Double Babies!

Ok. So you know how Mary Kate and Ashley, the Olsen twins, were like THE hottest thing of the late nineties? Right? Well what are they doing now? Nothing. Ok fashion, but that's not where the money is, right? Haha! Right. No. It's in movies. Olsen Twin movies. But we can't just see them now that they're all grown up and plastic surgery face. Blech. Who wants to see that? I don't. I want to see money. Mary Kate and Ashley money. BIG NINETIES COCAINE MONEY. Ok!? Right? But how...?

Double Babies!
Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are BACK! And they're Double Twouble! (“Double” because there's two of them and they're twins, “Twouble” because it's an adorable take on “trouble” and it rhymes and because you'll see why it makes sense in a minute...).
That's the tagline, now here's the logline: they're secret double-agent babies.
You know how the Bourne Identity is like spy vs spy vs double-spy? Yeah. That plus Mary Kate and Ashley.
(remember how I said the “twouble” would make sense? Eh? Because secret double agents are trouble. Yeah.)

And here's the best part: guys, I didn't even come up with this. Mary Kate and Ashley did. They sent me an email. We're friends. So we had lunch and they said they wanted to move back into acting, maybe become the new Angelina Jolies or Kathy Lee Giffords.
I said “Whoa, whoa, whoa, tweedledee (that's what I call Mary Kate. It's a twins joke.). You guys aren't old enough for action. BUT...”
Then I was quiet for a minute because I was thinking. I was thinking about money.
“Ok Minnesota baseballers (it's another twins thing I call them), here's what I figured out just now: people love the old yous. They hate this new, fashioney, plastic surgery thing you're doing.”
The girls were quiet for a minute (they're good listeners).
Then one of them said “But-.”
And I said “NO BUTS Tweedledum! (that's what I call Ashley) Here's how it's gonna happen: CGI. Voice-Over. We're going to take you back to the height of your fame, before you started this horrible downward spiral.”

Well. They loved it. Look Who's Talking meets James Bond!
How could anyone resist that? They weren't able to. And audiences won't be able to, also. And the best part is, we already have a built-in fanbase with the old fans who aren't children anymore. But there are new children who don't know the magic of Mary Kate and Ashley. They've only recently been born!
So we do a Smurfs 3D Part 2 tie-in. Easy. Children love smurfs.
We name two of the Smurfs Mary Kate Smurf and Ashley Smurf. And they're TWIN smurfs. This is important because the Olsen twins are twins. So we need audiences to know that.
Now there's a secret double-bonus that I don't have to tell you, but I will (“double,” ha!).
I didn't tell the girls this because we're friends, but they are pretty bad at acting.
You know that. I know that.
BUT a lot of horrible actors can still be good VOICE actors! So that solves THAT problem. Also, the Smurfs 3D Part 2 tie-in will give them a chance to practice their voices before their big re-debut!

As for the rest of the movie, I think we've got it pretty much covered. It's a CGI animation hero story, only with twins who are spies, but since they're double-spies, they don't know if they can trust each other, which is tension and story. For the main antagonist...
You sure you want me to spoil it? Ok, well it SEEMS the whole movie like it's Evil Marky Mark, the president of the Evil United States (The United States is evil in the FUTURE, so it's sci-fi too), but then really, the bad guy turns out to be Ashley! Ashley Olsen! No, wait. Mary Kate! Mary Kate Olsen! Because she really wasn't a secret double-agent, she was just an evil single agent all along.

Anyway, the script is being written by Howie Mandel and it's riveting. Audiences are gonna love it. I say we either do Thanksgiving weekend, or we make them Christmas double agents and turn it into holiday season material. Maybe the bad guys can be Jewish or something so we can grab the Hanukkah crowd. Howie's Jewish. I'll pitch that idea to him and see what he thinks.

Profit

Let's cut the chit-chat.
Thank you.
Sorry to be blunt, but this company hired me so we could stop wasting time.
Let's get to the point.
My name's Harold Firer.
I'm a consultant.
I'm basically here so we can stop screwing around as a company and start maximizing out potential.
Our investors are demanding a lot of changes, so if you value your job, listen up.
Got your attention?
Good.
Let's get down to brass tacks.
We aren't making enough money.
We need to be making MORE money.
How are we going to do that?
I'll tell you.
Profit.
Nothing makes money faster than profit.
Profit's not just a buzzword, people.
Profit is real.
It's the most important thing a company has.
Without profit, a company doesn't exist.
We need profit.
Think about it like your blood.
You need your blood, don't you?
Well this company's blood is profit.
It takes profit to be an industry leader.
So how do we get more profit?
Four things:
Decrease overheads.
Cut unnecessary spending costs.
Drive growth.
Increase Revenue.
One. Decrease overheads. Cut the wheat from the chaff.
Maximize output. Maximize productivity.
Fire people.
Two. Cut unnecessary spending costs. Do you really need a stapler?
Really? You?
Why can't we have three staplers that everyone in the company uses?
It costs less.
Economy.
Thrift.
Profit.
Three. Drive growth. Encourage thinking outside the box.
Not daydreaming. Not surfing on youtube. Not facebooking your ex.
You think about how you can make your life better?
Start thinking about how you can make this company better.
Or get out.
Profit.
Four. Increase Revenue. Upcharge our products. Maximize their valuability, and thus, our valuability as a company.
Bring in new clients. New customers. We haven't sold any of our products to your grandmother? Why not?
Do it or get out.
These things are not just “good ideas”.
If we don't do them, we'll die. Understand? We have to start thinking the big thoughts. All of us.
Why do we have a break room? For coffee? How much does coffee cost?
Shut it down.
Bring your own coffee or get out.
No fridge. No lunch. Work. Profit. Eat it. Sleep it.
But don't sleep it at work or we'll have a little “chat” about it. And our conversation will end when you pile your stuff into a cardboard box and, you guessed it, get out.
Don't make eye contact with me. Ever.
Give me your lunch money.
Profit is what we're talking about.
I've made 19 out of 20 companies profitable in the last 9 out of 10 years.
You know how I did that?
Profit.
I don't fuck around. And from now on, neither do you.
I will end you.
Are we clear?
Do you know what I do on weekends?
I fucking take off my clothes and hunt boars with my bare hands.
I am not lying to you.
I don't even use a knife. I use my hands. And my teeth. And my muscles.
Look at my chest.
You think you can take me?
You think you can take a wild boar with your bare hands?
Shut your mouth.
Get to work.
I will kill you and claim it was self-defense.
Do you understand?
The two of you in the back there? Talking to each other?
Fired.
Get out.
Meeting adjourned.

MANDATORY meeting! 7pm! (dinner provided)

Ok everyone, settle down.
Settle down.
Ok.
Well. This is really great.
I see a lot of new faces, which is great.
Um.
I called this meeting though, because I've been getting a lot of questions recently.
A lot of the same questions, I should say.
So I wanted to clear up any confusion we may- you all- may have.
We're all here because we love one thing: Throw-
Yeah, throwing knives, exactly.
But it's not just that.
It's the potential throwing knives have.
That.
That potential.
Because when you hold the knife that way, I mean, you tell me, can you NOT throw it?
No.
Exactly.
Of course not.
Potential.
And fear.
People fear throwing knives.
And people fear people who throw throwing knives.
Especially people who are good at throwing throwing knives.
And we're all here to get better at throwing throwing knives, right?
Exactly.
I, but-
Ok. I don't want to derail, but first I feel I need to reiterate a few things.
Guys.
Some of us are getting hurt. By each other.
Look at Ted over there.
Look.
Ted, show them your face.
For those of you who weren't here last week, take a good look.
(sigh)
Guys that's rule number one!
Do NOT throw throwing knives at other Throwing Knife Gang members.
Rule number one.
If we don't honour that, I mean, what can I say?
We're hardly a gang. That's what.
What gangs do you know that hurt each other?
I know the Chain Gang doesn't. You ever see their members with chain marks?
No.
They may have flame burns or tire welts or knife marks-
Right Steve, always modest.
Please, a short round of applause for Steve, who-
(Applause)
For you new guys out there, Steve was key in our last scheduled gang fight with the Chain Gang.
You're an asset to the gang, we all know that. But a little modesty-
Anyway, you don't see Chain Gang members with chain marks. That's my point.
And please, don't think for a second that I don't appreciate the-
The enthusiasm our gang has.
The energy.
I really do.
I mean, when we bring it, it's just-
I mean, frankly, we have more energy than any other gang I've seen, and-
We just want to feel like a team, don't we?
Yeah.
Sure we do.
So let's keep that in mind.
Especially you new guys.
Anyway, where was I..
(page flip)
(pause)
(page flip)
(pause)
(page de-flip)
So potential.
Like our throwing knives, we all have potential.
Every one of us.
And this gang.
This gang has potential.
Micky, I don't want to single you out, but-
You know, it's not just Micky.
I've seen a lot of you guys.
When you're out, buying a hot dog, or you know, something else-
You pay for it.
Now, that's not necessarily bad, but I don't see a lot of intimidation.
I don't even see a lot of, you know-
I guess-
I don't know, marketing?
I guess that would be an ok word to use.
I don't see us marketing our gang to local businesses.
You know?
I mean-
I guess I'm getting bogged down in details.
Here's what I see, for us.
For our gang:
We start with small businesses, right?
We muscle them around a bit. Scare them.
Not too much.
But a little.
Then we protect them. From other gangs.
I mean, rival gangs, right?
Then we collect a bit of money from them.
For that protection.
We move up to bigger businesses.
Banks!
Right?
We can rob banks pretty soon.
I mean, by at least August, I would say.
If we play our cards right.
We rob a few banks, we work our way up the ladder.
Control this city a little at a time.
We can even expand to other cities and you know.
Throwing knives.
We work our way up to drugs.
Now look.
I know.
Ok.
I know.
No, I know.
(pause)
Hey.
Guys.
I didn't start this gang to deal drugs.
I didn't.
But that's where the money is.
That's where the power is.
That's a good point Barney. Politics.
We work our way into politics too.
Everything.
You see?!
That's thinking outside the box.
That's thinking about potential.
Let's keep thinking that way.
About potential.
Where can we expand?
Where can we grow?
We all have as much potential as a throwing knife.
And we're great.
Throwing knives are great!
(Applause)
Yeah!
Ok!
So everyone grab a piece of pizza and let's all talk and come up with ideas, ok?
Great!
Thank you!
(Applause)

How To Take A Shower In A College Apartment

1. Place a dry, cleanish towel immediately within reach of the shower.
2. Listen for neighbours to see if someone in another apartment is using up your shared hot water. If they are, skip to step 11. If not, continue to step 3.
3. Check to see how hot the hot water is by itself. If hot, move onto step 4. If lukewarm, move onto step 11. If cold, move onto step 14.
4. Turn on the cold water to a comfortable level. Step into the shower. Point the shower head slightly to one side of the shower. This will come into play during steps 5 and 6.
5. Be on constant alert for the sound of a toilet flushing. If you hear one, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm's way. Wait for scalding water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary freezing backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
6. Be on constant alert for the hot water to immediately give out for no reason whatsoever. When this happens, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm's way. Wait for freezing water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary scalding backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
7. Shampoo hair with affordable and/or borrowed shampoo. Remember how conditioner used to feel.
8. Soap up with affordable and/or borrowed soap. Curse the soap quietly, but vehemently, for your troubled skin. Rinse off.
9. Daydream about people/homework you intended to do last night, as well as upcoming projects/tests. Do you have a quiz today? Are you sure? Are you?
10. If you've daydreamed for too long, pause to remember whether you've completed steps 7 and 8. If you can't remember, repeat them to be certain. Proceed to step 15.
11. You have less than three minutes of warm water. Make it count.
12. Turn on the hot water as low as possible. This will prolong what little remains. Do NOT daydream. Immediately proceed to “lucky” step 13.
13. Shampoo and soap yourself in one go, then rinse everything in one go. Do not condition. Do not shave. Skip to step 15.
14. Since you have class in fifteen minutes, skip the shower. If you have done this three or more times in a row, weigh that option against the option of being late. Your opinion should change slightly with each concurrent shower skip. If you reach six skips, take a cold shower and complain about it the rest of the day to your friends or anyone who complains about anything else. Skip to step 17.
15. Turn off the water and grab the towel from step 1.
16. Dry yourself off BEFORE you step out of the shower. This will prevent unsightly bruises and/or expensive medical bills.
17. Wrap your towel around your waist/head and scramble around your room to find cleanish clothes to wear.
18. Run to class. You are late.

The Boy

I was a young boy at the time. No more than nine or ten, I believe. I lived a few blocks from an abandoned school, McCulloch Middle School, if I remember correctly.
I spent copious amounts of time playing inside there after-hours, messing around and whatnot.
One of the door locks was busted, you see. It was like my own fortress.

Now, it never struck me at the time, but for having been abandoned for such a long time, there was still a lot of junk lying around. Junk without any dust on it. And there were a lot of other little signs that people were in fact still using the school, although I'd never actually seen anyone going in or out, except myself.

I used to doodle on the blackboards, stack textbooks into little piles to sit on, rearrange the school desks into circles and pretend two of them were were boxers in a ring. Normal things that children do when left unattended, I suppose.
But there was one night that was different- one snowy night which I haven't told a single soul about until telling you now.

I was playing army, I believe- marching through one of the hallways on the first floor and giving commands to troops inside my head, when I heard an angry voice around the corner.

“Where's the boy?!”

I froze up, knowing that I had finally gotten caught messing around in this building where I had no business being.

Instead of someone charging determinedly around the corner to arrest me, as my imagination was predicting, I heard a different angry voice pipe up.

“Get out here and give us the boy!”

Then a voice that was too muffled to hear replied. It took me a moment, but I realized I might not be in any trouble at all. However, I was smart enough to know that if I kept standing in the middle of the hallway like a bullfrog in a flashlight beam, I would indeed be in trouble very soon. So, I pulled up against the wall, and cautiously peeked around the corner.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw, let me tell you.

In a building where I'd never seen so much as my own reflection before, now almost a dozen men and women were angrily buzzing outside an office door, shoving on it occasionally and trying to bust it open. To make things even more surreal, most of the men held guns.

Now, even if I hadn't been playing army and imagining people being shot left and right, the sight of those real guns would have turned my blood just as quickly to ice.

I pulled my head back instinctively, imagining they were already shooting at me. It was immediately apparent to me that if this angry mob was out looking for little boys, I needed to find a safer place to listen from.

Having played in this building for countless months, I knew some of the classrooms had doors to both hallways, so I started checking for one that was open in the safe hallway on the opposite side of the building.

I found an unlocked door door on my third or fourth try, and as I shut it quietly behind me and made my way nearer to the commotion, it sounded like things were escalating quickly. I put my ear on the closed door connecting to the dangerous hallway and listened.

“If you don't come out here this instant, so help me, I'm gonna shoot this damn door right off its hinges!”

Now I could finally make out the voice from inside the teacher's office. The door I was listening at was right opposite the door where all the action was taking place, you understand.

“It won't do you any good. The door's been sealed.”

The voice in the classroom sounded afraid. It wasn't angry like the voices of the mob, which suddenly erupted in a chorus of hatred.

“How could you put a monster like that in the same classroom with my little girl?!”
“Yeah! He oughta be locked away where he can't do anyone any harm.”
“Or destroyed! For his own good! For the safety of everyone!”

This last line was met with several cheers.
The voice in the office wavered a bit in his reply.

“You don't understand. There's nothing I can do. I have to help the boy try to live a normal life. I have to.”

“You had your chance. I'm comin' in there.”

With these words, a shot rang out, followed immediately by screams and another eruption from the crowd.

“What happened?!”
“The bullet bounced right off the damn wood!”
“Is everyone ok?!”
“How could that happen?”

The voice from inside the office wavered a bit now.

“I told you, the door's been sealed. It won't open unless I break the seal first. There's nothing you can do.”

“Well, we'll see how good that seal is when the whole damn school is burning down around it!”
“Yeah, open up!”

“The boy is very sad. He says no one needs to get hurt.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my son. He got chunks of his arm torn out the last time that kid in there had himself a tantrum!”

There was a brief silence, and the man in the office said something that to this day, still wakes me up ringing in my ears.

“If you don't leave now, the boy's going to kill you.”

There was a tense silence, then he finished.

“All of you.”

This seemed to have quite an effect on the crowd for a moment, but one of the braver, or stupider, men finally spoke up and re-envigorated their efforts.

“What's he gonna do? Make us all explode? Shoot us with our own guns? Poison us?!”

At this sentence, the mob and I parted ways.
As they re-doubled their efforts to get into that office, I turned on my heels and took off.
I'd heard enough horror stories from my father about the poison gases in the war trenches, and even though I had no idea what was going to happen, I wasn't going to stick around to see firsthand.

I headed straight for the end of the hallway and almost flew up the three flights of stairs, imagining poison gas and bullets coming up behind me; imagining death itself chasing me.

I went all the way to the top of the stairs, and out onto the roof, where it was still snowing, softly. Then, I shut the heavy door behind me and kicked a nearby wedge underneath it to keep back whatever was coming. Not turning away, I backed up as far from the door as possible, and found myself at the edge of the roof, overlooking the street. I think it was right then that I realized I was crying.

I wiped my tears away and stared unblinkingly forward, but nothing came out of that door. Instead, down behind me, the front doors of the school opened up and everyone in the mob walked calmly out one after another in a single-file line.

Then one by one, they collapsed out into the fresh snow. Some sat down first and fell over, some lay down on their backs gently, and some completely slumped down mid-walk into a crumpled heap.

From the few that were looking up towards the snowing sky, towards me, I could tell they were dead.
And I knew in my stomach that that boy had killed them, somehow.

It was like he just... put sleep into them, and never took it back out.

The Ring Culture of Nanah'd

Proof is a strange concept. Evidence can be lost. The senses can be deceiving and unreliable, even among groups of dissimilar individuals, each witnessing the same event. Ultimately, proof is individualistic. It requires nothing of the individual who experiences it, and provides nothing in return.
Aside from hypothetical conjecture, every human has experienced an intimate knowledge of something that is very real for them, that they in turn are being challenged to explain to others, to convince them or convert them, of that something's reality. Why is this important? Because I intend to relay my own personal experience- something very real for me, because it occurred to me. But, I will begin at the beginning, before I entered the picture.

There once was a key that opened a box. This key and this box may still currently exist, but if so, they are lost so far as tangible proof is concerned. I am of the opinion that they must have at least existed at one point in time, because of the story and it's relation to my experience. The story involves a ring. I saw the ring. Therefore, I believe in the ring. Subsequently, I also now believe in the story of the ring.

The story of the ring is, in my mind, more comparable to the Greek myths than the fables of the Brothers Grimm, in that there is only one variation of the story. Whether other variations have been lost throughout time is still a matter of contention and conjecture for both Greek mythology and the story of the ring. The importance lies in there being but a sole surviving variation which, in itself, lends a certain credence to the story, improbable as it may seem. There is also an honesty imparted from the tale's simplicity. Although to be fair, much can be said about the veracity of any story with an abundance of detail, the minutiae locking itself more firmly in the land of reality than in the simplistic dimension of fairy tales. But that debate is for another time.

The story is very short and goes exactly this way:

There once was a key that opened a box. Inside the box, there was a ring. The ring was no ordinary ring.

That is the entirety. The story itself is beautiful in that it follows no successful structure. It has no beginning, no middle, and no end. No protagonist, no climax, no struggle. One may make the argument that it is entirely symbolic or metaphorical in nature, and yet having nothing in the story for juxtaposition, and no historical insight into context, this is a rather weak argument. Upon analyzing for a deeper meaning than mere structure, one discovers that the mystery of the story lies not in the existence or nonexistence of the ring, but in what makes the ring “no ordinary ring”. It is my firm opinion that, despite what scholars may posit, this mystery is the true reason the story has been passed through the generations, and not the beautiful simplicity of the story's structure.

Hypothetical debates aside, there are also tales of those who have experienced the ring's physical presence and tangible effects. However, there has been no conclusive, public proof so as to belie the true characteristics or powers of the ring. I am among the quantum of living men who have experienced the effects of the ring firsthand, but I must say, I am more concerned with, indeed fascinated by, the cultural history that once surrounded the ring than I am the actual ring itself.

The ring grants its wearer immortality. Gaining this knowledge and power is typically where most contemporary men who wear the ring stop their investigation. But I must contend that, being a wonderful distraction, this power (or the means of its function) is not nearly as intriguing to me as the effects of this power, and its properties of everlasting life as the center of the culture of Nanah'd.

Having access to everlasting life, I have been able to gather, if I may say so, an impressive amount of data. But even with my extensive knowledge, and the combined efforts of my colleagues, it was never ascertained as to whether Nanah'd was the actual “birthplace” of the ring itself, or merely the one time in history the ring and its power were centerpiece to an entire culture; spawning traditions, rituals, and other such common cultural phenomena.

This dearth of knowledge is mostly due to the inception of Nanah'd's record-keeping roughly two hundred and forty-three years after the public announcement/discovery of the ring, which was subsequently labeled the “Ring of Nanah'd”. No other proper name has ever been bestowed upon the ring, and since the town's destruction, it has simply been referred to as “the ring” or “the ring of the story”. The details of Nanah'd's destruction are also unclear. It appears through most texts to have been a rather quick natural disaster; a flood, volcanic eruption, earthquake, or the like. Pre-ring traditions and post-destruction period aside, the historians of Nanah'd kept very detailed accounts of the several hundred years the ring was at the heart of Nanah'd's culture, many of which, I've been fortunate enough to uncover.

The ring, being an article of jewelry, was obviously limited in its applications. It follows then, that Nanah'd was ruled as a monarchy. Again, whether this was the case before the ring's introduction, or after the ring's presence offered no conceivable alternative, is of course, both pure speculation and irrelevant. In their early accounts, specifically Nanah'd Ahu Guanta (roughly translated as “Nanah'd, The Birth”), historians record only in that there was much bloodshed in the initial struggle to obtain the ring's power. However, it is noted that this violence quickly dissipated, as no harm could come to the ring's wearer. Fighting for the ring, then, was ultimately of no use. With this knowledge, what is truly remarkable is that this ring which granted immortality still passed from one owner to the next, and with it, the leadership of Nanah'd. Learning of this, I conjectured that the ring might have in some instances been removed peacefully, but without the owner's consent; say, during sleep. After all, a single ring cannot change size and shape to fit each owner accordingly, so by simple mathematical probability, it can be stated that the ring must have fit a bit too loosely on a few of the rulers of Nanah'd (easy removal during unconsciousness), and a bit too snugly on a few rulers (particularly difficult removal during sleep). The next work I found however, Bruc Nanah'd Mehai Jedorn (roughly translated as “Nanah'd, Day-to-day Stories”), specifically recounted that the ring was willingly given each and every time from the old ruler to the new ruler. A tradition,which of course would only come to be reinforced and engendered as time went on. This tradition is spectacular for two reasons; one- the reigns of leadership fluctuate wildly in their durations; and two- this tradition was the single most important aspect in shaping the culture of Nanah'd .

The first point is perhaps not as intriguing as the second now that the culture of Nanah'd is dead; however, had the culture survived, it would have surely been the most interesting from a psychologically investigative point of inquiry. The terms of rulership varied wildly in their duration. No tradition was ever put in place as to a minimum or maximum length of a particular monarchy. This again points to the purity of the system and lends itself to a few interesting cases. The first I can recall is a husband and wife who ruled simultaneously (informally, of course), by trading the ring between each other and thus playing to their differing strengths as natural leaders for any given situation. This union was the only time in Nanah'd's recorded history an informal partnership was observed, and though it was seemingly successful, its rarity in success is mirrored in the infancy of the United States of America, when it was highly likely for the president and the vice-president to come from different political parties. There are also a few cases of human weakness, answering questions that would otherwise have remained. For instance, one of the rulers gave the ring to his mother, who he learned had passed away a few hours previously. Controversial as this decision was, it was allowed by the society of Nanah'd. The mother reportedly “ruled” from her bed for less than a week's time before leadership was transferred back to the son. The details of how this transfer took place are unknown. Then there is the case of a man who teased the promise of a few hours with the ring to whomsoever would bed him. This of course famously ended when one of the women, Mi'irst Klobs'b, refused to give the ring back, instead becoming arguably the most wise and successful ruler of the entire history of Nanah'd. Yet, even these inescapable imperfections further prove that the system worked correctly more often than not.

The second point seems on the surface to be obvious, but I will explain precisely why this cultural phenomenon is so remarkable as a unique structure in history. The records show the ring was passed as often to successors unrelated by blood as it was to familial relations. This is but a symptom of something larger and more remarkable: unadulterated positive incentive. Pure incentive to become a model citizen in order that one might obtain a tangible reward, this is in stark contrast to most civilization's intangible utilization of religion as an underlying motivation for good behaviour and social pacification. Another detail of note, in regards to the purity of the system: age was of no consequence, as even the very eldest and physically feeblest could be, and in a few cases were, given the chance to rule, the ring rendering their proximity to death inconsequential. Younger citizens were rarely offered the opportunity, but there is at least one account of one of the more experimental rulers passing his throne to an eight-year old child, for the child's “lack of corruption” and “ineffable curiosity”. Of course, this is not the first time in history a child has ruled. The Dalai Llama and Tutankhamen both come readily to mind as examples, although their success as leaders is still openly debated, whereas the rulership of this child, Brug A'ly'aff by name, was unanimously recorded as a very prosperous time for Nanah'd. It must also be noted that Brug A'ly'aff held one of the longest periods of leadership before he gave up the throne to live modestly on the outskirts of the town so his body could finally catch up to the level of maturity his mind had reached many decades earlier. From birth to death, anyone was eligible to rule over Nanah'd, provided they showed great enough potential. The power of such an idea put into practice! Every citizen modeling themselves to the society's communal ideal of perfection. I feel also that now is the right time to point out that it is surely one thing to debate the pros and cons of immortality, and the appeal or lack of desire for it hypothetically, but it is certainly quite another to avoid the desire and curiosity once it is an actual opportunity in practice with a very real chance to obtain it; a desire most definitely made more enticing when the means were as simple as being an ethical and moral person. It is noted that there were dissenters, as there always are, who considered the rulership an arbitrary and imperfect lottery, dependent on one person's opinion and range of knowledge; but these people were recorded as few and far between. As for the king's network of informants, it reportedly numbered in the hundreds of thousands, and was constantly growing; all on a volunteer basis, as the act of volunteering to report good deeds was seen in and of itself, a good deed. This is but one example of the layering of Nanah'd's pure incentive, and has yet to be found in any culture before or since. At this point, I must also settle a matter of personal contention- over the years, there have been discussions about the definition of “pure incentive” in regards to a tangible reward as opposed to “being good for good's sake”. These discussions, if handled correctly, are very quickly thrown out, as it can be demonstrated soundly and empirically that no one in his/her right mind will choose an intangible reward over a tangible reward, if they are comparable. Indeed, this is arguably the reason the ring supplanted any form of religion in Nanah'd; as the greatest intangible incentive religion has to offer was a tangible opportunity available to every citizen, provided they followed their naturally-inherent morality and code of ethics.

I'm sure that relaying my findings and thoughts to you will in no way provide the verisimilitude of experiencing the ring itself, but perhaps I have increased your understanding or sparked in you some small curiosity; and curiosity is the first step on the path to empirical, individualistic truth.

Swish

She twirls in front of you.
You catch just enough of her face to see her huge smile.
You want to go up to her. Dance with her. Go on.
Her beautiful blue dress splashes out around her as she moves.
Hair is beautiful waves, rolling as she swishes her head to the rhythm.
You don't have to say anything to her. Just go dance with her. Go on.
She's having such a good time. You can be a part of that. She can remember you.
A man comes up to her. He is taller than you. His suit is better than yours. His hair is nice.
He whispers into her ear. Her smile fades slightly, but won't let go just yet.
He motions away. Outside. Somewhere that is not right here, dancing with friends.
She shakes her head. He leaves her.
She resumes dancing. Almost as enthusiastically as before.
He moves through the crowd of peers. To more sharply-dressed, beautiful men.
He says something to them.
The three of them look bored.
One checks his watch.
You look back at the girl. You're on her side. This is what's important. Right now. Tonight. Here.
The three handsome men leave.
The girl hasn't noticed. She is laughing because her friend is wiggling her butt like a music video.
The girl wiggles her butt too.
She turns red from laughing, expressing herself. Enjoying her life.
You can be a part of her life.
All you have to do is go up to her. Just smile with her. Laugh with her. Be yourself.
If you don't dance with her, you will remember this night, these details, for the rest of your life.
You will always regret this moment if you don't act. There's no reason not to.
Just go.

I Didn't Like Coffee Until It Gave Me Superpowers

Once upon a time, I didn't like coffee. I liked the smell ok, and even the texture. The taste wasn't very good, however, and the caffeine made me ill.
Recently I have discovered that the illness my body experienced was not normal nausea caused by everyday stomach wear and tear; it was my body adjusting to a metamorphosis.
The first time I sipped coffee, something was set in motion.
A metaphorical graduated cylinder was created inside me, with a range of numbers from “No Coffee” at the bottom to “Superpowers” at the top.
I did not know this at the time.
In fact, it took several years for this graduated cylinder to fill up, and each time I added to it, I was sicker. Sicker from the changes coming closer and closer to overtaking my body.

ENTER: July 29th, 2010. I was at a little coffee shop reading a book and not buying coffee, as usual.
Then.
I started falling asleep.
But it gets even better!
BECAUSE I was falling asleep, I decided to order a coffee.
And not a large coffee, either.
A single shot of espresso, the smallest amount of coffee you can legally buy.
I had a sip. Bitter.
My body began to wake back up. I was satisfied. BUT NO. That was not all!
My mind started racing!
After so many years, I had finally filled this metaphorical inner graduated cylinder all the way to the top, and like the “applause” light in a live studio, the “Superpowers” light blinked on.
Oh, people.
I put down my book for a second to think all the thoughts I was thinking, when I realized time had stopped. No one moved. I stared at a fly, not two feet from my head, and I saw that his wings were very very slowly moving. Time HADN'T stopped! I had increased my reactions to superhuman speed. Like one of those superheroes with superhuman speed. The Blast.
I spent at least twenty relative minutes debating whether or not to enjoy the fruits of my new abilities by groping a few women on the premises. I will not tell you my decision, but I will say it was very tough to decide what I finally decided.
I then tested the physics of my new situation, and let me tell you, Force does INDEED equal Mass times Acceleration.
I was able to lift cars as if they were pillows made of dough. French lightweight flaky dough, not Italian heavy chunk dough.
My shoes demolished themselves within a few relative minutes as well. Gooey rubber puddle footprints marked the inside and outside of the small coffee shop, chronicling my travels.
I then noticed that the low bass note I had been hearing was none other than the thoughts of the people around me, playing in extremely extremely slow motion.
Then I went to the restroom and BLAMMO! Everything was back to normal speed. My reactions had slowed back down.
I will continue further testing of the activation and implementation of these new superpowers.
I hope they aren't going to be coffee based forever, because I really don't like coffee that much.

Update:
I have spent several months in testing.
I have discovered that coffee is indeed the impetus for new powers revealing themselves. Also, after every time I use the powers, I throw up a bit and have to drink extra coffee next time to make up for it. Ultimately this is not a good long-term strategy, since I lose more coffee every time and therefore, must drink more for each subsequent episode. This is especially bad news considering how much I don't like coffee in the first place, regardless of the respect I have for the superpowers it has given me.

Update 2:
I am not able to stomach the amount of coffee I need to activate my superpowers. However, I have had a good run of helping people, including myself, to a better life through mostly legal means. I have also had superpowered sex, which is NOT great unless the other person ALSO has superpowers. I don't see how Greatman and Arachnidman do it with their normal girlfriends/wives. Fortunately I have found a few women with superpowers. In those cases, it is very similar to normal sex. I've given up on coffee. It makes me sick with no rewards.

Update 3:
Drugs ALSO give me superpowers!
I found this out after a friend gave me some at a party.
I will execute further testing to see how high my tolerance is, what superpowers they give me, and what sex is like.
Take that, coffee.

Wiggle

She wiggles when she walks.
Just a little.
Her beautiful white dress hugs her hips enough to show just a tiny, perfect wiggle when she walks. The white dress is accented with hand-painted flowers, but I hardly notice.

Her sandals wrap tightly around her ankles, hinting at bondage and other things she might enjoy. Good calves, good thighs, good legs. Good god, good legs.

She has bracelets on her left wrist. White, to match her dress. A necklace of some kind. Silver.

Her wavy hair is pulled up, but not tightly. Casually. Beautifully.
She embodies casual. Beautiful. Personifies.

I can't see her face. She's walking away from me. I follow her discretely along the shops to our left. What a beautiful little wiggle. I'm a fan.

I hope she'll turn right to go to her car, or left to enter a shop. She doesn't.

So far, the only thing I can tell from her face is that she doesn't wear those stupid huge sunglasses. I like that about her. She doesn't hide her face. She doesn't hide her wiggle. She's upfront.
She stops walking. She starts turning around. Fuck. Look busy. Keep walking. Just going to my car, which is parked over here. Walk past her. Almost brush her skin. She's throwing something away. I don't see her face. Dammit.
Keep walking. She's walking again. Behind me. Just go to a car somewhere and pretend to own it. She's going to enter one of these strip mall shops.
She doesn't.
We're away from the shops now.
Plan B. walk straight across the lot to the liquor store. She's just going to her car.
Walking. Walking.

She's going to the liquor store.
Perfect. I can go to one part of the store and casually make my way to where she is, so I can see her face.
Enter the liquor store. No I don't want to try the new cinnamon vodka. Thank you.

Make my way to the coolers in the back.
Did she enter the store?
She's still behind me!?!
I'll fix that.

Stop to look at the rum on the left of me. Ah yes. This one has a pirate on it. That one has a parrot. But what kind of a rum man am I?
She passes.

I look casually over at her. Delicious is honestly the only way to describe that wiggle now. I don't know why, but it is.
I grab the bottle of Winking Pirate Rum and slowly walk in her direction.
She slows down.
She turns to her right.
She bends down to look at the bottles on the lowest shelf.
I stay where I am for a while.
This rum I'm pretending to read sure is interesting.
She must not see what she's looking for.
She straightens back up.
She's my height. Slender. Toned.

I grab a bottle of Laughing Parrot Rum.
I'm going to have a rum party.
Makes sense.

She continues walking. Wiggling with every beautiful step.
I can't believe I still haven't seen her face.
This is ridiculous.
She makes her way to the cooler.
Maybe I can see her reflection in the glass.
I look at her reflection.
She is looking me dead in the eyes.
Fuck.
Look away too quickly for details.
Walk to the left of her.
Oh, do they have that beer that I want?
The one that goes well with the rums I have?
Hm?
My neck is hot as I open a cold door and grab a random six-pack.

I look over casually at her.
She is looking me dead in the eyes.
I smile at her.
A too-big smile without showing any teeth.
The smile that makes my lips look like earthworms.
I look back at my spirits.
Yep, they're still the ones I was holding a moment ago.
She is stunning.
Mystery solved.
Great.
I wasn't prepared for that.
Usually things balance out.
Her eyes.
Piercing.

My stupid heart is trying to give me an anxiety attack.
I want to look back over, but I can't.
I don't think she grabbed anything out of the cooler.
I turn to walk to the front of the store.

She's standing in front of me. Eyes piercing mine.
I can't look away.
She walks up to me.

“Hi.”
“Hello.” I rearrange all the items i'm holding.
“Are you going to buy all of that?”
“Yeah?”
“Why?”

I pause for a minute, crinkling up my forehead.

“I'm having a.. rum party.”

It's her turn to make a face.

“Rum party?”
“Yep.”
“What's that?”

Why is she still talking to me?

“It's just a party, except there's a lot of rum.”

She raises her eyebrow.

“And no other liquor?”
“Exactly.”
“So why do you have beer?”

God.
I think I love her.
She's doing exactly what I'd do if I caught someone following me.
Interrogation.

“I don't.”
“You don't have beer?”
“No.”
“Then what is that?”
“Oh this? This is a six-pack of rums.”

She laughs. She's more beautiful when she laughs. My heart twitches.
I decide to press my luck.

“Would you like to come to my rum party? Everyone's gonna be there. It's a very popular party.”
“Who all is going to be there?”
“Patrick Stewart, Jennifer Lopez, George Washington.”

She laughs again. Her blue eyes are so wonderful. Her lips.

“It really brings people together, huh?”
“Yes Ma'am!”
“Even dead people?”
“Especially dead people.”

She smiles.

“That sounds like something I'd be up for.”
“If you're too busy, I understand.”
“I'm not too busy.”
“I mean, it might not be your thing.”
“It sounds like my thing.”
“The rum might not even make it to the party.”
“That's ok.”
“Also...”
She smiles with her whole face.
“Yes?”
“...no one else will probably show up. It might just be the two of us.”
“Hmm.”
“I know... See?”

She smirks at me.

“Why were you following me?”
“Probably the same reason you were following me.”
“Hmm.”

She bites her lip and makes mischievous eyes. Such a pretty blue. I wish I could kiss her. Hug her. Something.
I decide to be upfront.

“I like your wiggle.”

She smiles.

“I like yours too.”

It's my turn to laugh.

“Do you like coffee?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Let's go have coffee.”
“I'd love to.”

I put down the rumbottles and follow her out the door.
Such a beautiful girl.
Such a wonderful dress. Wiggle.
Perfect.

Facts About Alligators

Alligators travel in packs. Not many people know that. Scientists don't know that. Zoologist scientists, even.
It's true. Alligators travel in packs. They're like wolves that way. Why do people say “lone wolf”? A wolf is part of a pack. A wolf is never alone. In my humble opinion, “lone wolf” is a stupid expression that only idiots use. People should say “lone crocodile”. Crocodiles travel alone. Crocodiles are NOT part of any pack. That's the main difference between crocodiles and alligators.
That and pupil diameter.
Did you know that a pack of alligators can strip the meat off a cow in less time than it takes a person to go to college?
It's true. They're hungry beasts. Although calling them “beasts” isn't rightly fair. They have a hierarchy, and in my book, any creature smart enough to recognize and enforce a hierarchy is pretty damn civilized.
They don't use currency, though. That's the main difference between alligators and humans. Humans exchange money for goods and services. And for sex, which should be a bit of both if you're doin' it right.
Instead of “money”, as is the street term for currency, alligators exchange death. When alligators want something they get it. If they want it from something that won't give it up, they kill that something. If an alligator doesn't get what it wants, that's because it's dead.
That or it's just changed its mind. Alligators are very fickle, you see. That's the main difference between alligators and Japanese fighting beetles. A Japanese fighting beetle picks one happiness to pursue, and continues pursuing that happiness to the grave. Sometimes a Japanese fighting beetle will want something easy, like the recognition of its peers. Once it has that, it dies, having lived a short and pleasant life, culminating in a profound public speech, or award of some kind, or something like that. Sometimes a Japanese fighting beetle will want something difficult like a single cranberry from a specific kind of scone that only one family-owned shop in London sells. When Japanese fighting beetles want something this specific and complicated, they can live for up to 400 years, with a few reported, but unverified, cases living even longer.
But i'm not here to talk about Japanese fighting beetles. I'm here to talk about Alligators.
Where was I?
Alligators... Alligators...
Alligators change their mind fairly frequently. The only time a person has survived an alligator attack is when the alligator changed its mind mid-fight. Or mid-murder I should say. An unarmed man stands a snowball's chance in hell against a fully-grown bulligator.
However, that same unarmed man stands an ember's chance in heaven against a fully-grown cowligator, which sounds about the same, but is slightly better.
The trick is to watch the eyes.
An alligator's eyes will fixate on the object of their desire until that object is obtained.
If you see an alligator's eyes stray from any part of your body to any other object, you'll probably survive the confrontation, or attempted murder; again, whichever you prefer to call it.
If you look in an alligator's eyes, and he's lookin’ right back into yours, you're in for it brother. Better convert to the right religion in the next few seconds and shoot off a prayer or two.
If you look in the alligator's eyes and see a dull, void, expression, like that of one Mr. Jeffrey Dahmer, then you're outta luck and I can't help you. Even praying won't help you. What you're actually looking at is a crocodile. Crocodiles’ll kill you for no reason at all, because crocodiles are apathetic. They have no ulterior motivations.
That's the main difference between alligators and crocodiles.
Alligators coordinate with each other with an almost machine-like efficiency, as they work together towards the same goal. Alligators and machines are almost exactly the same, in fact.
To locate a pack with similar interests, an alligator will sift through corkboard postings and social-networking sites, until it finds the right group. Then the pack meets up and exchanges information. Afterwards, they perform a series of team-building exercises to inspire trust and loyalty, while simultaneously judging the strengths and weaknesses of each other. The trouble with all this is that alligators are fickle, so they're constantly changing teams and packs- I've already told you that alligators are fickle?
Well then.
I didn't mean to waste your time. Sorry about that. I don’t consider myself a time-waster. I'm just a simple man who likes to teach people about alligators.
For instance, alligators are hydrophobic. “Hydrophobic” means the queen alligators have snakes where their hair should be. And if you look into the eyes of the alligator queen, you turn to... I don't know, jelly or somethin'. The point is: don't do it.
This is the main difference between alligators queens and regular queens. And you'd better watch out, because unless there's someone making eye contact and NOT getting turned into jelly or somethin’, you'd better just assume ol' snake-hair standin’ over in the corner by herself is really an alligator queen and NOT the queen of England. Because there's no sure way to tell from the back, you understand.
Alligators prefer eating men, statistically. I'm not sure why, but I don't argue with science, and I'll never argue with an alligator. Cross my heart, I won't.
Alligator meat tastes like lizard. That's the main difference between alligators and eagles. Eagles taste like cowardice.
If an alligator finds out that you've been eating alligator (it can smell, you understand), his alligator pack will go into “hunt” mode. They'll locate the other members of that alligator's “weak” pack and murder them in cold-blood. Don't mistake my words; alligator's are all cold-blooded. What i'm meanin' to say that the hunter alligators will wait until the “weak” alligators are enjoying a nice family dinner or a friendly game of poker. Then the hunter alligators burst into the room and brutally murder all the “weak” alligators in a hailstorm of bullets from their tommy guns. It's an extremely bloody, loud, and violent event.
How do I know so much about alligators?
That’s an interesting story. I once heard an alligator say my name. Now I can't die and I think about them all the time. So you tell me what that means.

Club

Acid techno thumps.
Lasers race across the floor and over the dancing crowd. Colours in the black.
Sweat. The smell of humans.
Moving, shifting, grinding, undulating. Rhythm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Everyone's clothing is tight, like skin. Your long coat is out of place here.
You make your way through the crowd, parting the sea with your presence.
Scan the large room.

There.

Second floor. Dancing with a girl.
Lasers illuminate their faces in colourful flashes.
She smiles. He smiles.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bodies gyrating, swirling, heating.
She thinks he's human.

Remove your disruptor from its holster.

Move slowly up the stairs. Closer. Behind.
Dancing, smiling, seducing, touching, teasing, flirting, promising.
Sweat flings from other dancers onto your face.
She is enjoying him.
He is enjoying her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three rounds.

Collapse. Sparking.

Her face transitions through emotions.
Few other people notice.
Her eyes stand apart from the crowd.
Spinning limbs and bobbing heads frame her stationary face.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Dancing, thrusting, grasping, shifting, sliding, clutching.
Lasers wash over bodies in shifting patterns.
Move down the stairs. Through the crowd.

Out into the night.

Anthony and Kate

Anthony and Kate were married. They weren't married. They lived together. They ate together. They didn't eat together. They ate with other people. They didn't eat with other people. They slept together. They didn't sleep together. They had babies. They loved their babies. They loved each other. They didn't love each other.

Anthony and Kate were divorced. They weren't divorced. They were never married. They couldn't be married. They couldn't be divorced. They lived together. They didn't live together. They slept together. They didn't sleep together. They lived with their children. They loved their children. They went on dates. They didn't go on dates. They loved each other. They didn't love each other.

Anthony and Kate dated other people. They didn't date other people. They were married. They weren't married. They were divorced. They weren't divorced. They didn't live together. They weren't able. They were able-bodied. They slept together. They didn't sleep together. They slept with other people. They didn't sleep with other people. They thought about each other. They didn't think about each other. They loved their teenage children. They loved each other. They didn't love each other.

Anthony and Kate found out. They didn't divorce. They divorced. They didn't speak to each other. They didn't hate each other. They hated each other. They didn't sleep together. They didn't sleep with other people. They slept with other people. They loved their adult children. They didn't think about each other. They thought about each other. They didn't love each other. They loved each other.

The Devil's Farewell: Chapter 1

She barged into my office like a bad hurricane and started talking.
Clearly that no-good doorman downstairs wasn’t doing his job.
I told the person I was on the phone with that I would have to call them back and hung up.
Then I asked this dame who she was and what she'd been saying.
She repeated, “I said, 'are you Bulk Johnson, the private investigator?'”
“That depends, sweetheart,” I said coolly, “you still haven't told me your name.” Then I lit a cigarette.
I could tell she was impressed with my cool demeanor and the fact that I was a smoker.
She asked me for a cigarette, so I told her “get your own pack, I ain't carryin' spares.”
She was even more impressed by my attitude now. She clearly thought I was Captain Cool.
I opened my bottom drawer, carefully bending over sideways so I wouldn't get cigarette smoke in my eyes, which I hated. I took out my truth serum- a bootleg bottle of the booziest bourbon Kentucky'd ever birthed.
Slyly, I poured two drinks, implying that she would be drinking one of them.
She smirked at me and finally told me her name, “I'm Henrietta Moldrop. Heiress to the Moldrop fortune.”
I laughed a smokey laugh, being careful not to start coughing and hacking. This cigarette smoke was really starting to get on my nerves.
Then I picked up one of the bourbons, said “cheers,” and downed it like it was medicine and I was a sick baby with a taste for medicine.
She reached out for the other glass, but I snatched it up and guzzled it as quickly as possible, dribbling a lot onto my chin and shirt.
She politely put her hand back down from where it was hanging in the air. Then she closed her mouth, which was stuck open like a busted screen door.
She opened her mouth again as if to say something, but then I opened my mouth like I was going to say something, so she shut her mouth, but I also shut mine, because I'd only opened my mouth to trick her into shutting her mouth.
I was clearly winning this little game of cat and mouse.
“You lose, sweetheart,” I told her cunningly.
“What?” she asked. She clearly hadn't heard me; probably because I'd had my hand over my mouth when I’d spoken.
“Nevermind, doll,” I cleverly countered.
My eyes were getting red and itchy from the smoke, and the cigarette was almost too short to touch without my fingers getting warm. I decided to kill two birds with one coffin nail.
I took my cigarette, being careful not to burn myself, spun it around, and forced it into her mouth.
I didn't have to use much force, or any at all, because she considered it a thoughtful gesture and didn't put up much of a fight. But if she HAD tried to refuse the cigarette, I had been planning to pull my gun on her.
Two birds with one suave stone.
Seduce the girl? Done.
Get rid of the cigarette? Check.
How about the other pair o’ birds?
Find out her name? Yep.
Find out her real name? Still workin’ on it. After all, I get paid by the hour. I don't rush nothin' for nobody who ain't somebody worth rushin' things for.
“Bulk,” she said, “Can I tell you something?”
“Lay it on me and cut it with a knife, baby,” I said, charmingly.
“I want to tell you the details about this case, to see if you're interested,” she said.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but I wasn't fooled. If I'd kept smoking the cigarette that short, I'd have been crying too. I knew she was milking that smoke for all it was worth, trying to make me feel sorry for her.
It was about this time that the bourbon kicked in, like a mule who'd just woken up from a bad dream.
“It's my sister Awda,” she sobbed, “she's gone missing. You're my last hope.”
I laughed. I mean, I really laughed. Not because she'd said anything funny, but because if this story was all true, I was going to be a rich man, and I was fantasizing about spitting on people less fortunate than me.
“I can find your sister for you, I'm just not sure that I want to. Ya get me?” I said, smartly.
“I don't understand,” she whined.
“Let me spell it out for you, baby bird; by now she’s probably deader than a flattened cat,” I said, slurringly.
“Dead or alive, I just need to know what happened to her,” the big girl-baby boo-hoo'd.
I stood her up out of the chair, took her cigarette, MY cigarette that I had GIVEN to her, and threw the cigarette out an open window, hopefully onto that no-good doorman.
Then I grabbed her thin shoulders in my weather-beaten hands.
“There, there,” I said, shaking her vigorously.
Then I spun her around and pushed her towards the door, giving her caboose a little swat as she stumbled forward, almost tripping.
She regained her poise and turned back around.
“Don't we have to talk about money?” she asked.
“Oh, you'll pay my fee,” I threatened chivalrously, “or else...”
After saying “or else...” I drew my hand across my throat like it was a knife, cutting my throat open, and I made a noise with my mouth that sounded like a knife cutting a throat open.
She clearly got the message. Must be a good charades teammate, I thought to myself.
She left my office, and I noticed that there was a business card lying in the chair.
It had all her contact information on it, which I had mixed feelings about.
On the one hand, I was glad I wouldn't have to look any of her info up, but on the other hand, she clearly didn't think I was good at my job.
Actually, on even another hand, maybe this was her way of leaving me her number so I could call her for a hot date.
I decided that when I found the first bit of evidence about her dead sister, I'd phone her up, tell her the grim news, and work in a date proposal, smooth as fox-butter.
But for now, it was time to get to work.

Broken

She won't switch on.
You've engaged her stimulus zones numerous times.
You've been sure to create an Atmosphere of Pleasure.
There is music playing that she likes to hear.
You’ve washed and cleaned your exterior surface and orifices.
She won't switch on.
She says she's switched on.
But her autopilot is engaged.
You can see she is not Actively Involved.
You tell her your desire for her to be Actively Involved.
She says that she is.
She lies that she is.
You tell her to stop lying.
She says she is not feeling it.
Feeling what?
You ask her what she is not feeling.
She says this.
What does she mean by this?
You ask her what she means by this.
She says she doesn't know.
You don't understand.
You tell her that you don't understand.
You tell her about the music and the orifice cleaning.
She says she's aware of your efforts.
You ask what else you can do to switch her on.
She looks at you.
You look at her.
You try to make your face look caring and genuine.
You look at her.
She looks at you.
She wants to take a break.
This is difficult for you to process.
You are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
You tell her you are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
She looks at you.
You inquire as to what is wrong.
You inquire as to what you did wrong.
You inquire as to what you can do better.
You inquire as to what you can do to fix whatever you did wrong.
She looks at you.
She does not love you any more.
She says she does not love you any more.
You don't understand.
You tell her you don't understand.
Your eye fluid level fills to maximum.
Your eyes will leak unless you order them to maintain current levels.
You order them to maintain current levels.
The fluid builds up, but remains in reserve.
The fluid in your eyes leaks internally and rusts your throat.
You speak with a rusty throat.
You tell her you're sorry.
She looks at you.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “persuasion.”
You tell her you'll do whatever you can to fix yourself.
She says there is nothing you can do.
You do not understand.
There is always something you can do.
You fix things all the time.
You can fix this.
You just need to know what is broken.
You tell her you can fix this.
She says she does not want to fix this.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “desperation.”
You use too much processing power.
You are unable to maintain your eye fluid levels.
Your eyes leak.
You tell her that you need her.
You tell her she is everything.
She gets up.
She switches off your Pleasure Music.
She turns the lights to maximum luminosity.
She acquires clothing.
You register a feeling of nudity.
You register a feeling of shame for your exterior.
You are processing too much at one time.
You are unable to determine the best course of action.
You need more time.
You tell her to give you more time.
She says she is finished talking.
You are not finished talking.
You tell her you are not finished talking.
She is 85% covered in external-venturing garments.
She will be ready to venture from interior to exterior in approximately 143 more seconds.
You activate your energy-enhancement reserves.
You accelerate all movements.
You get up.
You run to her.
You grab her and repeat your previous statement.
She looks at you.
There is a lack of emotions present.
You ask why there is a lack of emotional expression created through her face.
She says she feels nothing towards you.
You are angry.
Your anger is fueled by your energy-enhancements.
Your external vocalizations increase in volume.
You state that YOU FEEL NOTHING FOR HER.
You register an acceleration in blood flow.
Your face absorbs extra blood.
Your face shades to red.
You are processing too much.
You must simplify.
You determine it best to state facts.
You state that YOU HAVE TRIED TO MAKE HER HAPPY!
Your vocal projector is not able to handle the stress created by the increased volume level.
Your vocal projector crackles.
Your vocal projector breaks.
You state that YoU trIED To DO EVerYthiNG SHE EVer askED OF yOU!
You state that YOu FIXed yoURSelF WHEnevER she FOUND a FLAw IN yOU!
Her exterior preparedness level is at 100%.
You are out of time.
She tells you goodbye.
She exits from interior to exterior.
She is gone.
You were unable to switch her on.
She was unable to switch on.
She broke you.
You are broken.

To Jon Clinkenbeard

My dearest Jon,

I'm writing this to tell you how much I love you. As I sit here in this 4-star restaurant, I wish you were with me. You'd enjoy the food. The chef is amazing, and I know how particular you are about cuisine. That's one of the things I love about you; your taste in all things delectable. You'll have to excuse my flowing language and verbose vocabulary. I've had quite a bit to drink, and I now fancy myself an eloquent writer. I can never hope to imitate you though. Your words speak to me. You make me laugh, you make me cringe, you make me think. I've never read anyone I've enjoyed as much as you. You have the most fantastic and lovely brain.
I know how bashful you become when complimented. Always a polite “thank you”, though. You're no doubt frowning while you read this, in that peculiar, cute way you do, when you love something so much it seems to frustrate you. I know exactly how you feel. When someone shows you such affection, you feel the equation is out of balance; that you can't possibly deserve such wonderful emotions put into actions and words. That you aren't doing enough to make this person feel the way they've made you feel.
You are doing more than enough. You do deserve them. You deserve everything I can give you and more. You've helped me become the person I am today, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. I love you, now and forever.
I must ask you again to please excuse my clumsy words. There is little I can do to convey how deeply my affections run. Scores of love letters, photographs, documents, and gifts to little to capture the essence of the devotion I have for you. For us.
Regardless of what happens, I fully intend to be with you on your deathbed. You are my soulmate. No one will ever know me as well as you do. No one will ever understand my heart and my mind the way you do. To your last breath, I will comfort you to the very best of my ability, and I will always strive to make you as happy as you've made me.

Looking forward to our eternity together, my truest love-
-Jon Clinkenbeard
XOXOXOXO

Rob Halford Is Flying Home For Xmas

This plane sure is tiny. Good thing I decided to fly first class. I hope dad doesn't bring it up again. He always brings it up this time of year. I hope he doesn't. I hope this is the year he gives it a rest. I wonder if anyone on this plane recognizes me? That one guy keeps looking back, but I think he's looking for the stewardess. I mean flight attendant. I can't really tell if he's looking at me or not because of those sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses on a plane? I took mine off, and I'm a celebrity for pete's sake. It's just impolite. I should be doing the whole sunglasses-baseball cap thing. I bet that's how terrorists and murderers get on planes without being recognized. Wow. That sounded a lot like dad.
God, I hope i'm not turning into him. He makes people feel so bad inside. Malio doesn't even come visit with me anymore. I wish he would. He's so sweet. I know mom loves him like her own son.
Because dad's such a jerk, I can't even spend the holidays with my true love. I think that guy is looking at me. If he wants an autograph, he should just ask! I appreciate all my fans. I hope they all know that. I'm sure they do. Some of them are losers, but they all look up to me. God, I hope dad doesn't escalate things again in front of everyone. He's becoming a drunk. He's going to get on his high horse again and tell me I can't possibly be a good christian because I'm gay. He knows I don't even care. He just wants an excuse to berate me in front of company. So he can sound like he was right about something. “I knew you were gay. All that leather. That wasn't heavy metal, that was all your gay.” Well, I don't have to put up with his shit! I'm the Metal God for pete's sake! I guess that is kind of blasphemous. He's such a fucking jerk. I can't wait to shove him into a retirement home.
Is that stewardess- I mean flight attendant looking at me? Is she smiling? Somebody probably told her who I am. She's probably just being polite. Girls don't listen to metal. Except slutty girls. Man, girls are so gross. How do they walk around with that gross... leaking... blech!
Mom's right about dad; he just hates that he was wrong about my career. “You'll never go anywhere screamin' at the top of your lungs like a girl! You should take up a real job, like tile!” I sure showed him! Four-octaves showed him! HA! I wish I could have seen his face the first time we went platinum. Nothing's ever good enough for him. Even buying them a house didn't help, although i really just did that for mom. Well- and also so I didn't have to sleep in my stupid old high school room. Or on the couch. Or in a hotel.
I know what I'll do. If dad just starts in with his anti-gay shit, I'll sing a really high note and really belt it out and hold it! Then I'll just tell everyone I was practicing or showing off or something. They'll probably all applaud! That'll shut him up. Mom's always proud of my singing. If she hadn't signed me up for choir in middle school, who knows where I'd be? I'd probably be at Dad's tile business. I'd be a floor manager or something. For tile. That would be horrible. Ok, that guy's tilting his sunglasses down and looking at me. Is he winking? Wow. What a douche-bag. I should flip him off. That would be so metal. I really should. Right now. I should just flip him off. And glare at him. And maybe stick my tongue out. I'm glad I'm only staying in town for three days. Oh good, we're landing.

47-Year Old Man Enjoys New Moon Over Dark Knight

New York, New York- You wouldn't know if by looking at him, but Curtis Grimes is a Twilight fan. His 47-year old appearance and male-pattern baldness belie a man who enjoys a vampire fantasy series actively marketed towards “tweens”, the largest demographic of Twilight fans, consisting of youths aged 10-12.
“I heard New Moon was bigger than Dark Knight, so I had to check it out for myself, and I loved the experience,” Curtis states.
Mr. Grimes is of course referring to the famous box-office record-breaking sales of the Dark Knight on its opening night. “New Moon was like no experience I've ever had. In the Dark Knight, I was glued to the screen the entire time; in New Moon, I could NOT take my eyes off the theater audience! It redefined my definition of what a movie experience can be.”
Curtis recounts in detail how he arrived at the theater and was fascinated by the fellow crowd of moviegoers, notably the young women. “Just standing in the ticket line was great. All these girls all around me. They were on and off their cellphones constantly, or talking to other nearby girls; so completely distracted, they didn't notice me staring at them for extremely long periods of time! I usually have to stare at underage girls from between other people on the subway, but this was right out in the open! It was very liberating.”
Curtis paints a vivid picture of the beginning of the movie: “When I actually got into the theater, I sat in the back, like I usually do, and started scanning the crowd. I don't want to ruin the movie for those who haven't seen it, but it was just so great. The surprise twist? There were NO men except for me! I was in a theater completely filled with young girls!”
Mr. Grimes then reaches into his trench-coat pockets and pulls out several locks of hair, tied neatly with different colored bows. “The absence of other men in the theater was great, but then the second twist in the movie hit: these girls were all completely engrossed in the movie. And I mean completely! I started moving through the crowd and sort of bumping up against them a little. The only time they noticed anything at all was when their cell phone rang, or when I blocked their view of the screen. That's how I was able to gather my little collection here.”
With this memory, Curtis then giggles, smells a lock of hair deeply, and sighs.“It's just the best movie ever. I can't wait to see it again.”

So You're Stupid, a Guide to Pretending Otherwise: Chapter 1

You're stupid. You've admitted it, and now you're seeking help. I want to congratulate you! That's the first step towards making your stupid life better.
First thing's first though; you are stupid and will be forever. This book will not change that. This book will however, mask your stupidity from the rest of the world and may lead to promotions, dating, new job opportunities, more friends, and definitely more confidence!
It's not easy to fool people when you're stupid. Especially people who aren't stupid. Let's call this type of people “Smart” people, shall we? Smart people are very quick to pick up on the fact that you're stupid. You've got to be perfect from the beginning around them, or else they will see you as a sheep in wolf's clothing. That's an example of a “smart” idea: a truncated and intentionally-reversed extended metaphor using the structure of a simile. You scoffed at things like this in school, but metaphors, similes, and other clever literary devices are a fundamental part of smart people conversation. Similes and metaphors are discussed in detail later in this book, so we won't worry about them now.
Instead, what we'll focus on now is the face you made after reading that sentence about the wolf and the sheep. You scrunched your nose tightly and rolled your eyes around in the hopes that your brain would explain why I was talking about animals. If you are smarter, but still stupid, you waited to make the face until I started talking about all that simile and metaphor stuff. This frowny-eye-rolling is a common face that stupid people make when presented with something that bores them or something they don't understand. This book is about fixing stupid habits just like that face!
Most of the stupid habits you have are based on your stupid instincts. Right now, I want you to close your mouth, and breathe through your nose. TRUST ME, you won't suffocate! Go ahead and try it. You see? Now you know you can trust me.
It's not necessary to understand WHY I want you to do the things I want you to do. The important thing is that you DO them and practice them, over and over, for the rest of your life. Most of these things will be difficult. Breathing through your nose alone will take years for you to master. You currently breathe through your mouth because the “instinct” part of your brain is looking out for your survival. This is because the cognitive or “thinking” part of your brain isn't capable of making good decisions. Stupid people like yourself are prone to doing things directly opposed to your own survival. For instance, I'm sure you've found yourself at one time or another in a single-person competition for stuffing the most miniature marshmallows into your nose to see how many will fit. Since this is literally smothering yourself for no reason, your brain makes you breathe out of your mouth, since it figures you'll live longer that way.
Don't worry! You will still be able to indulge all of your fun, stupid impulses. I'll simply teach you how to save them for “private time”, or “stupid friend hang-out time.” when you're around other people as stupid, or more stupid, than you are. This book is full of helpful, good habits like “stupid friend hang-out time”. However, every habit will take practice to master, so I want you to make a promise with me.
Go ahead and read this out loud: “I promise that I will follow the instructions in this book. I promise that I will practice every day, and that I won't give up, no matter how frustrating it is for my stupid brain. Sincerely, me!”
There. You've just made a promise to both you and I. You said it out loud, so you have to stick to it. It's too late to turn back now, which is wonderful, because you're going to have a great new life! (if you think you and I are the same person, or opposite people from when this introduction began, you're still reading out loud. Please stop reading out loud.)
To create a sense of familiarity, which will subconsciously compel you to finish the rest of the chapters through recognition, despite your short attention span, Just for fun, I'll give you a brief overview of the topics we will cover in-depth during the rest of this guide.
The first half of this book is all about breaking down and hiding the stupid things you do:
Chapter 1 is what you're reading right now.
In chapter 2, I will tell you tricks to keep your stupid life separate from your new smart life. This will be an ongoing process. You will learn to enjoy top 40 music and Michael Bay movies secretly while alone or with a few select stupid friends, instead of loudly and in front of everyone.
In chapter 3, I'll teach you how to shut your mouth before it says the stupid thing you just thought. You'll learn to use silence with making faces to pretend that you're deep in thought.
The second half of this book is all about the tricks you can use to pretend you're smart:
In chapter 4, we'll reread the first half of the book, because you'll have skipped ahead, thinking you didn't need to learn those techniques and “do homework from a stupid book”.
In chapter 5, you get a makeover! As fun as it seems, this will actually be one of the hardest sections of the book, and one of the most important. You will learn to dress in a “nerd costume” for the rest of your life. Calm down! Stop wrinkling your face, stop chewing your lip, quit punching whatever you're punching, and listen up. You know deep down that “nerds” are the very smartest of smart people. The benefit of looking like a nerd is that smart people will assume you are socially awkward instead of stupid and will therefore more readily ignore whenever you slip up and do stupid things.
In chapter 6, I'll discuss using props to appear smart. We will discuss scavenging techniques for smart props, including making habits for success. You'll learn how to search local coffee shops every morning for partially-completed crossword puzzles to spend the rest of the day pretending to fill out. Tips like this will give silent proof of your “smarts” when people might otherwise see through your smart costume.
In chapter 7, I'll help you get into the habit of saying smart things and inventing opinions. It DOESN'T MATTER what your opinions are. The only important thing is to NEVER CHANGE YOUR MIND about your opinions. You'll learn to be condescending about other people's opinions. I'll even teach you phrases to use if you get into hot water with someone such as “I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree!” You'll also learn to memorize a single generic quote to use at parties and whenever you want to impress someone of the opposite sex.
The third half of this book is all about using your newfound techniques to SECURE your future:
In chapter 8, I'll give you a lie detector test to be sure you've read every chapter thoroughly. If not, i'll remind you that you made a promise to me, and make you go back and read what you skipped.
In chapter 9, I'll teach you about material investments. It's important to invest in “things” and “stuff” that will make you appear smart for the rest of your life: a modestly large house, a slightly above-average car, and many more material things. Your stupid thinking is right in assuming the more things you own, the better; but you have to own the RIGHT KINDS of things! Filling your house with the right long-term props is very important. You'll learn about chess and backgammon boards. You'll check prices on pianos and expensive-looking (but not extravagant!) artwork.
In chapter 10, you'll hire an accountant and do EXACTLY what they tell you do with your money. I'll tell you briefly what a saving account is and why it's better not to run out and spend every paycheck immediately on liquor and clubbing. Even though you won't understand right away why this is bad; when you see how savings and investments lead to MORE liquor, you'll be happy you listened.
In chapter 11, you'll invent a new category of people you can look down on for the rest of your life, like “Liberal Elites” or “Right Wing Fascists”. This is a prime time to hire a writer to write a book with your name on it! Tell everyone you wrote the book. This is key.
In our last chapter, chapter 12, you'll make the most important investment in your future; tricking a beautiful INTELLIGENT person into loving and marrying you. This will be the most difficult thing you will EVER do and it will take all the resources you've built and all the techniques you've learned. You will master keeping your stupid life and your smart life separate by passing off your stupidity once and for all as something else. We will discuss faking Asperger's Syndrome, Social Anxiety Disorder, and the like.
By the end of this book, you will be a new person; a person you've invented. You will be successful beyond belief, and you'll have someone who loves you for the rest of your life.
Does this sound too good to be true? Well guess what? I'M A STUPID JUST LIKE YOU! Or at least, I used to be. But following my own system, I've made a wonderful, explosive new life as a SMART! I'm CEO of my own Fortune 500 company, I have a syndicated talk radio show, I'm married to a supermodel, I live in a mansion in Beverly Hills, and I have three somewhat intelligent children. I'm sure you don't believe me, but it's true. All the “smart” phrases I've used in this book were painfully constructed over several years using a dictionary, a smart writer friend, and the help of my brilliant wife. My system worked for me! IT WILL WORK FOR YOU!!!

George Washington's Body Discovered!

Thought by many to be lost to the sands of time, archaeologists recently unearthed the body of the first president of the United States, George Washington. For hundreds of years, the disappearance and presumed death of the first president was shrouded in mystery, but now it appears that many shocking details are finally coming to light. Groundbreaking as this discovery is, it appears that for the scientific community, there are now more questions than answers.

Professor Keith Buhrningman, head of the American History department at Stanford University, has openly stated that he "will never think of ol' Georgie boy the same again." When pressed for actual details, prof. Buhrningman declined to comment further. However, a factual rumour overheard in the lab stated that the famous legend of the late president’s wooden teeth was grossly understated and perhaps even downplayed.
Doctor Thomas Wūdstock, Harvard drop-out, is soon to release a book, The Six Hundred Dollar Man, detailing the scientific community's findings.
"I can't give too much away, but I will say that from our early observations, it appears that his teeth weren't the only wooden part of George Washington. Over two-thirds of Washington's body was replaced with rich, polished wood! And not just bones; a few major organs were replaced with extremely intricate wooden cogs and machinery. Buy my book.”
When asked which organs were replaced, and what powered the wooden machinery, Wūdstock replied,”It's easy to get swept up in all this “wooden man” hooplah, but people are forgetting the most important mystery of all: what kind of wood it is. My money is on mahogany. Keith and most other scientists have bet on oak, so if I'm right, more winnings for me! Oh, also, his body was riddled with bullet holes, which is important to historians, but not important to scientists. Buy my book.”

Secret reports passed between scientists contain Da Vinci-esque diagrams of what can only be described as a half-human, half-wooden cyborg.
This new information has sparked endless speculation, not only in the scientific community, but also in popular online chat communities or “chatmunities”.

Self-named "Doc" “Reginald” “McSteamery” runs the website Steampunkjunkie.com, where chat topics have ranged from the light-hearted "Washington costume ideas!" to the cryptic "Ye olde conspiracie? WTF?!"
Doc McSteamery states, "This is so totally awesome! Did you see the gears and machinery? Made of REAL WOOD?! God, that's just so... I mean the craftsmanship... wow! If they find out he has brass parts too or was steam-powered, I'll die. I'll literally die. This is truly another great first for America; we're the greatest great in the entire great!"

The implications this information has for America's- and even maybe the world's- history, is staggering. A wooden cyborg as first president might possibly mean taking a second glance at the rules regarding presidential elections and appointments. If this seems sure to raise political controversy, it won't be the first time; this presidential secret stirred the controversy kettle, even in Washington's time.

Alongside Washington's body was found a partially-burned confession letter. In it, Aaron Burr writes that “two hired goons” coerced him into “murdering [his] only friend, Alexander Hamilton.” The letter then states the two goons, “Franklin and Adams”, told Burr that “Hamilton knew too much for his own big mouth” and that Burr “had to shut him up real bullet-like.” The confession goes on to say that Washington was intending to silence Hamilton himself, but that he ultimately “didn’t want to get his greasy wooden mitts dirty” in connection with the murder. It's certainly difficult to envision America's first president as a wooden cyborg president, but a wooden cyborg assassin president sounds even more fantastical. Is there any proof of George Washington as a killer, aside from the well-documented accounts of his battles?
A third item was found in Washington's hidden tomb: A wooden gun held in his human right hand, next to several wooden bullets. The gun appears to have fit neatly inside the president's hollow right thigh, which was entirely wooden, velvet-lined, and opened up specifically for gun-storage. The last item in the casket, a wooden pepper mill labeled “Whompin’ Washington’s pepper spray” was found resting in a holster in Washington’s leather belt. The gun and pepper spray combination has led top police experts to believe Washington may have served as a kind of judge, jury, and executionary robotic law enforcer.
“No doubt about it, Washington ran this country with a wooden fist,” says New York Chief of Police Randy Fish. Fish is not pleased with Buhrningman, Wūdstock or any of the other music festivals scientists.
“At first I thought those scientists were doing good work, but any first-year cop can tell you that only most of the holes in Washington’s body are bullet holes; the rest of ‘em are termites holes. From the angle of the bullet entry wounds, my forensics department has concluded that Washington was such a badass, he actually shot the termites out of himself from time to time.”

But what of the larger picture? Does this evidence of primitive technology mean there may now be cyborgs living among us constructed of stone, or bronze or even iron? Only time will tell. Until then, one thing is certain: we “soft-skins” can only hope they're as wonderful and patriotic as our beloved wooden cyborg assassin president, who could apparently tell a lie.

Gotham High

Ok, so we've all seen batman as a grownup: incredibly awesome and guaranteed box office GOLD. Batman as a kid would be boring: boohoo dead parents and all that. But what about batman as a TEEN?!
BOOMPOW!
Enter Gotham High,
Wait, what is that?
Is that success I smell a-brewin'?
Before I lay it all out, I'll ease your mind by saying we already have a sequel in the works: Gotham University! (and a threequel: Gotham post-grad!)
Now, strap into your pampers because this movie is going to shit money. Literally.
Batman and Joker: two seniors in high school. They both have built their reputations or the past three years, and now they're the top dawgs of Gotham High. This means one thing of course: RIVALRY!
They're totally rivals!
We see them pass each other in the hall and Batman's like “something smells poor. Joker must be nearby!” Then he and his snob friends chuckle and Batman's monocle falls out of his face from laughing so hard and he almost spills his martini. Also Catwoman is his girlfriend and she's the head cheerleader.
Then Joker punches him and the teacher, who is the Green Lantern, breaks them up and is like “superheroes aren't supposed to fight! Get back to class you knuckleheads before I send you to principal Spiderman!” and they're both like shrugging their shoulders and looking cool and like “whatever.” They both know mean old principal Spiderman is mad at them for always being rivals and tearing the school spirit in half instead of acting like the brothers they are. Also Catwoman is the joker's girlfriend and she's head of the spirit squad.
All of a sudden, this rivalry is about to explode!!! why?
Because Samantha Campbell is a new transfer student who just moved from New York out here to California to attend Gotham High School. And she is totally mind-blowingly hot! You'd better believe it!
So they're in chemistry class throwing insult-notes at each other and then, in walks Samantha Campbell, and BAM! jaws=on floor. heads=turned.
Batman's all like “you can sit here Samantha!” and joker's like “i got you flowers Samantha!” and Batman's like “you can wear my varsity jacket Samantha!” And the teacher, who is the Punisher is like “everyone settle down! There are two things I know about: Chemistry and punishing!”
so they all sit down, and Batman and Joker make angry eyes at each other so it's clear to the audience that it's ON!
So we see Joker at home and hes family's all mean and his dad's a gambler-drunk and he's like “no one understands me!” and he runs into the yard and gets into his purple camaro and peels rubber outta there! Then we see Batman at home and his mom's like “why don't you buy her things? That's how your father and I met.” and his dad's like “she's not good enough for you son. We need a family that's fat with mutual funds and banking! I raised you better than this!” And Batman cries a single tear because he's rich and rich people don't know how to cry properly. Then he leaves on his harley, and puts on his leather jacket, which has a skull on the back (skulls are scarier than bats).
Then Batman pulls up to the red light and who should be there but the joker in his purple camaro. And they both look at each other all sad, and we can just tell that they used to be best friends because of family stuff. Then before they can be best friends again, or say a word, Samantha pulls up to the light in her daddy's ferrari, which is candy red, like Samantha's blonde hair, which is dyed black now to match the car. Batman sees her black hair and he winks at joker like she dyed it black to match his batman suit. Joker revs his engine and batman revs his motorbike and the light turns green and they're off! We blast Sammy Hagar's “Heavy Metal” as loud as the theatre speakers can go, BLASTO!
They race all through town, and Samantha is following to see which one will win her heart, and they both have gadgets in their vehicles like james bond, but the joker's are all krappy like with duct tape and milk jugs, but they're still powerful (he's poor, but scrappy!).
This race signifies that snobs will always be versus slobs in life and teenagers should get used to it and find out who they really are inside, so it's kind of a feel-good life lesson movie too.
Then they both crash into fireballs in the side of a building that ironically is owned by the evil Daredevil corporation.
And Iron Man comes out of the building in a tuxedo and he's like “you'll pay for this damage, you knuckleheads!”
They both look at Samantha, who is eating a popsicle, and they realize they can't run away like cowards. It's time to team up and fight together! So Batman uses his gadgets and Joker uses his laughing and they both are winning the fight against Iron Man, but then he turns into the HULK and says “it's clobberin' time!!!” they both get their noses bloodied, but after a sweet 45-minute cgi battle, they emerge victorious. They look at Samantha, but she is eating a banana with her throat and isn't impressed with either of them yet.
So they look at each other and they're like “i guess now it's time to fight each other for her love.”
they are both bloody and broken-nosed and batman's cape is all beat up and then professor Punisher shows up and he's like Samantha, you're causing all of this?!”
Samantha says “Mr. Punisher, I really need straight A's if you catch my drift.” (the audience is like “Oh ho-HO! It's an erection thing!)
and the Punisher and Samantha walk away arm in arm and Batman and Joker learn a valuable lesson about women and vow never to fight each other again. But then another hot girl comes into the screen (EVEN HOTTER than Samantha!!!), and she's like “I'm Nadia, the new exchange student from Norway.” Then Batman and the Joker look at each other and make angry eyes and the credits roll as we kick in with ACDC's “Back in Black”.