April 20, 2011

You're a Medical Textbook Model!

You wouldn't describe yourself as "handsome". Baristas have called you "pretty good-looking" with a telling emphasis on "pretty" that made you doubt their sincerity. Your ex-girlfriend certainly found you attractive, but you looked almost exactly like her father whom she'd been dating for several years before breaking it off and going out with you. You had always suspected you were the rebound guy.

But you know what adjective people use to describe you most? Undiseased. People constantly comment about how your face was so healthy-looking, so untouched by exotic skin conditions or tropical parasites. Your mother always said the same thing. She would always bring it up when the two of you were dating.

One day you'll be walking out of the pharmacy when a man will stop you.

"You are the most undiseased man I have ever seen. We need to get you into the studio."

You'll reply that you're flattered but not interested.

"I don't think you understand. I represent some of the biggest names in the industry. Jeffrey Hutton, Roxanna Vasquez, Patricia Mason, all the big names in medial textbook modeling."

Those were impressive names, you'll think. Roxanna Vasquez was a legend. Her clear, unscarred armpits redefined medical textbook modeling in the 1980s. And Jeffrey "The Glans" Hutton had been taking up all the male genital work since he broke onto the scene in 2002.

"But compared to you they're lepers," the agent said. "Come with me and you'll be moderately well-paid beyond your wildest dreams."

He wasn't lying. The six months that followed were a whirlwind of photo shoots, industry parties and anonymous sex with medical student groupies. Your parts were all over all the biggest publications. Your clean, inoffensive body stood in stark contrast to those of your blistered, festering counterparts.

But one day everything changed. You were preparing for a diabetic ulcer of the foot shoot when she walked in. She had the face of an angel, body of a goddess and the foot condition of a plague-ridden leper. You were barely listening to the photographer's directions as you watched her limp to the craft table and help herself to some wet melon.

Her name was Fiona and she obviously knew who you were. You told the photographer to give her your address. That night, as you made love on your futon, you couldn't believe how lucky you were. Your agent would go ballistic over this, but you didn't care. You were in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, a woman who was probably going to lose her foot to diabetes.


April 5, 2011

You're a Credit Card Company Assassin!

You can't manage your debt because you have an addiction to buying antique scimitars online. Your apartment is full of them and no one likes going to your place for dinner because it looks like the set of an Arab porno. Plus you always make people watch Arab porno while they eat which no one likes.

But now you're deeply in debt to who knows how many credit card companies with no hope of paying them back. You meet with a debt consolidation service agent who laughs at your file and calls over the other agents to laugh at you. You wish you had a scimitar with you right now, but the local police have made it abudantly clear that this is not okay.

After he's done wiping his giggle tears away, he tells you what you already know.

"You will never be able to pay this off. Not in a hundred years."

"I know," you'll say, "But I need a way out. I'm in love with the barista at the coffee shop on the corner and I know that if I can just get my hands on a few more scimitars I'll be able to ask her to marry me."

"I understand," he says. "I think I have your answer. Come with me."

You follow him into the inner offices and down some stairs. He scans a card and punches in a code on a keypad which opens a heavy metal door. Inside is a training area with lots of yelling and running and flames and people wearing black and shit.

"Wow," you'll say.

"Wow is right," the guy says. You never got his name and it's too late to ask, so he's just "the guy".

"You're going to become a credit card company assassin. You'll pay off your debt with the blood of the wicked until you are free. Then you can marry your precious barista."

You sign some papers and begin your training. Six month later you are in Paraguay, living in a burnt-out factory waiting for orders. You keep yourself sane by writing letters to your beloved. She'll never get them, though, because you'll send them to the coffee shop and she'll have quit two days after you left for training to work at a Hooters by the airport. You'll be killed by your target's bodyguards after getting your scimitar stuck in an air duct. This is really a cautionary tale about online shopping.


March 24, 2011

You're the Window Washer With a Horrible Secret!

You took this job to get away. To get away from all their questions. They can't get to you up here. Strange how here, standing on a platform seventy stories up, you finally feel in control, finally feel safe.

"I could never love her the way that she needed to be loved," you whisper to the woman on the other side of the glass. "I could only love her the way she wanted to be loved."

The woman on the other side of the glass doesn't hear you. But it feels good to tell someone.

You pull the squeegee across your reflection. "I could never leave someone who wanted me so badly. But I knew I was bad for her. I loved her too much to destroy her."

The woman lifts her head and turns. She looks up at you, but you can tell she doesn't understand and would never understand.

"The fact is that I never cheated on her. I made it up to drive her away."

The woman is still looking at you, concerned. She picks up her phone, says a few words, and hangs up. A minute later your phone rings.

"Jerry? Jerry, if you don't take off that fuckin' wedding dress we're going to have a serious problem. Don't bring that shit in to work Jerry. This is the last time."

You'll take off the dress when you're ready. Not a moment before. For now, you just need some time to think.


March 17, 2011

You're the Two Guys Who Share Gum!

Today is Thursday, which means you get the gum first.

Your phone rings. It's him.

"When do you think you'll be done with the gum?" he'll ask. "I've got a meeting uptown in an hour and I'd like to drive over and get it before then."

"I have to get my driver's license renewed today. I'm at the DMV right now," you'll say. "Can you come back downtown after your meeting to get it?"

"Susan has the car today and it would take me forever to make it. Can you get it to me tomorrow?"

You'll sigh. "You know what the judge said. We have to swap the gum at least once a day or we go to jail."

"I know. Do you think we could just not do it today?" He asks this almost every day, mostly on the days he doesn't get the gum first.

"Look, if we could unshave that bear we would, but we can't so here we are and I have the gum and I need to spit it into your mouth before the end of the day or we're both going to jail. So what's it going to be?"

"I'll come down after my meeting."

"Good. I love you."

"I love you too."


March 16, 2011

You're the Haunted Suit Salesman!

A businessman will come into your store and ask to see the new season of haunted suits.

"Oh, they're right over here. Come this way, sir," you'll say as you wave your arm over racks and racks of the finest haunted suits in the city.

You'll pull out a grey suit and lay it over your arm. "This is a fine three season flannel blend, two button, double vent, soft shoulder padding which is haunted by the ghost of an irate real estate mogul from Denver." The customer will feel the fabric between his fingers and nod approvingly. He will try it on and although it's a bit tight in the seat, he'll say he can live with it.

Two weeks later you'll see him pass by the store again wearing the suit, covered in filth and screaming about listing prices and cheating wives.

You have no idea why people want to buy haunted suits, but you're not going to argue, because you're a ghost too, a ghost who sells suits haunted by other ghosts out of a store that is also haunted, by you, I guess.


March 10, 2011

Chuck Norris' 71st Birthday Facts

1. Chuck Norris doesn't need to recharge his Rascal scooter; it runs on his urge to kill.

2. Chuck Norris pees pure adrenaline, but has to get up three times a night to do it.

3. Chuck Norris likes soup and soup likes Chuck Norris.

4. No conventional adult diaper can hold Chuck Norris' stinky secrets; his diapers are made out of Kevlar and plutonium.

5. You need to speak loudly when you speak to Chuck Norris. His ears are arthritic fists.

6. Chuck Norris' hip replacement is made out of a old helicopter blade and a wad of Big League Chew.

7. Chuck Norris sometimes wakes up thinking he's back on the set of Missing In Action and demands to speak to the director about his inter-racial love scene. He won't be wearing pants and will have pooped in his bed.

February 28, 2011

Charlie Sheen's Twelve Step Program

1. There is no power greater than you. You can cure your disease with your mind. Do it now.

2. Now that you've cured your disease, collect a harem of porn stars and prostitutes. Give them new names. Make them swear a blood oath. Do not let them look you in the eye, ever.

3. You have an addiction. An addiction to winning. Overdose on it. Get taken to the hospital to have the winning pumped out of your stomach.

4. Make a list of the expensive things you own. Scream it to yourself in the mirror. Break the mirror with your face.

5. Announce to another human being that you are the new sheriff with an army of assassins. Are they trying to kill you? Kill them first.

6. You should have more of everything. How many prostitutes are in the room right now? The answer is "not enough".

7. Realize that your only shortcoming is your interaction with lesser beings. Get on your jet immediately and leave them far behind. Bring guns.

8. Make a list of all the people who have harmed you. In blood. Not yours though. Your blood can cure cancer.

9. Get in a helicopter and hover over the homes of the people on the list and demand they make amends for their wrongdoing. Do you still have those guns? Good. Shoot up their cars. Throw a prostitute out of the helicopter to show them you're serious.

10. You have poetry in your fingers. Use your fingers to create an epic poem celebrating yourself by touching everyday, inanimate objects and turning them into poetry.

11. Love and hate with violence. Lots and lots of violence. Are you being violent right now? You could be being more violent.

12. Through the pure exercise of your own mind, turn into an F-18 and fly directly into the Sun, harness its power and return to Earth. Wreak vengeance on the Jews.

February 21, 2011

Seven Ways to Listen to the New Radiohead Album

1. Lying on the roof of the abandoned building where you once went to elementary school

2. Staring at a broken bicycle

3. Drinking gin in an Ikea parking lot at 6 am

4. Naked in the front of the mirror crying softly

5. Painting your bathroom black

6. Combing the hair of a child that isn't yours

7. Baking a cake that you're just going to throw away

February 14, 2011

A Bruno Mars Valentine

I would produce a shot-for-shot remake of Glitter starring your grandmother and a select cast from the retirement home for you.

I would catch a grenade for you, but I would do that thing where I throw it right back at the person who threw it at me and it explodes in their face for you.

You know that slimy hair mess that's been clogging the tub? I'm not touching that thing, but I will pour a shit load of Drano down there until I'm not showering in three inches of my own filth for you.

I would serve cocktails in body paint at a Japanese bachelor party and acquiesce to the inevitable demand to play Sex Godzilla Poop Poop for you.

If you needed a kidney transplant, I would chloroform and ice bathtub a entire cheerleader squad just to give you a choice of kidneys for you.

I would teach troubled teens at an inner city high school that education can get them out of the ghetto for you.

Three celebrity judges. Twelve inmates looking for the ideal prison bride and a chance to win their freedom. Me as the prison bride. For you.

January 21, 2011

A Message from the Soylent Corporation Marketing Department




Re: Public Image

Good Morning Everyone,

By now you've most likely heard the allegations circulating in the press. What started with a few rumours is now a waking PR nightmare. But we are dealing with the problem and wanted to assure you that everything is under control.

The first question that many of you must have is whether the rumours are true. In a word, yes. Corporate and Legal are coming straight out with it: we have been recycling human bodies and turning them into high protein supplements. Are we proud of this? We'll say no, but I challenge you to come up with a more brilliant business plan than feeding people the dead bodies of other people in pleasantly-coloured and shaped form for bargain basement prices. We should be given medals for our ingenuity. But no, all people do is scream and gag when they find out. In this age of sustainable living, where is the praise from the environmentalists? Nowhere. We come up with a cheap, renewable source of food but all we hear is "cannibal" this and "crime against nature" that.

But here we are and we need to deal with the situation at hand. We've dealt with public relations scandals like this in the past. Remember the "Soylent Red is feces" terror? We were able to bury it in one press conference with Gary from Accounting in a lab coat denying the rumours and waving a laser pointer. And as a cautionary measure, we actually stopped making Soylent Red out of feces for a few months.

Remember when Soylent Purple was causing sexual hallucinations and total loss of bowel control? What did we do? Only turn it into the number one party drug for nine consecutive quarters and sell more Soylent adult diapers than ever before. We all got bonuses. Remember those awesome, smelly parties? I've never been so excited and revolted. None of you have.          

But this crisis demands something more than a cheap press charade and product rebranding. We need real innovation. That's why we're facing this one head-on and launching a bold new campaign. Picture this ad: people coming together, smiling, enjoying each other's company and Soylent products. The slogan comes up: Soylent Green...It's People! It's about community and togetherness. You know it. You trust it. You trust it because it's familiar. It's family. It's friends. While other companies are cramming complicated chemicals down your throat, Soylent is giving you what you know. Soylent Green: Made by people, of people, for people.  

Some of you will be apprehensive. You'll think that we should take the approach of the "Soylent Yellow is rocks" crisis and spin it with a lot of fast talk about geology and dietary requirements. But if we can get our critics to accept this, they will eat their words. And their neighbours. And they will LOVE IT.

I understand that many of you must be worried for the future of the company. My message to you: don't be. We are going to come out of this crisis stronger than ever by making nutritional supplements out of garbage, dead bodies and whatever else we can find in ready cheap supply. And we will sell it. Because people will eat whatever we put in front of them, no matter how horny, sick, or incontinent it makes them.

Kind Regards,

Soylent Marketing