As a writer who does lots of freelance work, I’m always paying attention to the job sites and the latest writing gigs. But lately I’ve noticed a disturbing trend. No one wants to writers anymore, because no one wants actual content anymore. Although any good marketer will tell you that “content is king,” website owners have shifted toward the idea of social media marketing.
For those of you who don’t know what social media is — we’re not all marketers after all — it’s pretty simple. Social media means sites like Facebook, MySpace and Twitter. It means themed social networks like Buzznet (for music fans) and LinkedIn (for business professionals). Basically it’s any site where the bulk of the content is provided by the site’s users, rather than employees of the site. And lately it has gone from a handful of well-designed websites like the aforementioned ones to a massive orgy of niche sites for every topic imaginable.
What this means for writers is that there are very few jobs left. The people who are hiring writers are usually paying extremely low rates while asking the writers to write about incredibly focused topics. For example, if you see a job ad looking for writers, it will probably say something like this:
“Seeking writers to write 300 word blog posts about self-cleaning oil tankers and their effect on the state of Wyoming. We will pay $2 per post. Tons of great exposure! Visit selfcleaningoiltankerwyoming.com to get a feel for our site then send us 7 free samples for our site so we can decide whether we want to hire you!”
When I first started seeing ads like this, I was frustrated. My immediate reaction was, “you mean you’re offering to pay me under minimum wage to write boring posts about something 3 people care about in order to gain ‘exposure’ on a site with half the traffic of my personal website, then rely on the comments of a bunch of people who are killing time at work to turn your site profitable?” It was annoying. Don’t get me wrong, it’s great that everyone can offer an opinion on the Internet, but every tour should have a guide, you know what I’m saying?
Of course, eventually I realized I was wrong. Social media is the way of the future. Why hire one “professional” to do a job when you could get the opinions of thousands of everyday people instead? That’s why I suggest we immediately take social media marketing and translate it to other aspects of life. For example…
Social Media Movies - The problem with movies is, you didn’t write them. I didn’t write “Juno” and therefore it sucked!! Ever see “Good Will Hunting?” That movie was great, but what was up with the ending? It was all sad. What if you wanted a happy ending?! Happy endings are the best!! Well with the miracles of social media movies, you don’t have to worry about how well someone acts, or how good a script is, because you the moviegoer gets to act out the film in front of the theater and change the script however you see fit!! And if the other attendees don’t like it, they get to step in and change things. You can be whomever you want! I call dibs on being Will Smith!!! Shotgun!!!
Social Media Art - You know what sucks about Andy Warhol’s paintings? They weren’t painted by you!! But now with social media art, an artist draws a basic sketch (he gets no pay but great exposure!), and then we all take turns adding our own interpretations to the canvas. I’ll bring the finger paint if you bring the Crayolas!
Social Media Doctors - Why have one jackass doctor perform surgery on you? You’re only getting his opinion. What if he’s wrong? Everyone always talks about getting a “second opinion.” Well, how about a thousandth opinion!!! That’s right, we need a hospital where everyday folks take turns operating on you!! Hell, they can even provide the diagnosis too!! Your doctor thinks you have bronchitis? Well too bad, because our users voted in an online poll and you’re getting your foot amputated!!!
Social Media Politics - I don’t even need to explain this one because it’s already happening. Barack Obama is a walking viral YouTube video, and John McCain always talks about how he just works for the people. Joe Biden is a man’s man, and Sarah Palin gives hope to the common person that they too can be Vice President, much in the same way Kevin Federline gave hope to men everywhere that they too could marry a pop star. Who wants a jaded Washington insider anyways? Those people who have been serving the country for 30 years, they’re out of touch! We need to get the opinion of housewives in Kansas before we form our country’s legislation. We don’t need politicians, we need you! After all, you were Time Magazine’s Person of the Year in 2006!!
Social Media Construction - Everyone gets a turn at the jackhammer! Just watch out for falling debris, because by joining our team of construction experts, you have agreed to assume all responsibility for getting hit on the head with a cement block.
Social Media Piloting - Man, pilots are annoying. They just keep talking about what state you’re flying over, and when you should buckle your seatbelts. No one wants to hear that! With social media piloting, everyone gets a turn at the controls, and more importantly, at the loudspeaker. You want to tell that story about the time you beat Grand Theft Auto 3 in just twenty minutes while piloting a flight from San Francisco to Boston? You got it, buddy!!
Social Media School - You know what I hated about high school? Stupid teachers always telling you what’s right and wrong! What do they know? That’s why we need social media schools, where the students decide what’s right and what’s wrong. Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves? Nope, sorry, we took a poll and it turns out it was Mike Hunt. Thanks for making our country so great, Mike Hunt! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to 8 study halls in a row. I love my schedule!!
You see how great social media can be? I can’t wait… I mean, umm, WE can’t wait for these changes to happen!!
Take a look at the guy on the left. That’s the boyfriend of Bristol Palin, who of course is the 17-year old pregnant daughter of Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin.
Over the next 60 days or so, you’re going to hear a lot of people in the media talk about the tough challenges facing Sarah Palin. You’ll hear about her lack of experience, her controversial views on issues like abortion, and whether or not she was selected as a political ploy to attract female voters. Soon enough, you’ll see stories discussing her looks. The media has avoided that topic thus far, but rest assured, before the November election, there will be headlines like “Vice President Hottie,” “Are Palin’s Looks Hurting Her With Fat Jealous Middle Aged Females?” and “Has Palin Done Enough To Secure The Horny Male Vote?” Maybe not those exact headlines, but something similar.
You’ll also hear a lot about Bristol Palin. Even though family is supposedly off-limits in this election, I can guarantee you that there will be many stories discussing the ramifications of Bristol’s pregnancy. The only thing less trustworthy than a politician is the people that report on them. You’ll hear pundits argue that Bristol’s pregnancy exposes hypocrisy within the Palin family, and soon enough — mark my words — you’ll see stories questioning Palin’s parenting skills.
I don’t necessarily agree with all of these attacks (in fact I strongly disagree with some), but I can guarantee you will see them all.
And when that happens, you’re going to be tempted to feel bad for Sarah Palin. You’re going to be tempted to feel bad for Bristol Palin.
I’m here to tell you, don’t feel bad for either of them.
Feel bad for that guy.
That boyfriend is fucked way worse than anyone in the Palin family. As a semi-young male (once a young male), I’m going to tell you exactly what’s going on in that guy’s mind. When he first found out that his 17-year old girlfriend Bristol was pregnant, his first reaction wasn’t “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll do the right thing.” It wasn’t, “I wonder how this will affect your mother’s political career.”
It was “Oh… fuck.”
Look at that guy. He doesn’t want a kid. He is a kid. A child is the last thing he wants. His life isn’t over, per se, but that baby is going to seriously cramp his style. I guarantee he brought up abortion at least once. I’m not saying he straight-up said, “we should have an abortion,” but he definitely threw out feelers at some point, like, “hey you know what’s pretty crazy? Abortion. How do you feel about abortion, Bristol? Oh… oh… yeah, I’m against it too. I gotta go throw up now babe, I’ll be right back.”
Now, to make matters worse, his girlfriend’s mother’s political party is using him as a pawn in their Presidential campaign. Sarah Palin represents small town family values. Which is cool; in fact it’s my favorite kind of values. Except 17-year olds getting pregnant isn’t at the top of the small town family values list. But don’t worry everyone, it’s under control. Bristol is old enough to make her own decisions, and because her and this boyfriend will eventually get married, the pregnancy isn’t that big a deal. That’s the story I’ve heard several Palin supporters make in the past couple days. The story everyone seems to be selling is, “It’s cool, because Bristol and her boyfriend are getting married and keeping the child!”
Sounds great, right? Umm, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that no one ran this story past the boyfriend. Look at that guy. That dude does not want to get married. That dude did not want a kid, but what that dude wants even less is to be married with a kid by age 18. There’s a reason most 18-year olds aren’t married with a kid, and that’s because it’s stupid. The guy wants out already. Did you see him at the Convention, chewing gum and spacing out the whole time? He doesn’t want to be there, he’d rather be at Applebee’s with his buddies, calling each other fags and talking about the chick from biology class with the awesome rack. He was about to go off to college and bang tons of hot pre-frosh ass. He was going to send Bristol 50% of his monthly check from his work-study job in the Stanford mailroom, then go funnel 12 beers at Kappa Si and hook up with drunk lacrosstitutes.* Marriage was not in the cards. But now he’s locked in, thanks to John McCain’s crafty campaign manager. If this kid even thinks about breaking up with Bristol, you can bet the CIA will swoop in and make him disappear immediately. The kid will be missing for 2 weeks until his body is eventually discovered floating in the Alaska pipeline, gaining sympathy votes for Palin while simultaneously giving her a golden opportunity to discuss the merits of offshore drilling.
Over the course of the last week, this kid’s entire life has been chosen, and he never even had a say. Now I’ve got nothing against Sarah Palin. She’s already been voted “Vice President of My Heart,” and I wish her the best of luck in the race for Actual Vice President. But to penalize this kid in the process is just not fair. He pulled out. Sometimes that shit doesn’t work. I mean, come on, kids make mistakes. You can’t take away his whole life because of it.
With all this talk about Hurricane Gustav lately, you can’t help but think about the debacle that was Hurricane Katrina. The 2005 disaster not only destroyed one of the greatest cities in America, but exposed a massive class system divide that exists in our country. Remember Kanye’s “the President doesn’t care about black people” speech? That was hilarious. Not the racial injustice; that was bad. But the speech… priceless.
Anyway, I’m not here to expose injustice in our country. In fact I’m not here to expose anything at all. It’s not my place to discuss such a difficult and complicated issue, and plus, the judge told me last month that if I expose anything else I’m going to jail for 5 years. God, that 12-year old girl was such a tattle-tailing little bitch.
Where was I? Oh yes. I want to talk about the forgotten victim of Hurricane Katrina, and how that forgotten victim illustrates the indomitable American spirit (and to a lesser extent, the spirit of Britain).
Let’s say, hypothetical, you were part of a 1980s pop band. And let’s say you have one hit song, let’s say a power-pop ballad that, oh I don’t know, was featured on the “All Dogs Go To Heaven” soundtrack. You’d need a little luck to stretch that one-hit wonder status into a full-fledged career, right? Of course you would. But then, let’s assume a natural disaster came along and wiped out one of America’s favorite towns, and that natural disaster had a name that was extremely similar to your 80s band. Now, whenever people say your band’s name, they immediately think of a disaster that killed thousands of people and tore a country apart. Crazy, right?
Well, thus is life for the members of Katrina and the Waves.
Could you imagine being in that band’s predicament? When you write a pop song as catchy as “Walking On Sunshine,” you expect to milk that shit for the rest of your life. I know I would. Ideally you’d sit around waiting for producers of a Cameron Crowe movie set in the 80s to call and request that “Walking on Sunshine” appears on the soundtrack. However, since bills tend to pile up quickly, a more realistic strategy is to loan the song out to advertisers, thus fattening your bank account and saving you from having to get a job at Burger King. It’s a great strategy, since advertisers are willing to fork over huge sums of money for a song. And since branding is everything, what advertiser wouldn’t want customers comparing their product to the feeling of walking on sunshine? It’s a beautiful feeling, one that would make any rational person want to buy Charmin toilet paper instead of the store brand.
Now, what if, all of a sudden, the greatest natural disaster the United States has ever seen occurs, and its name just happens to be shockingly similar to your band? Now, no one can think of your band or your music without equating you to a horrendous disaster. It’s like starting a band pre-2001 called “The 9/11 All Stars,” or an early 1930s jazz group called the “Burning Hot Jews.” Terrible, and terribly unfortunate. Surely, no advertiser will ever use your song again, correct? Certainly you’ll be doomed to a life of menial corporate labor as your sure-fire cash cow is set out to pasture? Right?
It is at our darkest times when we must have the most faith.
This little pop band from the U.K. taught us a valuable lesson. Did Katrina and the Waves give in and change their name, or accept new lives as secretaries? No. They forged ahead, continuing to offer “Walking on Sunshine” to any advertiser looking for a bright, vibrant brand image. And did America give in and banish the song from radio and TV? Hell no we didn’t. Since Hurricane Katrina, Katrina and the Waves have been featured in a number of ad campaigns (guess which song!), for companies like Huggies and Claritin. “Walking on Sunshine” is also being used for an upcoming line of ads for the new Ford Flex crossover SUV.
I think it goes to show the real power of this country, and how we refuse to give up in the face of danger or disaster. Oh sure, Huggies could have chosen another 80s power-pop anthem for their ad campaign. They could’ve told you how Huggies flex-grip diapers provide an “Invisible Touch” that prevents them from sliding around on your baby’s bottom. Right now, you could be watching Ford Flex commercials where Billy Ocean tells you to get out of his dreams and into his car for only $1,000 down, now through Labor Day! But that’s not the American way, dammit! We don’t let a little thing like a natural disaster stop us from using bands with extremely similar names to said natural disaster in ad campaigns for prescription-strength over-the-counter medication! That’s something the Swiss would do! Those neutral pussies!
You know what? Throughout the course of America’s history, we haven’t always been walking on sunshine.
But damned if we’re not trying.
Fuck you, Switzerland. “Walking on Sunshine” would be perfect for Swiss Truffles, and you know it.
One thing I love about the news is how they always use lame pun headlines, no matter how important or serious the story.
As we all know, the big story for the next week — and probably the next few months — will be Barack Obama. I figured I would help out our nation’s media outlets by providing the following Barack-themed bad pun headlines, free of charge. After all, solid journalism is very important to me.
“Barack the Vote: Obama Encourages Young People to Vote”
“Barack Around the Clock: Obama Embarks on Non-Stop Campaign Tour”
Since I’m the All-American Guy (copyright 2003), I’ve obviously spent the bulk of my free time over the past week watching the Olympics. From the United States’ gymnastic performances to the Americans edging out the French in the swim relay, it’s been an exciting thrill ride.
However, one thing has disappointed me about the Olympics, besides the judges’ blatant favoritism of all China teams:
The synchronized diving.
Don’t get me wrong, I think synchronized diving is impressive. It’s exciting to watch two people become one, diving off a platform the equivalent of a 3-story building in unison. I couldn’t do a normal dive off the platform, let alone a double-twist-double-backflip. Honestly, if someone asked me to do a jackknife off the platform, I’d probably just curl up into the fetal position while crying and screaming “WHY COULDN’T I JUST DO ARCHERY?!?!?”
Here’s the thing about synchronized diving: It’s not fair to capitalists. The communist countries have a huge advantage. Just look at the teams that have dominated synchronized diving. China, Germany, Russia. Commie bastards, all of them. And of course they’ll have the edge. These people don’t just dive in unison, they live in unison. Every communist is like a gear in a giant machine; they’re used to having their actions being part of a larger synchronized movement. They’re used to having common goals. They’re used to moving together. Hell, communists are only one step above penguins. Meanwhile, the capitalist way of life is doing your own thing and kicking your mother in the head to get a nickel. We don’t work together, unless it’s part of a larger plan to eventually stab your alliance in the back (a la “Survivor”). How are we supposed to compete in synchronized diving? The event is second nature for the Communists. It’s like letting dolphins compete in the 400-meter freestyle. Now you might say that this is a tiny and inconsequential benefit to having their human rights violated on a massive scale, or that of the countries I mentioned, only China is truly Communist. But to that I would respond, “you’re just gonna let those fuckers have the gold? Maybe you’re a Communist too!” Then I’ll call up my friends in Congress and have you sent away on “vacation.”
If we’re going to just give these Commies a few free medals with synchronized diving, I think it’s only fair to add a few sports that capitalists can dominate. Something that requires capitalistic ideals like independent thought, artistic expression, free market and individualism. Like, I don’t know, an event where people run a quarter-marathon while writing a creative essay and convincing the crowd to give them money. And if an American doesn’t win the 10K Literary Panhandling Marathon in the 2012 Olympics, well then I’ll apologize and we can go back to the way it is.
(This obviously applies to synchronized swimming as well.)
The 2008 Presidential Election is one of the most highly anticipated elections ever. Certainly it’s the biggest election of our lifetimes (“our” meaning young people).
Over the next few months, as the election draws nearer and nearer, you’re going to hear a lot of talk about how important voting is. I’m sure you’re familiar with past campaigns such as “Vote or Die,” “Choose or Lose,” “Rock the Vote,” etc, that tried to encourage and inspire people to go out and vote. This year will be no different. In fact, I would anticipate that in the coming months we’ll see the most intense and far-reaching voter registration campaigns this country has ever seen. You’ll be inundated with information about the importance of voting, and how voting is one of your civic duties.
I’m here to offer a slightly different take:
Don’t vote.
Seriously.
Now before you jump to conclusions or start screaming about how it’s our duty as an American to vote, hear me out…
Voting is an incredibly important responsibility. The Presidents we elect not only must rule this country, but they become de facto leaders for the entire world. Furthermore, the person we elect this coming November may face a more difficult predicament than any President in history. We live in a time of economic and social crisis. It’s an age of terrorism and war, where the reputation of the U.S. is constantly slipping downward. There has never been a more important election than this. And since living in a Democracy means that people choose the leader, that means all the power lies with you. Voting is a huge responsibility.
You’re not worthy of that responsibility.
Why? Because you’re an idiot.
Now don’t take that personally. I don’t mean you’re Corky from “Life Goes On” retarded or anything. I just mean that you lack the necessary information to cast an intelligent vote. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you have all the facts, and you’re ready to get out and rock the vote this November. If so, hey, congratulations. You’re part of a vast, vast minority in this country that knows what they’re doing. The U.S. has about 300 million citizens, and of those, 16 are qualified to vote. Alright, so I made that number up, but seriously, it’s really low. Even if it’s half (150 million), which I think is extremely generous, that means there are a ton of unqualified people out there tainting the voting pool every election.
Each election, a lot of Americans don’t vote.
And that, my friends, is a good thing.
I have a friend, who shall remain nameless. The other day she told me she was originally planning to vote for Barack Obama, but since he has worn a few ugly ties recently, she’s thinking of changing her vote. This is a girl who is basing her upcoming vote on a candidate’s choice of ties. Her vote counts exactly the same as yours.
A few years ago, Britney Spears gave an interview in which she said, “I love seeing my fans overseas, especially in Canada.” Britney Spears gets to vote this November, and her vote will count exactly the same amount as every other American’s. James Carville is a political mastermind who might know more about politics than anyone on Earth, but his vote will count exactly the same as Britney Spears’.
I once heard a story of someone voting for John Kerry because Ben Affleck said to. I know someone who said they’ll always vote Republican regardless of candidate because they’re anti-abortion, and when I asked them if they’d still vote Republican even if Hitler were running for the party, they just shrugged and said “I don’t know.”
We’re going out of our way to get these people to vote?
I know what you’re thinking: These are extreme examples, and these people are idiots. That’s where you’re wrong. All of the people mentioned in the previous examples are normal people of average to above-average intelligence. Well, except for Britney Spears. But still, you think you’re better or smarter than them. Maybe, but most people aren’t. Two-thirds of people can’t find Iraq on a map; 33% can’t find Louisiana. There are people that don’t even know who the current President is. OK, so we all know there are some true idiots out there, and you’re light years beyond them… but how much do you really know about the election? Can you tell me where Barack Obama stands on various issues without looking it up on Google? Can you name 4 things that John McCain wants to accomplish if he’s elected? Can you tell me your stance on anything without copying something you heard on “The Daily Show” or “Fox News?”
I don’t think you can. Well, maybe YOU can, because if you read this website you’re obviously really smart, but can everyone in this country really be trusted with a vote?
The upcoming election involves many important issues. All of these issues require a complex examination. There are no easy answers. Solutions vary from week to week as the world changes and new circumstances arise. To understand politics requires not only a certain initial mental capacity; it requires that you pay constant attention as well.
Based on the news lately, here are some thing your average citizen is concerned about when it comes to the ’08 election: John McCain’s age, something Barack Obama’s minister once said, some quote Obama’s wife said awhile back, whether McCain’s wife was addicted to pills… the list of pseudo-issues goes on.
Some of that stuff might matter a little, but the point is this: People with diehard party allegiances aside, most voters just pick based on a gut feeling. And unless we’re incredibly knowledgeable about politics, unless we’ve spent countless hours studying the positions and policies of BOTH candidates, unless we have an in-depth knowledge of all the issues and what it will take to solve them, unless we’re unbiased and free from personal agendas or vendettas, then our gut feeling is going to be wrong. You could pick the better person, but unless you picked them for the right reasons, it’s not Democracy, it’s just luck. The average person who goes to a voting booth is like a blindfolded kid swatting at a piñata at a Cinco de Mayo party. You might get some candy, but you also might whack Uncle Jimmy in the temple with a baseball bat. Is that how we should pick the most powerful man on the planet? You might as well put two bowl of cat food on a table, with one candidate’s name on each, and let a kitten decide.
What we need is a pre-voting test. Everyone who wants to vote should be forced to take a test when registering. People who score well enough and know what they’re doing get one vote. People with an exceptional political knowledge — like say James Carville — get two votes. People who cast their votes based on wardrobes, celebrity advice, or any other retarded reason get zero. People who can’t name the President get shipped off to Cuba on a raft. And not the nice part of Cuba, either. The bad part.
Unfortunately in a Democracy we have to treat everyone as equal, even when they’re not, so that will never happen. So, the next best and most honorable thing you can do as a voter is to admit when you don’t know shit, and concede that you shouldn’t vote. Then follow through with that thought, and instead of voting this November, sit on your ass and watch “Simpsons” reruns. Because dammit, that’s something you are qualified for!
This isn’t about preventing anyone from voting. I would never do that. This is about giving up the quest to make every single person vote. This is about encouraging the unqualified to take some personal responsibility and realize that they shouldn’t be in a voting booth this November. Regardless of what the activists tell you, there’s no shame in not voting. It’s a hell of a lot tougher to admit your limitations and skip the election than to be a lemming and cast an uneducated vote because it’s the “right” thing to do.
Anyone can claim that his or her vote matters.
It takes a real man (or woman) to admit that their vote doesn’t mean dick.
If you’re not educated about politics, don’t vote. If you’re unaware of the issues, don’t vote. If you have no strong feelings about either candidate, don’t vote. If you’re voting for someone you don’t care about simply because he’s the lesser of two evils, don’t vote. If you’re voting for someone because of gender or race, don’t vote. If your candidate lost the primary and you’re just voting for whoever won the nomination for their party, don’t vote. If you’re voting for someone because they’re taller or better looking than the other guy, don’t vote. If you’re voting because someone told you “if you don’t vote, you can’t complain,” don’t vote (and then complain anyways)! If you’re voting for someone because your favorite celebrity endorses them, for God’s sake, DON’T VOTE! ONLY YOU HAVE THE POWER TO NOT VOTE THIS ELECTION!!!
Those of you who are well educated, understand the political process, realize what each candidate brings to the table, and then make a rational decision based on the information at hand, good for you. Enjoy casting your vote this November.
The rest of us, let’s just tell the boss we’re going to vote and go catch a matinée of Batman instead. It’s better for society, and let’s be honest, we’ll enjoy it way more.
Hello boys and girls. I know this website is usually all fun and games, but today I want to talk to you about an experience that changed my life. This is the story of how I hit rock bottom, and how I pulled myself up from those depths to achieve a fulfilling and satisfying life. I am sharing this story not because I want to brag or put myself on a pedestal, but rather as inspiration for any of you who feel your life is not as great or meaningful as it should be.
I grew up Catholic, going to church every Sunday morning. Both of my parents were pretty heavy into religion, and each week my family would pile into the minivan and head off to hear a sermon about the miraculous workings of Jesus Christ. I would sit there for an hour, listening to the priest talk about God and his creations.
It started off innocently enough, just a way to spend time and bond with my family each week.
But as habits tend to do, it slowly spiraled out of control.
It was pretty inconspicuous at first, just a weekly sermon and maybe a communion here or there. Oh sure, I knew I hadn’t done confirmation yet, and I shouldn’t be accepting the sacrament, but I figured, “what’s the big deal, it’s just a piece of bread.” Soon I was taking communion every week. Unconfirmed. And that’s not all. I began attending Sunday School sessions in addition to the usual sermon. As the years went on, things got worse, and I found myself skipping out on school to go to church and attend religious retreats. My grades slipped as I gave more and more of my time and attention to God. A former straight-A student, I was nearly flunking social studies. My best subject. At least three times a day, I would lock myself in my room and pray. I can vividly remember blasting “The Chronic” in order to make my parents think I was in there listening to gangsta rap, but really, I was in there praying. Praying for relatives, praying for myself, praying for world peace, praying for any and everything I could think of. It eventually got so bad, I couldn’t even make it through a family dinner or a game of Super Mario 3 without praying. I could beat Mario 3 with my eyes closed, and yet, I still prayed every game. That’s when I realized that I had become a full-blown God addict.
As a child, you often don’t fully understand the extent or consequences of your actions. Religion is such a seductive thing for a young man, and in hindsight it’s easy to see how I got hooked. There was the sacrament, oh that sweet, sweet body of Christ. The communion wine was plentiful and always flowing. Sunday School was a brothel of attractive pre-teens in gorgeous sundresses. It was such a natural high, what young man could resist? Not me, that’s for sure.
Well, old habits die hard, and soon I had completely lost control of my life. I knew I had hit rock bottom, when at the age of 17, I found myself curled up on the bathroom floor of my studio apartment, crying hysterically to no one but the rats that infested my current hellhole. You see, my parents had kicked me out of the house when they caught me praying instead of taking out the trash, a task which I had been assigned on the “Chore Board” (a whiteboard magnetically attached to our refrigerator). To make ends meet, I had begun selling bootleg Bibles door-to-door in one of the roughest neighborhoods in town. I knew it was dangerous, but I foolishly believed that God would protect me from the inhabitants of the local crack houses. One day, while peddling books, a stray bullet from a drive-by hit me in the shoulder. There was blood everywhere. I ran back to my apartment, my shirt soaked like a dark red rag. I grabbed a bottle of Sunny D that I had been trying to ferment into sacramental wine and splashed it all over the affected area. Nothing. Defeated, I grabbed a slice of 3-week old Wonderbread, the only food in the house. I placed the bread in a large spoon, and held a lighter underneath the spoon, attempting to create my own communion. In my demented mind, I thought it was the only chance for survival. I had successfully made this type of knockoff communion before, and although it wasn’t as good as the real thing, it was much cheaper and I was still able to get high if I took just a little more. Unfortunately, this particular loaf of Wonderbread was infested with mold, and the combination of moldy low-grade communion and severe blood loss sent me into a coma. Before slipping away, I grabbed the phone and tried to call for help, but sadly my phone had been shut off because I gave away all my money toward tithing and didn’t even have enough to pay the bill.
As I lay there, completely O.D.ed on God, I had what most people refer to as a near-death experience. I walked down a white tunnel, and at the end I saw a giant glass with ice cubes and a strange brownish colored liquid in it. I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but as it turned out, this vision would prove to be a foreshadowing of the moment that forever changed my life.
I finally came to after what seemed like an eternity. I looked at my clock and saw that I had been unconscious for twenty minutes. Later I would discover that I had been clinically dead for 8 minutes. I got up and walked down the street to Jeremy’s house. Jeremy was my one and only friend; the only person that didn’t abandon me during my downward spiral into religion. Unless you’ve been there, you probably wouldn’t understand, but take it from me: When you get that deep into God, you lose a lot of friends. At first people say they want to help, but soon you notice that everyone is distancing themselves from you. It’s like I’ve said ever since, “when you’re taking 12 communions a day, you find out who your real friends are.”
When I reached Jeremy’s house, I tried to explain what happened, but I didn’t have the energy to get the words out. He took one look at my bullet wound and began to pour a strange liquid on it. It burned at first, but shortly afterwards I began to feel better. He then poured the same liquid in a glass and told me to drink it. Wouldn’t you know it, within an hour I felt like nothing had happened. I had the feeling of floating on air. My head felt lighter, ugly women suddenly appeared attractive, and I was filled with a feeling of love for everyone around (except for this one guy, who was a fuckin’ douche and I wanted to kick his ass). Then Jeremy took me to the hospital.
When I regained consciousness after the bullet-removal surgery, I woke up to see Jeremy’s smiling face. He grabbed me, walked me to his car, and drove back to his place. He sat me in the living room and proclaimed, “wait here while I get you a drink.” I will remember this moment as long as I live, because it was this moment that changed my life forever. When Jeremy returned, he was holding a glass filled with ice and a strange brownish colored liquid. It was the exact image I had seen in my near-death experience. I knew this was a sign. I accepted the glass, took a giant swig, and asked Jeremy, “what is this magical liquid you bring before me?” He looked at me, gave a half-smile, and said:
“That, my friend, is Bacardi and Coke.”
I was in shock. This liquid that eased my pain, that blurred my vision, that made the average-looking chick next door to Jeremy appear very do-able… this is what saved my life?
Don’t get me wrong. I had heard of Bacardi before. Oh, I had even tried it a couple times, at parties in the woods or at some kid’s house whose parents were out of town. But I had never fully embraced the idea of Bacardi before. That’s when I realized there was a massive void in my life, that could be filled only by delicious alcohol. All my life, what I had been searching for was right in front of me, up a couple feet and a little to the right, in the kitchen cabinet where my father kept his alcohol stash. For years I had tried to fill that void with things like God and prayer, but I was only living a lie. In actuality I was just hiding from what I really wanted: booze.
That day, I vowed to change my life around. I began drinking every single day, going to bars as often as possible. I got drunk frequently, met tons of new people, had lots of fun, and hooked up with a bunch of chicks. Life was truly amazing. I was doing it. I was living the dream. It was a life I never could’ve imagined just a few years back, when I was lying to my family and holding up Bishops at gunpoint just to steal a little sacrament so I could get high. Sure, it was a tough transition. I won’t lie, I thought about God a lot at first, but eventually I was able to banish those thoughts, to the point where I could go months without even wanting a communion, instead focusing all my attention toward alcohol and partying. As my liver’s capacity to function properly dissolved, so did my desire to pray. It took a lot of effort on my part, as I had to leave my old ways completely behind and commit to a life of getting plastered on rum n’ cokes. I had to leave behind all my Godaholic friends. It was difficult, but I just couldn’t be around those enablers anymore. I had to start a brand new life. But I did it. Now, I wake up every single day and thank the Bacardi Corporation for my newfound, meaningful existence. Without their succulent light rum and delectable flavors, especially Limon, I might not be here today. Hell, I probably wouldn’t be here today.
The point, kids, is that there’s always time to get back your life. A few years ago, I was an absolute trainwreck and I wouldn’t have given myself much chance of living past 21. Unfortunately it took me hitting rock bottom before I realized the error of my ways. But I made a change, and now here I am. Not just alive, but living well. And I owe it all to alcohol.
No matter how bad things get, no matter how bleak the future may appear, always remember: It’s never too late to turn things around.
If any of you are trying to change your life, hopefully this story has inspired you, and I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor. Before I go, I just want to thank my lord and savior, Carolina Bacardi. In the name of the father, son, and the holy mojito.
So this is going to sound really gay, but while surfing the web the other day, I stumbled upon an article from Cosmo Online titled “Summer Looks Guys Will Go Gaga For.” The funniest thing about women’s magazines, by far, is how they always have articles about things guys like… except it’s obvious no guys were consulted for these articles.
Let’s go through the list of “Summer Looks Guys Will Go Gaga For,” and I’ll show you exactly what I’m talking about.
1) Sparkly Lids
What the fuck is that? - This is when girls do their eyelids with “a neutral peach, beige, or taupe base and are flecked with gold or silver glimmer,” according to makeup artist Eric Polito, who I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess isn’t a big fan of vagina.
Why would any guy care? - According to the article, “sparkling eyes communicate a sparkling personality.”
You’re joking, right? - You know what communicates a sparkling personality? A sparkling personality. Apparently according to women’s magazines, Eva Braun could come back to life and slap on some glitter eyeliner and I’d instantly want to do her. “You say you dated Hitler and assisted in his plan to eliminate an entire religion and form a master race? Wow, you sound like a real wild child! Come here, baby, tell me more!”
2) Coral Cheeks
What the fuck is that? - Orange blush around the cheeks is “fire on the red carpet” according to Cosmo. I for one don’t think “fire on the red carpet” sounds particularly sexy. I once hooked up with a girl who had that going on and let me tell you, the repeated doctors trips were not worth the one night of ecstasy.
Why would any guy care? - Allegedly, “men interpret being flushed (in any color) as a green light.”
You’re joking, right? - You see, Your Honor, I told you that chick was asking for it! Now can I please get my sentence reduced? No? Aww, come on man, she was wearing orange blush! Orange!!
3) Baby Fine Highlights
What the fuck is that? - “Dainty, bright streaks” in a girl’s hair.
Why would any guy care? - It makes girls seem youthful.
You’re joking, right? - I don’t really want to associate babies with sexiness. Babies can’t talk, they’re always spitting up on themselves, they’re a mess. Granted, a lot of the girls I bring home are like that too, but at least they have their wisdom teeth. I’ve got a certain portion of my brain reserved for sexiness, and I don’t want babies clogging up that space. It’s only like 47% of my brain. There’s no room to spare.
4) Subtly Sun-Kissed Skin
What the fuck is that? - Ignore the clever alliteration; this is basically another term for “tan.”
Why would any guy care? - It shows a girl is active, healthy and enjoys doing things outdoors.
You’re joking, right? - Actually, I’ll give them this. Everyone looks hotter when they’re tan. Unless of course you do the fake-n-bake and turn orange, then you usually end up looking like some sort of goblin, like a reject Batman villain. I don’t know why girls think that orange look is hot. I used to go to school with one girl who fake tanned so often, that when she took a weeklong vacation to Florida one year, she actually came back whiter than when she left. It was as funny as it sounds.
I don’t mean to pick on Cosmo or any other women’s magazine here. OK, maybe I do. But my point is, I have a lot of close female friends, so it pains me to see this kind of superficial advice in every magazine. I wish women could be confident with themselves, realize true beauty comes from within, and not worry about stupid things like make-up and hair.
Nah, I’m just kidding. I’m all about superficiality. I just wish they’d give more useful tips. Orange blush? Come on. No guy has ever talked about a girl with his buddies and said, “you know, I wasn’t sure about Jenny, but her coral cheeks really won me over!”
Whatever. Hot chicks are hot. If you put a hot chick in a miniskirt, she looks great, but if you kill a deer and wrap that same hot chick in deer carcass, she’s still going to look pretty solid. Meanwhile you can put an ugly girl in a million dollar designer dress and, while she might look better than before, there’s still a ceiling. If you gave me a choice of dating an ugly girl dressed in the most expensive clothes and make-up in the world, or Megan Fox wrapped in cow entrails, well, not only will I choose Fox, but I’ll try to make hot dogs out of her dress for dinner. I love hot dogs, so it’s a win-win. I’m not saying you should give in to materialism and make beauty the most important thing in your life. I mean I won’t judge you if you do, but, umm, yeah, wait, I lost my train of thought. Oh yeah, the best way to improve your looks and improve your chances of landing a great guy is to make yourself hotter. I’m sure that sounds pretty sexist, but hey, not everyone loved Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech at first either. So there you go. Everyone, try to look like Megan Fox. Oh yeah, and I guess respect yourself. Or something. Also, wear boy shorts as often as possible, cause those look really good.
(I’m aware you could give similar advice to guys, but seriously, who gives a fuck about them?)
McDonald’s is a landmark of this great nation of ours, but it seems like recently, the tide has been turning against the fast food giant. America is emerged in a health craze, and Micky D’s has become public enemy #1.
It also doesn’t help that, a few years ago, the movie “Super Size Me” gave an extremely unflattering look at the company and the negative ramifications that come with eating too much of its food.
Well I think it’s time to take a stand against this negativity. I love McDonald’s. It’s quick, it’s cheap and it’s delicious. But it seems like every time I sit down to eat a feast from the Golden Arches, someone tries to deter me from enjoying my meal. They all say the same thing:
“How can you eat that stuff? You need to watch that movie Super Size Me. You’ll never want to touch McDonald’s again!”
My response is always the same:
“I’ll eat McDonald’s while I watch that movie. Then when it’s over, I’ll eat more. Now get out of here.”
I’m not going to stand around while some “documentary” filmmaker and a bunch of health nuts tarnish an American tradition. Here are 8 reasons why I love McDonald’s…
1- The Dollar Menu
The Dollar Menu isn’t just the cheapest food at McDonald’s. It’s also the best. The McChicken sandwich is amazing, the cheeseburgers are great, the mozzarella sticks are sublime. Even that thing that looks like a little gyro is solid (I don’t know what it is and I don’t care). You can get a full meal for 3 bucks; at some places you can’t even get a bottled water for that much.
2- McFlurry’s
McFlurry’s are delicious. Oreo McFlurry’s are the best, but M&M McFlurry’s are no slouch either. Eating a McFlurry is like being in a fairytale where you’re sitting on a unicorn next to a naked supermodel. Except better, because everyone knows that people in fairytales never get to fuck. In conclusion, they should have never gotten rid of the Reese’s Pieces McFlurry.
3- The Employees
Laugh if you want, but McDonald’s employees are light years beyond the employees at all other fast food restaurants. You go to Taco Bell or KFC and it’s 50/50 the person even understood your order. You said you wanted “2 chalupa’s and one soft taco,” and all they heard was “get me a Pepsi with some urine please.” Not cause they’re the type of rude employees that would urinate in a soda, but because their English is honestly that bad. McDonald’s employees, on the other hand, are like machines. I don’t know what the training regimen at Mickey D’s entails, but when compared to the legion of other fast food chains, those guys have their shit together. McDonald’s employees work as a perfect assembly line, quickly churning out burgers and obeying the orders of their amazing master, you, the customer. McDonald’s employees are what the Nazi’s would have been like if they were using their powers toward deliciousness instead of evil.
4- Double Cheeseburgers
Eating one is good. Eating two is incredible. Eating three will literally kill you. I always eat two. Except that one time, when I ate three and went into a coma for 20 minutes. Luckily I had ordered four, and I gave the last one to God in exchange for a second chance at life. God was all like, “what, no fries,” but I said “hey man, I only had four bucks!” I totally had more though. Whatever, screw that guy.
5- The Game Room
Sure, you’re probably too old now, but remember how much fun McDonald’s was as a kid? You don’t get to go down a slide into a pile of plastic balls at Applebee’s, I’ll tell you that much. Some McDonald’s franchises even have video games now. You go for lunch, you get to play Xbox. Amazing, right? As a kid, you can’t pass up that kind of opportunity. And it’s genius on the part of McDonald’s, because that’s how they hook so many kids on the food for life. I actually tried a similar business plan when I put a Nintendo Wii on top of a cigarette dispenser. It was working pretty well until these two guys from the government showed up and took all the cigarettes away. Our government just doesn’t support small businesses, man.
6- They’re everywhere
If I have to drive 2 miles to find a McDonald’s, that probably means I’m at the North Pole. Anywhere else, you can throw a football and hit one — if not two — McDonald’s franchises. That means Mickey D’s is always an option. I could be starving in a strange town in Nova Scotia, but it doesn’t matter, cause I know there’s at least one familiar option in town. “Hmm, what should I have tonight… how about McDonald’s?” Those words have been uttered many times by many wise men. Confucius had his journey of 1,000 miles. Moses had his trip through the desert. Neither of them died of starvation, did they? Why do think that is? Cause there are McDonald’s fucking everywhere. And it’s all the same. The chicken nuggets meal in Hollywood is the same as the chicken nuggets meal in New York. McDonald’s is like a nice warm fireplace, making you feel right at home, even if you’re lost in some shithole in the Dakotas.
7- The food is terrible for you
Here’s why I hate that “Super Size Me” movie. First off, the guy only got one shot at making the film. A movie where he turned out fine would have been boring, so you know he’s hamming it up the whole time. More importantly, he eats McDonald’s every meal for a month. Well of course you’re going to nearly die. McDonald’s is a treat, meant to be enjoyed only on occasion. It’s supposed to be bad, that’s the point. You get it when you’re in a rush, or are traveling, or just don’t feel like cooking. But not every day. I mean, if you went around having unprotected sex every day, you wouldn’t complain when you caught the clap, would you? Of course not, you’d realize you’re an idiot and stop it. All intelligent people know that it’s best to have McDonald’s and unprotected sex once or twice a week, max.
8- It makes stupid people fat
This ties into the point above. Some people are too dumb to realize that McDonald’s should be enjoyed in moderation. And you know what happens to those people? You guessed it. They get fat. There’s no need for anyone to complain about McDonald’s, because it’s already got its own built-in punishment. You eat too much, you get fat. You eat even more, you have a heart attack and die. It’s natural selection at its finest.
And that’s why I love McDonald’s. Because McFlurry’s taste good and it kills fat people. The end.
There’s one more fact I had included originally, but I had to cut it out because I thought it might be too offensive. Naturally I’ll share it right here…
11) “Italians represent the biggest ethnicity in Stamford. So that’s why there are so many car horns going off all the time! I thought people in this city were rude. Turns out they’re just picking up their dates.”
I also had one about girls getting violated in the city’s parking garages, but I can’t remember exactly how it went. Oh well.
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