I’m going to have to outsource today’s content, gentle reader, not that you could’ve stopped me. Harvard always seems to find the most compelling commencement speakers. I think back to my own commencement and I can’t remember any of it. I mean, I vaguely recall parts of it–acquaintances, the weather, the noise–but when the keynote speaker steps onto the stage, I pretty much black out.
All I see is a silhouette of a person slowly gliding along the stage, which might not seem too bad, except the silhouette is made of dark matter. It’s sucking in all the teachers and students, and I crumple to the ground as my energy disappears. Slowly, ever so slowly, I’m able to make out details about the speaker. It’s actually a person disguised as a pile of boring!
I’m not bitter. I’m well adjusted. I’m not bitter. I’m well adjusted. I’m not bitter. I’m well adjusted. Ah, much better.
I usually avoid discussing fast food more than once a week not only for variety’s sake, but also because doing so would mean I consumed the vile stuff multiple times. And so it was I found myself at Burger King today, happily joining some co-workers in their noble quest to thin out the King’s legion of processed patties. Man, did I pay extra for the experience, and I’m not talking about nickels or dimes.
My supervisor orders “Rodeo Burgers” each time we go. Never heard of them, eh? You can scan the in-store menu, ask your friends, search the website all you want, but only concerted sleuthing will give you answers. It’s a delicacy drenched in secret sauce and slathered in innovation, mark my words, and that’s why I’m here to help separate the myth from the meat.
If you quiz any patron about the Rodeo Burger, you’ll probably get a confused look. “Where did it come from?” they’ll likely ask before posing the more relevant question: “Why did it come?” From what I’ve gathered, the Rodeo Burger once stood proudly as an inexpensive novelty, a forbidden pleasure one could purchase for a buck. Capitalism, however, moved to flush this burger down the crapper long before its time, prematurely shoving the poor sandwich into the dark recesses of BK lore. It’s a sad story that needn’t be sad, mostly because the sandwich itself simply combined classic ingredients into a new configuration. You’ve got your Whopper Jr. tricked out with cheese, onion rings, and barbeque sauce. If you’re feeling queasy at this point, you should probably get the hell off my porch.
Ordering the Rodeo Burger is the fun part. I mean, who orders off the menu at Burger King? I felt like one of the King’s advisors, yes I did, and surprisingly they knew how to make the burger. That’s the good part, now for the bad.
Point is, I ate one Rodeo Burger too many. Now, my body hasn’t given any clear indication of incompatibility per se, though I have felt sleepy and bloated. The voice inside me says, persistently so, that someone spiked the barbeque sauce with a little death.
“You’ve got to develop some tolerance,” supervisor Andrew told me.
“Ugh,” I replied, sprawled out on my desk like a dirty burger lush.
Instead of developing tolerance, I think I’ll develop a moratorium on fast food, at least for the next few months. No more Burger King, no more McDonald’s! It’s time I nursed my stomach back to health. Giddy-up, gastrointestinal system, giddy-up.
In another life I maintained a syndicated advice column read and loved by millions worldwide, gentle reader, and for good reason. Readers wrote in with the most heartrending problems, which forced me to–guess what?–dispense advice that all the other hacks in the business could never hope to formulate.
With summer upon us and nightlife in full swing, I thought it best to review the three P’s: primping, preening, and picking up. Surf the Net enough and you’ll notice that “hot” has given way to “hott,” the new phrase for attractiveness. It’s also an outdated phrase, you see, because with these tips you’ll be sure to bag someone hottt.
As far as primping goes, choosing the right attire may seem like an impossible task, but don’t fret. Your first impulse is to dash for your muscle shirt, your favorite pair of ass pants, your perfect cocktail dress, maybe all three if you’re into that kind of thing. Forget about it. I want you to try something new, something I bandied about with a famous fashion designer over coffee in Kyoto. It’s a style known as Ridiculust, but that’s just in London. “Smoldering coolness,” that’s how the designer described it. Just close your eyes, reach into your closet, grab whatever the hell you lay your hands on, and then commit to those garments. What’s that? You grabbed a few too many socks and absolutely no underwear? I’d cry for you, really I would, but I never got to have that pony either.
The Ridiculust look deserves another paragraph because, although it may look like you’re taking the color wheel and vomiting all over it, there is a sound underlying theory. It’s pretty simple. First, it makes you stand out from all the other posers, thereby establishing you as the ultimate Alpha Fe/male. Second, you’re bound to spark the following thought process in that one guy or girl.
Wow, look at her! She looks so ridiculous.
Give it a second or two.
Actually, it’d be ridiculous if I didn’t hook up with her.
Preening requires far less explanation. If you’re intent on wearing makeup, I’d suggest putting on enough to pique people’s interest. Besides, the mime look only appeals to, like, .0046% of the world’s population for crying out loud, and I hear most of those people congregate under a rusting bridge in Camembert. And for the love of Benjy, remember to wash your hair! You know how sometimes you play the “I’m going to spit high into the air and try to make it land in my hair” game? Well, don’t.
Even if you’ve got the rags and the ‘do, it’s all for naught if you don’t talk the talk. The current canon of pick-up lines was never too smashing, and you can bet it won’t get any fresher. If you’ve heard them all, then that guy or girl over there probably knows them all as well, so what should you do? I’d recommend being obvious. Are you taking notes or printing this out yet? Obviousness is the ultimate aphrodisiac, or so said those rogue Tibetan Unitarian monks. Here are a few examples.
“Do those legs go all the way up, like, to your torso?”
“You’ve got fingers in all the right places, baby.”
“Tough day, huh? You look like you took a ten-pound shit in a five-ounce bottle. Can I buy you a drink?”
And so on and so on. Use these lines at the bar, on the plane, even in frozen tundra to really heat things up. Make sure you don’t say these lines too loudly, though, because you might beguile your own eardrums and pick yourself up. It ain’t a pretty sight.
I’ve lavished upon you about a month’s worth of priceless advice. Follow these guidelines and you’ll be kicking it old school and sizzling your schizzle. Tssss.