For years, Fordham students have formed clubs and exclusive groups, no matter how odd the focus may be (basket weaving?). Nevertheless, clubs are necessary to keep Fordham students active, interested, and sober/drunk. Think about it, what would Fordham students do without clubs except get drunk, study, drink, get shitfaced, play beer pong, bar hop, consume alcohol, wet their whistles, drown their troubles, drink, drink vodka, make drinks, mix drinks, think about drinking, drunkenly drink, booze up, knock ‘em back, down some brews, and drink? Seriously, your mind is now boggled by the very thought. Here’s where the plethora of Fordham clubs come into the picture, and the extreme and diverse spectrum of clubs allows for anyone to find that Facebook-group-to-be that best suit’s their interests. For instace, where would Fordham students be without the option of joining a coed a cappella group (b-Sides) or an all female one (Satin Dolls, Ramblers)? There are kids in Ethiopia who would love to be so fortunate to have these kind of options, but we sadly take them for so much freekin’ granted.
Unfortunately, the overseer of all things Fordham clubs seems to be doing its best to restrict them as much as possible. Ladies and gentlemen, I speak of Student Activities, or OSL, which I am not sure stands for anything. Ruling with an iron fist, the fine folks at Student Activities have been working hard to make life as difficult as possible for any and every Fordham club, recently adding deadlines and previously nonexistent two-week windows for booking venues. That’s right, every club must book everything two weeks in advance. Now I’m not sure if they go to the same Fordham that I do, but most of the student body (and faculty) don’t usually know where they’re going to be for lunch at breakfast. Hell, most syllabuses I’ve received in the last few semesters have read “Class 1: Introduction, Class 2-15: Wing It”. It’s simply inconsistent with what the rest of Fordham actually practices.
In short, Student Activities has waged a war on its students. They’re depriving Fordham’s students from the very activities they’re supposed to provide. Now, they’re clearly taking the same “stricter order for the greater good” approach once employed by Hitler, Stalin, and Darth Vader. Unfortunately, for all intents and purposes, the intents and purposes of OSL in their current power trip remains a mystery. Sure, organization is great – but there are ways to achieve it without going all dominatrix on our asses. Yes, there are issues of budget, but even when money is in no way involved, student activities has thrown as many roadblocks as possible down to prevent students from reaching their club’s goals. Maybe it’s not all the clubs, come to think of it. Perhaps they just hate everything I’m in, I don’t know. If so, this article sure as hell ain’t helping.
Anyway, let’s cut right to the chase (he says four paragraphs in): last week I made a gallant attempt to book the Collins Backdoor Theater for a Free Pizza sketch comedy show (shameless plug…seriously though, come see it….shameless plug though, seriously though…). Without even saying a word, an OSL representative handed me a packet of loosely stapled-together papers, the title page of which read “So You Want to Book an Extracurricular Event”. I flipped through to the first page, and received this set of instructions.
Hello, young Fordham Scholar. So, you wish to make some sort of reservation with the great and powerful OSL, do you? Harharharharhar! Silly moral, you may not advertise for your event! No one advertises for their events! Unless of course, they wish to meet the demands of the great and benevolent OSL! But be warned, few who attempt to accomplish the demands of the great and benevolent OSL make it back alive! Harharharharharharhar!
-Event must be booked two weeks in advance.
-Sheet must be filled out and signed by faculty advisor
-Budget must be up to code
-After these three things are taken care of, director of said group must eat an entire Ramvan, piece by piece, and then carry fourteen students to Lincoln Center on his/her back.
-Once at Lincoln Center, director must flash I.D. to desk guard. If he nods once, keep on walking. If he nods twice, then he is a spy and not to be trusted, you are to challenge him to an arm wrestling match. Only if you survive can you then continue your journey.
-Proceed to the Lincoln Center library, located deep within the bowels of the Lincoln Center campus. Once there, seek out a book on origami. From the teachings of this book, build yourself a giant origami swan, and fly it out of the library. Burn the remains of the library, for no one must know where you got that origami swan.
-The swan’s name is Lucius. You must refer to him as such.
-Lucius will fly you to Zeroxana, a remote island in the South Seas that has yet to be discovered by humans. Once there, you must pick the sweet fruit from the Goyog trees, juice it into an open wound, and await the spiritual journey ahead.
-On this spiritual journey, you will meet a man named Jennifer, with a flowing green beard and eye patch. Jennifer will tell you the tale of the Xanqua, an ancient race of robot men who were forced into captivity by the earliest cavemen tribes on earth. That’s right, robots preceded cavemen. Who would have thunk it?
-Jennifer will give you a small ivory box, but on your spiritual journey you will not open this box. -With a snap of his fingers, Jennifer will awaken you from your slumber, and you will still actually be holding the ivory box. It’ll be like one of those dreams where you imagine you found some really cool stuff, like a Gameboy when you were seven, and you wake up and it’s not there and you’re all like “man I wish that dream was real, I could have sworn I owned that!” except this time, you will actually still have it. You must return that ivory box and its contents back to Student Activities.
-Lucius will fly you back to the main land of Manhattan, but at this point he will probably need to be fed. Now you’re probably asking yourself “what do paper swans need to eat, if anything?” My answer to you is – ivory boxes. Now you have a choice to make, young traveler.
-You have wisely chosen not to feed your giant origami swan, but unfortunately that results in Lucius unfolding from exhaustion and landing in the ocean as one giant sheet of construction paper. Fear not however, as a ship will be waiting for you wherever you land. The ship shall be called the S.S. Ess-Ess, and will be helmed by a half-man half-wheelchair named Toronto. Toronto shall feed you and keep you warm, occasionally boring you with his stories of life as a buoy hunter. Regardless, he will drop you off at the isle of Manhattan after about three weeks. Make sure he hasn’t stolen your ivory box – men of the sea are not to be trusted.
-Catch the nearest bus at the South Street Seaport, it should lead you into the financial district, where you can easily hop onto an A train. You should make sure you have enough money left for a metro card.
-Transfer to the D,B, or 1 and get off at 59th Street Columbus Circle, and walk to Lincoln Center. Be sure to lay low, there’ll be a strict investigation about who burned down the library and you will be a prime suspect at this point.
-Successfully vomit up your as-yet-somehow-undigested Ram Van, piece it back together, and drive it back to Rose Hill. Rush hour shall act as your greatest foe, here.
-Come back up to Student Activities, where you shall present us with the ivory box. We shall give it to you to open. Once you open it, you shall see the meaning of life.
You open it, and there’s a mirror. You see your reflection and realize this whole journey was about you, growing and maturing as a person. You respond by angrily shouting expletives and throwing any available office supplies around the room. Yes, I suppose it was all a little bullshit.
-Bring us three copies of whatever poster you’d like approved.
-Congratulations, you’ve reached the halfway point!
At this point I just closed the damn thing and threw it in the nearest trash receptacle. Unfortunately, it seems as though things are only going to get worse, and Fordham students are going to be reminded constantly that if they want to get anything done themselves, they’ve got to fly to a remote undiscovered island on the back of a paper swan only to receive a magic box that doesn’t hold anything of real value. Pointless? Methinks so. OSL seems to be missing the entire point of student activities, which is to encourage students to get out there and do what they enjoy. These new rules do nothing but discourage any student with pie-in-the-sky dreams of extracurricular activities. The more obstacles OSL throws in the way, the less likely students are going to want to go after their goals. It’s simple baby boomer-boomer/MTV generation logic. Thanks anyway, Student Activities, we know you have the best intentions.
(Reads the whole thing to himself before submitting) Geez, I was angry that day.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
A Few Post-Xmas Thoughts
Well, the Christmas season has come and gone with the subtlety of a rabid yak telling fart jokes, and all the cheer, good tidings, and togetherness...are gone. Thank god. But after all the eggnog had been dumped down the sink, the tree shredded, and the elf-slaves returned to their rightful homes, I could not help but notice some unusual aspects of this Christmas season. Alright, not THAT unusual...but what's really unusual anymore? I mean, Ozzie Osborne's clean and Arnold's the governor of California. Come on.
- Some families take decorating for Christmas very seriously, especially on the exterior of their homes. Unfortunately, the flavor of this year seemed to be the giant tacky inflatable Christmas figures. These ranged from giant snowmen to full working snow globes and merry-go-rounds (not even kidding). I half expected to see a giant inflatable baby Jesus holding a candycane and wearing a Santa hat.
- Those stations that play 24/7 Christmas music during the holiday season truly, truly have a limited playlist. Don't get me wrong, "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" and "Jingle Bell Rock" are great...the first 1245 times. However, the likes of "Dominic the Donkey" and "Granda Got Run Over by a Reindeer" make even the most doe-eyed child wish for July. And let's not even get into the always-incredible country-Christmas songs that pop up every now and then. My personal favorite is "Christmas Shoes", sung by probably Tim McGraw. It just has to be. The song deals with a seemingly poor kid wanting to buy shoes (awww, cute little fellow) for his mother (well that's just precious) who's dying (uh...) so she'll look nice when she meets Jesus tonight (WHAT?!?!). There's a jolly tune for the family to gather round the piano to kroon every year.
- On a side note, I'm getting very tired of the blused-up/funked-up/rocked-up/jazzed-up versions of Christmas carols. Did the world really need Twisted Sister to do a version of "O Holy Night"? Methinks not.
- Christmas cards are awesome for two reasons. 1) They can show what people you haven't seen in years currently look like, which can be either hilarious or strangely arousing 2) Some families still send out those "newsletter" Christmas cards that update the indifferent world on what their ice-cream shitting family has been up to that year. I thought those had been established as extremely pretentious, annoying, obnoxious, and out of style at least ten years ago. Still, I'm glad to know every role your son played in every college show he's been in, Mrs. Peterson. Also, it was a nice touch to add the exact moments where he made the audience laugh in each one. That was vital for my Christmas's success.
- Miniature nativity scenes have amazing potential as action figures, and its amazing they have not been marketed as such. I had an epic wise men vs. shepherds battle on my aunt's coffee table the other night, with baby Jesus doing back flips in the corner to the best of his young ability. Kung fu grip would have been very key on Joseph. You listening, Mattel?
- The annual Walt Disney World Christmas Day parade has become a more blatant advertisement for the theme parks as years have gone on. This year was just rediculous, with Ryan Seacrest, Regis Philbin, and Kelly Rippa repeating the phrase "dreams come true" no less than 103593948539203 times, since this year is Disney's "Year of 1 Million Dreams". A little more Christmas cheer, and a little less brainwashing would have been preferable. I guarentee Nazi recruitment videos were subtler than this.
- Yankee swaps are Satan's contribution to Christmas. I ended up with the same Red Sox Uno card game TWICE, after regifting it for the second one. Maybe I'll donate it to some more unfortunate children...or sell it on ebay for my own profit. Tis the season!
- Some families take decorating for Christmas very seriously, especially on the exterior of their homes. Unfortunately, the flavor of this year seemed to be the giant tacky inflatable Christmas figures. These ranged from giant snowmen to full working snow globes and merry-go-rounds (not even kidding). I half expected to see a giant inflatable baby Jesus holding a candycane and wearing a Santa hat.
- Those stations that play 24/7 Christmas music during the holiday season truly, truly have a limited playlist. Don't get me wrong, "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" and "Jingle Bell Rock" are great...the first 1245 times. However, the likes of "Dominic the Donkey" and "Granda Got Run Over by a Reindeer" make even the most doe-eyed child wish for July. And let's not even get into the always-incredible country-Christmas songs that pop up every now and then. My personal favorite is "Christmas Shoes", sung by probably Tim McGraw. It just has to be. The song deals with a seemingly poor kid wanting to buy shoes (awww, cute little fellow) for his mother (well that's just precious) who's dying (uh...) so she'll look nice when she meets Jesus tonight (WHAT?!?!). There's a jolly tune for the family to gather round the piano to kroon every year.
- On a side note, I'm getting very tired of the blused-up/funked-up/rocked-up/jazzed-up versions of Christmas carols. Did the world really need Twisted Sister to do a version of "O Holy Night"? Methinks not.
- Christmas cards are awesome for two reasons. 1) They can show what people you haven't seen in years currently look like, which can be either hilarious or strangely arousing 2) Some families still send out those "newsletter" Christmas cards that update the indifferent world on what their ice-cream shitting family has been up to that year. I thought those had been established as extremely pretentious, annoying, obnoxious, and out of style at least ten years ago. Still, I'm glad to know every role your son played in every college show he's been in, Mrs. Peterson. Also, it was a nice touch to add the exact moments where he made the audience laugh in each one. That was vital for my Christmas's success.
- Miniature nativity scenes have amazing potential as action figures, and its amazing they have not been marketed as such. I had an epic wise men vs. shepherds battle on my aunt's coffee table the other night, with baby Jesus doing back flips in the corner to the best of his young ability. Kung fu grip would have been very key on Joseph. You listening, Mattel?
- The annual Walt Disney World Christmas Day parade has become a more blatant advertisement for the theme parks as years have gone on. This year was just rediculous, with Ryan Seacrest, Regis Philbin, and Kelly Rippa repeating the phrase "dreams come true" no less than 103593948539203 times, since this year is Disney's "Year of 1 Million Dreams". A little more Christmas cheer, and a little less brainwashing would have been preferable. I guarentee Nazi recruitment videos were subtler than this.
- Yankee swaps are Satan's contribution to Christmas. I ended up with the same Red Sox Uno card game TWICE, after regifting it for the second one. Maybe I'll donate it to some more unfortunate children...or sell it on ebay for my own profit. Tis the season!
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Daily One Act Plays: Part 1
Alright, this may require a bit of an explanation. You see, ever since freshman year of college, I have put an unhealthy amount of time into my AOL Instant Messanger profiles. Like, more than all courses and social time put together. Times eight. Of course, freshman year of college is the time when every adolescent realizes that they can be connected to the internet 24/7 and thus can be "away" instead of signed off. This allows for maximum exposure of your away message, profile, and if you're so inclined, livejournal. During this span, I developed an ongoing series that I called the Daily One Act Plays. They usually lasted about five lines, and made no sense whatsoever. In fact, I honestly don't know what was going through my head at the time of conception. It really worries me. Also, you may notice just how dated a lot of these are (the Taco Bell chihuahua?!). Anyway, here are a select few that I'd saved. ENJOY!
(Not-So) Daily One Act Play: Dude, Where's My Szars?
(setting: Detroit, yesterday)
Billy: What am I gonna do with all these turnips?
Old Prospector: Why dems turnips are evil I tells ya, they're built on an ancient Canadian Indian burial ground.
1920s Gangster: Now wait just a minute, see? Yoo bettah scram!
Tommy, the parapalegic half-man, half-mole who has a lisp and guest starred on an episode of "Dharma and Greg" but whose carreer didn't really go anywhere so now he's in this play. He also has crabs: Ok.
Elmo: STOP F#$%ING TICKLING ME!!!
Fin.
(Not-So) Daily One Act Play: The Never Ending Saga of Preperation H
(setting: Jerusalem, 3005)
Fair Maiden: My word, good sir, have you any meed?
Good Sir: Meed? Haw, haw, haw. Yes, meed for all the poor Ethiopians.
Your Mom: Can someone point me to the egg depository?
Rumplestiltskin: Yo cuiro Taco Bell!
The Yankees: (cry,...very homosexually)
Fin.)
(Not so) Daily One-Act Play: The Away Message Ball
(setting: The Ritz, Argentina - in seven minutes)
Boringazfuck34: I am away from my computer right now.
Ugligalwhowantsbf: From the depths of my soul/You came and took my heart/I sit here alone and desiring/For the eclipse of my being
ThinkImaPlayaButImaDouche45: chillaxin
Ntoriginal3563: "I don't believe in republican parties or democratic parties, I just believe in parties."
CoolRthnU52: around, cell
Animeizgr8jl: light + dreams = hope
Kwanzaboy: THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING!
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One Act Play: Briget Jones 3: Because the First Two Were SO Great
(setting: Wellington, Asia)
James Belmar: Cheryl, there's something I must tell you. I don't have any genitles.
Mr. Travis: Who are you, and what are you doing in my bed?
Compuram: We're almost to the border! Freedom, Juan, freedom!
@:-) : I'm wearing a turban. PRAISE ALLAH!
Mad TV Sketch: (appeals to a retarded 12 year old)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One Act Play: Harry Potter and the Strange Tingly Sensation
(setting: inside the dark depths of Northern Delaware)
You: UPDATE YOUR ONE ACT PLAY! I'M BORED! ENTERTAIN ME! (drools and has a lisp)
Me: Alright, but I shall use it to humiliate you to the fullest extent of the law.
You: (pants fall down, revealing My Little Pony boxers)
The World, including many prominant presidents, celebrities, and hot people: (laughs at you)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Love to the 15th Power (Revisited)
(setting: A dark grey spring morn in Brockton, Mass. in the parking lot at the section of the Westgate mall that used to be Child World but is now I think like Marshalls or something, which makes no sense because the architecture had the signature Child World castle pillars and now Marshalls has them and it looks retarded)
Jimmy Smitts: FIRBY, NOOOO!
Fin.
(Not so) Daily One Act Play: A Christmas Carol II: Tiny Tim's Sexy Revenge
(setting: Your lower intestine, New Jersey)
One of the Three Wise Men(the hip one): Yo kick it!
Virgin Mary: Look honey, you can feel him kick (to all nations). And I crave watermelon....holy watermelon.
Joseph: Ohh no. What, do you think kopecs grow on trees? Oy vey.
Jesus: I hate it when you guys fight! I'M GOING TO MY ROOM!
Santa (2004): Greetings. I've traveled from the future, am I necessary yet?
The Mayor of Bethlehem: 'Allo. I am ze mayer uv Bethlehem, jah! Eye vould just like to remind yoo all zat election zeazon is vastly approachingk. Eye 'ope yoo make ze right deceezion. Swing Heil!
P-Diddy: Yeah, vote or die for our sins!
The Jerry Maguire Kid: (hits puberty, smells a tad off)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Mo' Better Buddha (or What I Learned From Choir Tour)
(setting: Wrigley field, sometime between the last good Jennifer Love Hewitt movie and the first good 'guy-from-that-show-Simon-movie')
Philadelphia: Hey guys, I just realized that there's nothing distinguishing about myself as a city and I'm really thinking of changing my name to Cheesesteaksville.
Pittsburg: Hey, would you mind still tellin' your friends about me? I don't seem to attract to much attention on my own either.
DC: I didn't realize just how many crazy homeless people live in me.
Baltimore: (stabs DC, steals his wallet, and pees on his wounded body)
Bethesda, MD: (indifferent)
Jersey: (much worse than I expected)
Ron Artess: hey, propah.
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: The Seventeenth Movie About Scary Children Singing Nursery Rhymes In Two Months.
(setting: John's house)
Surfer dude: Tubular!
Gallagher: Oh that is so out of date.
Bitch in the audience at ICCA: It's called a pitch pipe! (eats a baby)
Sondheim: (unable to write a melody to save his life)
Keanu Reeves:.....woah.
The entire cast of 7th Heaven: Was Keanu Reeves really necessary to the plot of this play?
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: The Response To Those Who Say "Dude, Your One Act Plays Never Have Any Plot Anymore, They're Just Random Shit."
(setting: Vagania - land of the moose lords)
King: Here ye, here ye. From this day forward, all funk shall hereby be banned from Vagania, by order of the King.
Peasant: PICKLES! Oh where will we common folk get our funk fix?
Fair maiden (played by Rita Rutner): Will no one save us?
Mysterious Stranger (played by Christopher Walken): So, ye wish to recieve thine funk? First, ye must slay the evil dragon-slash-witch in the tower by the Mountains of Setzer. After that, ye must give up thine purity to the great moose king of...
Mel Gibson: Hey everyone, who wants fro-yo?
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Kumaguchi - Wacky Japan Go-Go Super Fight Fun Time
(setting: an unemployed 30 year old's basement)
The Wolf King: (badly synched) Hel-lo, I am the wolf master.
Anime Girl With Giant Eyes/Rack: Ooh, you challenge me, mastah?
Iron Chef: (overdubbed) WE MUST BATTLE!
Giggly Puff: (nonsensical noises that give children siezures)
The Black Power Ranger: Why do I have to be the black ranger? Does anyone else find this offensive? Not to mention the fact that the Yellow Ranger's ASIAN!
All of them: (committ suicide artistically)
Misguided College Students: (buy the DvD of it all...between masturbations)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: 10000 - The Year That Required Five Digits
(setting: the darkest depths of my soul)
The Head of Ben Afflek in a Jar: Come on guys, Pearl Harbor, Paycheck, and Gigli are now considered all time classics!
The Head of Oprah Winfrey in a Jar: You go girlfriend!
The Head of Woody Allen in a Jar: Does anyone even know what this liquid we're floating in is? It tastes like that soup Sun-Yi used to cook every Asian new year.
Joan Rivers: Has anyone seen my lower jaw? I think I dropped it during my interview with a wax model of myself from Madam Touseads.
The Head of Dan Quayle: P-O-T-A-T-O......W? DAMMIT! Hold on, hold on, I'll get it...
The Ending of "Mystic River": (still confuses the hell outta me)
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: The Sexostomy of Emily Rose
(setting: here. NOW. RUN!)
Michael Bay: Guys, of course there's fire in space! Didn't you ever watch Mr. Rogers Neighborhood?
Mr. McFeely: Speedy delivery, muthaf*$#%. (shoots a pimp)
The Children: YAAAAAAY!
Kanye West: President Bush doesn't care about black people!
Mike Myers: (uncomfortably turns his head)
George W. Bush: Heyyy, sure I do, Arsenio!
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Get Justifyied - The Justification of Justin J. Justinson
(setting: Your sofa, you know, the one with the "yo"gurt stain)
FOX's Bones: Anyone wanna jump my name?
FOX's Reunion: Hey, we're kinda like the OC! People like the OC! You know, the gay/lonely ones!
CBS's Ghost Whisperer: Wow, even I wouldn't watch me...
UPN's Everybody Hates Chris: Ooo, black people talkin' jive on UPN? This I gotta see!...
FOX's Prisonbreak: (gets cancelled before the episode where they break out of the prison)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Jesus Vs. Dr. Destructo Ray III: Revenge of the Destructo Ray (Part 4)
(setting: Me)
The black squirrels from around campus: Roll out, yo! Hollah baq!
The skunks from around campus: Hey baby, wanna get sprayed?
The geese from around campus: You know, it seems to me they were much more accepting of us shitting everywhere in Canada...
The lazy-eyed cat from around campus: The New Shanghai guy keeps trying to lure me into his van with promises of tuna and fortune cookies...
The ram from around campus: Does anyone else think I'm a really gay mascot? I make the Norte Dame irish guy look hip.
The fordham prep kids from around campus: SHWEET! (waits to hit puberty)
(they all get turned into "Euro Cuisine" at the UDM)
Fin.
Occasional One-Act Play: Brakebroke Mountain: Deep Space Nyn
(setting: if you care, you need friends)
Buffalo Bill: There's a snake in my boots, by boots I mean...
Woody from Toy Story: Hey, I'm wayyy ahead of my time!
John Wayne: Who wants creme bruleeeeeeee?
The cowboy kid from D2: The Mighty Ducks: Aw, shoot honey, you know I does!
Sheryl Crow: (for the last 8 hours) IIIiiiIIIiiIIiiIIiiiii wanna soak up the sunnnnnn wanna tell everyonnnnnnnnnnnnne toooo liiiightennn upppppp...
Lance Armstrong: Man, I miss cancer.
Fin.
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: Brokeback To The Schindler's List Part 1: Too Soon?
(setting: BEHIND YOU!)
Captain Polyester Pantses's: I say, all hands on deck!
Captain Morgan: Y'ar ye be walking the plank, savvy?
Captain Picard: According to nerds, I'm way better than captain kirk!
Captain and Tenille: LOOOOVE WILL KEEP US 2 GETHAHHHH!!!
Captain Crunch: They're grrrrrrrrrrrreat!
Tony the Tiger: (mauls Capt. Crunch for plagarism)
Fin.
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: The Adventures of Little Billy and the Inventions No One Needs
(setting: Detroit, city of angels)
Little Billy: Someone's gotta stop Doctor Anarchy before he steals all of the orphans' AIDS medicine!
Underwater Toaster: Yeah, you're right little buddy!
Chocolate Hammer: But where will we find Doctor Anarchy?
Self-Destructing Hearing Aid: Why that's simple, my friend.
Exploding Violin: Yeah, you just follow his tracks!
SUV: Hey, he's right!
Scientology: I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS WOMAN!!!! BLARGHTH@(*$@@&%()*@!@)(!*!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fin.
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: The Blind Man's Ugly Wife II: This Time...It's Personal!
(setting: Inside a prezel Combo)
Princess Hermaphrodite: Who enters my chamber?
Prince Fartswhenheeats: It is I, fair maiden!
Prince Hunglikeanelf: And I, to carry you away!
Price Secretly"hangsout"withpricehunglikeanelf: And I, as well!
King Alsohunglikeanelfbutwearsahugecrowntocompensate: Gentlemen, 'tis good to see you in my kingdom!
The castle they're all in: (eats them cuz its alive)
Fin...?
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: I Dream of Weinie
(setting: a Wendy's bathroom stall/time machine)
EveryCollegeKidInAmerica: BLEGGGHH! WE HATE YOU NEW FACEBOOK BLEGGHH!!!
Old Facebook: Woot! Looks like I'm back on top, biznatchies!
EveryCollegeKidInAmerica: No...we don't really like you either.
Old Facebook: (jumps off a bridge)
New Facebook: "Old Facebook" has jumped off a bridge". "EveryCollegeKidInAmerica" created the group "DOWN WITH NEW FACEBOOK". "EveryCollegeKidInAmerica" added "hating the new facebook" to their Activities.
Fin.
(Not-So) Daily One Act Play: Dude, Where's My Szars?
(setting: Detroit, yesterday)
Billy: What am I gonna do with all these turnips?
Old Prospector: Why dems turnips are evil I tells ya, they're built on an ancient Canadian Indian burial ground.
1920s Gangster: Now wait just a minute, see? Yoo bettah scram!
Tommy, the parapalegic half-man, half-mole who has a lisp and guest starred on an episode of "Dharma and Greg" but whose carreer didn't really go anywhere so now he's in this play. He also has crabs: Ok.
Elmo: STOP F#$%ING TICKLING ME!!!
Fin.
(Not-So) Daily One Act Play: The Never Ending Saga of Preperation H
(setting: Jerusalem, 3005)
Fair Maiden: My word, good sir, have you any meed?
Good Sir: Meed? Haw, haw, haw. Yes, meed for all the poor Ethiopians.
Your Mom: Can someone point me to the egg depository?
Rumplestiltskin: Yo cuiro Taco Bell!
The Yankees: (cry,...very homosexually)
Fin.)
(Not so) Daily One-Act Play: The Away Message Ball
(setting: The Ritz, Argentina - in seven minutes)
Boringazfuck34: I am away from my computer right now.
Ugligalwhowantsbf: From the depths of my soul/You came and took my heart/I sit here alone and desiring/For the eclipse of my being
ThinkImaPlayaButImaDouche45: chillaxin
Ntoriginal3563: "I don't believe in republican parties or democratic parties, I just believe in parties."
CoolRthnU52: around, cell
Animeizgr8jl: light + dreams = hope
Kwanzaboy: THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING!
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One Act Play: Briget Jones 3: Because the First Two Were SO Great
(setting: Wellington, Asia)
James Belmar: Cheryl, there's something I must tell you. I don't have any genitles.
Mr. Travis: Who are you, and what are you doing in my bed?
Compuram: We're almost to the border! Freedom, Juan, freedom!
@:-) : I'm wearing a turban. PRAISE ALLAH!
Mad TV Sketch: (appeals to a retarded 12 year old)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One Act Play: Harry Potter and the Strange Tingly Sensation
(setting: inside the dark depths of Northern Delaware)
You: UPDATE YOUR ONE ACT PLAY! I'M BORED! ENTERTAIN ME! (drools and has a lisp)
Me: Alright, but I shall use it to humiliate you to the fullest extent of the law.
You: (pants fall down, revealing My Little Pony boxers)
The World, including many prominant presidents, celebrities, and hot people: (laughs at you)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Love to the 15th Power (Revisited)
(setting: A dark grey spring morn in Brockton, Mass. in the parking lot at the section of the Westgate mall that used to be Child World but is now I think like Marshalls or something, which makes no sense because the architecture had the signature Child World castle pillars and now Marshalls has them and it looks retarded)
Jimmy Smitts: FIRBY, NOOOO!
Fin.
(Not so) Daily One Act Play: A Christmas Carol II: Tiny Tim's Sexy Revenge
(setting: Your lower intestine, New Jersey)
One of the Three Wise Men(the hip one): Yo kick it!
Virgin Mary: Look honey, you can feel him kick (to all nations). And I crave watermelon....holy watermelon.
Joseph: Ohh no. What, do you think kopecs grow on trees? Oy vey.
Jesus: I hate it when you guys fight! I'M GOING TO MY ROOM!
Santa (2004): Greetings. I've traveled from the future, am I necessary yet?
The Mayor of Bethlehem: 'Allo. I am ze mayer uv Bethlehem, jah! Eye vould just like to remind yoo all zat election zeazon is vastly approachingk. Eye 'ope yoo make ze right deceezion. Swing Heil!
P-Diddy: Yeah, vote or die for our sins!
The Jerry Maguire Kid: (hits puberty, smells a tad off)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Mo' Better Buddha (or What I Learned From Choir Tour)
(setting: Wrigley field, sometime between the last good Jennifer Love Hewitt movie and the first good 'guy-from-that-show-Simon-movie')
Philadelphia: Hey guys, I just realized that there's nothing distinguishing about myself as a city and I'm really thinking of changing my name to Cheesesteaksville.
Pittsburg: Hey, would you mind still tellin' your friends about me? I don't seem to attract to much attention on my own either.
DC: I didn't realize just how many crazy homeless people live in me.
Baltimore: (stabs DC, steals his wallet, and pees on his wounded body)
Bethesda, MD: (indifferent)
Jersey: (much worse than I expected)
Ron Artess: hey, propah.
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: The Seventeenth Movie About Scary Children Singing Nursery Rhymes In Two Months.
(setting: John's house)
Surfer dude: Tubular!
Gallagher: Oh that is so out of date.
Bitch in the audience at ICCA: It's called a pitch pipe! (eats a baby)
Sondheim: (unable to write a melody to save his life)
Keanu Reeves:.....woah.
The entire cast of 7th Heaven: Was Keanu Reeves really necessary to the plot of this play?
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: The Response To Those Who Say "Dude, Your One Act Plays Never Have Any Plot Anymore, They're Just Random Shit."
(setting: Vagania - land of the moose lords)
King: Here ye, here ye. From this day forward, all funk shall hereby be banned from Vagania, by order of the King.
Peasant: PICKLES! Oh where will we common folk get our funk fix?
Fair maiden (played by Rita Rutner): Will no one save us?
Mysterious Stranger (played by Christopher Walken): So, ye wish to recieve thine funk? First, ye must slay the evil dragon-slash-witch in the tower by the Mountains of Setzer. After that, ye must give up thine purity to the great moose king of...
Mel Gibson: Hey everyone, who wants fro-yo?
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Kumaguchi - Wacky Japan Go-Go Super Fight Fun Time
(setting: an unemployed 30 year old's basement)
The Wolf King: (badly synched) Hel-lo, I am the wolf master.
Anime Girl With Giant Eyes/Rack: Ooh, you challenge me, mastah?
Iron Chef: (overdubbed) WE MUST BATTLE!
Giggly Puff: (nonsensical noises that give children siezures)
The Black Power Ranger: Why do I have to be the black ranger? Does anyone else find this offensive? Not to mention the fact that the Yellow Ranger's ASIAN!
All of them: (committ suicide artistically)
Misguided College Students: (buy the DvD of it all...between masturbations)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: 10000 - The Year That Required Five Digits
(setting: the darkest depths of my soul)
The Head of Ben Afflek in a Jar: Come on guys, Pearl Harbor, Paycheck, and Gigli are now considered all time classics!
The Head of Oprah Winfrey in a Jar: You go girlfriend!
The Head of Woody Allen in a Jar: Does anyone even know what this liquid we're floating in is? It tastes like that soup Sun-Yi used to cook every Asian new year.
Joan Rivers: Has anyone seen my lower jaw? I think I dropped it during my interview with a wax model of myself from Madam Touseads.
The Head of Dan Quayle: P-O-T-A-T-O......W? DAMMIT! Hold on, hold on, I'll get it...
The Ending of "Mystic River": (still confuses the hell outta me)
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: The Sexostomy of Emily Rose
(setting: here. NOW. RUN!)
Michael Bay: Guys, of course there's fire in space! Didn't you ever watch Mr. Rogers Neighborhood?
Mr. McFeely: Speedy delivery, muthaf*$#%. (shoots a pimp)
The Children: YAAAAAAY!
Kanye West: President Bush doesn't care about black people!
Mike Myers: (uncomfortably turns his head)
George W. Bush: Heyyy, sure I do, Arsenio!
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Get Justifyied - The Justification of Justin J. Justinson
(setting: Your sofa, you know, the one with the "yo"gurt stain)
FOX's Bones: Anyone wanna jump my name?
FOX's Reunion: Hey, we're kinda like the OC! People like the OC! You know, the gay/lonely ones!
CBS's Ghost Whisperer: Wow, even I wouldn't watch me...
UPN's Everybody Hates Chris: Ooo, black people talkin' jive on UPN? This I gotta see!...
FOX's Prisonbreak: (gets cancelled before the episode where they break out of the prison)
Fin.
(Not So) Daily One-Act Play: Jesus Vs. Dr. Destructo Ray III: Revenge of the Destructo Ray (Part 4)
(setting: Me)
The black squirrels from around campus: Roll out, yo! Hollah baq!
The skunks from around campus: Hey baby, wanna get sprayed?
The geese from around campus: You know, it seems to me they were much more accepting of us shitting everywhere in Canada...
The lazy-eyed cat from around campus: The New Shanghai guy keeps trying to lure me into his van with promises of tuna and fortune cookies...
The ram from around campus: Does anyone else think I'm a really gay mascot? I make the Norte Dame irish guy look hip.
The fordham prep kids from around campus: SHWEET! (waits to hit puberty)
(they all get turned into "Euro Cuisine" at the UDM)
Fin.
Occasional One-Act Play: Brakebroke Mountain: Deep Space Nyn
(setting: if you care, you need friends)
Buffalo Bill: There's a snake in my boots, by boots I mean...
Woody from Toy Story: Hey, I'm wayyy ahead of my time!
John Wayne: Who wants creme bruleeeeeeee?
The cowboy kid from D2: The Mighty Ducks: Aw, shoot honey, you know I does!
Sheryl Crow: (for the last 8 hours) IIIiiiIIIiiIIiiIIiiiii wanna soak up the sunnnnnn wanna tell everyonnnnnnnnnnnnne toooo liiiightennn upppppp...
Lance Armstrong: Man, I miss cancer.
Fin.
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: Brokeback To The Schindler's List Part 1: Too Soon?
(setting: BEHIND YOU!)
Captain Polyester Pantses's: I say, all hands on deck!
Captain Morgan: Y'ar ye be walking the plank, savvy?
Captain Picard: According to nerds, I'm way better than captain kirk!
Captain and Tenille: LOOOOVE WILL KEEP US 2 GETHAHHHH!!!
Captain Crunch: They're grrrrrrrrrrrreat!
Tony the Tiger: (mauls Capt. Crunch for plagarism)
Fin.
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: The Adventures of Little Billy and the Inventions No One Needs
(setting: Detroit, city of angels)
Little Billy: Someone's gotta stop Doctor Anarchy before he steals all of the orphans' AIDS medicine!
Underwater Toaster: Yeah, you're right little buddy!
Chocolate Hammer: But where will we find Doctor Anarchy?
Self-Destructing Hearing Aid: Why that's simple, my friend.
Exploding Violin: Yeah, you just follow his tracks!
SUV: Hey, he's right!
Scientology: I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS WOMAN!!!! BLARGHTH@(*$@@&%()*@!@)(!*!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fin.
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: The Blind Man's Ugly Wife II: This Time...It's Personal!
(setting: Inside a prezel Combo)
Princess Hermaphrodite: Who enters my chamber?
Prince Fartswhenheeats: It is I, fair maiden!
Prince Hunglikeanelf: And I, to carry you away!
Price Secretly"hangsout"withpricehunglikeanelf: And I, as well!
King Alsohunglikeanelfbutwearsahugecrowntocompensate: Gentlemen, 'tis good to see you in my kingdom!
The castle they're all in: (eats them cuz its alive)
Fin...?
Bi-Monthly (if you're lucky) One Act Play: I Dream of Weinie
(setting: a Wendy's bathroom stall/time machine)
EveryCollegeKidInAmerica: BLEGGGHH! WE HATE YOU NEW FACEBOOK BLEGGHH!!!
Old Facebook: Woot! Looks like I'm back on top, biznatchies!
EveryCollegeKidInAmerica: No...we don't really like you either.
Old Facebook: (jumps off a bridge)
New Facebook: "Old Facebook" has jumped off a bridge". "EveryCollegeKidInAmerica" created the group "DOWN WITH NEW FACEBOOK". "EveryCollegeKidInAmerica" added "hating the new facebook" to their Activities.
Fin.
(I Can't Get No) Facilitation
It’s flooded. All of it. The window sill’s wetter than Heidi Flyce and the carpet is moldier than her career. I can’t walk two feet without soaking my current choice of footwear, and my sponge collection has seen better days. I get up in the morning thinking that I’m on the inside of a whale’s belly. Some may be intrigued by all of this but not Mike Hadge, no sir. You understand, last year I resided in the basement of Finlay hall, which is known for its frequent floods, easy sneak-through windows, and sassin’ good times. Fed up with paying forty grand a year to boogie board to bed every night, I chose this year to live on the thirteenth floor of Walsh Hall, thus essentially moving from the lowest point on campus to the highest. Unless of course you count the Keating clock tower, but Pigeon Man already lives there. So my natural expectation was that I would be miles away from any sort of floodage in my personal habitat. Not so fast, said Fordham (in bitchy conjunction with Mother Nature).
Maybe it was something in the smell of the rotting carpet and peeling wall plaster, but I was moved to call Fordham’s facilities and custodial services to get the chaos in my room restored to the dry kingdom it once was. However, mere telephonal communication proved fruitless, as I was constantly greeted by an automated voice message system or an extremely Jamaican sounding man who would always put me on hold to Joe Cocker’s “Up Where We Belong” and leave me there. More drastic measures had to be taken. I headed down to the facilities office the other day in search of assistance, but found only a dark abandoned room with many broken liquor bottles and Frito wrappers on the ground. I picked up one of said wrappers and crushed it with all my strength in frustration before hurling it to the ground. However, before I left something else caught my eye: a pink feathery bound journal that looked like it had survived a shark attack. What I read within that journal left me shocked, awed, and shawed, a combination of “shocked” and “awed” that I made up just now. My people, I now present you with the horrific contents of this mystery journal found in facilities. The faint of heart should not proceed. Pregnant women welcome.
August 14, 2006 – It was a long day for Marty and me. Three foozeball tournaments in a row are enough to wipe out any guy, but we’d just finished five. Naturally, yours truly emerged the raining cham-peen. Still rubbing it in Marty’s face, you should see how mad he gets, its friggin hilarious. He’s got this vein on his forehead that’s like right between his eyes, you know? That thing just busts out and he gets all read and puffy, like his head’s gonna explode. Ah, priceless. Alright, it’s 2:40 – quittin’ time!
August 19, 2006 – Ah, the little ones are going to be arriving soon. I love this time of year, you know? Fresh new faces, fresh young bodies, all previous violations have been long forgotten. Me and Marty were in charge of mowing that lawn in front of Alpha house. I guess there’s gonna be some new statue of God or something. So we got our ride on mowers, right? We had already had a few since it was Fosters Friday at facilities. So we start taking bets as to who can get their side done the fastest, so naturally I gun it and am kicking Marty’s patute. Now this mower was going unusually fast, and when I was done (get this!) the brakes wouldn’t go. So I try a few levers, nothing’s working. At that point I decide the best move is to jump, so I get off that thing as fast as I can, but it keeps going. It broke through the fence and kept riding down the road. I still don’t know what happened to it. Awesome.
August 21, 2006 – Okay, get this! A kid in Finlay calls us up today saying his faucet isn’t working. I get up there and fiddle around with the thing and say “well duh, there’s no water coming out of it!” Jerk dragged me up there for that?
August 24, 2006 – Well its Wednesday so you know what that means – “Dance Dance Revolution” day! I thought it might be a little tight in the boiler room for my tube, but it fits in here fine, just had to move the Pac Man machine to the corner. I don’t mean to brag, but I got the moves all over Marty, who can’t move both feet at once for some reason. Ah, it’s funny watching him try though. That vein comes out again, friggin’ hilarious. By 1:00 PM we were both beat, so I make an executive decision and take the phone off the hook. Naptime will not be disturbed.
September 24, 2006 – Marty and I just got back from our paid vacation in Honolulu. Lemme tell ya, it’s as good as, no, better than the hype. They got these kick ass drinks in a coconut with a tiny umbrella sticking out, friggin’ great! When we got back there were “2536 messages” on our machine - nothing our little friend the “erase all” button can’t take care of.
September 25, 2006 – Jet lag. No calls.
October 10, 2006 – Jeez, it’s been raining all week. I feel like my one jumpsuit has been damp and soggy the whole freakin’ time, it’s ridiculous. Ah well, at least it gives me and Marty an excuse to break out our “rainy day kit”, which is mainly just some girlie magazines and beef jerky. Naturally, some kids keep calling in complainin’ that they want their heat to start working or their ceiling to stop leaking or their room to stop flooding. God, what do I look like, the friggin’ tooth fairy?
October 12, 2006 – Freekin’ balls, these kids won’t stop calling us. Aw, your room’s flooded, you’ve developed namoanya from the broken heat, your computer sparks every time you hit the spacebar because of water exposure…boo-frikin’-hoo! They’re starting to sound really pissed too! It’s freakin’ hilarious! Get this, earlier today some kid’s mother calls me yelling about how I should be doing a “decent job” and the “dangerous environment” for her kid and how “the Jesuits are going to hear about this”! Come on, lady. First of all, it sounds like you haven’t gotten a “decent job” in a long time. Second of all, loosen up for crying out loud, geez! I could really go for another beer.
October 13, 2006 – At this point we just stopped answering the damn phone, but it just keeps friggin’ ringing! Hangovers and touch tones do not freakin’ mix.
October 16, 2006 – So Marty and I were in the middle of a killer game of Jenga (I, of course, was mopping the floor with him), and our manager Jimenez comes in. Now he’s not even in uniform, he’s got a freakin’ Nets jersey on with a pair of mesh shorts. He’s down here telling us “there’s been complaints” and that we “gotta get moving on this stuff”, of course as he just starts breaking out the Game Cube, right? So Marty and I climb out of our bunk beds and head to Walsh, where apparently some kid’s room started flooding. After a stop at the deli to get some Klondike bars (friggin’ love these things), Marty and I finally get there – and the kid’s not even there! Of course, his room’s flooded as hell and it smells like moldy carpet. Friggin’ disgusting! So I go open the window to air out the smell. That should take care of that problem. On the way back, Marty and I stopped to get another Klondike bar. Freakin’ love these things.
October 17, 2006 – You’re not gonna freakin’ believe this! The same freakin’ kid who’s room we went to yesterday calls us again telling us the room’s still flooded! So I march down there (Marty was again at Pilates), and you’re not gonna friggin believe this- the kid’s window was open! So I shut the window and left. Some people man, un-freakin’-believable.
October 18, 2006 – So I get this call at like 1 PM, which pissed me off ‘cuz, of course, Days of Our Lives is on. So it’s this girl who tells me that there’s a leak in her ceiling and it’s landing on all of her electric equipment and it’s very dangerous, yadda yadda. So I get there at about 2:15, after finishing Days and getting sucked into watchin the first ten minutes of Passions. She’s freaking out and shows me the leak coming from her vent, a pretty common situation. One that’s easily fixed. Now this girl was smokin’, had some enormous ta-tas if you know what I’m saying, so I use all the charm that I got. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve been called by today” I tell her. Then she started acting all weird and uncomfortable, like I’m a freakin’ bear or something. I told her there was nothing I could do about the leak, and managed to catch the last half hour of Passions.
October 19, 2006 – Ah, Friday. Man I tell ya, after a long week of coming into work, it’s beautiful being able to just take it easy for once. Man this is gonna be a nice weekend; I’m drinking beer. Not now, I mean, this weekend. Well, yeah, now too, but that ain’t what I was talking about.
October 23, 2006 – I’m getting freakin’ psyched. Marty and I are packing for our paid vacation to the Bahamas and we just keep talking about stuff we’re gonna do; streak on a beach; drink beers while we’re streaking; shower while drinking beers; drink; float on one of those rafty things with a beer; beer shop; look up at clouds and pretend they’re beer while drinking beer. Man it’s gonna be sweet. I love you, journal.
There you have it. I’ve since kept the journal safely in the confines of my room, where I let an old sea captain who as moved in read it from time to time. I guess I can’t say I’m too surprised with what I’ve found in this journal, it sure does explain a lot. As for me, I must go up for oxygen now. Why am I typing on a laptop under water anyway? THIS IS SUCH A BAD IDEA!
Maybe it was something in the smell of the rotting carpet and peeling wall plaster, but I was moved to call Fordham’s facilities and custodial services to get the chaos in my room restored to the dry kingdom it once was. However, mere telephonal communication proved fruitless, as I was constantly greeted by an automated voice message system or an extremely Jamaican sounding man who would always put me on hold to Joe Cocker’s “Up Where We Belong” and leave me there. More drastic measures had to be taken. I headed down to the facilities office the other day in search of assistance, but found only a dark abandoned room with many broken liquor bottles and Frito wrappers on the ground. I picked up one of said wrappers and crushed it with all my strength in frustration before hurling it to the ground. However, before I left something else caught my eye: a pink feathery bound journal that looked like it had survived a shark attack. What I read within that journal left me shocked, awed, and shawed, a combination of “shocked” and “awed” that I made up just now. My people, I now present you with the horrific contents of this mystery journal found in facilities. The faint of heart should not proceed. Pregnant women welcome.
August 14, 2006 – It was a long day for Marty and me. Three foozeball tournaments in a row are enough to wipe out any guy, but we’d just finished five. Naturally, yours truly emerged the raining cham-peen. Still rubbing it in Marty’s face, you should see how mad he gets, its friggin hilarious. He’s got this vein on his forehead that’s like right between his eyes, you know? That thing just busts out and he gets all read and puffy, like his head’s gonna explode. Ah, priceless. Alright, it’s 2:40 – quittin’ time!
August 19, 2006 – Ah, the little ones are going to be arriving soon. I love this time of year, you know? Fresh new faces, fresh young bodies, all previous violations have been long forgotten. Me and Marty were in charge of mowing that lawn in front of Alpha house. I guess there’s gonna be some new statue of God or something. So we got our ride on mowers, right? We had already had a few since it was Fosters Friday at facilities. So we start taking bets as to who can get their side done the fastest, so naturally I gun it and am kicking Marty’s patute. Now this mower was going unusually fast, and when I was done (get this!) the brakes wouldn’t go. So I try a few levers, nothing’s working. At that point I decide the best move is to jump, so I get off that thing as fast as I can, but it keeps going. It broke through the fence and kept riding down the road. I still don’t know what happened to it. Awesome.
August 21, 2006 – Okay, get this! A kid in Finlay calls us up today saying his faucet isn’t working. I get up there and fiddle around with the thing and say “well duh, there’s no water coming out of it!” Jerk dragged me up there for that?
August 24, 2006 – Well its Wednesday so you know what that means – “Dance Dance Revolution” day! I thought it might be a little tight in the boiler room for my tube, but it fits in here fine, just had to move the Pac Man machine to the corner. I don’t mean to brag, but I got the moves all over Marty, who can’t move both feet at once for some reason. Ah, it’s funny watching him try though. That vein comes out again, friggin’ hilarious. By 1:00 PM we were both beat, so I make an executive decision and take the phone off the hook. Naptime will not be disturbed.
September 24, 2006 – Marty and I just got back from our paid vacation in Honolulu. Lemme tell ya, it’s as good as, no, better than the hype. They got these kick ass drinks in a coconut with a tiny umbrella sticking out, friggin’ great! When we got back there were “2536 messages” on our machine - nothing our little friend the “erase all” button can’t take care of.
September 25, 2006 – Jet lag. No calls.
October 10, 2006 – Jeez, it’s been raining all week. I feel like my one jumpsuit has been damp and soggy the whole freakin’ time, it’s ridiculous. Ah well, at least it gives me and Marty an excuse to break out our “rainy day kit”, which is mainly just some girlie magazines and beef jerky. Naturally, some kids keep calling in complainin’ that they want their heat to start working or their ceiling to stop leaking or their room to stop flooding. God, what do I look like, the friggin’ tooth fairy?
October 12, 2006 – Freekin’ balls, these kids won’t stop calling us. Aw, your room’s flooded, you’ve developed namoanya from the broken heat, your computer sparks every time you hit the spacebar because of water exposure…boo-frikin’-hoo! They’re starting to sound really pissed too! It’s freakin’ hilarious! Get this, earlier today some kid’s mother calls me yelling about how I should be doing a “decent job” and the “dangerous environment” for her kid and how “the Jesuits are going to hear about this”! Come on, lady. First of all, it sounds like you haven’t gotten a “decent job” in a long time. Second of all, loosen up for crying out loud, geez! I could really go for another beer.
October 13, 2006 – At this point we just stopped answering the damn phone, but it just keeps friggin’ ringing! Hangovers and touch tones do not freakin’ mix.
October 16, 2006 – So Marty and I were in the middle of a killer game of Jenga (I, of course, was mopping the floor with him), and our manager Jimenez comes in. Now he’s not even in uniform, he’s got a freakin’ Nets jersey on with a pair of mesh shorts. He’s down here telling us “there’s been complaints” and that we “gotta get moving on this stuff”, of course as he just starts breaking out the Game Cube, right? So Marty and I climb out of our bunk beds and head to Walsh, where apparently some kid’s room started flooding. After a stop at the deli to get some Klondike bars (friggin’ love these things), Marty and I finally get there – and the kid’s not even there! Of course, his room’s flooded as hell and it smells like moldy carpet. Friggin’ disgusting! So I go open the window to air out the smell. That should take care of that problem. On the way back, Marty and I stopped to get another Klondike bar. Freakin’ love these things.
October 17, 2006 – You’re not gonna freakin’ believe this! The same freakin’ kid who’s room we went to yesterday calls us again telling us the room’s still flooded! So I march down there (Marty was again at Pilates), and you’re not gonna friggin believe this- the kid’s window was open! So I shut the window and left. Some people man, un-freakin’-believable.
October 18, 2006 – So I get this call at like 1 PM, which pissed me off ‘cuz, of course, Days of Our Lives is on. So it’s this girl who tells me that there’s a leak in her ceiling and it’s landing on all of her electric equipment and it’s very dangerous, yadda yadda. So I get there at about 2:15, after finishing Days and getting sucked into watchin the first ten minutes of Passions. She’s freaking out and shows me the leak coming from her vent, a pretty common situation. One that’s easily fixed. Now this girl was smokin’, had some enormous ta-tas if you know what I’m saying, so I use all the charm that I got. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve been called by today” I tell her. Then she started acting all weird and uncomfortable, like I’m a freakin’ bear or something. I told her there was nothing I could do about the leak, and managed to catch the last half hour of Passions.
October 19, 2006 – Ah, Friday. Man I tell ya, after a long week of coming into work, it’s beautiful being able to just take it easy for once. Man this is gonna be a nice weekend; I’m drinking beer. Not now, I mean, this weekend. Well, yeah, now too, but that ain’t what I was talking about.
October 23, 2006 – I’m getting freakin’ psyched. Marty and I are packing for our paid vacation to the Bahamas and we just keep talking about stuff we’re gonna do; streak on a beach; drink beers while we’re streaking; shower while drinking beers; drink; float on one of those rafty things with a beer; beer shop; look up at clouds and pretend they’re beer while drinking beer. Man it’s gonna be sweet. I love you, journal.
There you have it. I’ve since kept the journal safely in the confines of my room, where I let an old sea captain who as moved in read it from time to time. I guess I can’t say I’m too surprised with what I’ve found in this journal, it sure does explain a lot. As for me, I must go up for oxygen now. Why am I typing on a laptop under water anyway? THIS IS SUCH A BAD IDEA!
Monday, December 11, 2006
How Performance Art Killed My Buzz
DISCLAIMER: Lincoln Center, I’m sorry…but not that sorry.
Frequent Paper readers will know; I, Mike Hadge, do not often write about my individual experience, as I find it self-indulgent and pretentious. Nevertheless, I’m doing it now. However, in doing so, I hope to spread this good message to the world, thus saving a few (thousand) lives in the process. Heed this good word, and ye shall be rewarded. God, it occurs to me that this is my like 45th “Here’s What I Thinks Sucks and Why” article in a row. Is it just me? Am I the one with problems? Am I way too cynical and should just enjoy life and what it brings? Nah, it’s totally everyone else.
Anyway, our story begins last Friday night, after the Fordham Comedy Troupe took an enjoyable trip Dallas Barbeque (the “e” is silent…the second “e”), followed by catching an improv show at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. Basically, there was drinking involved, and it took many forms; green margarita, orange margarita,…I guess that’s it. Nevertheless, after the show, we were all looking to continue the night at a Manhattan bar or at least back in the Bronx. Hell, we were a bunch of delightfully buzzed improv kids, we were up for anything at that point. Or so we thought…
Our story continues at Fordham’s Lincoln Center campus, where every Friday at midnight, an event called No Fear is staged. For those unfamiliar with it, No Fear is basically a performance art showcase, allowing anyone to submit and perform anything they’ve written. Anything. Now, I should preface this by stating that I like Lincoln Center kids, and some of my best friends are Lincoln Center kids. Also, don’t ask how we ended up at No Fear, that’ll just make me mad. That being said, I went into this with an open mind, a slightly buzzed mind, but an open mind. We sat down in the dark, cramped room, and waited to be entertained.
Then it happened.
An EMO-looking kid took the stage, acoustic guitar in hand. Now I don’t mean to generalize based on appearance. But you know, he had the thick rimmed glasses, stringy hair around his eyes, tight t-shirt with some band’s logo that no one’s ever heard of, and high tops. Dear God no, I think to myself. Then again, don’t make assumptions Michael, maybe he’ll surprise us all and play a country-twinged tasteful rock ballad. STRRRUMMMM!! Shit, that was a minor chord. He’s playing an EMO song. See? Sometimes you gotta go with your gut. Immediately, I look to my left, then to my right. The surrounding members of the improv troupe stared helpless, like children who’ve just been told there’s no Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, or God. Believe it or not, this song was about a girl…who didn’t like the singer, or something. It’s EMO, what else was it gonna be about?
Well, it can only go up from here, right? WRONG!
Next, we were treated to a monologue from a small, effeminate young man, wearing a sweater with a collared shirt under it. That right there should tell you how the monologue was. I swear to God, all “artsy” monologues have the same damn formula: Begin, talk about “rainy days in the Hampshires”, talk about “I remember the way she loved blue frosting”, talk about “the sigh of a winter’s kiss”, make a reference to your impending doubtfulness, throw in a sly reference to a late 80s product or television show, end. That pretty much covers it. This monologue was no different, only infuriating me further. My buzz was still there, but it wasn’t helping at all. Oh no. Rather, the fact that I had a buzz caused the aggravation to magnify ten times over, and I began to act irrationally, looking for a way out in the darkness, trying to dig out of the room through the wooden floorboards somehow with my bare hands. None of this worked. And in retrospect, I really wished it would have, for the night was just beginning. People around me were laughing and enjoying it, but just the Lincoln Center students, which makes sense, since they all drink and shower in the same water. Naturally, I do the only rational thing and express my intense frustration and confusion by writing on some old receipts I found in my wallet. The first receipt, a faded Hannaford groceries slip, I wrote on during this particular monologue. Here’s what I wrote on it: “Lincoln Center dude, I mean God damn!” – Yes, “God damn” was underlined in pen. Twice. That phrase pretty much sums it all up about this experience, I mean what was I watching? But wait, the receipt had more: “Jesus! Fuck! NOT FUNNY! NO! STOP! Artiness (equal sign crossed out) Funny! You just suck! WTF? Stop!!!!! I’ll bet this kid is w/o genitals!” Classy, Hadge.
Next up: another monologue. This time it was by a very liberal looking girl, a “free spirit”-type if you will, doing an original monologue about the wonders of innocence and childhood, all in the style of a five year old. Groaaaaaaaaaaan. Doing a funny voice, jumping around, and dancing are all well and good, but not when you’re buzzed and definitely not when I’m buzzed. If you’ve seen RENT (and this girl definitely has, trust me here), you can basically concoct in your head exactly what this act was like, and you’d probably be 100% accurate. I mean, this girl just screamed “theater kid”, and in the worst possible sense. Don’t get me wrong, I am a theater kid, a lot of my best friends are theater kids, but Christ, when taken too far, theater-ness can cause all inner organs to just lose control, explode, and eat themselves. At that point, I’d rather hang out with a diseased Nazi. But alas, I was amidst “performance artists”, not theater kids. There’s a difference. I guess.
Also, I’d like to apologize for my gratuitous judging-based-on-appearance, I swear I don’t commonly practice this practice. However, this night was different, and when you’re surrounded with “artsy free-thinking artsy artists”, they’re basically asking you to judge them by their appearance. To my credit, I was right every single time. Also, I continued doing it the rest of the night. Anyway, back to this monologue. Oh right, by the tenth minute of this monologue (all acts were supposed to have a “five minute time limit”, but all of them easily passed that by what seemed like a few hours), I had found another receipt in my wallet on which to express exactly how I was feeling: “Y do LC kids think they’re talented?!? THEY ALL SUCK!!! AHHHHH!!!” An ignorant blanket statement I agree, but put it in context. Would you have written anything different?
Alright, here comes Effeminate Kid in Sweater with Collared Shirt under It #2 to perform Pretentiously “Witty” Monologue #3 for the night. Things were getting ugly now. This monologue was designed as back and forth letters between two people, which was supposed to add to its individualism and uniquenessity. Under any other circumstances, it may have been pretty good, but these were not any other circumstances. In case you’ve forgotten, I was buzzed and incredibly antsy. Not a good recipe. Unless you’re cooking disaster. (SIDE NOTE: I just realized while writing this that I just inadvertently created a fantastic tagline for an action/thriller movie about a chef who secretly fights evil masterminds in his spare time. Coming this summer – Chef Boyar-D [for Death]. No one steal this idea please.) That being said, I searched for another receipt from my wallet to express my feelings somehow, and in lieu of another one, I wrote on the back of the Walgreen’s receipt: “JESUS! HOLY SHIT!” They were written pretty large, so there wasn’t really any room for anything else on the thing. Now, why did this monologue rile me up so damn much? Well, as I said, this kid was effeminate (nothing wrong with that, btw…despite what The Ram wants you to think), and while there’s nothing wrong with that, I’ve just always had an issue when effeminate men use their effemininity for laughs. The LC crowd was cracking up at this kid’s joke-less monologue, and it was all due to what I call “The Awww He’s Gay Factor” – when those around an effeminate male give him undeserved accolades and free passes in life purely because he’s like a sister, but a boy! Other repercussions of the AHGF include, but are not limited to; allowing a gay male to act like an absolute obnoxious bitch because he’s a boy so it’s cute and funny; girls kissing said gay male because “it doesn’t really count” (gimme a freakin’ break); girls going shopping with effeminate male in question and returning from Macy’s with the same scarves. Ok, un-PC rant over. I’m sure this kid was a nice guy. Oh, and by this point I was out of receipts to write on so I did the next logical thing and wrote on my right hand: “WTF? JESUS! Help! Awful awful! Y R they laughing? WTF is funny?!” I’m sure he was a nice guy, though.
After what seemed like the eighth hour of these proceedings, I was convinced that I had been through the worst. Wait for it…I hadn’t. As the lights went down again, who should come up to stage but THE EMO KID! AGAIN! Fear not though, he did not have his guitar. Rather, he brought a friend, and they were performing a comedy sketch, scripts in hand. The audience had that uncomfortable hum about it by this point too, like when they’ve stopped selling beer at a soccer game, or when the Rolling Stones announce they’re gonna play some material off their “new album” at a concert. You can just feel the animosity. The sketch began and it was, not even joking, the EMO kid jumping up and down, yelling “do you want to play”, and the other kid sitting there, making references to wizards. I really wish I was making this up. I’d delve further, but I’ll let the rest of what I wrote on myself do the talking:
Left hand: (unintelligible…but looks like) LatjkJill HOLY SHIT!!
Left Leg: FUCK! SHIT! BALLS!
Right Leg: AHHH! FUCK!!! GET ME OUT!!!!!
At this point I just blacked out from rage.
Oh, there were a few more acts, and they ended up being pretty good, but it didn’t matter by this point; my buzz was gone. Granted, this problem is very insignificant. After all, what kind of world do we pampered college kids live in where losing a buzz is considered a real problem? No, it’s not about the buzz. Rather, it’s about the principles. It’s about the “performance artists”; they must be stopped before it’s too late. I was unaware until that night, but Lincoln Center seems to be a breeding ground for kids who think they’re really good at this stuff, and maybe they are. Nevertheless, “performance art” should be preserved for coffee shops deep in the belly of the village, and more currently, on YouTube. That way, people who want to see it can actually seek it out and enjoy, instead of getting tricked into sitting through it while in the middle of a night of social drinking. As I took that long Ram Van ride back to campus, covered in my own script, I wondered if humanity would have any hope left; if soon, the performance artists would take over. All of the free world would be forced to wear matching scarves, write poetry about their favorite features of autumn, and memorize the entire score to Wicked. Bullshit would rain from the heavens.
Thank you for letting me get that off my chest, Lincoln Center. You’re still better than Marymount.
Frequent Paper readers will know; I, Mike Hadge, do not often write about my individual experience, as I find it self-indulgent and pretentious. Nevertheless, I’m doing it now. However, in doing so, I hope to spread this good message to the world, thus saving a few (thousand) lives in the process. Heed this good word, and ye shall be rewarded. God, it occurs to me that this is my like 45th “Here’s What I Thinks Sucks and Why” article in a row. Is it just me? Am I the one with problems? Am I way too cynical and should just enjoy life and what it brings? Nah, it’s totally everyone else.
Anyway, our story begins last Friday night, after the Fordham Comedy Troupe took an enjoyable trip Dallas Barbeque (the “e” is silent…the second “e”), followed by catching an improv show at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater. Basically, there was drinking involved, and it took many forms; green margarita, orange margarita,…I guess that’s it. Nevertheless, after the show, we were all looking to continue the night at a Manhattan bar or at least back in the Bronx. Hell, we were a bunch of delightfully buzzed improv kids, we were up for anything at that point. Or so we thought…
Our story continues at Fordham’s Lincoln Center campus, where every Friday at midnight, an event called No Fear is staged. For those unfamiliar with it, No Fear is basically a performance art showcase, allowing anyone to submit and perform anything they’ve written. Anything. Now, I should preface this by stating that I like Lincoln Center kids, and some of my best friends are Lincoln Center kids. Also, don’t ask how we ended up at No Fear, that’ll just make me mad. That being said, I went into this with an open mind, a slightly buzzed mind, but an open mind. We sat down in the dark, cramped room, and waited to be entertained.
Then it happened.
An EMO-looking kid took the stage, acoustic guitar in hand. Now I don’t mean to generalize based on appearance. But you know, he had the thick rimmed glasses, stringy hair around his eyes, tight t-shirt with some band’s logo that no one’s ever heard of, and high tops. Dear God no, I think to myself. Then again, don’t make assumptions Michael, maybe he’ll surprise us all and play a country-twinged tasteful rock ballad. STRRRUMMMM!! Shit, that was a minor chord. He’s playing an EMO song. See? Sometimes you gotta go with your gut. Immediately, I look to my left, then to my right. The surrounding members of the improv troupe stared helpless, like children who’ve just been told there’s no Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, or God. Believe it or not, this song was about a girl…who didn’t like the singer, or something. It’s EMO, what else was it gonna be about?
Well, it can only go up from here, right? WRONG!
Next, we were treated to a monologue from a small, effeminate young man, wearing a sweater with a collared shirt under it. That right there should tell you how the monologue was. I swear to God, all “artsy” monologues have the same damn formula: Begin, talk about “rainy days in the Hampshires”, talk about “I remember the way she loved blue frosting”, talk about “the sigh of a winter’s kiss”, make a reference to your impending doubtfulness, throw in a sly reference to a late 80s product or television show, end. That pretty much covers it. This monologue was no different, only infuriating me further. My buzz was still there, but it wasn’t helping at all. Oh no. Rather, the fact that I had a buzz caused the aggravation to magnify ten times over, and I began to act irrationally, looking for a way out in the darkness, trying to dig out of the room through the wooden floorboards somehow with my bare hands. None of this worked. And in retrospect, I really wished it would have, for the night was just beginning. People around me were laughing and enjoying it, but just the Lincoln Center students, which makes sense, since they all drink and shower in the same water. Naturally, I do the only rational thing and express my intense frustration and confusion by writing on some old receipts I found in my wallet. The first receipt, a faded Hannaford groceries slip, I wrote on during this particular monologue. Here’s what I wrote on it: “Lincoln Center dude, I mean God damn!” – Yes, “God damn” was underlined in pen. Twice. That phrase pretty much sums it all up about this experience, I mean what was I watching? But wait, the receipt had more: “Jesus! Fuck! NOT FUNNY! NO! STOP! Artiness (equal sign crossed out) Funny! You just suck! WTF? Stop!!!!! I’ll bet this kid is w/o genitals!” Classy, Hadge.
Next up: another monologue. This time it was by a very liberal looking girl, a “free spirit”-type if you will, doing an original monologue about the wonders of innocence and childhood, all in the style of a five year old. Groaaaaaaaaaaan. Doing a funny voice, jumping around, and dancing are all well and good, but not when you’re buzzed and definitely not when I’m buzzed. If you’ve seen RENT (and this girl definitely has, trust me here), you can basically concoct in your head exactly what this act was like, and you’d probably be 100% accurate. I mean, this girl just screamed “theater kid”, and in the worst possible sense. Don’t get me wrong, I am a theater kid, a lot of my best friends are theater kids, but Christ, when taken too far, theater-ness can cause all inner organs to just lose control, explode, and eat themselves. At that point, I’d rather hang out with a diseased Nazi. But alas, I was amidst “performance artists”, not theater kids. There’s a difference. I guess.
Also, I’d like to apologize for my gratuitous judging-based-on-appearance, I swear I don’t commonly practice this practice. However, this night was different, and when you’re surrounded with “artsy free-thinking artsy artists”, they’re basically asking you to judge them by their appearance. To my credit, I was right every single time. Also, I continued doing it the rest of the night. Anyway, back to this monologue. Oh right, by the tenth minute of this monologue (all acts were supposed to have a “five minute time limit”, but all of them easily passed that by what seemed like a few hours), I had found another receipt in my wallet on which to express exactly how I was feeling: “Y do LC kids think they’re talented?!? THEY ALL SUCK!!! AHHHHH!!!” An ignorant blanket statement I agree, but put it in context. Would you have written anything different?
Alright, here comes Effeminate Kid in Sweater with Collared Shirt under It #2 to perform Pretentiously “Witty” Monologue #3 for the night. Things were getting ugly now. This monologue was designed as back and forth letters between two people, which was supposed to add to its individualism and uniquenessity. Under any other circumstances, it may have been pretty good, but these were not any other circumstances. In case you’ve forgotten, I was buzzed and incredibly antsy. Not a good recipe. Unless you’re cooking disaster. (SIDE NOTE: I just realized while writing this that I just inadvertently created a fantastic tagline for an action/thriller movie about a chef who secretly fights evil masterminds in his spare time. Coming this summer – Chef Boyar-D [for Death]. No one steal this idea please.) That being said, I searched for another receipt from my wallet to express my feelings somehow, and in lieu of another one, I wrote on the back of the Walgreen’s receipt: “JESUS! HOLY SHIT!” They were written pretty large, so there wasn’t really any room for anything else on the thing. Now, why did this monologue rile me up so damn much? Well, as I said, this kid was effeminate (nothing wrong with that, btw…despite what The Ram wants you to think), and while there’s nothing wrong with that, I’ve just always had an issue when effeminate men use their effemininity for laughs. The LC crowd was cracking up at this kid’s joke-less monologue, and it was all due to what I call “The Awww He’s Gay Factor” – when those around an effeminate male give him undeserved accolades and free passes in life purely because he’s like a sister, but a boy! Other repercussions of the AHGF include, but are not limited to; allowing a gay male to act like an absolute obnoxious bitch because he’s a boy so it’s cute and funny; girls kissing said gay male because “it doesn’t really count” (gimme a freakin’ break); girls going shopping with effeminate male in question and returning from Macy’s with the same scarves. Ok, un-PC rant over. I’m sure this kid was a nice guy. Oh, and by this point I was out of receipts to write on so I did the next logical thing and wrote on my right hand: “WTF? JESUS! Help! Awful awful! Y R they laughing? WTF is funny?!” I’m sure he was a nice guy, though.
After what seemed like the eighth hour of these proceedings, I was convinced that I had been through the worst. Wait for it…I hadn’t. As the lights went down again, who should come up to stage but THE EMO KID! AGAIN! Fear not though, he did not have his guitar. Rather, he brought a friend, and they were performing a comedy sketch, scripts in hand. The audience had that uncomfortable hum about it by this point too, like when they’ve stopped selling beer at a soccer game, or when the Rolling Stones announce they’re gonna play some material off their “new album” at a concert. You can just feel the animosity. The sketch began and it was, not even joking, the EMO kid jumping up and down, yelling “do you want to play”, and the other kid sitting there, making references to wizards. I really wish I was making this up. I’d delve further, but I’ll let the rest of what I wrote on myself do the talking:
Left hand: (unintelligible…but looks like) LatjkJill HOLY SHIT!!
Left Leg: FUCK! SHIT! BALLS!
Right Leg: AHHH! FUCK!!! GET ME OUT!!!!!
At this point I just blacked out from rage.
Oh, there were a few more acts, and they ended up being pretty good, but it didn’t matter by this point; my buzz was gone. Granted, this problem is very insignificant. After all, what kind of world do we pampered college kids live in where losing a buzz is considered a real problem? No, it’s not about the buzz. Rather, it’s about the principles. It’s about the “performance artists”; they must be stopped before it’s too late. I was unaware until that night, but Lincoln Center seems to be a breeding ground for kids who think they’re really good at this stuff, and maybe they are. Nevertheless, “performance art” should be preserved for coffee shops deep in the belly of the village, and more currently, on YouTube. That way, people who want to see it can actually seek it out and enjoy, instead of getting tricked into sitting through it while in the middle of a night of social drinking. As I took that long Ram Van ride back to campus, covered in my own script, I wondered if humanity would have any hope left; if soon, the performance artists would take over. All of the free world would be forced to wear matching scarves, write poetry about their favorite features of autumn, and memorize the entire score to Wicked. Bullshit would rain from the heavens.
Thank you for letting me get that off my chest, Lincoln Center. You’re still better than Marymount.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Would you like some dignity with those mozarella sticks?
“Hey guys, how you doing today? That’s great, my name’s Mike and I’ll be your server tonight! Can I start you guys off with some drinks? Uh-huh. Did you want lemon in that? Mmmhmmm. Alright, well if you guys have any questions about the menu, let me know alright? Awesome!”
That just there was my spiel that I give to tables every time I greet them. After saying this I usually head to the kitchen, angrily grumbling to myself about the cheap bastards I’m currently waiting on. If there’s one thing that sends a waiter into a blinding rage, its water with lemon. That’s like coming into a whore house and telling the owner, “I’m just going to touch myself in the corner if that’s okay.” Alright, maybe it’s not like that. Anyway, after dropping off their free beverages, I usually am heard to remark:
“We all set to order over here guys or do you still need a few minutes?”
They usually need a few minutes. Fast forward four minutes later, let’s read on…
“We all set to order over here guys or do you still need a few minutes? Awesome, what can I get you? Uh-huh. Just the salad? You know you could always add on a…fine. Just salad for you sir. And for you ma’am? The same, great. Alright folks, I’ll put that right in for you. Let me know if I can get you anything else, alright? I can’t? Great.”
Let me just start by saying that everyone should have to wait tables at some point in their life. The more I come into contact with them, the more I realize that fellow or former waiters are truly the only human beings who “get it”. After, and only after, you’ve been a waiter, you’ve truly seen all that the human race has to offer; the pleasant ‘ribs-and-wine’ ups, the bland ‘burger-and-coke’ middles, and the unbearable ‘salad-and-ice-water-with-lemon’ lows. Now, this all may not sound so bad, you say? “I’m a big man, Mike, what’s wrong with you?” you ask. “You must be one of those pansy boys who doesn’t beat people up, play poker, ride motorcycles, and bench 350lb like me!” you continue. Consider this: you have to be nice to everybody. Not just like being a decent human being and ‘not peeing on their shoes’ nice, no sir. Since your income depends on it, you’ve got to put all your energy into constant smiling, high energy, and the dreaded awkward small talk. Above all, you’ve got to treat everybody like royalty, as if your whole world collapses around you if they’re not enjoying their Chicken and Cheese Mega-Ultra Queso Quesadilla. You want demeaning? You got demeaning…
I’ve been waiting tables for nearly three years, and I feel that I have most definitely changed as an individual in that span. Since clearly not everyone is able to become a waiter in their lifetime, I have attempted to compile a Power Point presentation that can reliably recreate the experience of waiting on tables, and the trials and tribulations that come with it all. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem possible to adequately perform a Power Point presentation in front of all potential Paper readers (though they could possibly all fit in my room). I suppose I could try to project a presentation on a giant screen over Edward’s Parade, but that’s just silly.
Ah, hell, I’ll do my best here…
I. The Truth About Eating Out (lolololollo1lol)
· I worked at a Ruby Tuesday’s, I suppose that would have been good to throw in there previously. Of course, Ruby Tuesday’s in a giant evil corporate chain, who just wants your money. Chili’s, TGI Friday’s, UNO’s, the list goes on; they all basically follow the same principles. Why do you think your waiters constantly ask if “You guys would like some gooey, greasy nachos” instead of “an appetizer”? That’s called putting the image in your head. Of course, as a waiter, I know that this suggestive selling technique never, ever works, arousing only strange confused looks from a guest.
· Oh right, customers have to be called guests. It’s wack. They’re giving us their money, they want to buy food from us, and we want their money. They’re customers. I guess this attempts some kind of “welcome to our home, dear friend” atmosphere, but it just fails.
· Most chain restaurants are constantly tuned in to the same radio station that plays the same forty songs on a loop for hours until forever. Now, if you enjoy hearing “Soak Up the Sun” every fifty minutes, then this may not be a problem for you. For the rest of us, twitching will ensue, and your waitering performance will be affected adversely. Other fine tunes that I’ve been force fed this summer thanks to Ruby Tuesday Radio include: Jason Mraz’s “Wordplay” – an “aural jerkoff” in every sense of the term; Jack Johnson’s song about “when we used to laugh” or something, I’ve usually fallen fast asleep by this point in the song; “Punk Rock 101” – by who the hell knows. Now, this song is interesting in that it tries to make the point that punk is irritating and obnoxious by being irritating and obnoxious; and a million Counting Crows sound-alikes who I’m willing to bet no one outside of the food service business has ever heard.
· Yes, when they’re not talking to you at your table, waiters are in the back, complaining about you. I mean, with any job, the employees are bound to bitch about the work and the customers (fine, guests….guestomers?), but seeing as all of our pay is determined by the kind of people we wait on, waiters have very short fuses. I swear, if Jesus was a waiter, he’d complain about you.
II. Tips For Aspiring Customers
· Don’t order “ice water with lemon”. I swear to God, just don’t do it. If you like water, order a bottle of water, it’ll taste better anyway. I know it’s irrational, but I’ve had ice waters with lemon ruin my day. Some say I just have a deeper psychological issue, but whatever. If you insist on ordering this free beverage, at least make it clear that you’re ordering it because you’re cheap. Don’t skip around that issue, because trust me, its going through the waiter’s head. At least by bringing it to the forefront, you invite perhaps a good hardy chuckle. But mostly, just don’t order water.
· Your waiter may seem like a robot, and it’s because, as I typed above, they all have programmed themselves to the same exact routine for every table. To be honest, if someone threw me a curve and responded to my “Hey guys, how’s it going” greeting, I would not know how to respond. A simple “Good, how are you?” would cause my head to explode. Luckily, it hasn’t happened yet.
III. What Tables to Avoid – Yes, there are certain types of tables that, as a waiter, you will want to avoid like soap on a European. Here are but a few:
· The Elderly – Don’t be fooled by their friendly demeanor, or by the fact that they remind you of your grandparents. Old people are just out in between Matlock’s and do not intend on spending any money. Sure, they’re cute as a button on a midget, but they are also under the false impression, like so many others, that you as a waiter are being paid a decent salary. Not so. Your $2.62 salary (before taxes) amounts to absolutely nothing, though I suppose in 1935 it was a lot of money. Either way, senior citizens will rarely go for more than the soup and a cup of tea, or just hot water (?!?!), leaving you with an eleven dollar check, a whopping 0.42 tip, and an amazingly deflated sense of self-esteem. And I just looked it up, $2.62 still wasn’t a lot of money in 1935.
Total Bill: $10.88
Gratuity: $0.42
· Teenage Girls – As in any walk of life, teenage girls together in one place are a force to be reckoned with, and as a waiter they can lead to some discouraging experiences. However, unlike the elderly, this group is almost never pleasant or friendly, making the whole experience completely demoralizing and reminding you of those uncomfortable high school memories you thought you had buried through years of drug abuse (er,…therapy). Naturally, they all order water with lemon. Then, they usually ask for the one thing that’s not on the menu, whine when I say we don’t have it, and continuously whine that “TGI Friday’s made them for us!” Then, one or two things could happen; they either order lots of expensive food or next to nothing. Either way, you come out with a well earned 4% tip, after taking ten minutes to split their checks only to have them all pay in cash (?!).
Total Bill: $8.85, $12.89, $9.34, and $10.43
Gratuity: $1.15, $0.11, $0.66, and -$0.43
· Large Women – Well, they’re large, they like to eat then right? That should rake in a wad of cash, right? No! Wrong! Contrary to popular belief, not all fat people enjoy highly salted butter encrusted deep friend dinner meals, especially those of the plus-sized female division. More often than not, these women believe that they need to diet, resulting in (you guessed it) water with lemon and salad. Trust me, prior to this realization I had some genuine heartbreaks after greeting tables containing at least one large women, her mousy husband, and their crayon throwing child. The wife decides the two of them should go on a diet together, even though the husband has no real need to diet. As a result, their bill usually maxes out at two waters and two salads. Oh, and the kid shares with them while gnawing on some Saltines that end up in a million pieces on the floor. Enjoy ‘em, kid!
Total Bill: $15.25
Gratuity: $ 1.75 (just to make it an even $17.00)
· Thin People – self explanatory
· Women Who Are Old Friends and Haven’t Seen Each Other In Years – I know it sounds like a freak case, but it happens quite a lot, quite a lot. If you see two women hug before they sit down, after you’ve gotten over the erotic intrigue of the situation, run as fast as you can to give that table away. Sure, they might order a full meal and perhaps a glass of wine, but they will be there for at least eight hours. Now, if you have any desire to leave work that night, this greatly hinders your progress. Long after you’ve gotten any other tables as you sweep up for the night, they will still be chatting it up about old times and “How little Frank is doing at the trombone” or “How little Suzie is doing in karate” or “What whores we were in college”. Even long after they’ve finally gotten the hint, they will leave an hour after closing time, allowing you to leave two hours after closing.
Total Bill: $24.50
Gratuity: $4.25
Ten Hours You’ll Never Get Back: Priceless
· Guys who look like they’re in hard core bands – If they have a lot of facial piercing, tattoos, badass purple hair dye, and talk about their band a lot, beware. A) Their appearances show a lack of good judgment. B) The fact that they’re in a band shows they have no money. C) The fact that they’re in a hardcore metal band shows they have no talent, thus no hope for money. Combining all of these elements should leave no surprise when they do not pay for their meal, or “dine and ditch” as Generation X calls it, or “really, really shitty” as I call it.
Total Bill: Something high
Gratuity: Gratuity?
· People With Peanut or Shellfish Allergies – They’re hard to spot at first, but these people will cause you quite a bit of needless effort with little to no payoff. Usually, you will be required to look up the recipe for the macaroni and cheese to find out if it contains any peanut products. Sure, it’s to keep them “alive”, but come on. They usually end up just eating the Tic Tacs they had in their purse.
Total Bill: $0.00
Gratuity: An angry mother’s complaints to the manager
· Minorities – A worst I could go on for books on this one, but let’s just say that “water” is one of first English words that most foreigners learn and “tip” is one of the last.
Total Bill: 58 Francs
Gratuity: 2 Yen
IV. What Tables to Wait On
Your Family or Friends – Hey, if they know you, they’ll have to tip you well or hear about it from you later, right? It’s a win-win situation. Unfortunately, this is the only sort of reliable table. Enjoy!
V. Conclusion
It takes patience to be a waiter. Patience and a lot of ironed shirts. Patience, a lot of ironed shirts, and a hell of a high tolerance for all kinds of people. Unfortunately, in the wrong hands, a waitering job can break an individual down to a drooling, sneering, shadow of a man like the one who stands before you. Just remember kids, always tip you waiters and never order water with lemon. Your waiter just might remember you years later, your face popping up in the deepest of his worst nightmares as he prepares for you your water with lemon. He will wake up in the middle of the night screaming “Would you like bottled instead?!” much to the confusion of his roommate. To this day he will be plotting his sick, twisted revenge against those who have ordered water with lemon and/or under-tipped him. That moment will come, oh yes. But I mean, I’m not talking about myself.
That just there was my spiel that I give to tables every time I greet them. After saying this I usually head to the kitchen, angrily grumbling to myself about the cheap bastards I’m currently waiting on. If there’s one thing that sends a waiter into a blinding rage, its water with lemon. That’s like coming into a whore house and telling the owner, “I’m just going to touch myself in the corner if that’s okay.” Alright, maybe it’s not like that. Anyway, after dropping off their free beverages, I usually am heard to remark:
“We all set to order over here guys or do you still need a few minutes?”
They usually need a few minutes. Fast forward four minutes later, let’s read on…
“We all set to order over here guys or do you still need a few minutes? Awesome, what can I get you? Uh-huh. Just the salad? You know you could always add on a…fine. Just salad for you sir. And for you ma’am? The same, great. Alright folks, I’ll put that right in for you. Let me know if I can get you anything else, alright? I can’t? Great.”
Let me just start by saying that everyone should have to wait tables at some point in their life. The more I come into contact with them, the more I realize that fellow or former waiters are truly the only human beings who “get it”. After, and only after, you’ve been a waiter, you’ve truly seen all that the human race has to offer; the pleasant ‘ribs-and-wine’ ups, the bland ‘burger-and-coke’ middles, and the unbearable ‘salad-and-ice-water-with-lemon’ lows. Now, this all may not sound so bad, you say? “I’m a big man, Mike, what’s wrong with you?” you ask. “You must be one of those pansy boys who doesn’t beat people up, play poker, ride motorcycles, and bench 350lb like me!” you continue. Consider this: you have to be nice to everybody. Not just like being a decent human being and ‘not peeing on their shoes’ nice, no sir. Since your income depends on it, you’ve got to put all your energy into constant smiling, high energy, and the dreaded awkward small talk. Above all, you’ve got to treat everybody like royalty, as if your whole world collapses around you if they’re not enjoying their Chicken and Cheese Mega-Ultra Queso Quesadilla. You want demeaning? You got demeaning…
I’ve been waiting tables for nearly three years, and I feel that I have most definitely changed as an individual in that span. Since clearly not everyone is able to become a waiter in their lifetime, I have attempted to compile a Power Point presentation that can reliably recreate the experience of waiting on tables, and the trials and tribulations that come with it all. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem possible to adequately perform a Power Point presentation in front of all potential Paper readers (though they could possibly all fit in my room). I suppose I could try to project a presentation on a giant screen over Edward’s Parade, but that’s just silly.
Ah, hell, I’ll do my best here…
I. The Truth About Eating Out (lolololollo1lol)
· I worked at a Ruby Tuesday’s, I suppose that would have been good to throw in there previously. Of course, Ruby Tuesday’s in a giant evil corporate chain, who just wants your money. Chili’s, TGI Friday’s, UNO’s, the list goes on; they all basically follow the same principles. Why do you think your waiters constantly ask if “You guys would like some gooey, greasy nachos” instead of “an appetizer”? That’s called putting the image in your head. Of course, as a waiter, I know that this suggestive selling technique never, ever works, arousing only strange confused looks from a guest.
· Oh right, customers have to be called guests. It’s wack. They’re giving us their money, they want to buy food from us, and we want their money. They’re customers. I guess this attempts some kind of “welcome to our home, dear friend” atmosphere, but it just fails.
· Most chain restaurants are constantly tuned in to the same radio station that plays the same forty songs on a loop for hours until forever. Now, if you enjoy hearing “Soak Up the Sun” every fifty minutes, then this may not be a problem for you. For the rest of us, twitching will ensue, and your waitering performance will be affected adversely. Other fine tunes that I’ve been force fed this summer thanks to Ruby Tuesday Radio include: Jason Mraz’s “Wordplay” – an “aural jerkoff” in every sense of the term; Jack Johnson’s song about “when we used to laugh” or something, I’ve usually fallen fast asleep by this point in the song; “Punk Rock 101” – by who the hell knows. Now, this song is interesting in that it tries to make the point that punk is irritating and obnoxious by being irritating and obnoxious; and a million Counting Crows sound-alikes who I’m willing to bet no one outside of the food service business has ever heard.
· Yes, when they’re not talking to you at your table, waiters are in the back, complaining about you. I mean, with any job, the employees are bound to bitch about the work and the customers (fine, guests….guestomers?), but seeing as all of our pay is determined by the kind of people we wait on, waiters have very short fuses. I swear, if Jesus was a waiter, he’d complain about you.
II. Tips For Aspiring Customers
· Don’t order “ice water with lemon”. I swear to God, just don’t do it. If you like water, order a bottle of water, it’ll taste better anyway. I know it’s irrational, but I’ve had ice waters with lemon ruin my day. Some say I just have a deeper psychological issue, but whatever. If you insist on ordering this free beverage, at least make it clear that you’re ordering it because you’re cheap. Don’t skip around that issue, because trust me, its going through the waiter’s head. At least by bringing it to the forefront, you invite perhaps a good hardy chuckle. But mostly, just don’t order water.
· Your waiter may seem like a robot, and it’s because, as I typed above, they all have programmed themselves to the same exact routine for every table. To be honest, if someone threw me a curve and responded to my “Hey guys, how’s it going” greeting, I would not know how to respond. A simple “Good, how are you?” would cause my head to explode. Luckily, it hasn’t happened yet.
III. What Tables to Avoid – Yes, there are certain types of tables that, as a waiter, you will want to avoid like soap on a European. Here are but a few:
· The Elderly – Don’t be fooled by their friendly demeanor, or by the fact that they remind you of your grandparents. Old people are just out in between Matlock’s and do not intend on spending any money. Sure, they’re cute as a button on a midget, but they are also under the false impression, like so many others, that you as a waiter are being paid a decent salary. Not so. Your $2.62 salary (before taxes) amounts to absolutely nothing, though I suppose in 1935 it was a lot of money. Either way, senior citizens will rarely go for more than the soup and a cup of tea, or just hot water (?!?!), leaving you with an eleven dollar check, a whopping 0.42 tip, and an amazingly deflated sense of self-esteem. And I just looked it up, $2.62 still wasn’t a lot of money in 1935.
Total Bill: $10.88
Gratuity: $0.42
· Teenage Girls – As in any walk of life, teenage girls together in one place are a force to be reckoned with, and as a waiter they can lead to some discouraging experiences. However, unlike the elderly, this group is almost never pleasant or friendly, making the whole experience completely demoralizing and reminding you of those uncomfortable high school memories you thought you had buried through years of drug abuse (er,…therapy). Naturally, they all order water with lemon. Then, they usually ask for the one thing that’s not on the menu, whine when I say we don’t have it, and continuously whine that “TGI Friday’s made them for us!” Then, one or two things could happen; they either order lots of expensive food or next to nothing. Either way, you come out with a well earned 4% tip, after taking ten minutes to split their checks only to have them all pay in cash (?!).
Total Bill: $8.85, $12.89, $9.34, and $10.43
Gratuity: $1.15, $0.11, $0.66, and -$0.43
· Large Women – Well, they’re large, they like to eat then right? That should rake in a wad of cash, right? No! Wrong! Contrary to popular belief, not all fat people enjoy highly salted butter encrusted deep friend dinner meals, especially those of the plus-sized female division. More often than not, these women believe that they need to diet, resulting in (you guessed it) water with lemon and salad. Trust me, prior to this realization I had some genuine heartbreaks after greeting tables containing at least one large women, her mousy husband, and their crayon throwing child. The wife decides the two of them should go on a diet together, even though the husband has no real need to diet. As a result, their bill usually maxes out at two waters and two salads. Oh, and the kid shares with them while gnawing on some Saltines that end up in a million pieces on the floor. Enjoy ‘em, kid!
Total Bill: $15.25
Gratuity: $ 1.75 (just to make it an even $17.00)
· Thin People – self explanatory
· Women Who Are Old Friends and Haven’t Seen Each Other In Years – I know it sounds like a freak case, but it happens quite a lot, quite a lot. If you see two women hug before they sit down, after you’ve gotten over the erotic intrigue of the situation, run as fast as you can to give that table away. Sure, they might order a full meal and perhaps a glass of wine, but they will be there for at least eight hours. Now, if you have any desire to leave work that night, this greatly hinders your progress. Long after you’ve gotten any other tables as you sweep up for the night, they will still be chatting it up about old times and “How little Frank is doing at the trombone” or “How little Suzie is doing in karate” or “What whores we were in college”. Even long after they’ve finally gotten the hint, they will leave an hour after closing time, allowing you to leave two hours after closing.
Total Bill: $24.50
Gratuity: $4.25
Ten Hours You’ll Never Get Back: Priceless
· Guys who look like they’re in hard core bands – If they have a lot of facial piercing, tattoos, badass purple hair dye, and talk about their band a lot, beware. A) Their appearances show a lack of good judgment. B) The fact that they’re in a band shows they have no money. C) The fact that they’re in a hardcore metal band shows they have no talent, thus no hope for money. Combining all of these elements should leave no surprise when they do not pay for their meal, or “dine and ditch” as Generation X calls it, or “really, really shitty” as I call it.
Total Bill: Something high
Gratuity: Gratuity?
· People With Peanut or Shellfish Allergies – They’re hard to spot at first, but these people will cause you quite a bit of needless effort with little to no payoff. Usually, you will be required to look up the recipe for the macaroni and cheese to find out if it contains any peanut products. Sure, it’s to keep them “alive”, but come on. They usually end up just eating the Tic Tacs they had in their purse.
Total Bill: $0.00
Gratuity: An angry mother’s complaints to the manager
· Minorities – A worst I could go on for books on this one, but let’s just say that “water” is one of first English words that most foreigners learn and “tip” is one of the last.
Total Bill: 58 Francs
Gratuity: 2 Yen
IV. What Tables to Wait On
Your Family or Friends – Hey, if they know you, they’ll have to tip you well or hear about it from you later, right? It’s a win-win situation. Unfortunately, this is the only sort of reliable table. Enjoy!
V. Conclusion
It takes patience to be a waiter. Patience and a lot of ironed shirts. Patience, a lot of ironed shirts, and a hell of a high tolerance for all kinds of people. Unfortunately, in the wrong hands, a waitering job can break an individual down to a drooling, sneering, shadow of a man like the one who stands before you. Just remember kids, always tip you waiters and never order water with lemon. Your waiter just might remember you years later, your face popping up in the deepest of his worst nightmares as he prepares for you your water with lemon. He will wake up in the middle of the night screaming “Would you like bottled instead?!” much to the confusion of his roommate. To this day he will be plotting his sick, twisted revenge against those who have ordered water with lemon and/or under-tipped him. That moment will come, oh yes. But I mean, I’m not talking about myself.
Recently discovered Nickelodeon contract from 1998
Dear Parent and/or Guardian and/or Homosexual Adopted Look-er After-er,
We at Nickelodeon would like to thank you for choosing our network’s programs as your outlet to live through your child. Rest assured, a wild and wacky adventure awaits your son or daughter on one of our fine network programs. However, we at Nick care about your child’s safety above all else. As a result, we kindly ask you to sign this simple contract, for legal purposes, in case any mishap should take place. Again, we care very deeply about your child’s safety.
I_____________________, hereby do not hold Nickelodeon, Nick at Nite, the Nicktoons Network, or any of its affiliates responsible if any of the following should occur.
If participating in GUTS:
- Your child breaks both his knees on the obstacle course.
- Your child is crushed by a boulder on the Agro Crag.
- Your child is beaten by a girl.
- Your child inhales unhealthy amounts of sparkly confetti while climbing “the Crag”
- Your child is impaled on “the Crag”.
- Your child crashes the Huffy bike that he wins.
- Your child unwittingly discovers that “Mo” is in fact not British, but a rather prominent member of the Austrian mafia working incognito.
- You child is taken out by the Austrian mafia.
- Your child befriends Mike O’Mally.
If participating in LEGENDS OF THE HIDDEN TEMPLE:
- Your child is molested by a temple guard.
- Your child drowns in the moat.
- Your child is attacked by the radioactive piranhas that for some reason inhabit the moat.
- Your child, a Blue Barracuda, falls in love with a Green Monkey player, and the two rival gangs have a “rumble” that night
- Your child is eaten by Olmec.
- Your child can’t figure out how to put together the Silver Monkey, and is deemed “retarded” by his peers forever.
- Your child crashes the Huffy bike that he wins.
- Your child trades the Melody Pop he won by being eliminated in the first round for crack in the studio parking lot after the show.
- Your child accidentally stumbles upon some mummified corpses of past child contestants in the basement of the Hidden Temple.
If participating in DOUBLE DARE:
- Your child’s skin, liver, or brain is infected by Gak™, which also goes by the name of Radon Glyciphonate III.
- Upon being “slimed” your child goes blind.
- Your child selects a “physical challenge”, and it turns out to be “Shave Mark Somer’s back”.
- Your child gets crushed by a giant cue tip while retrieving a red flag out of the giant ear.
- Your child gets lost in the giant peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and is eaten by Laurie Beth Dinberg (who just happened to be on set that day).
If participating in WHAT WOULD YOU DO:
- Your child receives a concussion from the pie machine.
- Your child is traumatized by Mark Somers’s raging OCD.
- If the card stuck on your child’s forehead reads “Take a bath with Mark Somers”, and your child misguidedly chooses it.
- Your child falls into the pie machine, and is accidentally eaten by Laurie Beth Dinberg (who just happened to be on set that day)
If participating in NICK ARCADE:
- Your child becomes indefinitely trapped in the final round video game.
- Your child loses his spirit because this show will only be on at 7 AM on a Sunday, and no one will ever see it.
- Your child becomes a nerd.
- Your child is eaten by Laurie Beth Dinberg, (who eats children).
If participating in FIGURE IT OUT:
- Your child has his mind boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Does it wear purple pants?”
- Your child’s mind is boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Can it drive…old…underpants?”
- Your child’s mind is boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Is it a giant cookie maker…machine…dog?”
- Your child’s mind is boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Did you invent a machine to save my career?”
- Your child has a really shitty accomplishment, like “Invented Toad Feader Hat”.
- Your child, upon receiving that fifty dollar gift certificate to Toys R Us, buys a Huffy bike.
- Your child’s only friend is his Huffy bike.
- Your child crashes his only friend.
Thank you, we know you have a choice in which outrageous, loud children’s network to choose to expose your offspring to fulfill your lost dreams of fame. Thank you for choosing Nickelodeon to do so. Sign below, and your child will be awaited by a fun magical world of magic, fun, and molestation…er, fun.
Sign here: ________________
We at Nickelodeon would like to thank you for choosing our network’s programs as your outlet to live through your child. Rest assured, a wild and wacky adventure awaits your son or daughter on one of our fine network programs. However, we at Nick care about your child’s safety above all else. As a result, we kindly ask you to sign this simple contract, for legal purposes, in case any mishap should take place. Again, we care very deeply about your child’s safety.
I_____________________, hereby do not hold Nickelodeon, Nick at Nite, the Nicktoons Network, or any of its affiliates responsible if any of the following should occur.
If participating in GUTS:
- Your child breaks both his knees on the obstacle course.
- Your child is crushed by a boulder on the Agro Crag.
- Your child is beaten by a girl.
- Your child inhales unhealthy amounts of sparkly confetti while climbing “the Crag”
- Your child is impaled on “the Crag”.
- Your child crashes the Huffy bike that he wins.
- Your child unwittingly discovers that “Mo” is in fact not British, but a rather prominent member of the Austrian mafia working incognito.
- You child is taken out by the Austrian mafia.
- Your child befriends Mike O’Mally.
If participating in LEGENDS OF THE HIDDEN TEMPLE:
- Your child is molested by a temple guard.
- Your child drowns in the moat.
- Your child is attacked by the radioactive piranhas that for some reason inhabit the moat.
- Your child, a Blue Barracuda, falls in love with a Green Monkey player, and the two rival gangs have a “rumble” that night
- Your child is eaten by Olmec.
- Your child can’t figure out how to put together the Silver Monkey, and is deemed “retarded” by his peers forever.
- Your child crashes the Huffy bike that he wins.
- Your child trades the Melody Pop he won by being eliminated in the first round for crack in the studio parking lot after the show.
- Your child accidentally stumbles upon some mummified corpses of past child contestants in the basement of the Hidden Temple.
If participating in DOUBLE DARE:
- Your child’s skin, liver, or brain is infected by Gak™, which also goes by the name of Radon Glyciphonate III.
- Upon being “slimed” your child goes blind.
- Your child selects a “physical challenge”, and it turns out to be “Shave Mark Somer’s back”.
- Your child gets crushed by a giant cue tip while retrieving a red flag out of the giant ear.
- Your child gets lost in the giant peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and is eaten by Laurie Beth Dinberg (who just happened to be on set that day).
If participating in WHAT WOULD YOU DO:
- Your child receives a concussion from the pie machine.
- Your child is traumatized by Mark Somers’s raging OCD.
- If the card stuck on your child’s forehead reads “Take a bath with Mark Somers”, and your child misguidedly chooses it.
- Your child falls into the pie machine, and is accidentally eaten by Laurie Beth Dinberg (who just happened to be on set that day)
If participating in NICK ARCADE:
- Your child becomes indefinitely trapped in the final round video game.
- Your child loses his spirit because this show will only be on at 7 AM on a Sunday, and no one will ever see it.
- Your child becomes a nerd.
- Your child is eaten by Laurie Beth Dinberg, (who eats children).
If participating in FIGURE IT OUT:
- Your child has his mind boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Does it wear purple pants?”
- Your child’s mind is boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Can it drive…old…underpants?”
- Your child’s mind is boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Is it a giant cookie maker…machine…dog?”
- Your child’s mind is boggled because of Danny Tambourelli’s query of “Did you invent a machine to save my career?”
- Your child has a really shitty accomplishment, like “Invented Toad Feader Hat”.
- Your child, upon receiving that fifty dollar gift certificate to Toys R Us, buys a Huffy bike.
- Your child’s only friend is his Huffy bike.
- Your child crashes his only friend.
Thank you, we know you have a choice in which outrageous, loud children’s network to choose to expose your offspring to fulfill your lost dreams of fame. Thank you for choosing Nickelodeon to do so. Sign below, and your child will be awaited by a fun magical world of magic, fun, and molestation…er, fun.
Sign here: ________________
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