turns out, though, I have no readers - or at least no letters from readers to answer. When I came up with this idea, I figured I'd have a few and I could slap together a couple words of gratitude here and a few words of wisdom there and phone this one in so I could put this thing to rest and start studying for finals already. But I've never been one to let reality get in the way of a good idea. That's why they installed a guardrail on top of Johnnycake Mountain back in my hometown. Because of me. So anyway, here are some questions I came up with to ask myself that I might have received from readers had they been sent.



Dear Chris,

How long does it take you on average to complete a column?

-Scott Puritan



Dear Scott,

That reminds me of a dream I had the other night. In my dream, Dean Elmore was extremely fond of pajamas. In fact, his enjoyment of pajamas was so great, that he decided to change his name from Kenneth Elmore to Kenneth Pajamore in order to honor pajamas. He said to himself, "I love pajamas so much. How can I tell the world?" And then he came upon the answer. "I'll change my name. Kenneth Pajamas!" he cried triumphantly. But soon, he was dissatisfied. "No," he said. "Too obvious." And then, it came to him like a flash of lightning. "Kenneth Pajamore! It's subtle. It rolls off the tongue like poetry. Yes, Kenneth Pajamore it is."

What is the point of this little anecdote? There's no point, really. I'm just trying to sustain the reader interest that fell straight off the map as soon as you opened your dumb mouth and asked that awful question.



Dear Chris,

How do you come up with ideas for your columns? And why is your column called "The Whole Truth?"

-Boxley Fryer



Dear Boxley,

That's two questions. Don't get greedy. There's no need for that. No need.



Dear Chris,

What made you decide that you wanted to write an op-ed column for the Free Press?

-Maryann Kannberg



Dear Maryann,

I don't know. What made you decide that you had nothing better to do than waste my time with such a boring question? Do you enjoy wasting my time? Do you? Why don't you do us all a favor and take a vow of silence, preferably on an island thousands of miles from shore where you can't bother us with your chattering inanity.



Dear Chris,

What's your take on Lamar Advertising (LAMR on Nasdaq)?

-Gary Young



Dear Gary,

I'm not as bullish on Lamar as I was six weeks ago. I'm advising a hold. Don't go selling just yet, but don't go buying any more than you have now until you know where it's going in the future.



Dear Chris,

I think I saw you in one of my lectures. Are you in my class?

-Bob Nastanovich



Dear Bob,

First of all, congrats on having the most boring name in the English language. You must have been some kind of kid to inspire your parents to say "he looks like a Bob to me." And to never become a Rob or a Bobby or some other nickname in your life - you must be a blast to hang out with.

As to your question, it is entirely possible that I'm in your class as I do take classes here. I would tell you to ask me next time you think you see me, but if I saw a fellow like you lumbering up to me, I'd probably hide my face in my hands or make an escape out the nearest exit. Best of luck catching me, though.



Dear Chris,

Are all the stories you've told over the course of the semester true?

-Steve Malkmus



Next.



Dear Chris,

This is sad. Why are you bickering with yourself?

-Chris



Dear Chris,

I don't know. I guess I just get too carried away with things, like this idea. That is yet another reason why there's a guardrail around Johnnycake Mountain back in my hometown. As a matter of fact, it's also the reason why I have five boxes of business cards sitting unopened in my room reading "Chris Sartinsky: The Amazing Flying Boy! Available for Sporting Events, Concerts, Barbeques, Dinner Parties and All Your Social Gatherings (parachute provided)." Anyway, it's about time I head on down the dusty trail. But I feel like I should end the semester on a joke.

If I ever get run over, I hope it's by an ambulance.

There.

Clownin' Aroun'

(written with Christian Lynch after opening for an improv group)

MIKEY
Hey, guys! I’m Mikey—

MIKE
I’m Mike—

GC
And I’m G.C. And we’re—

ALL
Just Clownin’ Aroun’!

MIKEY
OK, hey guys, I’d just like to tell you that we perform every Tuesday and Wednesday at Jelly Bean’s Comedy Showcase downtown at 3:30 in the afternoon.

GC
That’s right, Mikey. OK, this first sketch is for Mikey and Mike.

MIKEY and MIKE give each other high fives and run in circles around GC.

GC
You guys! OK, OK, OK. Now for this first sketch, we need a location. Someone give us a location?

AUDIENCE MEMBER 1
Hospital!

AUDIENCE MEMBER 2
Theater!

AUDIENCE MEMBER 3
Classroom!

GC
All right, I heard CVS. CVS?

MIKEY and MIKE nod, looking focused.

GC
Great. Aaaaannndd—scene!

MIKEY and MIKE shuffle around awkwardly for a second, bumping into each other and getting into position. Finally, Mikey acts as if he is standing behind a counter and Mike approaches holding an imaginary bottle.

MIKE
Ah, yes, Mr., uh, pharmacist. I would like to, uh, purchase these, uh pills.

MIKEY
(shouting, hamming it up)
OK, let’s just see what we—whoa! Butt pills!

MIKE
Yes, I, uh—

MIKEY
(struggling to stop laughing)
Boy, what kind of problem do you have that you need pills for your butt!

MIKE
(laughing)
Well, I just want to buy these pills—

MIKEY
(laughing hysterically)
OK, man, just keep your butt away from me!

GC
Aaaaand—freeze! OK, great job guys. Now, we need more suggestions from you, the audience. OK, so Mikey, here, he’s a pharmacist now, but he also used to have another job, what is it?

There is a silence.

AUDIENCE MEMBER 4
You suck.

CLOWNIN’ AROUN’ looks at each other, frozen for a second.

GC
OK, I heard—soccer player. He’s a soccer player. And now Mike is doing something strange as well, what is it?

AUDIENCE MEMBER 4
Sucking at improv.

MIKEY
OK, you know what? Wiseass. Now we’re not going to finish the sketch. How do you feel about yourself?

GC
Calm down Mikey, calm down.

MIKE
OK, we’re just going to move on. The next thing we’re going to do is a song. For this we need someone from the audience.

CUT TO

The first couple rows of the audience, all of whom scramble out of their seats when Mike approaches except for GIRL WITH CRUTCHES who only looks at everyone else running away, panicked.

MIKE
(approaching GIRL WITH CRUTCHES)
OK, how about you?

MIKE grabs her chair and slides her up to the other two.

MIKEY
OK, miss, what’s your name?

GIRL WITH CRUTCHES
Sarah.

GC
Uh huh. Now tell us—what’s your love life like?

GIRL WITH CRUTCHES
Well, my boyfriend just died.

CLOWNIN’ AROUN’ pause and look at each other, unsure of what to do.

MIKEY
You know what guys? I can do it.

MIKE
You sure?

MIKEY
Yeah, just give me back up.

GC provides MIKEY with an a cappella backing. MIKE echoes the last few words of every line.

MIKEY
(singing)
He was so young.
Cut down in the prime of life.
There was no need!
No need!
What a world! How was he killed?

GIRL WITH CRUTCHES
(starting to sob)
He was stabbed by a mugger.

MIKEY
Cut down in the night!
By a shadowy assassin!
They were thinking of marriage—
Were you thinking of marriage?

GIRL WITH CRUTCHES
(now bawling uncontrollably)
Yes! Oh God yes!

MIKEY
The horrible irony!

MIKE
That’s hilaaaaaaarious!

ALL THREE
The horrible irony!

CLOWNIN’ AROUN’ finishes dramatically and looks at Sarah, noticing seemingly for the first time that she is crying as hard as a person can cry. They suddenly become nervous.

MIKE
(quietly)
OK, thanks.

MIKEY slides her chair back into the audience.

GC
Thank you. Yes.

MIKEY
(obviously shaken)
Once again, Jelly Bean’s, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons. Wow. OK, we’ve got time for one more, for this one we need a location.

There is silence. Finally, someone speaks up.

AUDIENCE MEMBER 5
Saloon.

MIKEY
A what?

AUDIENCE MEMBER 5
A saloon.

GC
No, I don’t think that one will—

AUDIENCE MEMBER 5
No, do a saloon.

AUDIENCE MEMBER 6
Yeah.

CLOWNIN’ AROUN’ looks at each other. They mouth “what’s that?” and “I don’t know” to one another. It is obvious that none of them knows what a saloon is.

GC
Saloon, huh? OK. We’ll do a saloon then.

CLOWNIN’ AROUN’ try to follow each others’ lead. GC mimes typing at a typewriter, MIKE mimes juggling. They see each other and switch at the same time. MIKEY pretends to be driving past them and the other two follow him, also steering. When they speak, their voices are all shaking.

MIKEY
Here I come, in my—saloon.

GC
Hey! Sa—saloon coming through!

MIKE
I’ve—I’ve got a saloon too, guys!

AUDIENCE MEMBER 7
You guys don’t know what a saloon is, huh.

CLOWNIN’ AROUN’ looks at each other. GC mimes pressing on a horn.

GC
Beep beep?

There is a short pause.

MIKEY
OK, well that’s all the time we have, remember, Jelly Bean’s, we’re Clownin’ Aroun’.

The last five words of my final column as it may or may not appear in Friday's DFP

Scott can't lift a chair

AFTER SOME TIME TO THINK UPDATE: I chickened out. It made no sense.

Scottywood on books

Ha!

How to bear the winter: advice from a New Englander

As winter bears down on Boston, the entire city bundles up and prepares for another season of snow, ice and cold. For lifelong New Englanders like me, the winter routine has become second nature. But there are plenty of students here at BU from the South and Southwest that have never really experienced the season as I have year after year. That first Boston winter can come as a real shock, so I figured I would help out by giving you some tips that I've picked over the years.

First of all, you should never ever approach snow under any circumstances. It is filled with thousands and thousands of tiny poisonous scorpions invisible to the naked eye. And they can jump. If you come within six inches of the stuff, the scorpions will jump at you and feast on your flesh. You might see people coming close to and even touching the snow and think it safe, but don't be fooled. If these people are not only holograms projected by the scorpions' ultra-sophisticated tiny optical illusion machines, they are themselves giant scorpions in disguise. Keep a safe distance at all times. If you do see a giant scorpion, do not bother alerting the authorities. Most of them are also giant scorpions in disguise. A good rule of thumb is to just assume that everyone else is a giant scorpion, converse with no one and get from one place to another as quickly as possible.

If you must venture outside and the snow is unavoidable, there are some things you can do to keep safe. There is scorpion repellent. However, it is extremely rare and expensive. Do not let anyone know you are looking for it and when you get some, never let on that you have it. Otherwise, you will have to fend off hordes of people desperate to find relief from the incessant biting and scratching of their own poisonous scorpions. You will have to figure out how to find this scorpion repellent on your own. There is no way you're getting me to spill my secret.

In your middle- and high-school earth sciences classes, you may have learned that bears retreat into their caves to spend the entire winter hibernating. This is true out in nature, but what about all those city bears? That is where you come in. Boston bears spend the winter skipping from apartment to apartment and from dorm to dorm. You'll be lucky to not have a bear knocking on your door in the middle of the night looking for a place to sleep. If the bear gets on your nerves (they've been known to snore and can be quite messy), don't worry. The bear will usually only crash for a few days before he heads out to find a new shelter somewhere else.

One of the most depressing things about winter is the way the sun sets earlier and earlier. You'll have to get used to the sky turning dark before five o'clock. Of course this means only one thing: afternoon vampires. Normally, the threat of vampires is only present late at night when the streets have more or less cleared anyway. But in the winter, your walks home from afternoon classes will be full of vampires lunging at you and bats soaring around everywhere above your head. Make sure you don't forget your giant wooden cross and always carry a revolver loaded with a silver bullet. They should be right next to your gloves as essential wintertime apparel.

Speaking of apparel, for the image-conscious, the right winter attire is essential to making the season as fun as it can be. You don't want to be caught wearing snow pants like the kind every New Englander stopped wearing after third grade. People from the Northeast like to demonstrate how little the cold bothers us. To blend in, wear either a tank top or one of those T-shirts with the tuxedo drawn onto the front. If you're caught wearing anything else in December, January or February, you will instantly be recognized as the outsider that you are.

We also wear roller skates rather than shoes or boots. I'm not sure why exactly. It's just one of those regional traditions. Make sure to get little chains for the wheels on your roller skates for traction on the slippery sidewalks. For those extra-cold days, wear a multicolored wig and a small red ball on your nose. If you can find one that makes noise when you press it, that's even better.

For someone from the sunny climates of places like Florida and Southern California, the first winter in Boston will probably can be a traumatic experience. If you're not prepared, the coming months will be awful, but with a little forethought, winter can be a great time. So lace up your skates and have a blast!

REMINDER

FRIDAY DECEMBER 2
8 PM
BU CENTRAL

Here is an almost-complete list of performing comedians in what is probably going to be the order.

Rob O'Reilly
Shane Mauss
Phil Eye
Dan Hirshon
Chris Sartinsky
Rob Turbovsky
Christian Lynch
Andy Blaeser
Milk (Mike Carrier)
Max Silvestri
Abe Barth
Myq Kaplan
The Walsh Brothers

These aren't just BU shmucks, people. (although hey, what's wrong with us BU shmucks?) There are some real professionals and hilarious people in that lineup. And on top of that, Greg White will hopefully be doing standup for the first time. Even if you've seen me dozens of times and go outside for a smoke during my set, do not miss this show.

YOU CAN'T LIE TO ME LIKE THAT UPDATE: I don't think I've even done standup a dozen times, never mind dozens of times. Suck it up.

A WARNING FROM THE FUTURE

CHRIS SARTINSKY returns home from work, throwing his briefcase and coat on his kitchen table before settling in his chair in the living room. Just as he turns on his TV, there is an explosion in the corner of the room. FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY, looking exactly like the Chris from the Present, even down to his clothing, emerges from a cloud of smoke. Future Chris steps forward and places his hands on his hips, striking a heroic pose.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
Chris Sartinsky! I am you...FROM THE FUTURE!

CHRIS SARTINSKY
What? But how...

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
I'm here to WARN you about a GRAVE MISTAKE you are about to make! Don't take Sherry Hopkins to senior prom! She has herpes!

CHRIS SARTINSKY
Yeah, I know.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
Bu--you do?

CHRIS SARTINSKY
Yeah. This is 2015. I went to prom twelve years ago.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
2015? Goddammit.

CHRIS SARTINSKY
I really wish you'd warned me back in 2003. That could have saved me a lot of trouble.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
Wait. What day is it?

CHRIS SARTINSKY
November 30, 2015. Why when are you from?

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
November 30, 2015. I've been working on this time machine for months--

CHRIS SARTINSKY
Yeah, I know.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
Well apparently I still haven't worked the kinks out.

CHRIS SARTINSKY
So you're not really Future Chris Sartinsky. You're more like Present Chris Sartinsky, really.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
Yeah, I guess so.

There is another explosion in the corner of the room. A third identical person, FUTURE FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY emerges from the smoke, striking an important pose with his hands on his hips.

FUTURE FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
Wait, Chris! It's me, Chris Sartinsky from the Future! I'm here to tell you your time machine doesn't work a--my God. I can see I'm too late.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
Yeah. When are you from?

FUTURE FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
(looking at his watch)
About now, actually. Fucking Christ, this is embarrassing.

There is another explosion in the same corner of the room and a fourth Chris Sartinsky emerges from the smoke again.

PAST CHRIS SARTINSKY
Wait! Chris! I am you, from the past, and I've come to the future to see what I loo--oh, come on.

CHRIS SARTINSKY
Past Chris Sartinsky?

PAST CHRIS SARTINSKY
Yeah. What year is this? I'm from--

ALL
November 30, 2015.

PAST CHRIS SARTINSKY
Well that's just great.

CHRIS SARTINSKY
How come you didn't know this would happen?

PAST CHRIS SARTINSKY
I don't know. I guess I'm from a few minutes before you guys or something.

FUTURE CHRIS SARTINSKY
I don't think that's right. There's no time travel going on.

Suddenly, the front door is unlocked and slammed shut. The Chris Sartinskys stay still, trying not to make a noise. PRESENT CHRIS SARTINSKY enters, throwing his briefcase and coat on the kitchen table and enters the living room to see the other Chris Sartinskys there. They are all still for a moment, staring at each other, then they scatter and run off into the woods in different directions. OTHER PRESENT CHRIS SARTINSKY enters, throwing his briefcase and coat onto the kitchen table, not noticing the other two, and reclines in his chair, turning on the TV, where he reads the paper quietly for the rest of the afternoon.

Googled Google Video Video

Stick it out, it gets better as it goes along, particularly when it zooms in on the guy's face.

Philip Morris USA's guide to talking with your kids about smoking

We at Philip Morris know that talking with your kids about smoking can be difficult. That's why we've come up with this list of Frequently Asked Questions to help you deal with the issue.

When should I bring it up?
The hardest part of the conversation is starting it. That's why we suggest you bring it up when your child is asleep or otherwise unconscious. That way, you can be sure your child won't ask any difficult questions and you can be over and done with as quickly as possible.

Where can I find information on the dangers of smoking?
Don't look in any credible scientific journals--you'll find nothing discrediting smoking in there. The best place to look is in our helpful brochure "Lies About Tobacco" which the folks at Philip Morris have been using since the '50s. There, you'll find all the popular theories and pseudoscience you're looking for to scare your kids off any legitimate product that we produce. And if you mention this FAQ in your brochure-request form, we'll send you a free pack of Virginia Lights!

My child says "It's a free country and I'll do what I want." How do I respond to this?
Well, your child is right. This is America and he or she is free to do whatever he or she feels is in his or her best interest. That's what makes America great. If your child brings this up, the best strategy is to concede the point and try to make an argument somewhere else.

My child says that most of the bad things I have heard about cigarettes are nothing but propaganda spread by the powerful anti-tobacco lobby--mostly composed of terrorists. Is this true?
In a word, yes. Every bit of it. You should be proud that you are raising such an intelligent and well-informed child. Tobacco does help America prosecute the war on terror, but hey. What does that do, really?

You make a pretty strong case for smoking. Where can I find a pack of your fine products?
We thought it might come to this. If you'd like to begin smoking after reading this FAQ, please head to your nearest convenience store and ask the attendant for only the finest Philip Morris products. And don't forget a pack for your kids!

Number of curses used by me and Felix in a five-minute discussion of Muppets

10

Sharing some stories from the past

This past week, I ate dinner with a large group of my friends from here and another friend that has known me since elementary school. Always on the lookout for new ammunition, my college friends quickly quizzed my other friend on what I was like when I was younger. It was then that I realized how hard I had worked to conceal as much of my past as possible, and anyone wanting to know why would have only needed to sit at that table for a few minutes to understand.

It's not like I have any earth-shattering skeletons in my closet, like felonies or undercover work for shady government organizations. It's just little things, like nicknames. I had told them that I had been both "Shrimp" and "Fetus" in the past, but they hadn't known that my band teacher called me "The Tap Dancing Machine." If you asked me why he referred to me as a tap dancing machine, I couldn't tell you. I'm certainly not a tap dancing machine. No matter how adamantly I insisted I was not a tap dancer or a dancer of any kind, my band teacher would not be discouraged. In his eyes, I would always be a tap dancer.

Of course the kids caught on, and that was annoying. Being asked to tap dance and then being kicked hard in the shins when I refused got on my nerves. But the worst people were the ones who truly believed that I was a tap dancer (and there were a lot of them). They vigorously defended my tap dancing, telling my band teacher not to make fun of me just because I like tap dancing. Though I should have appreciated their passionate and sincere defenses, they only led more people to believe that I was really a tap dancing machine, which led to more embarrassment.

But that was only high school. I only put up with four years of that taunt. It's your earliest mistakes and embarrassments that you have to put up with for the rest of your life. Like when I was in fourth grade and I suddenly started having dizzy spells. Whenever I participated in even the least strenuous of physical activities, I would feel lightheaded until I sat down and composed myself. One afternoon at recess, I was running around the playground when I suddenly had one of my attacks. Unable to sit down in time, I passed out and smacked my head on the slide, slowly inching down head first. After the vice principal reprimanded me briefly, she realized I was really hurt and I was rushed to the hospital.

My pediatrician recommended a prescription, but the side effects were devastating. My head swelled to an enormous size and my neck shrunk at the same time. Just standing upright was like trying to balance a watermelon on a golf tee. My head would wobble about wildly and I would bump into things constantly. I had to focus and exert great mental energy to keep my head from rolling around. This was hilarious, of course, and it didn't take long for my classmates to realize it. Two of them would get on either side of me and pass my head back and forth, gradually increasing speed. People would keep score to see how many times they could pass me back and forth without knocking me over completely (the record was 97). I didn't like this game, but since my upper body had roughly the same proportions as a balloon on a string, I didn't have much say in the matter.

We found out later that the side effects were the result of a bad prescription. It turned out my pediatrician was addicted to cocaine. Now you probably think I made that up for the sake of this wild and wacky story. But that's true. My pediatrician, as my family found out years after we had changed doctors, was a cokehead. He appeared on television to explain himself and try to dispel some of the bad rumors that were flying around about his drug of choice.

There were other stories traded that night with my friends, like the time I fell asleep at shortstop in little league and no one noticed that I was lying face down in the dirt until a ground ball slowly rolled up next to me, or the day I accidentally wore a dress to school. I probably would be hearing about these old stories at college as much as I do at home, if not for the wealth of material I provide everyone with here anyway. Like how, that very night at dinner, I draped my coat over the heater and started a small fire. I am now "Firestarter."

Wait until my friends back home get a hold of that one.