By Shawn

I’ve become impressed by the number of Tumblr memes that have gone viral. Some of them are pretty amusing. As I result, I’ve become determined to try my own hand at this. And I think I’ve worked out the basic formula for Tumblr meme success:

animals or celebrities + whatever the hell = winning at the Internet

All I have to do is apply this formula, and the accolades are sure to start rolling in.

Shawn: Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Shawn.

Adoring Stranger: Wait a second. Surely not the Shawn who photoshopped all those animals and/or celebrities doing whatever the hell?

Shawn: The one and the same.

Adoring Stranger: Sir, if it isn’t too forward, I’d like to buy you some money.

Shawn: Why go right ahead!

I can’t imagine that going any other way. So here, without further ado, is my first stab at this:

Squirrels with Awesome Facial Hair

http://squirrelswithawesomefacialhair.tumblr.com

By Shawn

At Burger King, an intense internal deliberation begins.

Shawn: Hmm… Should I just get a Whopper?

Shawn’s Id: That’s not gonna be enough, is it?

Shawn: What, you think I should get a Double Whopper?

Id: Please. Try to think big here.

Shawn: A Triple Whopper? You can’t be serious.

Id: I’m dead serious.

Shawn: But the Triple Whopper is a disgusting meat pile. It contains over 1100 calories and my entire daily fat intake.

Id: You only live once.

Shawn: And I was kinda hoping to keep doing it for a while.

Id: Look, whether or not that sandwich would hasten your death is besides the point.

Shawn: Objection.

Id: Overruled. The real question you should be asking yourself is, what would former WWF wrestler Macho Man Randy Savage do?

Shawn: Why is that the relevant metric?

Id: Proposition 1. Macho Man Randy Savage is completely awesome.

Shawn: Agreed.

Id: Proposition 2. Anything someone completely awesome does or would do is awesome by extension.

Shawn: Alright.

Id: Proposition 3. Less awesome things become more awesome when they act in awesome ways.

Shawn: Sure.

Id: Proposition 4. You are less awesome than Macho Man Randy Savage.

Shawn: Granted.

Id: Proposition 5. You would be more awesome if you did whatever Macho Man Randy Savage would do.

Shawn: I think I see where this is going.

Id: Conclusion. You ought to do whatever Macho Man Randy Savage would do in any situation whatsoever all the time always.

Shawn: I guess that is the relevant metric.

Id: And what would Randy Savage do if he were here?

Shawn: He’d scream manly nonsense, I imagine.

Id: And amidst his manly gibbering, what  sandwich would he bellow for?

Shawn: The Triple Whopper.

Id: Which means you should order…?

Shawn: Sigh. Fine. A Triple Whopper it is.

Id: Attaboy!

Shawn: … Didn’t Macho Man Randy Savage die of a heart attack?

Id: Maybe. Shut up and eat your hamburger.

By Ann

I have a problem that I need to confess. It involves purchasing products on the internet. See, I don’t buy many things. I can’t. Because I’m young and poor as heck. So, when I do make the rare decision to purchase a product on the internet I carefully weigh all sorts of responsible concerns, “Is this worth the money? Do I really need it? Etc, etc.”

The one question I always forget to ask is, “What are the product’s dimensions?” Because who cares, right? It seems like, if you’re buying a cell phone, it will wind up being roughly cell phone-sized and if you’re buying a watch, it will wind up being roughly watch-sized. So what’s the difference?

I’ll tell you what the difference is.

A few years ago, my old cell phone broke. Luckily for me, it was time for a free replacement courtesy of Verizon. Merrily, I logged onto their website and picked out a phone. It met the two requirements I have for any phone I get: (1) it was free, and (2) it was red. This was enough for me.

Then it arrived in the mail, and I had a very disconcerting realization.

No, seriously. I want you to look at this picture, and tell me what you see.

This is my phone, and that is a pack of gum. WHY ARE THEY THE SAME SIZE?! WHY IS MY PHONE THE SIZE OF A PACK OF GUM?! Look at this. Just look at it.

Seething with quiet rage, I vowed never again to forget to check dimensions before buying.

Then, I promptly forgot that resolution.

Recently, I used some Christmas money to buy myself a new watch online. It arrived in the mail.

And here it is:

My watch is the size of Asia. You can read this watch from fifteen feet away. I could return it, but I know me. I know I’m too lazy to do that. So, instead, I’ll probably just keep wearing it around and pretend like I did it on purpose. Because nothing says fashion statement like strapping Big Ben to your wrist and talking into a phone the size of a Barbie accessory.

Sometimes I get away with this kind of thing, though. Like the time when I couldn’t decide between two differently colored laces that came with a new pair of sneakers. Instead of choosing, I just wore a different color in each shoe, hoping that I would eventually make up my mind between the two. Instead, I forgot all about it until I would get the occasional compliment on my hipster-like style:

“Two different color laces—that’s cool, very hipster of you!”

“Why, yes, thanks, you’ll note that I did that on purpose,” I’d say convincingly,

Probably I should be learning from this latest Big Ben debacle. More likely, I’ll keep forgetting to check dimensions on products until I have an entire closet of accessories that appear to have been sized in a fun-house mirror. I can only hope these will come to gradually redefine my style into what can only be described as misguided Japanese street fashion meets the Mad Hatter.

Note: I wrote this post in January. I post it today in honor of the retirement of the phone in question. Dear little phone, in spite of your stupid tiny size, you served me honorably and to the best of your limited abilities for four years. But now that your battery’s dead, it’s time to say good night. So I got an iphone instead. You’ll be happy to know, however, that after growing accustomed to you for the past four years, this normal-sized phone feels too large in my hand. Thanks a bundle, gum-phone, you’ve ruined me. On the plus side, it’s red and white, so it’s going to match my dumb Asia watch.

By Shawn

Years ago, I was at school in England, and during my time there, I lived in one of the university’s grad dorms. This dorm evidently suffered from some serious maintenance problems, because we’d receive a constant barrage of e-mail updates about them, all in the same matter-of-fact, semi-apologetic tone. This led me to write the following parody, which I thought I’d share.

Dear residents,

We have been informed that there is no hot water in the building. Please be patient, as we have called Maintenance to deal with the problem and will have the hot water restored as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Dorm Admin.

 

Dear residents,

We are aware that that there is still no hot water. Maintenance was unable to identify the cause, so we have called in outside contractors who will hopefully rectify the problem. We apologise for the inconvenience.

Sincerely,

Dorm Admin.

 

Dear residents,

It has come to our attention that, as a result of the repair work done by the outside contractors, there is now running hot water in flats 1-10, lukewarm water in flats 11-31, and no water whatsoever in flats 32-40. Maintenance will attempt to repair the problems caused by the contractors, and we will call in additional outside contractors should Maintenance not prove up to the task. In the interim, we would ask that the residents of flats 1-31 please allow the residents of flats 32-40 to make use of their showers. Should the shower queues prove too long, the reception desk will be handing out moist towelettes. Again, we are sorry for any inconvenience.

Sincerely,

Dorm Admin.

 

Dear residents,

It would seem, as a result of the repair work performed by the second set of outside contractors, several pipes have exploded in flats 23-27, blowing gaping holes in the walls. For those residents who are now exposed to the elements, please be patient as we attempt to call in outside contractors who will build some sort of temporary structure to seal up the openings. In the interim, Maintenance has agreed to turn up the heating slightly in your flats, which admittedly will do little to protect you from the death-giving caress of the cold night air. We assure you that this inconvenience is temporary and will swiftly be dealt with.

Sincerely,

Dorm Admin.

 

Dear residents,

It has not escaped our notice that the outside contractors failed to completely repair the wall damage to flats 23-27, and, by blocking out the sun with scaffolding, have instead made the dining rooms of the affected flats ideal nesting grounds for giant bats. We know that, as of this time, a colony of giant bats has indeed taken up residence in flat 26 and that more are on the way. Maintenance is planning to bring in a group of ravenous polar bears to deal with the bats, so please rest assured that this situation will be rectified shortly.

In the interim, residents whose flats still have walls are cautioned to keep their windows closed at all times, as the bats have been known to fly in through open windows to feast on their screaming prey. That said, we would appreciate it if residents could keep their bloodcurdling shrieks down to a minimum. This dormitory is located in a residential neighbourhood, and we have already received several complaints about the noise from the people living across the street.

Sincerely,

Dorm Admin.

 

Dear residents,

We are aware that the bats and polar bears have joined forces and have kidnapped the Prime Minister. He is currently being held in flat 34 along with several other officials, including the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Scotland Yard and the Ministry of Defence have been notified and a special operations unit is expected to make a daring rescue attempt shortly. Should they fail, outside contractors will be called in.

We have also received a letter signed by several prominent biologists who believe that the giant bats are evolving at an incredible pace as a result of prolonged exposure to our cleaning chemicals. It is likely that the bats will soon possess the ability to reason and possibly take on human form, à la the movie Screamers. Please bear in mind that the bats could be anyone, or anything, and trust no one.

Screamers, incidentally, will be shown in the common room at 8 PM for Sunday Film Night and we sincerely hope that those residents who are still alive will attend.

Sincerely,

Dorm Admin.

 

Deer resedents,

Plese com outsidd. Theer is no risin to bee afrid. The bats arr gon fur gud.

Sinserly,

Barry the Hu-mon

 

Dear residents,

Please disregard the previous e-mail as it was written by a giant bat. It was a long and grueling battle, but the special forces unit managed to drive out the Giant Bat-men and their polar bear allies once it was discovered that silver was their weakness. We wish to once again to thank you all for your bravery and endurance throughout the siege and to apologise once again for any inconvenience you may have experienced these past few days. We are still sifting through the wreckage of flats 19-36 and fishing out the bodies, so please be patient: we will confirm the death of your friends on a large bulletin board posted in the reception as soon as we know ourselves.

Incidentally, it has come to our attention that there is no longer any hot water in the building. Maintenance will be called in to deal with the problem shortly.

Sincerely,

Dorm Admin.

By Ann (Dedicated to Lara, for her mutual rage on the subject)

Here’s the thing:

Fuck pandas.

Fuck ‘em. I’ve had it with their bullshit.

People are always going on about pandas. “Oh, good heavens, the poor pandas are so endangered!” “Oh, my stars, we have to save them!”

Great idea. There’s just one problem.  You can save those giant failure-bears from poachers, but there’s no way to save them from themselves.

You see, pandas don’t want to be saved. They want to die. Because God made them to die. Think about it.

First, let’s talk about their food source. In spite of the fact that pandas were designed to be carnivores—they even have a carnivore’s digestive system—they scorn meat with all its life-giving potential and concentrate their efforts on obtaining… yep, you guessed it, bamboo. But why, you ask yourself? It must be because bamboo is better for them. Pandas couldn’t possibly be so bad at living that they made a species-wide decision to turn their backs on the food they’re supposed to be eating in favor of the shittiest, least nutritious plant that ever existed, right?

Wrong. Bamboo is the shittiest, least nutritious plant that ever existed. It is the most hideously inefficient source of energy nature was able to come up with. Pandas could eat three goddamn tons of that shit and only have the energy to sit up, sneeze on themselves, and then lie the fuck back down.

This sneeze is the most action this panda baby is going to see for the next three days of its life. I would’ve said three years, but let’s get serious. It’s going to be dead by then.

So, okay, okay, maybe their food source isn’t the best choice. But maybe God gave them a break and made them especially good at having lots of hot panda sex?  Nope. Wrong again. Pandas hate having sex with each other. Probably because their potential partners (of which there are how many left? like, three?) are all lazy bags of crap who are about as sexually appealing as stuffed teddy bears—because, let’s face it, pandas are basically inanimate objects.

And even when, by some act of divine intervention, two pandas muster up enough energy to hump each other for the requisite thirty seconds required to produce an offspring, they’re too tired to take care of it. So, unless we step in to nurse the fucking thing ourselves, it dies just like its parents intended.

Humans have done everything to save pandas. We give them all the bamboo they could possibly require, we force them to have sex despite how creepy that is, and then we even take the fucking babies away and try to raise them ourselves, because for some reason we think it’s necessary help these incompetent, lazy-ass bears survive another day, against the manifest will of God.

Face the facts, people. Pandas don’t want our help. They want the sweet release of death. Just let them go.

“But they’re so cute!” Sure, they’re cute. You know what else is cute? Every other fucking mammal. So let’s stop giving our time and energy to a creature too sleepy to live and bestow it upon one that’s going to go out and do something for itself.

I don’t know, like wolves maybe. Wolves are go-getters.

In the interest of getting our blog off to a good start, we figured it was only proper to introduce ourselves. So naturally, we decided to interview each other.

An Interview with Ann, by Shawn

Shawn (S): I want to start with some basic biographical questions. Where are you from originally?

Ann (A): Maryland. PG. Represent. Which you know.

S: If this is going to work, you’re going to have to accept the premise here.

A: Fine. Continue.

S: Tell us a little about Maryland as a state. What is your favorite thing about the state bird?

A: I like that it sucks less than the sports team named after it. That being said, however, you gotta love that the O’s never give up and never surrender.

S: Just like the Japanese. Well, I guess they finally did surrender. It just took two atrocities. What would you say is your favorite historical atrocity?

A: Probably your birth.

S: I expected that answer.

A: Softball.

S: Let’s change the subject.  How do you feel about the bombing of Dresden?

A: I mean, not great. You know, it being a bombing and all.

S: Alright, we’ll talk about something different.

A: Great.

S: In the Boer Wars, the British waged a series of campaigns designed to protect their South African holdings against the Boer republics. Do you think the extreme measures employed by the British were justifiable in light of their war aims?

A: Let me answer that question by posing a question to you. In light of my aim to not answer any more questions about historical atrocities, do you think it would be justifiable for me to terminate your existence by burying you under the ocean?

S: Touché. Moving on, tell us a little bit about your present endeavors. What projects are you working on these days?

A: These days, I spend most of my time freelancing and trying not to waste vast quantities of time poking around the internet. Also, I’ve been researching recipes to make in my crock pot. These goals are antithetical.

S: That must not leave a lot of time to adopt scores of children and kill them one by one in a sawmill.

A: It does not.

S: How do you manage it, then?

A: I have shockingly little to say on the subject.

S: I’m disappointed, but hardly shocked. That’s okay, everything I want to know I’m sure they will shortly reveal in the papers. Moving on. What is your favorite color, on a scale of 1-10?

A: Purple, on a scale of 7. Now what, Shawn? Now what?

S: Let’s move on to return to the irritating line of questioning about the Boer Wars. Winston Churchill first made a name for himself as a correspondent reporting on the Second Boer War. He would later go on to lead the United Kingdom in its war against the Nazis. Would you describe yourself as an active member of the Nazi party, or merely a sympathizer?

A: No. No, no, no, no, no, no. Oh my god, no.

S: Let’s move on. I’m going to ask you a series of brief questions. Paper or plastic?

A: Paper.

S: Boxers or briefs?

A: Boxers.

S: Did you kill those children, or are you a Nazi?

A: STOP IT.

S: Okay, new question. Tell me about your childhood. What is your favorite childhood memory?

A: Maybe playing Juliet in our 7th grade production of Romeo & Juliet.

S: Was that your first time on stage?

A: No. My first time on stage would have been the year before, when I was in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. I was a Mistress of Illusion–which, it turned out, was another way of saying Narrator who will be dressed in only a unitard and a couple of strategically placed scarves. I was a chubby middle schooler. It was terrible for everyone.

S: But you’d later go on to star in other productions?

A: Indeed. I was the talk of the town.

S: Did you ever have the chance to go inside Ford’s Theatre?

A: Is this leading up to an elaborate series of questions in which you accuse me of trying to assassinate President Lincoln?

S: No. Don’t be silly. Were you ever in a production of Our American Cousin?

A: This interview is over.

S: And that concludes our interview with self-described Nazi John Wilkes Booth.