Photo by Hugh_Jack@ss

Believe it or not, writing for a humor website leaves me with a little bit of free time, which is why I spend upwards of 100 hours per week watching television. I’ve always been a “watch TV for the commercials” kind of guy, and I’ve noticed that lots of commercials are highlighting their products in terms of the current recession. From E-Trade to Domino’s, it seems that reminding people how hopelessly fucked their nest eggs are is a surefire way to make some sales, despite the fact that Domino’s has nothing to do with bailouts.

This could mean that we’ll be seeing all sorts of zany industries and markets relating their products to our current financial shit storm. I’ve written up some commercial transcripts, to give you an idea of what this might look like…

Commercial #1

[Sad old man, sitting next to his sad old wife]: He took everything from us. We’ve got nothing left.

[Somber, serious narrator]: Bernard Madoff stole sixty-five billion dollars from the American people. For decades, Madoff conned hundreds into buying into his scheme, raping them of their 401ks.

[Woman]: He gained our trust, and then just…*sniffle*… just bent us over and fucked us. I’ve never been fucked so hard in my life. (Squeezes husband’s hand, giving him a small, bleak smile)

[Man]: How could a 70-year-old Jewish man fuck so many people so hard?

[Woman]: And to be able to fuck them every day for decades! He’s got more stamina than that colored trombone player I railed in the ‘30s! (Her husband gives her a quick, peculiar glance)

[Narrator]: You’ve already lost your children’s college funds, but at least you can hold onto your love life. If you want to be able to fuck people as hard as Madoff did, the solution is clear.

[Viagra Band]: VIVAAAAAAAA VIAGRA!

[Narrator]: Ask your doctor if Viagra is right for you.

[Man, smiling as he caresses his wife, who gives him a sultry gaze]: Now I’ve got a Ponzi scheme of my own (Both give a hearty laugh)… My penis.

Commercial #2

[Vince]: Hi, it’s Vince with ShamWow! In times like these, we’ve got to cut costs wherever we can, which is why the ShamWow is a great purchase.

Not only does a ShamWow keep you from spending cash every month on rags, sponges and paper towels, but with our new improved design, you can save all your toilet paper costs too! That’s right, the new ShamWow is so efficient that you can wipe your ass with it! I’m gonna show you a quick demonstration here; pretend this swatch of carpet is your asshole, and this cola is feces (pours generic cola on carpet swatch). See how the ShamWow picks that shit up? Then you just ring it out into the crapper. It sells itself!

This thing is unbelievable! You can use it on the kitchen, the boat, your bloody face after it gets bit up by a methed out whore, the RV, the car you’re living out of now that your house got foreclosed. Just listen to this testimonial from the CEO of a tech start-up:

[CEO]: My gutter-wine has turned me blind, so I’ve been known to spill from time to time, ‘specially when I get hobo drunk. Now I just use the ShamWow to clean up my spills, then I just ring it out over my mouth! It also keeps me warm a hell of a lot better than a pile of newspapers. And it’s made in Germany, so you know it’ll keep the rickets away.

[Vince]: I know in these tough times, some of you are all about making the right investments. Well I’ve got a great investment for you: ShamWow! We’ve sold so few of these that they’re practically guaranteed to be rare collectors’ items in a few years, so you can sell your ShamWow for some major cash. Call today and I’ll send you fifty of the fucking things!

Commercial #3
[Male voiceover]: Last September, we all learned just how quickly our finances can disappear, which is why we need an insurance provider that is there for us when times are tough.

[Rotoscoped woman]: I’m sick of all these insurance companies that are out of touch with what regular people need. I want an insurance company that understands what I’m going through during this financial crisis.

[Male voiceover]: At American International Group, we understand. We’ll be with you every step of the way as you try to escape financial ruin. We also can’t afford a longer commer- [Commercial ends abruptly]

Commercial #4

[Mildly attractive woman in her late thirties]: You know, my vagina is an awful lot like the economy: back in the ‘90s, business was booming. Americans, Swedes, Japanese; everybody was investing in it! But the bubble burst when I realized that some of my gentleman callers made some sub-prime loans, sending my vagina into an itching, burning recession.

I needed a bailout, and that’s why I turned to TwatGloss, the finest douche around! My vagina was collapsing, but now that I’ve pumped it full of TwatGloss’s patented witch-hazel solution, it’s back to its AAA rating! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pick up some truck-stop stimulus packages, if you know what I mean!

[Jovial, game-showy male voiceover]: TwatGloss! It’s what you need to clean your recession!

Have you ever shared an infinitesimal moment with a stranger that you’ve still managed to hold on to with the greatest tenacity, despite its brevity? Did even a fleeting glimpse across a café leave you feeling tender in the cockles? Do you lie awake at night, wondering where you would be if only you had asked him/her out to lunch or even mustered up a “Hello”? I’ve had a few of these lost connections in the past, but rather than letting them disappear forever, I would like to use this opportunity to try to rekindle such timeless bonds.

While it’s true that Craigslist features its very own Missed Connections personals section that allows users to try to stoke romantic fires that never were, I have opted against using the site after the lack of serious responses to my “Woman to sit in my bathtub full of noodles, wearing a bathing suit” request (The offer still stands if anybody’s interested, though I’m now substituting the $1 offer for a copy of Ben Affleck’s Reindeer Games on VHS).

With that, I leave you with my missed connections, in hopes that you’ll be able to shed some light on the ones that got away. If you know who any of these people might be (or if you ARE one of these people!) please contact me immediately. Help me find my soul mate.

Buzz Cuts Guy
I was in my beat up Plymouth Acclaim with “PROLIFE” Wisconsin vanity plate, listening to music at a modest volume. From fifty yards away, I could hear the unmistakable chorus of Eve 6’s “Inside Out” (that late-nineties hit about frappéing organs) blasting from your car in the lane over.  As I approached your car at a stoplight, I was momentarily blinded by the jewel case you were waving outside the driver’s window. Once I got closer, I realized that the CD case you were holding was none other than Buzz Cuts, the alternative rock compilation seen on TV! Just blasting such an awful, dated song is brazen enough, but you truly outdid yourself by letting your freak flag fly, showing the world that you actually bought Buzz Cuts while rocking out to one of its tracks. Buzz Cuts Guy, please come back into my life. I am hanging by a moment here with you.

Crazy Old Man
It was at Alpine Bagel in the University of North Carolina Student Union in spring, 2007. I had that life-changing encounter with you, Crazy Old Man. Since you were quite frail, I took it upon myself to hold the door open for you. You were grateful, joking, “You’re a very nice young man! You’re clearly not a republican,” followed by a throaty, weak laugh that can only come from a lifetime of Chesterfields. I enjoyed this nice little bit of humor, though it was your following non sequitur that cemented you a spot in my memory forever: “If your parents ask you how you’re doing, tell ‘em, ‘I had the best fuck of my life last night!’”. With that, you walked off into the sunset and out of my life. If you’re still alive and somehow computer literate, I can only pray that you’ll accidentally come across this site when you’re searching for “njkdsfjsdndshsaffffffffffffff”. Please, Crazy Old Man, I need to have a beer with you. In fact, we could probably get you writing on the site in no time.

Overzealous Sports Fan
The Big 12 region is home to a good deal of overly fervent football fanatics and yet, during my recent trip to Austin, Texas, the memory of one particular fan has remained with me ever since. Some might say that passion for a sports team is best shown with face paint or foam hands, but I don’t think anybody is as passionate about their team as you, Overzealous Sports Fan, despite your lack of such flair. Instead, you opted for a simple, classy burnt orange shirt to show off your pride for the University of Texas as you perused the mall on that summer day. Your shirt read, “You can’t spell cocksucker without OU!” (With the OU representing those pillow biters up at Oklahoma University, naturally). Though a homophobic football t-shirt in Texas is hardly worth thinking twice about, it was the fact that you were pushing around your young child in a stroller all the while that made me enthralled by you, Overzealous Sports Fan. By wearing such a shirt, you’ve proven that you’re willing to sacrifice your role as a respectable parent in favor of showing off your Longhorns pride. Such devotion to your team is unparalleled; you have pride and commitment that I could only dream of. That is, why, oh Overzealous Sports Fan, I hope we can reconnect, so you can teach me the ways of such undaunted devotion.

Oh, I should probably include my son in this list as well. Sorry about leaving you at Dairy Queen, little guy!

Hello, my name’s Sax, and I have a Facebook addiction.

Like oh so many of my Internet brethren, I spend far too much time on the ‘book. I don’t even know why, but dozens of times a day, I feel compelled to peruse the site. Sure I’m creepin’ pics a good deal of the time, but sometimes I’ll just go into a daze, staring blankly at status updates of people I don’t even remember. Five minutes later, I’ll do it again. I often find myself clicking on the Notifications button, just to make sure Mark Zuckerberg didn’t forget to let me know that somebody I’ve never met also commented on a photo that I commented on. Then I’ll check my profile a few times, as if I don’t already know that my favorite movie is Dirty Dancing.

At first Facebook was just a little treat, something I could indulge in after finishing a long paper or while taking a real good poop. But before long, I would wake up in a cold sweat, desperately yearning to check out all my friends’ bumper stickers for a hearty dose of nostalgia, kittens, and pedophile jokes. Now Facebook has become a part of every waking minute, which led to some family tensions when I “poked” grandma. If I’m away from my computer, sometimes I’ll start making the Facebook Chat message noise with my tongue just to calm myself down.

Friends and family have intervened, telling me to just delete my account. I know people who’ve done this and are better because of it, but alas, I lack their fortitude. I went a day and a half without checking Facebook once, but now I owe my roommate another cat and I’m legally required to use safety scissors.

Since I failed at going cold turkey, I tried to come up with a way to wean my Facebook addiction over time. I’ve realized that the thing that keeps me coming back is the knowledge that there are countless pictures, videos, wall posts and profile updates to be read. The solution? Get rid of my Facebook friends! I’ve tried to delete some of them myself, but I struggle with removing even the bowlegged girl from middle-school as a friend… I get a case of the Facebook shakes and just can’t follow through with canning them. It seems that her Gilmore Girls quotes just mean too much to me. Because of this, I can only hope that my myriad friends start removing me, eventually leaving me with such an empty shell of a Facebook experience that my addiction will fade away. Lucky for me, Facebook provides countless ways to alienate your friends in hopes of getting them to never want to e-contact you again. Here’s just a small cross-section of tricks I’ve used to help me cope.

1) Thankfully, the Zuck recently upped the potential for passive aggression on Facebook big time with the “Like” tool, which allows you to give a cute lil’ thumbs up to pictures, status updates and so forth, displaying something like, “Sax Jazzarello likes this” for all to see. Seems pretty innocuous, doesn’t it? Well sure it’s innocuous… until you put it in the hands of a guy whose only Facebook interest is “Schadenfreude”.

The beauty of the Like tool lies in the fact that most people on the internet incessantly bitch and moan about how sad they are, writing things like, “Denny desperately wants these emotions to end”. When I see stuff like this, I give ‘em the thumbs up, leaving Denny shocked, puzzled, and sadder than ever.

“Gunther feels like crap”. Well yeah, probably because you’re named Gunther. You know what’s gonna make you feel even crappier, G-spot? I like this!

“Gibbons is sitting in the emergency room waiting to get his hand stitched up since he sliced it open on a can of beans”. Bloody thumbs up, Gibbons (And props to you for getting blood all over your new iPhone, sucka)!

“Amanda left the group ‘Never Forget 9/11’”. Amanda’s a terrorist now, and I Like that.

“Keely wants to know if anybody has a swine flu vaccine” I’m afraid I don’t, Keely, but if laughter is the best medicine, I could probably cure swine flu (and AIDS, for that matter) just by reading your status. Here’s a well-earned thumbs up.

Hopefully the twisted, ironic Like will teach these assholes not to fuel my addiction.

2) It’s likely that many of your friends have similar updates about the same thing. I like to take this opportunity to make my own updates that completely fly in the face of everybody else’s. Take, for instance, the fact that Anoop Desai, an alumnus of my college, made it to one of the final rounds of American Idol. I don’t care about American Idol in the least, but that won’t stop me from trying to alienate some people. Here are some status updates from several people at my school, with mine mixed in. See if you can guess which one it is!

“I’m so prouddddd of you Anooppppp!”
“Anoop is the bestttttt ”
“EVERYBODY VOTE FOR ANOOP NEXT WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK”
“ooOoooohhh baby, anoops makes it to the top 9!”
“HEY ANOOP, FUCK YOU”

3) Now here’s something for the lovebirds in us all. As you may know, if you set your relationship status as “In a relationship with Monique Foody”, then Ms. Foody will first get a message asking her to verify that the two of you are in fact in a relationship. Now think about how great it would be if Monique Foody were one of those “wait, how the hell do I know this person?” friends. She’ll think you’re a creepy creepster and de-friend you immediately – mission accomplished.

Think about all the possibilities! You can say you’re married to the guy who attended some conference with you back in high school and haven’t seen or heard from since; it can be complicated with the girl you’ve never met but friend-ed anyway because her last name is “Plunger”; you can say you’re engaged to the sexy Asian girl from high school (and pray that she accepts); or you can start an open relationship with your mom’s best friend, though she probably doesn’t know how to un-friend people since she’s old, so that could be a waste of time.

BONUS! If you’re in a real relationship on Facebook, you’ll have to end that before you start a new one. Ideally, your significant other will get extremely pissed and unfriend you! It’s okay, because they suck anyway.

4) You know that feeling when you check your email and see that somebody’s tagged a photo of you when you weren’t expecting one? It feels pretty good as you excitedly follow the link to see what the mystery picture is, doesn’t it? Well imagine how quickly you’d turn sour if you saw that the picture was none other than this:

Tagging people in this photo is like stabbing them in the heart, and using Comic Sans MS font is like squeezing lemon juice all over the cut.

I employed these techniques for a while,  and I’m afraid to say that I didn’t lose a single Facebook friend. It seems that I’m not the only one who can’t commit to ditching my e-friends. That’s not to say that I’m suffering from the same addiction. In fact, I no longer get much pleasure out of just mindlessly zoning out on Facebook for days. Instead, I can’t log on without being overcome with the urge to ruin as many peoples’ days as possible.

It seems I’ve gone from caffeine to heroin.

Mondays are not unlike the crippled ginger love-child of Dane Cook and Carlos Mencia; they’re hated by everyone, and for good reason. Mondays are when we realize that we’re stuck with four more days of Debbie/Cathy/Carol/Eileen playing Sarah Maclachlan on adult alternative radio from her neighboring cubicle, gabbing it up with every other Debbie/Cathy/Carol/Eileen about American Idol when all you want is for her to waddle her fat clerical ass down to the supply cabinet and fetch you some paper clips, because you’ve got chains to make.

Mondays are when you try to kill half an hour in the stink of the office bathroom, lamenting not packing up all your crap and moving to Fiji to start your own fruit stand when you had the chance. Worst of all, Mondays are when new episodes of Two and Half Men air, just to remind you that even though you punched out hours ago, you haven’t escaped the Monday scourge.

This leads to a good deal of vitriol throughout the day from everybody everywhere. It leads to Facebook status updates along the lines of, “Jamie wants Mondays to die” and “Kittenpaw demands that Mondays be removed from the school week”. Now at first glance, these propositions definitely seem like something we should all get behind. In fact, it seems we’ve already started to, as there are 62 Facebook group results for a search of “Die Mondays” (Though this should be taken with a healthy grain of salt, since this includes such extraneous groups as “Rice Addicts Never Die On Mondays” and “Anal Monday Will Never Die”). But before you go writing your congressperson to get them to pass legislation to eradicate Mondays, let’s take a look at some unintended consequences that may come of this.

First let’s look at Kittenpaw’s proposal: removing Mondays from the school (or work) week. Now, would that mean that Monday would join Saturday and Sunday as part of the “weekend”? This certainly sounds nice, but it would mean that the weekend would constitute three sevenths of the week, which hardly seems like an “end”. More like nearly a second half. As such, weekend, a word we all cherish very highly, would suddenly become a misnomer. Though this seems like a fairly innocuous consequence, can we really afford to bastardize our language even further in our current world of lols and ~cUTie~♥ ♥s?

On the other hand, what if Kittenpaw’s mandate took the form of wiping Mondays out of existence entirely? This sounds pretty desirable at first glance, since we would just go from Sunday straight to Tuesday, which are both pretty solid days. But wouldn’t we wake up every “Tuesday” with at least a fleeting feeling of uneasiness, with the faintest sense that something is amiss? We could call it a Tuesday, but if it quacks like a Monday, would we just be fooling ourselves? Maybe this is actually what Monday wants to happen. I hate Mondays as much as the next guy, so I’d hate to think that Monday could be hoodwinking us like that.

More importantly, if we get rid of Mondays, then we’ll have six-day weeks, so no day will stand out as being the exact middle, or “hump”, if I may. That would mean that Wednesday would lose its “Hump Day” moniker, so I wouldn’t have an excuse to engage in some serious heavy petting with Cathy by the water cooler. I’m all for getting rid of Mondays, but not if it gets me slapped with sexual harassment charges.

Here’s another concern of mine: Throughout antiquity, man has feared the almighty power of the moon. The moon watches menacingly from a distance, toying with the tides while we slaughter virgin goats in hopes that we’ll never have to see its dark side. We even have a day of the moon, which is, of course, Monday. Now wouldn’t you be pretty pissed off if you had your very own day and some ungrateful bastards got rid of it? The moon might come hurtling at us in a violent rage, bringing about all sorts of The Day After Tomorrow terror (Or just “Tomorrow”, if today is Sunday). In fact, it seems like the moon is already pretty steamed about this whole Mondays Suck mentality. I’d argue that the negative portrayal of Mondays in Garfield is at least indirectly responsible for 2004’s Boxing Day Tsunami. Do you really wanna roll those dice?

The whole doomsday scenario sounds pretty bad, but I promise it can get infinitely worse. Brace yourself for this…

Ok, here goes. Remember “Manic Monday”, The Bangles’ 1986 hit? It’s the one that sounds like a bunch of chalkboards and horny, diseased cats in an industrial strength washing machine. If there are no Mondays, then we’d never have to hear that song again, right? WRONG. If we ditch Mondays, then a song called Manic Monday would become instantly ironic, which means it will immediately be embraced by hipsters. Eventually the hipsters will stop blasting it from their ‘ostensibly’ ironic Hello Kitty Walkmen, but only because they’re sick at how horribly popular it’s become. By that point the Bangles will be selling out Giants Stadium. Kanye will sample the song as part of his collaborative venture with Bob Dylan, allowing for the song to be played on just about every genre of radio station. A video of Barack Obama dancing awkwardly to the song will storm through the internet, getting forwarded from cubicle to cubicle. And I’ll come into work and Debbie will be trying her best to imitate the awkward dance, as Carol laughs menacingly. They’ll both grab me with their pudgy fingers and make me dance awkwardly with them, singing along to The Bangles all the while. And I’ll collapse to the floor, wallowing in my own tears as I pray for the moon to have enough mercy to end this hell we’ve created.

So next time you feel the urge to wish death upon Monday, remember that things could be infinitely worse. It seems like Mondays are certainly a necessary evil. Plus, Anal Monday sounds like a pretty sweet time.