Hi Sweetie. It’s Uncle August! You’re ready for your bedtime story? Your mommy tells me you love Frozen and it’s been over eight hours since you watched the DVD so you want to hear about it again. Now, I should warn you, I know the story a little differently than the way your mommy and daddy might tell it, okay? See, it turns out the real story of Frozen is actually a story about another story.
Once upon a time, there was a magical kingdom far away from here called “Los Angeles.” High up in a tower, there lived a group of powerful wizards known only as the Strategic Properties Marketing and Revenue Department. They had the power to predict the future, and what they enjoyed most of all was using their powers to figure out what people would like, and most importantly, what they would spend money on. Stop looking bored, dear, this story is important.
All right, gentlemen, let’s cut the crap here. You know why I’m here, I know why I’m here, we both know what I want and we’re making this deal happen. Now I’m sure you’ve got your case all prepared and have an offer ready but before you say anything I am going to point out that this box contains five thousand ladybugs.
1,000 A.D. The Viking Norsemen that would beget the bulk of my Scandinavian heritage establish a patrilineal system of naming, in which everyone’s kid is named after their dad. North America is discovered by Leif Erickson, son of Eric Thorvaldsson, son of some guy named Thorvald, known only to history for committing murder and, being literally one of the world’s first white people, punished by being politely asked to leave Norway.
Enduring several harsh winters in a desolate region short of food, lumber or resources, Erickson would handle the crisis by calling the area “Greenland” in order to trick people to move there, thus securing his place as the first asshole in recorded history.
Final Fantasy VII is one of the best and most memorable video games ever. It’s about a former soldier who is lost in his own world trying to piece together a future he didn’t mean to be a part of, while leading a weird band of powerful but conflicted characters. The main story is that wealthy scientists discover an alien artifact, and use it to create a new artificial life form, which immediately goes crazy, and decides to “save” the world by killing humanity with a giant meteor. He also calls everyone puppets. A nice but underdeveloped female character is impaled by the bad guy as she is trying to perform a procedure to create the one thing that can defeat him. Later, they all get on their airship to go find magical colored rocks. I am worried that cosplay from this thing will annoy me for ten years.
All right! Yeah! Go! Go!
Ugh! Come on!
Oh my—damn it! God! Come on, Eighteen!
Oh for the love of—get the damn thing, eighteen!
Agh! Eighteen, you suck! You call yourself an athlete?
I mean, obviously you do, you actually are an athlete. But my god, are you a shitty one! You hear me, Eighteen? You suck! God!
I will open my sermon tonight with the sad news that America died this week.
We were a nation of dreamers. Designers. Doers. When others said we couldn’t accomplish something, we achieved it.
We were a nation of plenty. Abundance. The forests, rivers, and even the depths of the earth were ours for the taking. And we used it to make ourselves better. Electricity. Refrigeration. Computers. God smiled upon the land and said “Yes. This is good. You should have these things.”
And things we had.
There was a time when we looked toward the horizon and said “we’re Americans. There is no horizon. There is no frontier. We will push further, and when we reach that point, we shall push further still. And we earned it. Because we were America. But that’s gone now.
There was something special about America. Something about the way we looked at ourselves as Americans. But we didn’t deserve it. We didn’t care enough, push hard enough, fight strong enough and now it is dead and we are all to blame. And so we need to acknowledge that, and remember that dark day we allowed the Devil to defeat the beauty of American life. January 22, 2015. The day SkyMall filed for bankruptcy.
I think I’m supposed to write another thing. Seems like it’s about time to do that. I wrote all those other things before. I think a lot of them were pretty good. I’m supposed to top that now.
That’s very ambitious.
Yeah, I got nothing.
I mean, here we are, it’s the end of the year, and I guess I’m… what, supposed to do something profound? Nope. Nothing.
I had something but… I mean it wasn’t very good. I didn’t think I should post it.
Wow. Man, I feel really guilty about this. I mean let’s put aside how awkward this is and just deal with the total disrespect I am showing you, the readers right now. I mean my year’s been great so far. Couple of good months of funny stuff, if I say so myself. Apparently that wasn’t enough of an accomplishment though so I have to come up with something else and so here we are.
Alright, everyone, settle down, I’m going to try to make this a quick staff meeting. So, I know you’ve all been asking me what’s going on with our Black Friday hours. A lot of you wanted to plan for the holiday, as well as know what time off you’re going to be able to take this year.
Okay, so, look. Here’s the deal, guys. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that it’s a bad economy out there. We haven’t had a year where we can just afford to close up shop—not when the customers want us to be open. You know how it goes, everyone—one place decides they’re going to open up early to get the first crowd in, and then everyone else has to do it, and all of a sudden management decides it would basically be losing money to keep the place closed on Thursday.
We’re all professionals here, alright? And as professionals, we all understand that the customers come first. And if the customers want to get a head start on Black Friday deals, we’re obligated to provide them. So, that in mind, Pleasant Meadows Pet Crematorium will be opening on Thanksgiving Day.
The comedian was one the most influential people in my life. He raped several people.
For the last several years of my life, I have mentally prepared myself for the death of Bill Cosby. I am a person who usually rejects dead celebrity worship, but this would be one of the rare exceptions for me. In the last ten years I have moved to multiple apartments in multiple states, packing all my belongings: computer, books, art supplies, mental bullet points on how to reflect on the death of Bill Cosby should the moment inevitably come while I’m at work one afternoon. I have lived in Atlanta for six years now and only last year remembered to buy a fire extinguisher; it was before the Atlanta move that I started thinking how I’d talk about Bill Cosby dying.
What I’m writing here is a combination of things I’ve had to think about or the last few days, and things I’ve thought about for nearly a decade. And ultimately it’s about how the former was hindered by the latter. This is, for all intents and purposes, the memorial I knew I was going to have to write about a person who is no longer in my world anymore.
Good evening, America, on this pivotal Election Night. It is 9:00 PM on the East Coast, 6:00 on the West Coast. Polls have closed in New York, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Louisiana. A giant spider has attached itself to the front of my head.