Wednesday, September 28, 2005


Do you ever feel low after reading about the latest developments in the war in Iraq? Does the threat of terrorism make you anxious? Are you concerned about the economy? Skyrocketing gas prices? Melting ice caps? The mounting national debt? Do you ever feel as though civilization is a fragile, unattended levy that holds back the floodgates of anarchy?

Worst of all, do you suspect that President Bush and his administration are to blame?

It could be that you suffer from a psychological disorder. Luckily, there is help. Bushoxofin(R) is a new antidepressant that unleashes a gentle, scrubbing action deep within your brain to eradicate feelings of fear, repulsion, betrayal and moral outrage -- before they ruin your day. At the same time, it allows sensations of national pride and blind faith (known as the Fox Effect) to wash over you like a warm shower, until nothing you read, see or hear about ever bothers you again. But don't take our word for it. Let's hear from a satisfied customer:

"I used to be critical of the Bush administration's consistent lying, manipulation and transparent greed. But with Bushoxofin, I just don't care. I mean, he's our president. We should just trust his judgement. And if you don't like it, you can always move to France. You fucking baguette-loving pinko."

Understand that there are side effects to taking Bushoxofin. For example, you might walk around in a haze of false euphoria while others around you suffer. You might lose your ability to respond to environmental disasters, social upheaval or blatant lies. A few users reported a compulsion to refer to people as "fucking baguette-loving pinkos." Don't take Bushoxofin if you are pregnant, plan on getting pregnant or are even feeling a little horny. Bushoxofin is highly addictive. In fact, the rural Midwest has been hooked on Bushoxofin since 2000.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

A day in the life of a direct marketing copy writer.

10:35-10:40: Arrive at work. Drink first Red Bull.

10:41-11:07: Check personal e-mail. Read movie reviews on

11:08-11:45: Complain to office mate about all the hack writers working in Hollywood.

11:46-12:01: Work on new headline for a postcard about software productivity. Drink second Red Bull.

12:02-1:37: Write new blog entry. Re-read it several times. Check to see if anyone commented.

1:38-2:30: Lunch

2:31-2:32: Counter post-lunch insulin fog with a third Red Bull.

2:33-3:30: Sit and stare at screen. Check blog for comments. Hit refresh several times. Continue to stare.

3:31-4:05: Sign off on readers. Complain to account team that you are too busy to spend more than 20 minutes on this.

4:06-5:00: Concept a new tri-fold brochure. Also, come up with ideas for a possible sitcom.

5:01-5:30: Talk to older copy writer about the time he got to work on a TV campaign.

5:31-6:00: Sit and worry that you're going to end up like the older copy writer.

6:01-6:45: Reorganize iTunes playlist. Make a few long distance phone calls.

6:46-6:48: Leave office and get on elevator. Complain to co-worker about always leaving work late.

X-Files Fan Fiction: Fox and Dana fall in love

Fox and Dana Fall in Love
By X_FAN42903

Moments after realizing that Mulder's seemingly paranoid theory about aliens abducting that troubled teen was, despite all of her evidence and scholarly skepticism, right, Scully raced to the skating rink where the teen worked. But would she be too late?

Upon arrival, she went inside. There was Mulder, hovering 10 feet above the ice. The troubled teen was an alien!

"Get me down!!!" Yelled Mulder.

"I am an alien!" The teen yelled. His eyes were green when he looked at Scully.

Scully reached into her purse and pulled out a gun. "Put him down" she yelled.

The alien teen said "no!"

Scully shot him but he dissapeared! Mulder fell and landed with a bump on the ice. "Are you OK?" yelled Scully. "Yes!" yelled Mulder. "But now you believe me about the aliens, right?" he yelled.

"I'll never doubt you again," yelled Scully in a whisper.

"Hey, let's go to my apartment so I can show you some other x-files," said Mulder.

"OK," Scully said.

Mulder's apartment was a mess, as usual. But Scully just laughed and said it needs a woman's touch, that's all. They sat down on Mulder's bed and looked at each other. Mulder never noticed how beautiful Scully was. She was really pretty, with red hair and great eyes. Plus her body was hot.

"What about those files" Scully said.

"That was just a lie to get you to come to my apartment. Are you mad?" said Mulder.


"OK, good." They kissed. It was like a whole fireworks show dancing in front of their eyes. Scully's lips were so soft and hot. She took off her shirt and bra and Mulder grabbed both of her breasts. "I'm going to do you," he yelled.

"Do me! Do me now!"

Mulder took out his throbbing manhood and put it in her pussy. "Oh, yes!" she yelled.

"You don't know how long I wanted to do this," said Mulder. "I've dreamed about you since the first season. You're so hot."

"I like you, too!" she said. "I like smart guys, not jocks."

After that they got married. By an alien!

The End.

Three Hail Marys and a lap around the Rosary.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since my last confession. Here are my sins.

I wouldn't let my brother play with my toys, even though I was done playing with them.
I said the s-word twice after my mom made me clean my room.
I shot and killed a Jehovah's Witness.
I took a nickel off my sister's dresser to buy a sour ball.

What's that, Father? I said I took a nickel from my sister...Oh, the one before that? I killed a Jehovah's Witness. Yes, with a gun. But it was my gun. Let me make that clear. I have a permit and bought it with my allowance money and everything, so it's all legal.

Why did I do it? Who can say? Bad day, I guess. My mom made me clean my room in the morning, then the stupid store was all out of sour balls. So then this guy comes up to me when I'm walking home and he's all Jehovah this and Savior that, and I just popped a cap in his ass. Oops, sorry:

I also said "ass" to a priest. Add that one to the pile, Father.

I'm sorry for killing him. Really. I guess I just wasn't thinking, like the time I pushed my friend because he made me laugh while I was drinking milk. Looking back I realize that I shouldn't have pushed Timmy and I shouldn't have shot that Jehovah's Witness in the throat. My bad on both counts. But like you said last Sunday, every "slip up" is a chance to "grow up," right Father?

So what do I get? Six "Hail Marys?" An "Our Father" or two? Don't be shy about dishing out penance, Father. Seriously, I'll knock those out in a few minutes. I can say the whole "Our Father" prayer in eight seconds. Wanna hear it? OK, another time then.

One more thing, Father. How do you get blood out of cotton? That Jehovah cocksucker bled all over me and I don't want my mom on my ass for ruining another shirt. Will holy water work, you think? Or maybe Tide? Also, can you hide this gun for me? Just until next Sunday. OK, no prob.

Thank you, Father. InthenameoftheFatherSonandtheHolySpiritAmen.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

So long, little buddy.

Thirty-eight years after being rescued from a desert island that ironically bore his very name, Gilligan died today at the age of 70. Sit right back and read his tale.

In the fall of 1964, a young shiphand who simply went by the name of Gilligan took a first mate's job on the S.S. Minnow, a tiny ship. According to his boss, the Skipper, it was to be a quick jaunt from the tropic port and back. In fact, said the Skipper, considering the small size of the vessel, the brevity of the trip (it was to be a three hour tour, max) and the fact that only five passengers were to set sail that day, a first mate wasn't really needed. He just thought Gilligan could use a few extra bucks.

It was to be a fateful trip. As luck would have it, two tropical storms converged and overtook the Minnow as it began to return to port. Within minutes, the weather started getting rough and the tiny ship was tossed. Later, Gilligan would tell reporters and biographers that if it were not for the courage of him, and to a lesser extent, the Skipper, the Minnow would have been lost. Probably capsized or smashed up against some rocks somewhere.

After what must have been a trying hour or so of wild spinning, the ship took ground on the shore of an uncharted desert isle. All crew and passengers made it out alive, including: Gilligan, the Skipper too, a millionaire and his elderly wife, a youngish female actor, an adjunct professor and Mary Ann.

Knowing they would be there for a long, long time, the first mate and his skipper, too, resolved to do their very best to make the others comfortable in the topic island nest. It was, to say the least, an uphill climb. A quick search of the island confirmed that there was no phones, no lights, no motor cars -- indeed, not a single luxury. Using rocks, bamboo and some palm fronds, the Skipper and Gilligan built several huts and put a picnic table out in a common area for meals and meetings and such. It was as primitive as can be.

Time took its toll. Every week, the castaways would nearly escape from the island, only to have their hopes dashed at the last minute by some unfortunate (and easily avoidable) incident. The only breaks from their routine were the many minor celebrities who found their way to the island over the years.

Finally, after three years, they made it off the island. Then, in an ill-advised move, all crew and passengers decided to celebrate their return to the mainland with a short boat trip. Unbelievably, another perfect storm formed and overtook the tiny vessel. Even more incredibly, they were washed ashore on the very same, still uncharted, isle. The irony was not lost on the Skipper, who allegedly lost control and told Gilligan that he was going to kill and eat the other passengers. Fortunately, they were rescued before the Skipper could act on his plan.

In later years, Gilligan regularly experienced vivid flashbacks of his time on the island, usually on weekdays at around 10:30-11am and weeknights at 9:45-10:15pm.

You'll be missed, Gilligan.