Jason Moliterno

NFL Now Taking Submissions For 2016 Scandal

2/1/2015

Now approaching its 96th season, the National Football League has announced plans for a brand new scandal, currently slated to be manifested in January, 2016, and is currently taking submissions.

Are you one of 32 NFL teams and would like to be the center of next year's scandal? If so, fill out the form below by 6:00 PM EDT on February 15, 2015. This form is for Scandal Applicants only. If you are interested in submitting a regular season or post season game to be rigged in your favor, please instead visit NFLowners.org/GameFixer.

The 2016 Scandal is unfortunately limited to one team. Last year we received 22 submissions, and were only able to select three winners (Baltimore, Minnesota, New England). Before you submit, please make sure your application is the best that it can be. What value does your scandal provide for fans? Is it creative and exciting? Commissioner Goodell considers your application from multiple angles.

FAQ

Does my scandal have to rhyme with the word 'gate' or have some other clever pun?
No, but names are marketable and will be considered by our judges. Bear in mind that simply rhyming a word with ‘gate’ does not automatically win points. Both the Texans and Browns submitted ‘Ben Tate-gate’ in the past two years, but both were rejected for inconsistencies in the rest of their application.

What is the compensation?
You will receive unlimited media attention during the duration of your scandal. In addition to this, the referees will rig up to three regular season games free of charge, applicable two seasons following your scandal.

Why not the immediate following season?
This will seem too fishy to the fans, but one year later, they will have forgotten everything.

Will I lose a draft pick?
Possibly. It depends on how much anger your scandal drums up from the fans. Bear in mind that the commoners are forgetful, and if your scandal is shortly followed by a different hot media story (terrorists, cops, etc.), your scandal will possibly be forgotten and no draft pick will be demanded from you.

Can my submission fee be waived?
If you agreed to have three or more games rigged against you in the past 2 seasons, you are eligible to waive the $5,000 submission fee.

Can my team be accepted two years in a row?
No, Bill. Aren’t you on ESPN enough?

Do I have to scapegoat a player or coach?
Yes, although we leave this decision to you. Scapegoating is one of humanity’s great delights, and we wouldn’t dream of robbing you of this fun decision. Remember to get creative here, and take your time. Make a day of it! There’s no reason a ballboy or even a simple fan cannot be blamed for everything.

What if my scandal is too similar to a previous scandal?
Originality is taken into consideration, but remember that fans also enjoy storylines that mirror previous ones. This allows their feeble minds to draw parallels (i.e. “dude another spygate lol”).

What was with the Packers playing that prevent defense against the Seahawks?
Dude, I know, right!

Sometimes it’s very lonely being an NFL owner. How can I overcome my depression?
We recommend a uniform change! Add some new stripes, or perhaps a weird, trendy accent color like silver or grey. Your jersey sales will be through the roof.

Christ, that Scandal 2016 logo is awful! Was it made by some retarded 8 year-old who couldn’t afford Photoshop?
Hey, suck a dick!

2 Comments

My Super Amazing Ultra-Swayable Facebook Status That Will Pierce Your Cyberspace Like A Knife, You Dumb, Close-Minded Non-Thinker, You

8/12/2014

1 Comment

I will write a Facebook status tomorrow about a currently-undetermined socio-political and/or cultural issue/event, and it will SWAY YOU ALL. Oh, you just wait. Its truth will pierce your cyberspace like a knife. The Likes will flow like the Tigris. The Likes will flow like the Euphrates too, because look, the Tigris and Euphrates are a pair, and you can’t separate them. I’ll need a barrel for all my Likes. “There’s Jason,” you’ll say, “with his Like barrel.”

It will begin with, “I don’t usually post things like this.” Count yourself lucky that you signed on at such a time that this appeared, and enjoy this insight before I lock up the vault and seal this treasure chest up forever. Can you possibly imagine the grave misfortune of those who do not see my status? They will walk in ignorance for the remainder of time. I’m not just talking about this life. In heaven, hell, or limbo, wherever they end up, someone will invariable say, “And how about Jason’s status, huh? Too bad no one copied it down. Lost forever.” You’ll say, “But.. but... will he write another?” And the man will answer, “Oh no, he doesn’t usually write things like this.”

Now I’ve got some tricks in my back pocket, in case I need them. One such trick is the use of ALL CAPS to hammer home various points of my status’s urgency, such as the word SHOCKED, if it turns out that whatever I decide to talk about is shocking. Look, it will probably be shocking. I’m not gonna talk about something you commoners could have thought of yourself. If it were in regular boring lower case, you might think I am just screwin’ around. Just dickin’ about like a dick. But I am not. Every day I see these lower-case lollygaggers with their boring statuses.

Let’s pause for a brief fable. There was once a lower-case lollygagger, let’s call him James, who wrote Facebook statuses. About what, you ask? NO ONE KNOWS, CAUSE NO ONE READ THEM.

It will be one long paragraph, too, cause my point is important, and I can’t be pressin return like some kind of nerd. “How did I not see this point?” you’ll say to yourself. “So concise. It began with a splash of sarcasm, turned dark, turned light, and ended with optimism. He was not afraid! He had had enough! He knew he might not get through to the other side, but he said it anyways!” In a daze, you’ll stagger outside, not knowing where you are, and you’ll shit your pants. “I’ve shit my pants,” you’ll declare to passersby.

You will have no clue that the last book I ever read was Superfudge in 1994.

Oh, and what Swiftian irony will I employ! References upon references. Will I quote Bob Dylan? You bet your sweet ass I will quote Bob Dylan. And Huang Po too, cause he sounds like he was probably a Zen master or something from a thousand years ago, and they were right about everything. Have you ever known a Zen master to be wrong? Of course not. Well, maybe when they were younger, and they were balancing that bucket on their head and trying to kill a fly with a chopstick. But not when they were older! And quotes from them kick ass, cause everyone knows it’s smart and you are also smart for quoting it, and it’s like you thought of it too. Not you, though. Me. It’s my status. DON’T FORGET THAT.

1 Comment

Hey There, Guy In The Corner Seat At Starbucks

5/22/2014

5 Comments

Hey there, guy in the corner seat. You’ve had that corner seat for an hour and I want it. Yes, I am talking to you, douche with the ponytail. Do you know how I know you’re a douche? Here’s a simple algorithm, developed by a team of 16 interns at Harvard University: ponytail + not being a pony = douche. That’s you, a douche, hoarding the big, soft, comfortable, leather chair in the corner, where no one can see your laptop, where you can look up porn with Starbucks’ free wifi since you don’t have it at home.

When I arrived an hour ago, I grabbed this hard, uncomfortable seat in the center because I thought I’d get some good, hard work done on my laptop, and maybe even some random people might see me, think, “Look at that master artist!” and tweet it out. I’d be trending by lunch, and by dinner I’d be toasting martini glasses with intellectuals, saying, “To art!” (pronounced “ahhht”) while wittily critiquing a Terrence Malick film on the back patio. Well, after I checked my e-mail and Facebook, I got depressed and decided hard work sucks and I hate it and now all I want to do is look up some good porn and download it so I can go home and enjoy it there.

You’re not even using the ottoman. Look at that nice, soft ottoman all alone. What am I supposed to do, go to Panera? Pa-NERA? With all the homeless people?

Oh, maybe you think I should head down to the hipstery section of town, and go to an eclectic coffee shop, named after a coffee phrase or pun, like Thirsty Grounds or Morning Brew or Morning Joe or Java Joe or Big Joe’s Cup of Morning Joe & Java.

I bet you think you’re SO great because you have expensive headphones, and I have large green headphones that I got at Five And Below. I’ll have you know that these headphones tied for the most expensive item there.

I bet you’re not even looking up porn. I bet you’re on douche.com, reading an article called ’20 Basic Douche Skills That All Douches Should Have In The Year 2014.’

What, do you think everyone’s looking at you, all impressed that you wear wire-rims and read ‘Infinite Jest’? You aren’t actually reading that. You’re in the middle of it and there are no creases. That book is massive, and if you were actually reading it, it would be all beat up. It’s as massive a book as you’re a massive --

Oh my God. Wow. Just wow. A friend has joined you and is talking. Why don’t you guys grab one of the tables? No, he’s just gonna stand there. Man, I hate his head. I’ve only seen him for the past three seconds but I already just really hate his head. What’s he saying to you? This is how I can only imagine your conversation going:

Your Friend: Hey old friend in the big, comfortable, soft, corner seat that that other guy over there clearly wants, it appears as though you STILL HAVEN’T CUT THAT STUPID FUCKING PONYTAIL.
You: Correct, old friend. Cutting my ponytail might make me not a douche, and being a douche is my livelihood.
Your Friend: You still have your wire-rims, though, and your flannel, and your copy of Infinite Jest that you aren’t reading.
You: That’s true.
Your Friend: You’ll always be a douche.
You (dropping your head down): Thanks, but sometimes... sometimes...
Your Friend: Hey!
You: What?
Your Friend: Look at me.
You: Why?
Your Friend: Look me in the eyes that are on my dumb, hatable head.
You (looking up meekly): Yeah?
Your Friend: You will always be a douche, and do not, DO NOT, ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Are you not pretending to read David Foster Wallace?
You: I guess...
Your Friend: You ARE. And you’re keeping this ponytail, aren’t you? Look, kiddo, I am proud of you. That guy over there wants your seat, but you just keep sitting here, being a douche. I am proud of you. I believe in your heart and your purpose. If you want, we can start a fundraiser to raise Douche Awareness. Think of all the douches who have come before you and not been properly respected for their douchiness.
You: That’s true.

Technically, I cannot hear you guys, but that’s what was said, I....

Oh no, he’s sitting next to you on the ottoman. He’s taking out a notebook. You guys are gonna study for a test or something!

FOUR HOURS LATER

Hey there, guy in the corner seat. Hey there, guy on the ottoman. It looks like the Starbucks employees are closing up for the night. Mopping up the spilled creamer, straightening the chairs. It’s been a long road. Night time is nigh. The world is a bit older. We’ll all walk to our cars, you two with a bounce in your steps, and me with the sick feeling of defeat in my stomach.

Have I learned anything from today, and do I still hate you?

No, and yes.

SEE YOU TOMORROW AT 8 A.M., DOUCHE.

5 Comments

Travel Writing: New York City

3/14/2014

2 Comments

On a cool spring morning in Manhattan, I met Chip, a New Yorker editor, on the corner of Madison Avenue and Broadway. We exchanged greetings and well-wishes and laughed like old friends. An hour later, one of us would be dead.

To escape the chill, we ducked into The Locomotion, a hot new ironic club that took its name ironically from the song The Locomotion, which, by virtue of being 54 years old, was no longer cool. But this place was cool. Did it have chairs? Fuck, no. It had milk crates, which had been turned into chairs. It was across the street from Tiffany’s, a popular breakfast house.

“Sweet tweets, man,” said Chip, referring to my Twitter page, which he had “mad respect” for. Those weren’t my words, those were his. I don’t say shit like that.

“Hey, it pays the bills,” I said, with a sip of bourbon. “Kids gotta eat.”

Famed director Woody Allen sat across from us, with an old Remington, pounding away at his latest screenplay: a farce set in Brussels.

“Hey, Wood-man, pass the salt!” I said.

“I... uhh... well... you know,” he said.

We both burst out laughing. We talked shop for a while, swapping anecdotes about heated auditions and pesky camera operators. Chip interjected a few crass jokes that greatly annoyed the Wood-man and me. We chuckled politely, though. Editors.

“Well let’s get down to business, then, Jason,” said Chip, as he ordered a tea. He was so corny. After a sip of some weird green shit, he popped open a briefcase, which contained sacks of money with dollar signs on them (See: McDuck, Scrooge). “How’d you like to come to The New Yorker?”

The waitress interrupted with a pot of black coffee. “More coffee, hon?” She had long fingernails. She also worked in the mailroom, answering phones. I don’t know why the phones were in the mail room. They just were.

As I took a drag of my cigarette, pondering Chip’s offer, Ross, Chandler, Joey, and the rest of the gang walked into The Locomotion with a flurry of well-articulated, colloquial banter. Central Perk had just closed, I learned, and they were very disappointed. They got lattes, though, and settled into some milk crates. Chandler had just gotten back together with Janice again. Oh, Chandler! Why would you do this?

“Would you like to meet Derek Jeter?” asked Chip. “He wants to meet you.”

Reluctantly, I took batting practice and shagged some flies with Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter, who was honestly a bit clingy. Still, Yankee Stadium was beautiful and it was a perfect day for a ballpark frank. Jeter adored my tweets, as well as my Facebook statuses, dating back to 2006 when I was an English major at The University of Akron.

“Before I even knew what a status was, you were doing them,” the wide-eyed Jeter said, spitting some sunflower seeds. One of them hit Roger Clemens. I think Roger Clemens is still on the Yankees. No, I’m thinking of David Cone. No, I’m thinking of the fat one, Orson Welles. It doesn’t matter. “Oh, and remember that one blog you wrote? About how you hated red lights?”

“You’re crampin mah shit, Jeter!” I yelled, and Chip and I snagged a quick cab and headed to my new brownstone, which I would get if I signed on to the New Yorker staff. Outside my brownstone, a man waited for a girl with flowers, a hopeful look in his eyes. When the girl came out, it began to lightly rain, and he told her he loved her as he opened an umbrella for them to share. I love romance, don’t you? It was Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, by the way.

The next stop was Wall Street. You may have heard of Octopi Wall Street, which turned out to be just what it sounded like. I petted the firm beak of Samuel, a fiesty old mollusc from a little corner of the world that you and I call the Pacific... but Samuel just calls it home.

As we dined in their eatery, the current mayor, Rudy Guiliani, stepped in, with his Notre Dame jacket. Everywhere he went, people shouted, “Rudy! Rudy!” At first he didn’t recognize me, but Chip whispered in his ear, and then Guiliani waved me over to his booth. He told me how no one thought he’d hack it at college ball, but then a bunch of shit happened and everyone was all, “Rudy plays or I don’t,” and they let him play one down or something. I don’t really remember the story.

As we rode the Staten Island Ferry, who did I see, but fucking Jeter again! He was stalking me, but he totally acted like this was a coincidence. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but look, man, your Twitter is just so rad.” Rad? “Can I have your autograph?” He handed me his mitt, which I signed.

We headed next to Ground Zero, but its name made me really thirsty for a Coke Zero, so we didn’t stay very long at all. There were no vending machines at Ground Zero, which to me was like stacking one tragedy right on top of another.

As we enjoyed a ride on the subway, it dawned on me that it would be a very funny gag to pretend to be a Midwesterner who was mistaking the New York Subway for Subway, the restaurant. So I asked a bunch of people where Jared was, and even asked one homeless fellow to make me a six-inch Meatball Marinara on wheat. He shouted that only queers eat wheat and shit himself.

As we rode back to my luxury suite at The Plaza Hotel, I knew it was time to make a decision.

“All this glamour,” I said. “All this glitz. New York really is something. But... there’s just something about home. There’s just something about Youngstown, Ohio.”

Chip nodded. “I guess you’ll be leaving now, huh?” I nodded slowly.

As his taxi drove away, I waved goodbye to Chip. What a gentleman. A giant ape (King Kong?) grabbed his taxi and ate it. He was dead within the week.

2 Comments

All 21 Customer Reviews Of My New App, Kennedy Assessination For Mac (Sorted By Most Recent)

1/29/2014

0 Comments

Customer Reviews

Wow. Just wow. ★★
by Alan24918 - Version 1.10 - Jan 03, 2014

I bought this game in the hopes it would be about the Kennedy assassination, and that I could either shoot Kennedy (as Oswald or as the guy from the grassy knoll), play Kennedy and try to avoid the bullet, or even play Jackie O in some capacity.

It is actually ASSESS-ination, which is in fact not a word, yet the game’s creator apparently thinks it is. I don’t know if he didn’t have spell check, but the correct word is assessment.

In this game, you play a student, Richard Ludmark, who is “assessing” Kennedy in 1973 for a college paper. Level 1 is actually just Ludmark in his dorm, procrastinating. The goal is to eat a pizza and jerk off without picking up your notebook or walking to the library. If you walk into the library, you die. After this, I just stopped. I didn’t even try Level 2.

4 out of 6 customers found this review helpful
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it crashes every time!!! ★
by DaMan_13 - Version 1.10 - Dec 26, 2013

fix this bug!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2 out of 13 customers found this review helpful
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Solid game, if a bit retro. ★★★★★
James_Houston - Version 1.10 - Dec 21, 2013

Beautiful music. The Elton John is clearly not licensed, but that’s ok. I feel like I am right back in my own dorm in the 70s, trying not to write a paper. I’ve only advanced to Level 2 so far, where Richard goes to the school’s cafeteria and smuggles out some brownies and some milk cartons in his book bag. He is stuck sitting next to a kid who needs to shower.

1 out of 2 customers found this review helpful
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hmmmmmm ★★
by xXcooljustinXx - Version 1.10 - Dec 20, 2013

ok. I am being GENEROUS with the 2 stars here. when Richard crashes the history departments party in level 6, and u have to fight the dean, the combat simply SUCKS. you just press the attack button and you watch a stupid animated fight. this isn’t combat, this is just pointing and clicking. I wanted to kick that dean’s fat ass, but the game won’t even let you kick. horrible. the other rpg game this company put out, mckinley assessination, was much better. u could box in old school 20s style.

2 out of 3 customers found this review helpful
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Cool game, but a few things... ★★★★
by cameraguy - Version 1.10 - Dec 17, 2013

First off, I am playing this game on my macbook air from late 2009.

There is no option to turn off or even to reduce the amount of sexuality. When Richard and his roommate George get drunk and bang the slutty chicks from Hedgewick Hall, you have to try and convince the girls not to use a condom, and personally this was a bit much. I wanted to play this game with my kids!
When you use multiple screens, the images get strange. Fix!
In Level 5, Richard has a long conversation with a guy on a porch, where you have to compare a tapped keg to Frank Zappa, the Vietnam War, and the moon, and the goal of the level is to not say anything profound. This was very difficult for me, as a non-drinker and non-smoker.

7 out of 13 customers found this review helpful
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multiplayer wont work ★
by DJT1993 - Version 1.10 - Dec 16, 2013

omg can they please fix this bug or update it or something!! you are suppose to be able to play 2 player, where one person can be richard and another person can be george, richard’s fat roommate who farts and has a lisp.

3 out of 9 customers found this review helpful
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Fun and multiplayer works ★★★★
by JonathanLikesLemons - Version 1.10 - Dec 2, 2013

Got this for my 2.66/4GB Core Duo 24” iMac (GeForce 9400) and absolutely no problems at all. Saw some complaints about multiplayer, but it worked quite easily for me. Got to play George, Richard’s fat roommate. George farts, A LOT, and it takes about a level to figure out how to control the farts, but by Level 4, when Richard and George are trying to score with the two girls, I was completely able to hold the farts in until the girls went to the bathroom.

4 out of 6 customers found this review helpful
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¡Me encanta este juego! ★★★★★
by rick4555 - Version 1.10 - Dec 2, 2013

Me compré este juego para mi hijo. Él tiene 12 años y ama la historia. ¡muy recomendable!

1 out of 6 customers found this review helpful
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NOT historically accurate! ★★★
by pocket_full_of_shells112 - Version 1.10 - Nov 30, 2013

Good game, but the music is NOT correct. In level 7, when Richard really buckles down to try and write his paper at 4 am the day it is due, he puts on a record, and the album you have to choose is ‘Quadrophenia’ by The Who. WELL. Something as quick as a SIMPLE GOOGLE SEARCH should have told the game’s creators that this album was released on October 19, 1973, and since this game CLEARLY takes place at the end of spring semester, 1973, then it is completely and utterly impossible that Richard could play this album. Are we supposed to believe that Richard, a simple college student, got an advanced copy of such a HIGHLY ANTICIPATED DOUBLE ALBUM?? What, did he know Pete Townshend? Give me a break.

3 out of 10 customers found this review helpful
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racist!! dont buy!! ★
by Nick De Luca - Version 1.10 - Nov 28, 2013

just about everyone in the game is white.

2 out of 4 customers found this review helpful
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THIS REVIEW IS FOR THE GUY BELOW ME ★
by jtt_82635 - Version 1.10 - Nov 12, 2013

OK so the guy a couple reviews before me COMPLETELY BLEW THE TWIST ENDING. DO NOT, I REPEAT DO NOT, READ THE REVIEW BY SAM_IAM1988. I cannot believe that someone would blow the ENTIRE ENDING in the review section. Amazing. My 1 star rating is for this guy, the game itself gets between 3 and 4 stars from me.

7 out of 9 customers found this review helpful
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Won’t dowload ★
by Don_E_Darko - Version 1.10 - Nov 6, 2013

3 days later and still wont download

0 out of 2 customers found this review helpful
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Wow. Bugs and Bugs! ★
by howie_man339 - Version 1.10 - Nov 6, 2013

Had this on xbox and loved it. But from the app store I hate it

1 out of 5 customers found this review helpful
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what a helluva twist!! didn’t see it coming! ★★★★★
by sam_iam1988 - Version 1.10 - Nov 1, 2013

playing this game was like watching fight club or usual suspects for the first time. it turns out that richard and his roomate george are actually the same person!! how do they think of that? THEN they show u a little montage, where they flash back to earlier parts of your game, and its like, how did I miss that? its crazy too, cause if u played multiplayer, and say u and a friend were playing richard and george, u actually were BOTH PLAYING THE SAME PERSON!! richard has been schizaphrenic this whole time and has hallucenated his roommate due to an acid trip he had as a freshmen!!

4 out of 15 customers found this review helpful
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Great Game ★★★★★
by rolf77789 - Version 1.10 - Oct 30, 2013

Got to get this game!!

0 out of 1 customers found this review helpful
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Great Game ★★★★★
by rolf77789 - Version 1.10 - Oct 30, 2013

Got to get this game!!

1 out of 4 customers found this review helpful
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assassination? ★★
by Johnny928282 - Version 1.10 - Oct 29, 2013

The only thing you will assassinate in this game is your soul. Not about the actual Kennedy shooting. No Oswald, no guy with the umbrella, nothing.

4 out of 7 customers found this review helpful
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Can’t get past level 4 ★★
by where_is_wald0 - Version 1.10 - Oct 26, 2013

ok, so i dont get it. Played this level as both richard and george, and simply CANNOT get the two girls to have sex with us. Tried getting them drunk, but you lose 10 points. whenever i get close, the head mistress comes in, smacks us with a rolling pin, and kicks us out of the dorm.

2 out of 9 customers found this review helpful
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Good, but ripoff of last game ★★★
by CalvinDW - Version 1.10 - Oct 21, 2013

this game is fun, but essentially a repeat of the earlier games they put out, lincoln assessination and mckinley assessination. both those games were better because of the time period. but they are all better than william henry harrison book report, a weird game from the 80s where a kid had to write a book report on william henry harrison but gets pneumonia and dies.

6 out of 12 customers found this review helpful
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MackBook pro gets hot!! ★
by SmithMike4 - Version 1.10 - Oct 17, 2013

only happens when THIS game runs. wtf

1 out of 5 customers found this review helpful
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AMAZING ★★★★★
by KantSucks1982 - Version 1.10 - Oct 15, 2013

This game is a MUST BUY! Visually and philosophically engaging. The journey that Richard Ludmark, a 22-year old college senior in 1973, takes will be your own dark, introspective journey. Join him on the eve of the morning that his big college paper on JFK is due.

In Level 1, he procrastinates like we all do, suggesting the very nature of the Western male. He drinks, fights, and fucks (or tries to), and eventually finds his way to the library, where you have to fight off potheads, who have used old newspapers to wrap their weed.

The cafeteria in Level 2 is a dizzying array of post-World War II adolescence. Every one there is trapped in their own Lacanian Real.

At Hedgewick Hall in Level 4, when George must hold in his farts so that he and Richard can score with the two coeds, there is a subtle sadness in the knowledge that animal nature must be repressed in the name of sexuality. The dance of intimacy is presented for everyone in all its ugliness, and we are reminded of Kierkegaard’s‘ love for Regine. When George betrays Richard and blames Richard for the flatulence, this treachery is felt in all its depths.

Level 5 can be called The Descent Into Madness, as Richard strikes up a conversation on a porch (his empty styrofoam cup suggests napalm and thus the Vietnam War).

Level 6 is the barbaric aftermath, and then Level 7 is of course when Richard must confront his own destiny, like the Star Child in 2001, and write his damned paper already.

4 out of 11 customers found this review helpful
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0 Comments

List Of Things To Do In 2014

1/5/2014

1 Comment

Treat self to venti frappuccino upon completing this list. None of that skinny shit, either.
Say “aaaaah” with each sip.
Leave cup on table. (What, do I work there now? I gotta throw away trash?)
Post list on office wall next to framed poster of Jaws 3-D.
Start giving self more credit. In fact, all of it.
Pay taxes.
But like, not all of them.
Rocket to top of field. (Field to be determined. Computers?)
Once at top of field, become CEO of whatever company leads whatever field I’ve chosen. (Really need to choose field soon.)
Lure dog into sweater sleeve. Put on youtube.
Be the mysterious, contradictory CEO. It’s like, “I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but his Jaws 3-D poster is so hilarious.”
Figure out Noel’s favorite animal and buy creepy giant stuffed one for Valentine’s Day. (If this slips mind, just assume bear.)
Buy giant bow for giant creepy bear. (Taller than garage?)
Like Noel’s facebook status about having best boyfriend ever.
Switch to soy, but only to “be cool,” and switch back when no longer cool.
Let employees wear green on St. Patrick’s Day.
Then tell local TV camera crew that “you’ve got to have fun around the office.”
Bring back fanny packs, but don’t take credit.
Pick catchphrase and run catchphrase into ground. (“I’m just Big J, and it’s a beautiful day”?)
Have good cry.
Say, “It was raining,” when employees ask about good cry.
If employees seem accepting of “good cry” as reasonable human activity, admit to it.
But if they try a good cry themselves, tell them to get the fuck back to work, we don’t pay little pansy asses.
Tweet more.
Pray more. (Jesus? Buddha? Figure out difference, if any.)
Schedule a little “me” time every day. Create event on facebook, invite all friends. (Be sure to make clear that “me” refers to me and not them, that this isn’t their time, it’s mine, so concentrate on me, douche.)
Curse loudly at mail boy.
Let mail boy dress as Paul Revere for Memorial Day.
Say to Noel before bed, “I’m still foolin’ em.”
Start pronouncing Tuesday as Tuesdy and see if anyone notices.
Try oysters.
Bet all company money on Brooklyn Nets to win NBA Finals, knowing they will lose. This is to set up fall from prosperity and eventual comeback.
Shrug when people discuss fall from prosperity.
Walk swiftly past paparazzi with hand over face.
Move back in with parents.
Teach mother how to use remote control.
Run into old friend in dive-bar and have heart-to-heart.
Buy new dog and write killer song parodies about dog. Perform songs at open mic comedy nights.
Chop down father’s favorite cherry tree, repent when confronted, and say, “I can’t tell a lie, Pa.”
Tweet even MORE.
Start giving one person one compliment every day. This can be self if not able to think of something to say to another.
Actually, just give self one compliment every day. This saves phone calls and thinking.
Become novelist.
No, journalist! This will set up return to prosperity.
Cover both Republican and Democratic National Conventions (happening this year? or next?) and write biting satires of each. Proclaim disappointment in American political system and gain reputation as being someone who “tells it like it is.” Make cover of Time for this and achieve comeback.
Enjoy post-comeback relaxation day on yacht.
Oh, yeah. Buy yacht.
Extend post-comeback relaxation day to week. Get good whore.
Try new, clever, stuffed animal-themed gifts ideas out on whore to possibly use on Noel.
If ideas don’t work on Noel, blame whore.
Dispose of whore. (Help from mob? Sopranos real?)
Sip pumpkin latte to commemorate autumn.
Get arrested for protesting war (war to be determined). Turn experience into article, turn article into book, grace cover of Time for second time in year.
Tweet SO GODDAMN MUCH MORE.
Give back to community. (Put dollars’ worth of change in Give A Penny/Take A Penny jar at Subway?)
Receive creepy giant stuffed squirrel with giant bow from Noel for Sweetest Day. Say, "It's not my favorite animal, but close enough."
Reveal that yes, I am the one who brought back fanny packs this spring.
Appear as guest judge on one of those annoying music shows where teenagers sing and everyone acts all impressed but there’s really nothing that impressive, cause come on, it’s just a singing voice and it’s not like they wrote the fuckin’ song. (Be the likable judge?)
Lure dog into Christmasy sweater sleeve. Put on youtube. This is a holiday sequel to previous video. Don’t use the word “Christmas,” that’s racist. (I think?)
Play major role in Jaws 4-D. (Figure out if 4-D exists)
Actually, direct instead.
Actually, just do cameo as Hooper’s quirky cousin, Pooper.
Pen “Ultimate Tweet” that will have them laughing, crying, and thinking for months.
Go back one step and pen "Penultimate Tweet" before "Ultimate Tweet."
Dress as Santa for children, but figure out way to not actually see children. (Green screen?)
Somehow die excitingly and tragically, right before Jaws 4-D premiere. (Oscar clinched!)
Make death right after someone less famous dies, so that everyone forgets other guy.
Posthusmously publish early novel. Somehow write introduction. Dedicate to Jesus. No, Buddha!
Have brain donated to Harvard. Wake up and say “Boo” when dorky med student is working. (Figure out how to do this. Advanced science?)

1 Comment

Our Big Trick Play Against Peyton Manning

12/28/2013

3 Comments

We’re down four points, and as we stand on the Broncos’ 10-yard line, our fullback, Scotty, looks up at the scoreboard and reports that we only have time for one more play. At first we think Scotty is just foolin’, so we chuckle, clap, and fist-bump Scotty. “Good one,” we say. Scotty just has such a quick wit, so you can see why we thought that. Once, at meal time, we were by the coffee and Scotty pretended to drink a giant cup and then acted like he was all wired and wouldn’t be able to play. He’s good, Scotty. When he retires, I think he should try out for Second City.

“No, really,” Scotty pleas. “Guys. Guys!”

We all laugh harder. “I just marvel at his comic delivery,” our wide receiver, Sammy, says.

Coach Daniels’ face suddenly turns sober. “Hey, he’s being serious!” We look up and the clock is ticking. 9... 8... 7... 6.

“Can we call a timeout?” asks Coach Daniels. “Do we have any left? How can you tell?”

“Well, they show it on TV,” says Sammy. “There’s a little yellow line for each timeout. Can we get a TV?”

“At this time?!” yells Coach. He huffs and puffs and throws his headset down, and then he leaves the stadium.

“I have an ipad,” our lineman, Steven, says. So a lowly, corny field assistant fetches it from Steven’s pack. We unzip it, register it (there’s an error and we have to call Apple), fire it up, realize we don’t know the Wifi password at Mile High Stadium, ask Peyton Manning (who gives it to us, swell guy!), we sign on, ask Google how we can watch football on an ipad, settle on DirecTV after making a pro-con list, pool our money together for DirecTV, call DirecTV, get put on hold, get a little temperamental and almost hang up but then realize our call matters and remain on the line while they connect us to the next available representative, agree to their 24-month plan, set a password, sign in, watch an introductory tutorial about the Sunday Ticket app, catch a few highlights of the other games (great run by Peterson!), finally click on our own game, realize we have one timeout left, and just barely call it, leaving one second on the clock.

“Well,” I say, crouching down, “I’m the quarterback, so I’d better come up with a trick play. Let me check all these weird numbers on my electronic wristband thingee.” I check all the weird numbers on my electronic wristband thingee, but remember that I never figured out how to work it. In fact, I’ve been faking it all year.

“We can ask Peyton again,” suggests Sammy.

I peer across the field, where Peyton is looking at his own electronic wristband thingee and nodding at how much he understands it. “No. I want to do this myself. Those pesky Mannings beat me up every year and it’s got to end. How about The Lisping Punter?”

“We did that last week,” says Steven.

“Oh, right,” I say. “Okay, I’ve got it. We’ll go with The Prince Fenlon Fake.” I glance at Scotty, who nods.

We break huddle, and our kicker, Terry, trots out onto the field like little pansy kickers do.

“Hey, you guys are down four,” Manning says, noticing that something is afoot, “and a field goal’s only three.”

“Go fuck yourself, Manning!” I shout. He doesn’t hear me because Mile High Stadium has just started playing ‘Don’t Stop Believing.’ In fact, he thinks I have commented on the song and yells back that yes, it is an oldie but a goodie, and yes, one should never stop believing, and if I ever need someone to talk to, just give him a call, he’s up late, and sure we’re on opposing teams, but it’s only a game and we’re all in this together on this crazy, mixed-up Earth.

We settle into our field goal position. The stadium is at first confused, but then all the Broncos’ fans begin to laugh. I shoot Scotty a look. The plan is working.

Our long snapper, Jimmy, snaps the ball to me, and instead of setting the ball up for Terry to kick, I stand up. Everyone freezes. The crowd goes silent. In slow motion, the Broncos’ fans put their hands on their heads and mouth, “Ohhhhh noooooo.” They have been tricked, and we are the trickee.

As I stand with the ball, waiting for Sammy to run to the endzone (he runs a 4.4, but in slow motion that’s like forever), I hear a voice from the sideline. “Hey, you tricked us.” It’s Manning. There are now other Mannings with him as well, and they are all hurt by our trickery.

I am suddenly hit in the back. Scotty has stumbled back into me while doing his killer impression of Christopher Walken. Scotty has been chipping away at this Walken impression for the entirety of his rookie contract. At first it was poor and we all thought he was doing Woody Allen. But we knew Scotty would eventually nail it, and as I fall to the turf, the ball slipping from my hands, I can’t help but feel a tinge of pride. You’ve done it, Scotty! You’re going to go to Second City and make us all proud one day.

A Bronco linebacker, Von Miller, scoops the ball up and we are back to fast motion. He bolts to the end zone. It all looks bad.

Then I see Coach Daniels. He’s returned and he’s mad. Not the good kind of mad, where you’re angry and you’ve had some time to think and now you’re back with a plan to steal the ball from Von Miller. The bad kind of mad, where the word is used in its old connotation and it means crazy and you’ve found an actual Bronco, which you keep on a leash and apparently are confusing for your long lost son.

As he nears the end zone, Miller turns around to taunt us. He dances. Not too badly, either. I’d give him a B+.

“Running up the score?” a voice says. It’s Manning. He walks towards Miller, a scowl on his face. “That’s not the Bronco Way. Remember the powerpoint I made during training camp, ‘The Bronco Way’?”

“Was that the one where Eli did the animation?” asks Miller.

“Yeah.”

“I remember,” says Miller, nodding. “It was informative, yet not boring. And ultimately inspiring.” He takes a deep breath, having seen the light, and tosses the ball to the ground.

“But don’t throw the ball down!” screams Manning.

We return to slow motion. Steven The Lineman picks up the ball. We have the ball again! But we are 95 yards away, and big, fat Steven has the ball.

Steven bolts down the sideline. He is slow in real life, but in slow motion this is excruciating. He looks at me, like, “What do I do?” Run, Steven. Run.

And that’s when everything goes black.

* * * * *

“You’re in the hospital,” Coach Daniels says. He is with his long lost son, Harry.

“How long have I been in here?” I ask.

“Sixteen years.”

“Wow. Who’s president? It’s Manning, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” says Coach Daniels, “but not the one you think. Eli bested Peyton in a classic Manning vs. Manning presidential election. Archie wore a tie that was half blue and half red.”

“How did the game turn out?” I ask.

“We won, buddy. We won. Steven ran 95 yards for a touchdown. The Broncos were all distracted by Scotty. Scotty had secretly been working on an impression of Bill Clinton, and he chose that moment to reveal it. All the players fell down laughing. Everyone except Steven, who had the ball.”

“It was always Scotty, wasn’t it? He was always the genius.”

Coach nods silently. As he leaves my hospital room, I breathe a sigh of relief. We had done it. We had beaten the Broncos. And the whole time it had been Scotty. Scotty had pulled the strings all along. Even the moment when I thought I had come up with the plan. That was all part of Scotty’s plan.

A nurse informs me that Scotty died the previous year. He was entertaining the troops with his comedy when a stray bullet took him out. He made the cover of Time. Oh, Scotty. You will be missed.

3 Comments

No One Gets My Sweet Monkees References

12/18/2013

5 Comments

You’ve won, Northeastern Ohio. Are you happy? I’ve given up on what I’d considered during the past three years to be my life’s mission: to be the preeminent dropper of Monkees references into real-life and internet conversations. I’m through now. Finished. No more conversations will be punctuated and/or enlivened by one of my delicately-crafted allusions to Davy, Mickey, and the gang.

When I drafted my Mission Statement three years ago I had the highest hopes, but now I am a daydream DIS-believer. Oh, you’d like me to re-print that Mission Statement right here, wouldn’t you? So you and your buddies can have a little laugh? Well, I’m not going to do it. Okay I’m going to do it.

Mission Statement (December, 2010):

“I am a committed referencer to the pop band The Monkees (created 1966). I will do everything in my power to ensure that no quip, witticism, parody, pun, or allusion leaves my mouth that I myself would not consider an exceptional and delightful listening experience that would satisfy my friends’ eloquent thirsts. I recognize each reference is an individual and will seek to foster a humorous and creative environment that will have everyone who comes through my doors leaving impressed by my aggressive wit and excited to return. I will be a giving member of the community. My hope is to prove that delightful Monkees references can even help decrease depression, criminal behavior, and frequency of pornography-usage.”

I’m sure you and your buddies are slapping high-fives at my misery. But I had some moments. In June, 2011 we were all enjoying a backyard barbecue when I turned to a friend and said, “Well, it’s just another Pleasant Valley Sunday, isn’t it? Here in Status Symbol Land.” This a great reference, but you probably don’t know it, cause you’re a hooligan who wouldn’t know a sweet Monkees reference unless it was reported on some dopey website.

So what were the responses? Look, I can’t remember the specifics, but imagine a chorus of “Sweet Monkees references, dude!” and “Dude, what a sweet-ass reference to the Monks!” The overarching emphasis was on the sweetness of my references to the Monkees, or, as someone a little more “hip” might say, the Monks.

What went wrong since then? Is it something I’ve done? Are you all bitter Beatles fans who are mad that the Monkees are much more artistic and have a better overall oeuvre? I bet you don’t even know what oeuvre means, or why it needs all those vowels. Well let me tell you something, it needs all those vowels. The French made that word, and they don’t fuck around. If they could have made that word with one vowel, don’t you think they would have? You want to go into a Parisian cafe, knock the beret off a guy in a striped shirt and tell him his language sucks? Be my guest, mister.

I suppose many great minds were under-appreciated throughout history. There’s always Kafka and Dickinson, of course, to motivate me. No one understood their genius, either.

You might say, even, that “no one got Emily’s Dickinson’s sweet God references,” and you’d be correct. No one did. But she kept truckin’ along, didn’t she? If I am remembering her wikipedia page correctly, she fucked every guy in Massachusetts in the hopes that maybe one of them would be a poetry “guru” who would have the connections she needed to land in the hot poetry journals. And you know what? It worked. She got “consumption,” which sounds fun and very American, and I think it probably entailed trips across the nation to various lobster fests and barbecues, which were rare back then. We take lobster fests for granted now, but there weren’t many in 1867.

As for Kafka, his first name was Franz, which is German for Frank, which is German for hot dog. One of his novels, I see, is called Die Verwandlung. Boy, I bet Kafka experienced the same alienation I feel when he tried to publish this. Who was Verwandlung? In 1912, I imagine that everyone loved Verwandlung, and didn’t want him to die. Then this Kafka character comes down the pike, much like me and my sweet Monkees references, and is all, “Hey, I know you love Verwandlung, but he’s got to go. Plain and simple.”

I suppose I could switch to another band, like REO Speedwagon, and make references to them. Do the kids still jam to REO Speedwagon? I’d say yes. REO Speedwagon is just one of those bands that will never go out of style. Walk into a high school cafeteria right now, grab some potato wedges on a tray, sit backwards on a chair, and say, “Hey, y’all down with the `wagon?” Do this, and young, floppy-haired Bobby, the high school quarterback and Prom King, will jerk a thumb at you, and say to his minions, “Yo, this fella cool.”

Then a girl who is usually quiet will probably stand on a chair, her books pressed close to her, and softly, yet passionately, sing the line, “I can’t fight this feeling any looooonger.” At first us cool people will be like, “Who the fuck...?” but then she’ll go into the next line, “And yet I’m still afraid to let it flow,” and Bobby will put his hand out to stop Ralph, a linebacker, from getting up to stop the girl. Ralph is dumb. We know this because he’s big and plays defense. He also has one of those faces that are always red. What’s with that?

A few others would probably join in: “What started out as friendship has grown strooooonger.” Then it just escalates. There’s a whole dance and shit, the lunch lady lets loose in a clever hip-hop bridge, and even Mr. Davidson, the stuffy history teacher, busts a move despite being corny with those corny sweaters with the corny diamonds on them. “Gargoyle,” I believe they’re called.

That would all happen. Of course it would. But I don’t want to switch to REO Speedwagon. I am a Monkees man, through and through. I can feel it in my blood. I can also feel it in my skin, due to my tattoo that reads, “I am a Monkees man, through and through.” It’s in Japanese, though, cause I’m deep. (Recently, a Japanese man told me that there was probably an error on the tattoo artist’s part, since my tattoo actually translates to, “I fuck monkeys, through and through.” )

There remains nothing to be said to you. My voyage is over, and perhaps I will set sail on a new quest, a new treasure. I can only fade into the mist now. Before I go, please just consider the following lines of poetry:

We go wherever we want to
Do what we like to do
We’ve got no time to get restless
There’s always something new
Hey hey we’re the Monkees!

At first, there is confusion. Who is this? Where are we? These people are going wherever, they are doing whatever, who do they think they are? Is there any rhyme or reason? Is there any law and order? These people are detriments to society, you think to yourself. But then - surprise! It’s the Monkees, who we met in the previous verse!

5 Comments

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