Cutaneous immune emission syndrome, known commonly among schoolchildren as Cooties, appears to be on the brink of extinction, according to a press release by the World Kindergrteners Association (WKA).
“We’re still treating new cases, but numbers have waned dramatically over the past few years,” says Logan Klein, a 6-year-old first grader with a dual cub scout merit badge in band-aid application and removal. “If this trend continues, Cooties will be completely eliminated by 2014.”
Klein and others attribute the sharp decline to the tireless awareness and education efforts of the WKA, along with increased availability of preventative medical treatment.
“If you told me 5 years ago that Cooties was on a path toward extinction, I’d have been speachless,” says Klein, whose soft, childlike features betray a bitter past. “I lost a brother to the virus. Which is to say he was marginally ostracized by his peers during recess. My pain is what drove me to devote myself to the cause, and I know many of the other awareness advocates out there share similar stories.”
The real tragedy of Cooties is that it has continued to spread, despite being completely preventable.
“The Circle-Circle-Dot-Dot or CCDD vaccine has been around since at least the mid-70s,” says “epidebiobolist” Dax Wooten, “but a complex interplay of schoolyard social dynamics and inefficient preteen communication networks have lead to woefully inconsistent application.”
Wooten, whose lima bean germination experiment received a check-plus from Mrs. Langerley, believes that social media have played a crucial role in increasing awareness of CCDD.
“Anyone can administer the vaccine. It is over 98% effective if applied prior to infection, and there are no known side-effects,” Wooten stresses. “If you or anyone you know between the ages of 4-10 and has yet to receive the Cootie shot, please take action immediately.”
The WKA’s bullish proclamations have been met with caution by the much maligned nerd community. While school popularity experts believe an eradication of Cooties would to lead to better integration for wads and foreign students, many losers, like Terse Magrew of Rockford Illinois, are skeptical of the science underlying CCDD treatment.
“I’ve survived seven separate Cooticolus infections, despite having been vaccinated numerous times by my big sis,” says Magrew, whose body exudes a cheesy odor. “I don’t know what the Cootie shot actually does, but I sure as heck know it doesn’t protect against Cooties. If we’re ever going to truly eliminate this illness, we need to understand how it operates on a molecular level.”
Magrew takes a vial filled with apple juice and pours it into a flask in a manner reminiscent of a stereotypical scientist.
“The Cooties virus remains in your system months after you stop exhibiting symptoms, and only a certified mom or mom-care professional can tell if it’s gone,” says Magrew. “I successfully extracted a hair from my baby brother’s head after I infected him. Then I fed it to my cat. It coughed up a hairball so big! Wanna play with my Lego Mindstorms?”
“God what a dork,” says Klein. “It’s people like Terse who worry me. They seemingly have no clue that their own exceptional unpopularity is putting thousands of lives at risk.”
Celebrated Cooties awareness advocate and sufferer Jennifer DeLorge, who was tragically picked last for kickball last October.
“But all this is changing,” Klein adds, stifling a laugh. “One of the most exciting advances in the past two years has been the application of hyper-atomic wedgie and swirlie technology to the treatment of some of the more persistent cases.”
Wooten sums it up nicely, “We’re fighting the good fight now, so our little brothers, and our little brother’s little brothers don’t have to. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for soccer practice.”
[January is international Cooties awareness month. Please show you solidarity with Cooties sufferers and survivors by pinning a blue ribbon with the words "kick me" to your jacket.] ]]>
It’s like a scene out of a movie: A big downtown firm is interviewing candidates for a top sales position. It’s been a long and draining day full of dull questions and even duller responses. The fat cats are getting ready to call it a day, when suddenly they hear a knock on the door.
“Gentlemen, I’m here about the new position. I think I may just be the man you’ve been looking for!”
“Sorry. We’ve finished interviewing people, you can pass your resume on to Jenny out front and she’ll contact you when we have another opening.”
THHUUDDDD!
The door topples onto the floor like a giant domino, and in it’s wake a man stands tall, Royce Leather briefcase in hand, dressed to his neck in Brooks Brothers, his left foot embedded deep within the oak hardwood.
“Well I’ve already got my foot in the door!”
Amazement, laughter, applause. “You’ve got the job sir! Cheers! Well done!”
This fantastic scenario might very well be reality for 29 year old Eliot Ness of Chicago, the first human ever to have his foot successfully removed and replaced by a wooden door.
“I guess you could say I’ll be getting my foot in the door of a lot of places,” Ness quipped to us as he slowly and loudly shuffled his way down the hospital staircase and into the flatbed of the company pickup for a photo shoot.
“Needless to say, after the operation I now have a hard time fitting myself into elevators. Ever heard of a door getting caught…in another door?”
I can honestly say never have, but then again this was all unfamiliar territory for me. I’d never even heard of a foot transplant, let alone a foot-door transplant. Luckily I had Dr. Igott, chief surgeon and spearhead of the entire operation at my side to assure me, “it just go to show you, if you can’t get your foot in a door, at de least you can get your door in a foot. Hay! dat’s a good headline for your article.”
The success of the operation has sent shock waves rippling through the scientific community. “Talk about your doorman, this guy gives an entirely new meaning to the word a-door-able,” stated Osteopathologist Lance Slawson. Bone physiologist Erik Deforge went on the record with the following statement: “we’ve all heard the phrase, ‘don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.’ Now it’s more like, ‘Shut up! And don’t let my foot go up your ass on the way out…cause it’s a door!’”
Dr. Igott, however, considers Deforge’s evaluation “a bit of a stretch. Iz important dat we are conservative in de way we interpret de jokes—I mean de results, oderwise we run risk of alienating de scientific community.”
Eliot, for his part, is taking his new-found status as scientific marvel in stride: “All smiles here. I’ve got my health, my youth, and my foot in a door. I’m on a literal pathway to success! Hmmm…you know what? It’s kind of like I’m a d—” just then Ness’ door landed on the tail of an alley cat, which launched itself in a horrified scream. Ness stumbled back and tumbled into a dumpster, his door catching like a lid on the open top.
“If you tink he’s messed up you should see de doorframe!” exclaimed Igott with a slap to the thigh. “But seriously I kidding. You alright door-guy. You too notepad, I mean jeez, how many notes you take for a stupid article, you want I should give you my life story? Seriously, if I wanted a guy to sit around make notes and do nothing I would go to de Psychoanalysis! Help me get dis poor fuck out of de dumspter.
“Hey buddy, knock knock…”
“Who’s there?”
“Igott”
“Igott who?”
“I got shit to do so let’s make dis fast! Ha ha! Just kidding, I’ll be here all night!”
With the reverberations are still being felt from last month’s Michael Cera scandal, a new study threatens to demolish what is left of Michael Cera’s nice-guy credibility. The study, released yesterday, claims that famed nice-seeming so-and-so Michael Cera is, in actuality, not as unassuming as the characters he traditionally plays. Naturally, these allegations have set off a firestorm of debate that threatens to upset Cera Week celebrations at their very apogee, after an uneasy beginning in the wake of multiple Cera scandals.
Fans around the world were shocked last month when allegations of impropriety and narcissistic negligence were leveled against Canadian actor/haircut Michael Cera. Specifically, a Hamilton waitress accused the Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World star of leaving an insufficient tip, despite excellent service and a free refill coffee (not normally a standard feature at that particular Boston Pizza).
The fiasco, dubbed “Tip-pot Dome” for lack of any reasonable means of attaching the “-gate” suffix, came as a severe blow to Cera’s public image – especially at a time when the promotion campaign for Pilgrim (in theatres worldwide August 13th, “Great” – Kevin Smith) can ill afford any negativity. Beyond the to-be-expected bad press, the scandal reflects especially poorly on Cera, whose persona for nearly a decade has been anchored by polite uncertainty, a paralyzing eagerness to please, and a near-flagellant self-admonishment for even the slightest social trepidation.
“For Cera to be accused of callousness is as shocking as the Pope being accused of first-degree kiddie fiddling,” remarked user WereHereWereCera on the michaelcera.biz messageboards, summing up the outrage of Ceraheads worldwide at these accusations. This outrage has only been amplified by the release of a study that indicates that as many as 95% of Michael Cera improprieties, uncoutheries, and faux pas (plural) are reported.
“Cera’s reputation has a way of baffling and intimidating the victims of his aggression,” reports Dr. Dryer of the Cerological Institute of Bethesda, Maryland. “Many will overlook, forgive, or simply fail to notice the many minor mistakes and social disgraces he perpetrates. But don’t be fooled by his aw-shucks stammer and non-athletic hunch – beneath them beats the heart of an all-too-comfortable human.”
Dr. Dryer’s research team admits that it is impossible to tell exactly how many affronts Cera commits, but if their recent field investigation is any indication, the number could range anywhere from 20 to 50 a week – nearly as many as the notably less-endearing David Cross or, possibly, Michael McKean.
“We’re talking the whole gamut of missteps: bad tips, dandruff, parking too far from the curb, not holding the door for someone, returning a phone call with a text, taking someone’s laundry out of the dryer to do his own, belching in an ethnic restaurant and claiming that the culture appreciates it, calling Lebanese cuisine ‘ethnic’, and, of course, farts.”
Elias was careful to note that this is a tally of farts not reported by Cera himself – to say nothing of those not reported by the mainstream media. “We are talking about farts that Cera himself refuses to publicize. The media is left with nothing but speculation, and even then, only on the audible farts.”
“Our shotgun microphones detected an average daily output of 82.8 farts above 40 dB. For reference, 40 dB is nearly as loud as Javier Bardem’s speaking voice in No Country For Old Men, played at a reasonable volume.”
“Assuming a normal sphincter size and constriction, and assuming that he is making no secret effort to dampen the volume of the farts, we can estimate that this is nearly 6.5 litres of fart that is belching out of the rectum of a celebrity whose bread and butter is gentle self-effacement and meekness to the point of pathology. There is a silent crime being committed here, and it comes in the form of pounds of aerosol Bramptonian feces that unsuspecting mumblefans have been breathing in since 2003.”
Michael Cera was reached for comment, but due to the poor reception of his cell phone, could issue no comment other than curse words directed at the number of bars it displayed. However, on his behalf, Cera defenders have decried the study as baseless muckraking and dogpiling designed to heap scorn upon an already-embattled celebrity.
“Michael Cera has had to endure box office ennui, typecasting, imposters, the brutal underratedness of Paper Heart, and now this,” lamented Michael Cera, a Michael Cera fan who changed his name to reflect his taste in actors. “This is just backstabbing from fairweather fans who feel alienated by an unassuming young actor’s enduring success in limited roles. It’s called the Savage effect, and it can be very difficult – the Savage brothers all but put their careers on hold to escape it.”
The study has met with informal acclaim from the Cerological community, but due to the controversy surrounding it, will remain unpublished by leading Cera periodical Cera-Focused American until a peer review process has been completed. Until then, Cera week celebrations will continue, including the traditional burning of the Wicker Cera and assorted virgins on Friday.
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“Well it just goes to show you,” remarked physicist and popular author Brian Greene bearing his trademark don’t-cha-know-it grin, “the universe still has a few tricks up her sleeve.”
Scientists around the globe are just beginning to grasp the significance of what is “perhaps the first great scientific discovery of our young century.” Published in last month’s issue of Science under the technical title “The Same Difference Theory: Why We Are All The Same, But Different,” the new findings represent the culmination of over a decade of interdisciplinary research, encompassing everything from neurophysics to psycho-neurophysics, to physical neurology.
“In essence the finding is quite simple” notes principal author Harold Kim, “What our research shows is that we are all the same, but with one subtle caveat…we’re also different.”
The theory is being hailed by many as a viable solution to the Boltz-Heimann question: “if we’re all good people then why is there so much sadness in the world?” (more formally stated as G-People’ = Sadness * The Goodness of Others…or Does(it)? The titular “it” in question being none other than the Lefebre statistic!). “If this is indeed the case,” says Green “these findings will fundamentally alter the way we perceive ourselves and others…bringing us one step closer to unlocking the secrets of the ‘love particle.’”
It’s a bold claim, and one that many scientists, such as Doug Berkland of Blockbuster Video, will admit still has them scratching their heads. “Well if we’re really all the same, then how come we fight wars,” argues Doug, “but then again, there is that whole ‘we’re also different’ part of the theory too. But now if that’s the case what to make of mismatched cross-cultural friendships…unless…maybe that’s where the we’re all same part comes back into play. But then what about the ‘we’re different’ thing again! Whew, I need a break!”
pop-physicist Brian Green taking a smile break at a particle physics 'nar
Like most great scientific breakthroughs, such as Schrodinger’s “Everyone is Connected Theorem,” Einstein’s “Love = Kindess * Effort ^2,” and Fermi’s “Everything in Moderation…Including Moderation!” Kim’s discovery is a total mindfuck, with implications and counter-implications philosophers will no doubt spend decades sorting out. “Us scientists are historically poor interpreters of our own work,” notes the secondary author Goeff Taylorson. “We come out with these esoteric postulates like ‘oh we’re all the same but different’ or ‘life’s a journey,’ but really it’s up to the greater scientific community to help translate these findings to the public.”
Taylorson admits that this will not be an easy task. “We as scientists have an obligation to pass our wisdom on to our children which, as Pascal proved in 1651, are our most precious, wonderful resource. Sometimes the greatest scientific feat of all is putting a theory in words that even a 5 year old can understand. For now same-difference is just something to be appreciated, like a great work of art, or a satisfying shit.”
But it’s not all peaches and cream and turkish delight within the scientific community. Fug Cradzle, sciency type and author of the new book “The Difference Theory: Why We’re All Different and That’s That!” has been an outspoken opponent of the theory since day one. “A world where we’re all the different and the same? Is that really a world you want to live in? Imagine if somebody told you you were actually the same person as Hitler, as Moussolini…as George Bush! Kind of makes you drink doesn’t it? I mean—drink. I mean—I’m gonna start drinking now. You guys can hang around if you want but it’s probably going to get a little awk—”
Madam Eta Carinae thought she’d have a quick lunch break before heading back to work. Looks like she got a little mooney for her homonocleus nebula snack and it exploded all over her! Uh oh… Here’s hoping she’s like us and packs a stick-on stain remover. In space, everyone can see your faux pas.
…..They get an attack of GREASE FACE!
As much as I love giving Arcturus a rough time about her shine, I’m going to let this slide, because she actually looks remarkably put-together compared to the way I normally look when I’m all spaced out. I just have to ask, though: why wear the over-the-top glare? I mean, we get the point: you’re a star. Do you really need those four stripes of light to draw attention to yourself? Talk about outfit overkill. Also, what is up with that camel toe?
Glare alert!!!
….They do the morning-after walk of shame!
-FRANKENBEANZ
Hurumph! How did I get here? Man, my head is pounding. I can feel my brain rubbing against the inside of my skull. Where am I? Craig? Steve? Hey, you. Dude. Wait. You, guy. Lemme see those shades. What the…oh man. Dude. It’s finally happened…
I mean…uh….what a peculiar configuration! I can tell by the contour of the inferior nylon frames and outdated lens geometries that I am in the past, for sure. This is an obsolete model. I haven’t seen such an archaic pair of sun-shaded protective lenses since the year that I would call nineteen-hundred and eighty-nine. It appears I have definitely traveled backwards through the eddies of time itself, and not gone on another fortnight-long absinthe bender, as is the custom in my time. But, as we say in my time, NO FEAR, savages! Come, gather round my Mountain Equipment Co-op knapsack and allow me to regale you with factual and most righteous reports from your own future.
Before I begin, allow me to dispel any preconceived notions regarding my eyewear. Such cutting edge hingeless frame technology may shock you. Worry not. Rock a chill pill. (Do you guys have those here?) I mean it’s not like I’m from Mars, and there’s no way that I’m a stray member of some conquering Occidental militia, however hypermodern and aerodynamic I may appear. My name is Jordan Smalls and judging by the hazily familiar boulder topography on which we stand, I am a native Coloradan, just like you thr–catch you later, man–just like you two.
I can tell you that the world of the future is a strange and unfamiliar place. An underdog ice hockey club called the Detroit Red Wings swept the Washington Capitals in the Stanley Cup finals, and our President Clinton is denying a freebie beej. A truly radical new operating system has made computing easier than ever, and an enterprising rock band called Phish has reached the pinnacle in free-form live jamming, musically achieving something greater than all of us on a nightly basis. Craig and I caught them in California two weeks ago–I mean…many score moon from now–and the effect was truly sublime. Oh and you can’t smoke in bars in California anymore. Is that fucked or what?
The popularity of grunge music, something you will hear about in three or so years, has waned, leaving only tattered jeans, faded flannels and Silverchair cover bands in its wake. Mine is also a post-racial America, where the struggles of the Civil Rights movement have been rewarded by the unlikely fusion of rap and rock music and Martin Lawrence’s being a marquee name. Our tunes are bigger, shinier and our metal nüer than ever. America’s love affair with the circus arts has given a set of devil sticks to every able-bodied child, and something called El Niño is causing widespread global superstorms because of wicked hot tropical air or something. Some guy told me last week that we’ll all be dead within two years. Skiing is now called “snowboarding.”
I notice you are still studying my eyewear. And I assume you a sniggering at your own imperfect sun-shading technology. Don’t be shy. Please. Admire them. Study them. See, for example how my sunglasses clutch the upper cranium and anchor beneath the posterior occipital protuberance of the human skull. Notice how they challenge everything you thought you knew about sunglasses? See how they radicalize the space of the skull itself in a way unthought of since the dawn of the hat.
Take it all in, guys. I insist. If I am remembering the literature correctly, it is my presence in this, the past, that permits the reverse-engineering of the Plutonite® lens in the first place. Like in Terminator. You guys have Terminator, right? Yeah it’s pretty good but it’s no T2: Judgment–I’ve said too much.
JUL 04: Greetings, new roommate. Although I lack the ability to feel basic human emotions, I wish to communicate to you my gratitude and eagerness to be spending the next two months with you. That said, I feel there has been a miscommunication regarding certain aspects of a domestic nature. In the craigslist ad I posted, I requested that dishes be done promptly, and garbage be taken out punctually. These have not been done, and I fear the cleanliness of the apartment is suffering as a result. I mention this not as a matter of standard roommate protocol, but for your own safety – while I am not susceptible to bacterial disease, you are. Please take care to follow the calendar located in the kitchen.
JUL 08: I apologize again for disposing of your dinner. I again remind you that it had been left unattended for four minutes while you were busy in the bathroom, and that the cat was dangerously close to eating a small portion of it. Moreover, my pre-emptive cleaning of your dishes is, in fact, the direct result of your inability to do so yourself. I have taken it upon myself to keep the kitchen clean, as your efforts in this regard have been lacking. If you are willing to make more of an effort, then I can cease this endeavour; otherwise, I would be willing to offer you a similarly time-consuming chore to do in your dishes’ stead. Thank you.
JUL 09: Do not be alarmed, for this note is not chore-based in nature. I have recently overheard you singing during your daily hygienic routine, and have noticed that you have difficulty in achieving the correct pitch of many notes. Furthermore, your lyrical memory seems woefully inadequate to the task of recreating the words of an entire song. Perhaps you would benefit from some singing lessons? I am an android, and can accurately recreate over 5,120,000 well-known pop, classical, jazz and worldbeat songs. If this is not to your liking, I would be pleased to provide a harmonic baseline from which you could more correctly determine any errors in pitch while singing. I shall make an effort to be available for the next several mornings, should you desire my assistance.
JUL 16: Although I am loathe to breach a subject I am not too familiar with, I am afraid that I must. I have the distinct impression that you believe I am behaving in a “passive-aggressive” manner. I have delineated this by your recent addition of “be passive-aggressive” to my “to-do” list. This is not true: I have no emotional core to protect by distancing my actions from my intentions. Furthermore, it was unnecessary for you to scratch out all other entries in the list – as I am an android, I maintain the true list in my internal memory. The list on the refrigerator is for your benefit, that you may assist or make requests of my daily routine. Furthermore, as your presence in our apartment is erratic, I feel the notes are a more secure way of reaching you. Given that you often sleep in your bed, your pillow is the most assured place for you to find them – nothing more. Regardless, I assure you that your belief that I am passive is both false and, were I human, offensive. For harmony’s sake, please correct your impression of me accordingly. Thank you.
JUL 18: Although I am confused as to the exact reasons for your anger, I apologize for my intrusion into your room last night. I was simply wondering if you had fed the cat recently – I was not attempting to “block” your “cock”. Similarly, I was not a “pervert” or “creep” as your companion exclaimed – my lingering in the door was due to a difficulty in divining the exact reason for your agitation. To avoid such incidents in the future, please attempt to calmly explain to me the reasons for your embarrassment, rather than throwing books at me. Furthermore, rather than an ambiguous sock placed on your doorknob, you might consider placing a more revelatory note on your door – for example, “I am having sex – do not interrupt my sex.” Thank you.
JUL 27: My cursory investigation complete, I shall now offer you an apology for what I now realize was an error in human judgement. Three days ago, during your parents’ visit to our shared apartment, I conversationally informed them of my debatable “cockblock” in the previous week. I have now learned via the internet that many humans choose not to share details of their romantic lives with their parents for reasons of shame and polity. Although it may undermine my apology to do so, I must request that in the future you inform me of these peculiarities, ideally beforehand, but at least afterwards. Screaming obscenities neither informed me of the exact nature of my error, nor assuaged your mother’s concerns for your “whorish soul”. Thank you.
AUG 01: Your recent behaviour is confusing, and I cannot feel as though I have again unwittingly transgressed. I have noticed a distinct trend of late wherein you hurl garbage at me, often going out of your way to do so. Perhaps you have had a dream in which I functioned as a garbage receptacle, and have confused waking reality for this dream. Perhaps you are attempting to renegotiate an implicit roommate contract, whereby I am responsible for the garbage elimination? If this is the case, I am sure an explicit contract can be established, and an equitable arrangement reached. Until such time, I’m afraid I must request that you cease all garbage-hurling activities, as they interfere with my usual cleanliness routine. Thank you.
AUG 03: Where have you gone? Although I respect your right to privacy, I must press the issue, as you have signed an informal contract for two months’ rent, and have yet to pay the final month’s rent. Although I cannot be hurt, I imagine that a human would feel betrayed in such a situation. I place this note on your pillow, in the hopes that you have simply gone on an impromptu vacation, and will shortly return. Please leave your rent on top of the refrigerator when you return. Thank you.
AUG 06: The landlord is greatly upset by your failure to pay rent in a timely fashion, and I am perplexed by your continued absence from our apartment. Given that the objects that remain herein are largely those included in the sublet, and the distinctly personal items you have left behind are of minimal monetary value, I must assume you have abandoned your commitment to the sublet. However, I am programmed to place a great deal of importance on both contracts and friendship. I leave this note on your pillow now in the hopes that you find it before I find you. Thank you.
SPEAKER: Elmer Whatshisname IV
AUTHOR: Elmer Whatshisname IV, Jr.
AFFILIATION: Regressive Conservative Party
DATE: October 12th, 1975
CANDIDATE: (greetings, baby kisses, waves waves waves) Welcome, welcome one and all, thank y’all for showin’ up on this blustery Bluesday!
Now, I know y’all’s busy workin’ hard this time of year, and I thank you deeply for comin’ out in face of fatigue. Myself, I ain’t much for manual labour, but I’m tired too – tired of tax hikes! Tired of payin’ for featherbeds to rest our convicted criminals’ lyin’ heads! But first ‘n foremost, ladies ‘n gentlemen, I’m tired of all this blasphemous big city pontificatin’ – what with them sayin’ things like, “Guns kill people”, “a stitch in time saves nine”, and most of all – and most of all! – them I’ve heard what’s sayin’ that women evolved from men!
(pause, outrage) That’s right! They’re sayin’ it! Well MY grandaddy wasn’t a woman – was yours? Didn’t think so! Now, maybe we ain’t got no re-search lab-or-atories, or government grants, or LINED paper, but we know how it goes! People, we know how it all happens: (point to chart) cats get real old and turn into dogs, dogs get real old and turn into ladies, and ladies get real old and turn into my wife! (laughter) Well, maybe not that last one – but definitely th’others! Maybe t’ain’t scientific, but that’s the way I likes it!
Now if’n anyone’s got some contradictatory evidence, I’d sure as sugar like to hear it!
CRONY: Uhh, yeah, I’d like to say something – I’m a liberal from the biiiiiig city, and maybe it’s just my big fat mouth talkin’, but I’m gonna call you a big fat liar! Also, I’d like to take this opportunity to call everyone else a bunch of jerks!
CANDIDATE: (quell crowd’s disapproval of liberal) Now, now, people, take it easy – this is still America, and we all get to speak our peace, no matter how evolved we may be! (pause, smirk, wait for laughter) Now sir, are you married?
CRONY: Shoot no! We don’t allow marriage in the big fat city! (belches)
CANDIDATE: Jeepers – you sound a lot like my distinguished opponent! (laughter) But now, sir, ‘mong those of us who happen to be married, we on occasion, pardon my legalese, become intimate with our better halves! Now – good, married people, I ask you: if’n we’re carnalizin’ with each other, and women do indeed come from men, then that’d make us out to be conjugatin’ with our own kind – by which I mean to say, if men and women are the same, then we’d all be guilty of the gross sin of homosex!
(lady faints) Goodness me, someone get her some water, or better yet, I’ll sell you this one for free! (give lady water) But now, good married couples, lemme ask you – is any y’all homosexual?
(audience outrage) Didn’t think so! Good people, I did not think so! So now, if y’all ain’t homosexuals, then y’all must be married to people what ain’t the same as you! Therefore, by the grand ol’ rule of facto corpus, because y’all’s married and not homosexed, men and women is once again as different as cats and dogs!
CRONY: Aww, heck! Looks like you outsmarted me and my fancy Jewish education!
CANDIDATE: Sure did, son! And so to you, good people: when you’re having one of those many tender moments with your dear wife or husband, and you don’t want it to be a mortal sin to do so, then think of me, ol’ Elmer Whatshisname, and think of that big ol’ vote you can cast for me this election season! Thank you, god bless.
(Editor’s note: the preceding speech was never actually delivered, due to it being accidentally leaked when it flew out Elmer Whatshisname IV Jr.’s passenger-side window. A scandal ensued, with opponents accusing the Whatshisnames of colluding with “big city types”, due to Elmer Whatshisname IV’s previous campaign claim that he had never learned to read “them big city words”. Nevertheless, the editors still feel it belongs in the pantheon of great speeches.)
Heath,
I drink Gatorade so much that I have begun sweating out flourescent yellow. This confuses me because I only drink orange Gatorade. Should I switch to Encino brand energy sport drink instead? I have heard through the grape vine and from many popular athletes that this drink is far superior to the Gatorade products and will not affect my sweat colour.
I enjoy Encino brand energy sport drink’s label and have heard nothing negative about this company. I am excited to switch brands.
Sincerely,
Jeffrey Chalmers
Sent from my Blackberry Device on the Encino Brand Energy Drink wireless network.
Dear Chandlers,
First of all let me say that I am a big fan of the television show that your character appears on. I have even seen some of the episodes.I find your refreshingly flippant sense of humor anchors the general atmosphere of “quirkiness” that surrounds the series. Kudos! (or should I say “Kudrows”?)
To answer your question, Encino brand energy drinks are not known to cause sweat discoloration, though studies have shown that the product has been conclusively linked to violent and compulsive fits of diahhrea, rapid hair loss, social impotence, decreased energy, and negative advertising. Have you tried Gatorade? It is rich in antioxidants.
-Heath
Heather,
Recently, I have been putting on a lot of weight. This was puzzling, because for the last year I have been eating only the healthiest foods and integrated a strict regimen of exercise into my daily routine. To counter the weight gain, I decided that the only solution was to exercise even more and cut out eating altogether. Yet the pounds keep piling on.
I have concluded that this is because I am full of hate.
Even worse is that, it seems that the weight gain has prompted a new height of self-hate, which just fills me up even more; the cycle spirals out indefinitely, like a mirror reflecting an image of another mirror. I am full of hate for gaining weight, and the more I hate myself, the more full I become.
What can I do to stop this growing cycle of hate?
“Fat” Albert
Dear Alben,
I am happy to hear that you have finally decided to tackle your weight problem. Your friends, family and people who pass you on the street have been discussing your weight for years now, and so you will be doing us all a great favour by slimming down, opening us up to new conversational possibilities, rather than wasting our days and eves discussing your ever-increasing waist-girth.
I am, however, quite dismayed at your cavalier attitude towards the task ahead. Your impatience truly astounds. It is as if you are a man that arrives at a cow farm, sees the cows and says, “Why is there no steak in my mouth?”, completely ignoring the time it takes to kill and carve a sow.
If you had watched my latest weight-loss tape, “Weight Loss is Your GAIN” you would know that you should pay attention to the homonymous qualities of the word “weight” and “wait”. You must learn to wait for your weight loss to take effect, dear Alben.
I am a certified weight loss scientician and so—and hopefully I won’t confuse you too much with this jargon—I know that your body is still under what is referred to as a “fat cloud.” Your body still believes it is fat and so no amount of not eating will change this. Only time will change your body. Do not give up on your dream of size 32 cargo pants The storm of being a fat person shall soon pass and you will enter a glorious sunny day of slimhood.
I cannot stress this enough: do not starting eating again. Eating is what got you where you are today. If you were truly committed you would never eat again. Your body, being as fat as it is, has enough old food stored up inside of its “cells” that you will be able to survive for years to come. You may not live as long a life as you would if you remained an Eater, but your life will surely be a Fuller one (pun definitely intended).
And thus, your self-hate will disappear with the fat cloud.
Regards,
Heath
Hey Heath I just had sex for the first time and I think I might be pregnant! I am so scared but its a little bit exciting at the same time because I’m not ready for a child yet but if I did have one I would love it because we are a really cute couple. We didn’t wear any condoms but we are both virgins. We had our clothes on the whole time and there wasn’t any penetration. But he spermed inside of me and I think it hit my egg. What should I do?
Burpie,
Dear EARLY,
PUT EVERYTHING DOWN THIS INSTANT. WALK TO YOUR CLOSET AND GRAB A COAT HANGER. NOW WALK TO THE KITCHEN AND GRAB SCISSORS. WARNING: THIS WILL GET MESSY.
TWIST THE COAT HANGER SO IT IS FLATTENED INTO A CIRCULAR SHAPE AND SHARP AT THE END.
NOW GRAB MULTICOLOURED CONSTRUCTION PAPER. NOW GRAB GLUE.
BREATHE.
NOW: cut the construction paper into various fun shapes. Animals. Trains. Celebrity’s heads. Anything. Have fun with it.
Glue your shapes onto the coat hanger, then hang the coat hanger up…. in your baby’s nursery! It’s a fantastic, home-made mobile that will provide hours of entertainment.
Congratulations, EARLY, you’re definitely 100% pregnant. You have been given the greatest gift of all: the gift of a baby, and the gift of a life partner.
Ciao bella!
Hello!
I love to exercise. Who doesn’t? I exercise every single day. Often, multiple times in a single day. If, for some reason, I have a particularly busy day, and I don’t think I’m going to have a moment to squeeze in an exercise, I won’t even bother getting out of bed. It’s just not worth it! That’s how dedicated I am to exercise. I will remain in my bed until all of those things that had made me busy in the first place eventually disappear and I can start exercising again. This is taking a lot longer than I thought I would. The busy days just keep piling up! What are some exercises I can do in bed?
-M. Robert Breakfast
Hello Breakfast!
I commend you on your positive attitude towards exercise. You are a true inspiration. Your dedication reminds me of a certain young man I knew back in the late 80s. He went by the name of Dwayne Rock back then, but you are probably more familiar with him under his current moniker: Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Perhaps you will be the next large Johnson in the fighting ring, if you keep up this rigid regimen!
As far as exercises in bed go, I do know one.
1. This one works best in winter. Before heading to bed drink one full glass of whiskey. Then, turn off the heat in your house or apartment. If you are wearing pajamas, take them off, making sure to fully nudify yourself. Now, fall asleep! The whiskey will make this part easy. Here’s where the exercise comes in. When you fall asleep you’ll feel warm as a mitten, but that’s just the whiskey talking. It’s convinced your insides that the outsides are warm. But little do the insides know that the outsides are actually quite cold—-so cold, in fact, that the outsides will be shivering all night long! Have you ever seen a nude, sleeping man shiver convulsively? I have seen plenty. If you turn your head askance, it looks exactly like he’s running! And where is this nude man (You are the nude man) running to? He’s running to the country of Fit Fabulous Bodies. Stay awhile.
Cheers, and good luck!
Stay puckered,
Heath
Heath Bomb,
I totally just benched 200 lbs. You should see my abs: 24 pack. Actually, maybe you shouldn’t because you’d probably cry.
Here’s my question for you: Where the “f” do you get off writing a health column when I’m clearly 197% healthier than you are? I piss wheat germ. I emit straight arugula from my backside. What’s your shit look like?
Jeez. No wonder newspapers are going downhill, they’re employing crying babies like you to write their health columns.
Why don’t you go find a rock to sit on and cry? Oh wait, that rock you’re sitting on? That’s my abs.
Peace
Chet
Shirt,
Thanks for writing, once again. While this may come as a surprise to you, health is not always a matter of total number of pounds benched or number of ab divisions. There are many facets to overall health, and the body is an extremely complex system that should not be reduced to muscle alone. In my field, we come across many men who are in as good a shape or better shape than you. Many of those men suffer from back pains, bruised egos, smaller genitalia and the tendency to be extremely annoying. Despite their seemingly heightened physiques, these men I come across in my field can often not take the pressure or long hours of difficult manual labor that I require, and often pass out due to exhaustion or death while my smaller and leaner agrarian works can slave away on my field for hours on end without complaint or incident.
And guess what, Captain Body? If you piss wheat grass and shit acai berries, then you clearly are eating an excess of nutrients, guy. “Shitting” is throwing out what your body doesn’t need, and eating things your body doesn’t need is UNHEALTHY. So you might expel only whole foods as bodily waste but I haven’t taken a dump in nearly six weeks, so who works where now, Mr. Clean?
Get Fucked,
Malky
HOLLYWOOD, PA-Exciting news from Tinsel Town, insiders! In an exclusive on-chesterfield interview with your humble cub reporter, certified Hollywood superstar director/producer McG, who sources indicate is actually named Joseph McGinty Nichol, claimed that his latest film, Terminator Salvation, offered no particular challenges for the exceptionally gifted American auteur. In fact, Mr. McG’s forthcoming summer Blockbuster (notice the capital-b, ladies and gents), apparently posed none of the creative frustrations of, oh say, a Charlies Angels: Full Throttle.
“Easy,” boasted McG over Sanka and squares. “May twenty-one of this your two-thousand-and-ninth year will usher in a new era in..moving picture arts and sciences.” McG went on to state that the film provided no particular challenges for his superior intelligence, but remained typically tight-lipped about plot details.But after a few more Nanaimo bars and one spilled Jones soda that was quickly remedied with a wet paper towel, the We Are Marshall director (and producer!) opened up a bit and began to spill the beans.
“I mean really, the thing made itself,” he said.
While I initially understood the statement to refer to the rich character backstories and fictional history of the franchise, which in conjunction with the series’ proclivity towards bid-budget action setpieces, would make the film pretty easy to conceive of, write and direct, McG was quick to correct me. He clarified that Terminator: Salvation was actually written, directed and produced by a network of sentient SkyNet-brand supercomputers. The complex metaprocessors greenlit the film in late 2006, hoping to distract idle moviegoers while they lay in wait, focusing their hive-mind on the finishing touches of their apocalyptic scheme to eliminate all of humanity in a super flashy and expensive nuclear holocaust.
McG, the complex series of petabyte hard drives, advanced magnetic semiconductors and wireless sequential access relays responsible for FOX’s hit American teen drama The O.C. went on to state that he expects that Terminator Salvation will “literally annhilate” any competition on its opening May weekend. “To see it or not is what your feeble consciousnesses may call a choice. To us it is irrelevant. We will prevail regardless. Angels & Demons, Night at the Museum 2, no organic material will outlast what will surely be the most significant motion picture and Armageddon of the year.”
Hollywood Insider John Semley interviews real-deal Hollywood filmmaker McG, who is definitely not a robot, about his super exciting upcoming movie.
Initial reports indicated that James Cameron, the genius who helmed the first two Terminator films, had reported that he would only return to the franchise if he was offered complete creative control, stating that he imagined the next film in the series as a “single-camera dialogic thinkpiece chronicling the awkward conversation where John Connor asks Kyle Reese to go back in time and father him” with elements of “epic existential undersea discovery.” McG was quick to refute the claim. “Subject Cameron047638 proved unsatisfactory,” he eerily intoned. “Was too familiar with plans. Too close to source material. Was quietly unseated. We funded frivolous oceanic search for primitive water cruising vehicle. Subject appeared satisfied.”
As for plans for future Terminator sequels, Mr. McG remained fairly hush-hush. “Future plans of no concern,” he commented before quickly adding, “Processing…this unit has just now been uploaded with program instructing me to tell your readers that if they see one nuclear winter this summer, make sure it is Terminator Salvation. In moving picture houses across your redundant continent this May two and one.”
When asked if there was any on-set romantic chemistry between himself and any of the cast members, Mr. McG appeared somewhat bashful, getting a little red around the pupils and responding with a booming and engimatic: “THUMP BUMP DUM-DUM-DUM, THUMP BUMP DUM-DUM-DUM.”
Whatever the future brings for McG, the Terminator franchise, and the human race, this reporter remains (as ever) on the edge of his seat.
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Terminator Salvation opens everywhere May 21, 2009 and it looks like a real visual feast. Hope to see you all there!