Friday, June 29, 2012

Captain Post-It Reviews Applications


So, I've had a chance to review some of your applications listed below the previous post. Here's what I though of them:

I would totally be a side kick to Captain Post-It. My name would be the Post-It Kid and I would put Post-It notes back on the wall from whence they came. This would be a useful skill because it frees up the Captain to continue his glorious, and much needed heroic deeds.

Post-it Kid,
Interesting outlook, but I can’t risk having my following turn toward a cheaper alternative of sticking Post-Its back on varying surfaces. Unless you’re willing to forward 98% of the proceeds in my name, I simply can’t hire you.
I can see it now: 
-My Post-Its have been scattered by the forceful wind generated by the office ceiling fan! Call Captain Post-It immediately!
-Don’t bother! A conundrum such as this can easily be settled by the younger, and much cheaper, Post-It Kid!
-You’re right, Bill! Fuck Captain Post-It!
You see where this is heading?

You know mine already, PMT WOMAN!
Able to whinge in a pitch that only dolphins and canines can hear.
Able to wither away the gonads of any man with my "Oh no you didn't" stare.
Able to leap onto the most innocent of words and turn them into grounds for world war 3, for I am PMT WOMAN!
Not sure how all that would help as a side kick though.

PMT Woman,
I commend you on your extraordinary abilities. However, I’m afraid I must reject your application. There is too much of a chance that you’d take over the entire operation with your passive aggressive attitude and enriching vocabulary.
My abilities require me to be fervent and agile; however, one wrong move on my part has the prospect of triggering your uncontainable, and quite frankly, hazardous, superpowers.
It’s simply too risky for me. You’re far better suited to work on your own.

I would be Encouragement Boy! I have the ability to clap like a seal when I see something I approve of. I have a double-jointed neck which gives me a floppy head for excess nodding, and I have a very long tongue. Of course, I wouldn't do any actual fighting, but I'll always be on the sidelines, willing you on.

Encouragement Boy,
As astonishing as I find your supernatural abilities, I don’t like that you’re implying that I don’t already have a mass following of appreciative business men and women.
If you were around back in the winter of 1973 and you witnessed my unbelievable feat of preventing the unmentioned, unreported collapse of Post-It stock, you’d see just how popular I truly am.
My trailer home is nearly completely paid off! My child support is almost on time every month! I’m doing just fine!
Though, I might have a proposition for that tongue of yours.

I don't wanna be your side kick Captain Post-It but I do want to join the Captain Post-It club. I can dress up as a twelve year old boy and you could hang out with me! All famous Super-Heroes hang out with young children! (think Bibleman and Captain Tootsie!)

Bersercules,
Don’t want to be my sidekick?! You must be out of your mind if you’re so willing to turn down the amazing feats of Captain Post-It!
But, that’s not to say that your idea is a bad one. Brilliant strategy to reach out to the young audiences, I must say. Plus, I have so much candy in my trailer that needs to be eaten before it goes bad.
As for Bibleman and Captain Tootsie, I think I’m far more relevant than a guy who wields a laser pointer and quotes Bible verses and that nerd who needs a variable-scoped rifle to take out an innocent bear.

A sidekick name? Uh, hm. How about... Femme Fountain Pen?
-Barb the French Bean

Femme Fountain Pen/Barb the French Bean,
I’m perplexed as to which name to address you by. Being a sidekick, you can only have one title. Only the hero can have multiple names (i.e. Batman, The Dark Knight).
Once you’ve figured out your identity, I need to know what your powers/abilities entail. I am assuming you carry around unlimited supplies of fountain pens? Or is it that you can secrete ink from your pores?
Though, you say you are French, which may increase my leverage with minorities.

Do you hire chimpanzees? I know one who might be perfect for the job.

Gorilla Bananas,
I am no good at changing poopy diapers or peeling bananas, so I’m not certain that this will work out. Plus, I am allergic to anything with opposable toes. Not so much allergic, as they freak me out. I can't afford to lose my lunch by sniffing poopy diapers and being touched be grabby feet while trying to right the wrongs in an office space.

So, I’ve weighed my options and the person I choose to be my sidekick is... *drum roll please*… Batman! Yes, Batman, you have read correctly. Though, you did not fill out an application, I feel that you are the most suitable to be by my side as I dispose of injustices one Post-It note at a time. If you read this, please report to my trailer park. My trailer is the one behind all the shrubberies, just before the second dumpster.

As for the rest of you, though you were not accepted as part of the Captain Post-It squad, I congratulate you on emitting a response from such a busy hero such as me. Perhaps you could put this on your future résumé?

Though, a shout-out is reserved for Addman who gave me this idea.



Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Job Listing ~Sidekick Wanted~


~HELP WANTED~

Though I emerged from the chemical waste grotesquely deformed, I had been blessed with unimaginable, supernatural powers. With a wave of my palm, Post-Its instantly reclaim their adhesiveness. With a simple whisper, the bland yellow tint of these sticky notes can be transformed into any color you desire. With a lick of my tongue, all transcriptions can be wiped from existence (strictly speaking Post-It notes*). Since the fruition of such incredible powers, I have been known by the prolific title, Captain Post-It!

I have thwarted the many schemes of the evil Dr. Organization and his Systematizer. I have triumphed over the corporations bent on world domination by salivating over each and every one of their Post-It reminders. And, I’ve protected citizens like you from buying slates of multicolored Post-It notes with a simple utterance.

It’s exceedingly obvious that each of you have heard my name beckoned from office space and work station alike. Captain Post-It! Come quick! My Post-Its won’t stick!

However, I’ve been notified by my publicist that a large majority of the population has not yet heard of my miraculous deeds which I find outrageously implausible. But, if she says so, there must be at least a fraction of truth to it. So, as a means to gain more exposure, my publicist has suggested that I hire a sidekick. She claims that superheroes with sidekicks practically double their publicity ratings.

So, without further adieu, I reach out to the working man to carry out the task of being my devoted sidekick!

Chiz had been gracious enough to allow me to use his blog to post my job listing. Therefore, you have permission to post your applications in the comment box below. All that's required is your proposed sidekick name, an explanation of your skill set or super power, and an explanation of how you feel you could prove to be a valuable asset to me. Oh, and any donations are welcome, as well.

Professional drawing by Chiz
(Credit for the application idea owed to Addman)

Friday, June 22, 2012

KillMageDeath Managerial Resume

Today, since I am on the fly, I have decide to turn in my resume to become the manager of the Spell Casting Strategy division of my MMORPG guild, KillMageDeath. Tell me what you think? I have plenty of credentials.


Possibly the worst post ever? Maybe. But, I have to go. Sorry! I'll make it up next week!

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Me and My Roomie


My new roommate is quite a nuisance. It’s a funny story actually. I didn’t even invite him to live with me; he kind of just showed up one day. There will be extended periods where he is nowhere to be found. During those times of absence, I’m able to write some quality work without distraction. However, recently he’s in between departures, and he hasn’t left the living room sofa in days.

It’s as if every time I decide to work on one of my writing projects, he comes out of nowhere to divert my attention.

Roomie: “Hey, you know remember that cokehead in middle school? I wonder how he’s doing nowadays.”
Me: “Not right now, I’m busy.”
Roomie: “Dude, imagine if he was dead! That’d be nuts.”
Me: “I’m sure he’s doing just fine.”
Roomie: “Yeah, but what if he’s not. I’m sure he’s got a Facebook account. How ‘bout we check it out, just to be sure.”
Me: “I don’t have time to be creeping on random acquaintances right now!’
Roomie: “Are you sure about that?”
Me: “Gah! Fine let’s see if he’s still alive. Then, I’ll get back to writing.”

*30 minutes of research later*

Me: “I told you he’s not dead.”
Roomie: “Well, technically ‘brain dead’ is a form of dead.”
Me: “Whatever. Will you leave me alone now?”
Roomie: “Sure, whatever.”

*2 minutes later*

Roomie: Shouting from the kitchen. “Hey, did you check the fridge out?”
Me: “What?! What could possibly be in the fridge that’s so interesting?!”
Roomie: “Dude, you got like 14 beers in here.”
Me: “So what?!”
Roomie: “You bought them like a week ago.”
Me: “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
Roomie: “It means you should probably drink them before they go flat.”
Me: “Fine! I’ll have a beer or two, but that’s it. I have to get some writing done.”
Roomie: “A beer’ll loosen you up and get them creative juices flowing.”

*14 beers later*

Roomie: “See? Don’t you feel like you could write a novel right now?
Me: “Naht preticalarly.”
Roomie: “Hmm, you sound  a bit drunk. Here’s the remote. I think a documentary on anorexic penguins is on the Discover Channel.”
Me: “Ooo!”
Roomie: “Just relax and watch some television. Sober up a bit so you can get some writing done.”
Me: “Guh ideer.”

*12 hours later*

Roomie: “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”
Me: “Huh? What time is it.”
Roomie: “Dude, you’re going to be late for work!”
Me: “Work? Aw, I didn’t get any writing done for the fourth day in a row!”
Roomie: “Don’t worry, you can try again tonight. I promise I won’t bother you.”

The problem is, he won’t leave me alone tomorrow because he’s… not a real person. He's contained within my mind. He's distraction. He's agitation. He's interference. He's procrasturbation. He’s… Writer’s Block! Rablahblah!


Bah, I'm not exactly suffering from writer's block. It's more so due to the fact that I've decided to start my novel from scratch once again, so my mind's a bit preoccupied. I found out I can write the shit out of a short story in first-person, but I'm not talented enough to write a 120,000~ word novel with such a complex back-story. So, third-person it is! I only got to roughly 8k words so it's best I start over now. I'll post the prelude once I've finished it for some feedback.

P.S. I still live with my parents because I'm super rich and stuff. So, no. I don't have a roommate.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Twisted Fairy Tale Movie Pitches


With Hollywood running short on ideas blockbusters, they’ve begun to delve into a new genre, portraying nursery rhymes and fairy tales in a dark and twisted light. Red Riding Hood, Boogeyman, Beastly, and Snow White and the Huntsman are prime examples of Hollywood’s desperation.

With the moderate success of these fairly drab movies, I’ve decided to seize this opportunity and rob movie-goers of a few bucks by pitching a few twisted versions of fairy tales myself.

I present to you, the following:

Silence the Lambs

Little Bo Peep has found her sheep, and their previous attempt at escape will not go unpunished. Held up in the blood stained barn, the sheep attempt to conjure up a plan to delay their impending demise. While Bo Peep prepares for a sadistic bloodbath, the sheep prepare for one last escape.


Live Free or Crack Hard

Humpty Dumpty spent his days atop the Bay Street wall, bearing witness to the nauseating nature of mankind. He would sit idly by as people committed outlandishly heinous acts toward one another. However, that would all change the day he encounters an arms dealer and decides to distribute his personal brand of justice.


The Three Pigs

The piglets believed their days of harassment were over. The big, bad wolf had huffed and puffed his last breath, and the piglets lived steadily in a lavish, brick colonial. All seemed well, until the wolf’s uncle and world renowned attorney prosecutes the piglets for neglecting to notify authorities of the wolf’s obvious psychological disorder.


Sorry, i thought I'd take a break from writing for a day to draw silly little pictures on MS Paint.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Who Needs a Time Machine?



Link Summary: Middleborough, MA has banned profanity, allowing authorities to issue a $20 citation for any caught using vulgar language in public.

I’m sure many of you are dumbfounded by this announcement, but I am bizarrely thrilled by the passing of this law. Before you place that 10 cent bounty on my head, give an opportunity to explain myself. By further setting limitations on our rights as citizens, we are reverting back to an era I forever wished to be a part of. Ladies and gentleman, we are venturing back into the Iron Age!

This excites me as I live within just a few miles of Middleborough. That means that my town is next in line for a good two-millennium rewind. I’ve already begun a petition to change Lake Assawompsett’s name to Lake “Buttawompsett”. I want to assist in the act of reversing culture and society.

I’ve already arranged a meeting with my town hall to erect a pillory in the town square. Public humiliation is the only way to get through to modern-day criminals. Once Project Pillory is at full throttle, I’ll move onto more revolutionary ideas such as tar and feathering and maybe even public executions.

I believe with my help, we’ll have Massachusetts running like 1600s England by the end of the decade.

Hopefully, when I still have a significant amount of life left in me, we’ll have replaced the town hall with a steadfast stronghold, capable of withstanding attacks from surrounding kingdoms. Certainly by this time, all guns will be banished from the land, making short ranged iron one of the most effective forms of combat.
When Sir Steve discovered that Sir Billy's passive aggressive Facebook
comment was about him, the Duel of Dorchester was immediately declared.

Even though I will have been the key component in this nationwide rewind, I don’t see myself fit to be King. I will certainly settle for a position on the King’s Guard. Oh, alright, I’ll be the King’s Hand if I must, but nothing of higher rank. I won’t be able to handle the stress.

Hell, with the help of the zombies down in Miami, we may even be able to make Game of Thrones a reality (Though, instead of White Walkers, we’ll have to settle for Beach Tan Walkers).

Anyway, with your help, we can rid ourselves of that false notion that we wish to be civilized.

 Make sure each and every one of you votes for every backtracking bylaw that’s suggested in your area.



-This post has been submitted to Dude Write. I am participating in this week's Dude Write Starting Lineup. Check out the other submissions while you're there.

Friday, June 8, 2012

Fifty Bales of Hay


A 50 Shades of Grey fan fiction. If you don't know what 50 Shades of Grey is, read A Beer for the Shower's Fifty Shades of Terrible. That's where I learned the essential plot of the book.

He thrust the barn doors open.  He removed his straw hat and flung it on the hanger with fluidity, revealing the coarse patches of hair atop his flawlessly globular head. The straps of his jean overalls could barely withstand the might of his luscious man boobs. He’d bought me off a neighboring rancher once I had come of age. I was his to do as he pleased. So far, he’s been keeping me fenced in, forcing me to sift around in my own manure. I can’t say that I minded; it just made be reflect more upon the other sexual perversions he had in store.

I was plump and ready to explode, and he was certainly the man for the job. He dragged a strange piece of equipment over the dehydrated grass that littered the splintering floorboards. With each confident stride he made, a quiver reverberated through from my spine down to my overflowing udder. I was so distracted by thoughts of his forceful nature that I hadn’t noticed he was face to face with me, casting a looming shadow over my innocence. I was so overcome with surprise that a feeble moooo escaped me.

He knelt down behind me as I stared down at the forest of hair cultivating his perspiring back. I quickly averted my gaze lest the sexual tension should cause my udder to prematurely erupt. He reached for a pail of soapy water and began cleansing my virgin teats. I closed my eyes and thought of anything that would bar the flood gates just a little longer. He ditched the pail and reached for a tube of thick, lucid glaze. The letters ‘V-A-S-E-L-I-N-E’ were printed on the side. He grabbed a glob of the stuff and gently began lubing my tender teats. M-m-moo, I couldn’t hold back the ecstasy deluging from my mouth. Moooooo. After an intense struggle, I managed to maintain my sanctity. That’s when he reached for that strange apparatus.

He turned to me revealing four dangling hoses from his hand. With a flip of a switch, the hoses stiffened and started emitting a sucking sound. A perverse smile extended from cheek to cheek. That’s when the farmer planted the hoses to all four of my teats at once. Milk started draining from my comforted udder. It was finally happening, the seal had been broken. Mooooooo!

My elation lasted through the entire experience. The farmer removed the hoses and went on his way. I was left feeling empty but… ironically satisfied.


Alright, who's got a boner? You think you felt awkward reading this? Then imagine what the woman sitting next to me on the train witnessing me write this felt.

Anyway, here's a funny video to compensate:

-This post has been submitted to Dude Write. I am participating in this week's Dude Write II. Check out the other submissions while you're there.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

5 Dreadful Conversation Starters


We all have those conversation starters that shorten our breath and curse the gods for bequeathing this treacherous blight known as “speech” upon mankind. Here is a list of those conversation starters that set fire to my emotional fields of frolic:

5. What do you do for work?

It’s not that I’m ashamed of my job, but every time I answer this ridiculously redundant question, I get a variable of the same response: “Really? Your job shouldn’t exist.” Although, I completely agree, they usually express themselves in a passive aggressive tone. This starter came up frequently during the Occupy rallies. Since my company rents one, single floor of the Federal Reserve building, they automatically assume that I am a pawn in their conquest toward world domination; when in fact, we’re hardly affiliated with the bank. Anyway, before I get vastly off topic, onto the next starter.

4. About the money I owe you…

This one is likely on everyone’s list because they never have a clear-cut answer for you. Now, I let a lot of people borrow money because I believe in karma (It’s bound to come around to me someday, I know it). At any rate, it’s always the people who ironically have some source of income that start conversations this way, and to top it off, they always have the worst excuses: “Sorry bro, I spent it all at the strip-club last night.” “Sorry peppabroni, I’m saving up for the iPhone 37.” “Sorry brobalina, I accidentally dropped my wallet into the sun.”

3. Back in my day…

You can usually find this breed of starter swishing beneath the dentures of an ignorant, pissed off, 90 year old, fossil. “Back in my day, we didn’t complain about work. We just did what we needed to do.” Really, you old, decrepit skid mark? In your day, you could trip over a penny and put a down payment on a mansion. You also brushed your teeth with gasoline and polished your car with bundled up cigarette filters. Bah, just to be clear, there are only a select few who are actually this ignorant. Many elderly folk are really quite pleasant, respectful, and much smarter than I.

2. Can you stop by my office when you get a chance?

First off, whenever your boss says “when you get a chance,” it means right now. Why they never just come out and say it is beyond me. Secondly, they never actually tell you their motive. They never tell you what this private meeting is about. You could be getting a raise, or you could be getting shit-canned. Your boss could even be suggesting a sexual encounter which is why I believe this conversation starter should be considered grounds for a sexual harassment lawsuit. The worst part is when you ask them “what do you need to talk to me about?” they brush off the inquiry and simply reply, “I just need to talk to you in my office.” It’s like they’re trying to separate you from the safety of your co-workers that could easily interfere with the imminent rape that’s about to occur… or something.

1. Can you do me a favor?

This is by far the worst conversation starter because there is no way to escape this fate without looking like a bundle of douches.  Furthermore, it’s never an easy task they have in store. You’d expect a “favor” to be along the lines of “can you grab me a pencil” or “do you have a tissue?” But, it’s never that simple. It’s more akin to “After you’ve finished toppling that third world terrorist organization with this spoon and toothpick, can you take that syringe filled with the souls of the damned and inject it into the core of the sun for me? Thanks, I’ll buy you some McDonalds tomorrow or something.” Although if they say, "can you do my a HUGE favor," you might as well kill yourself now because whatever awaits us in the afterlife is far less painful than the torture you are about to subject yourself to.


By the cock of Zeus, whatever happened to, “How are you doing today?”

Bonus convo starters:
Can you help me find my keys?
Does this look like Herpes?
Medium iced. 3 creams. 2 sugars.
I'm going to sound like a dick/ass/douche, but can you...

Friday, June 1, 2012

Sensitive Sallys


♪ *kick off the drum solo* It’s time! It’s time! It’s Tiyayime! Timeytimeytime! For another lame Chiz rant! ♪ (Figured I’d make a theme song to lead off another one of my shitty rants. It can serve as a warning every time you hear it.)

So, I was waiting in line at the grocery story with a friend of mine. We were about to check out with our basket full of cucumbers, squash, zucchini, and other phallic vegetables. Just before we reached the cashier, I had a strange craving for something hard and full of think juiciness, and so I said out loud, in the most neutral voice imaginable, “Man, I wish I had an apple.” The entire grocery store fell silent. Customers approached me in an intimidating manner, as if something I had said turned them sideways.
 “Excuse me, sir,” a portly woman spoke up, “did you just say you want an apple?!”
“I believe that’s right what he said, damn near I tell ‘ya,” a man hollered.
“My daughter is an apple, sir! She’s only but a day old.”
“That there is sick, ‘ya hear?”
I guess I had roused a mob of hillbilly northerners. None of them seemed the least bit pleased with me. “Is there a problem?” I inquired.
“You meaning to have your way with my daughter,” one of the overanalyzing retards shouted.
“No, I just want an apple, y’know, to eat and all,” I timidly replied. A gasp echoed through the crowd. The woman with the apparent apple for a daughter fainted and shit her pants.
“You’re sick, mister. Sick!” a man with a pitchfork cried.
The customers grew more restless and began crying for blood. Thank God a policeman was there to rescue me from the angry mob. “What did you say to tick them off, son?” asked the officer.
“I just wanted an apple to eat, that’s all.”
The officer’s fact went pale. “You think you’re funny, huh? Let’s see you crack that joke in a court of law!”
So, here I am, writing from a jail cell awaiting the verdict.

Ssss, damn. I'd like to carve that up into a pie. Oooo.
Now, why did I tell you that completely true and fabricated story? Because stories like these are smeared on the front page of every online news source. Below is an excerpt from a completely real, made-up news article:

Over-analytical, White non-Hispanic man sues Wendy’s for handing him crackers with his chili. “It’s hard being a White man in America,” the man quoted, “I know exactly the statement that cashier was trying to get make. Crackers, huh? Why don’t you just hand me a barrel of mayonnaise?” The man hopes to sue the fast-food giant for 40 trillion dollars.

If you hadn’t noticed by now, people are falling ill with a rapidly spreading virus known as Sensitivitus, scientifically known as being a sensitive Sally. In the last week, I’ve seen several real articles that basically mirror that fake one I made up a moment ago. People are scouring the streets nowadays in an attempt to find something that offends them.

Here’s another example: When I used to smoke, I would make sure I was significantly out of the way of everyone. Yet, people would go out of their way to walk through my plume of smoke. They would literally scale fences in an attempt to get close enough to me to let loose an exaggerated cough and wave their hand in front of their face. They were looking for something that they could take offense to, and I just couldn’t figure it out.

I worked with a waitress who volunteered at a school for mentally challenged children. Now, when you work as a cook in an extremely busy kitchen, it is common practice to have an arsenal of swears to let loose. It’s the only way to quell the steadfast rage that matures within your pitiful soul. Anyway, moving on, I once spewed out a random cuss, something along the lines of “sweltering retards” or something. Well, in comes the hero, Ms. Sensitive Sally, to point out my ignorance. She quickly worked in her world-altering volunteer service to assert her superiority, “Did you say retard?! I work for a school for the mentally challenged! I find that highly offensive!” To which I had a response, “The fact that you instantly relate that term to the mentally challenged children you work alongside proves your own ignorance. The forefront definition of ‘retard’ is to hinder, impede, or delay, but it instantly brought to mind ‘the children you so love’ as soon as it left my mouth. What does that say about you?” (Alright, my real response wasn’t that well thought out. I think my real response was more like, “Fuck you! You think fuckin’ retard means retard? Well, fuck, you are ignorant! Get out of the kitchen, you harlot!” or something).  

That fact of the matter is that people choose to be offended by words when in facts that’s all they are… words. The fact that you instantly relate yourself to a derogatory term says a lot about your self-esteem.
 Ah! Words! I think I see a few in there that I can take out of context!
Anyway, are any of you still following me because I’m pretty sure I have no idea what I’m talking about anymore. So, that’s my cue to end it here, then. I’m sure you guys will have an argument that will tear apart my biased rant. I’m a white man in America, so I don’t face too many injustices. Damn, I wish I had more to complain about! I’m such a hypocrite.