- Kevin: Ooh, he's cute! Who's that?
- Me: A Jonas brother.
- Kevin: Oh. Woops.
Life is short, right? Super short. So I can not imagine - CAN NOT IMAGINE - taking time out of my day to go stand on the side of the road with a sign and try and keep rights from you.
Forget what’s fair and what’s legal and what’s morally right and what’s gross or not gross if you stick it where and how, I can not imagine taking time out of my already short life to get dressed, go to Rite Aid and then maybe CVS or something if they don’t have all the supplies I need at Rite Aid, buy poster board and markers, talk to my friends about good damning words that rhyme with gays and hell, drive to a street corner, and then scream about how people shouldn’t have equal rights all day. WHO HAS THAT KIND OF TIME?
YOU, apparently. And you’re out there all day, aren’t you? Which means you also had to pack yourself a lunch, right? So there’s another ten minutes indirectly dedicated to hate, assuming you had all the ingredients for a sandwich in your refrigerator.
I just think it’s silly. There are so many more things you could be doing with your time, Man Screaming On The Street About How I’m Going To Hell. So if you’re reading this (because I know how much you love liberally-slanted comedy blogs), I would like to give you some ideas on how to better spend your time:
- Open your own poster board shoppe. Like a local one. With all your faggot-hating friends constantly making signs, imagine the money you would make! You are sitting on a goldmine.
- Go to Trader Joe’s and get some of their Cheeto Puffs. DELICIOUS.
- Take an adult education class at a community college. Did you know some of them have like tae-kwon-do classes for ten dollars or something preposterously cheap like that? It would a) be so much fun, and b) ready you for when a gay guy comes on to you like they always do because they’re gross monsters. You would be able to kill him in a heartbeat.
- Spend quality time with your loved ones.
- Learn how to cook! It’s something I feel like I should know how to do but have no interest in. Apparently it’s fun and a good stress reliever. And this way, you wouldn’t have to eat out so much. Which is expensive and a double-entendre for something lesbians do to each other. Also, gay people sometimes work in restaurants, so you have no idea how many times a gay person has slid their erect penis over one of your meals. Probably a lot.
- Catch up on LOST. Season Six starts on Tuesday. You have time to catch up and I promise I won’t spoil anything for you because I know how annoying that can b—no, fuck it. You hate gays. Locke isn’t really Locke. There, asshole. Fuck you.
- Go to the beach!!!
So there, I hope this has helped you, Man Screaming On The Street About How I’m Going To Hell. I would just hate it if you died and your only contribution to mankind was trying to rhyme sodomy with sodomy on a giant posterboard, because, frankly, I’m dying, too. Everyone is.
SO STOP IT.
Thank you, Your Friend Chris Kelly
I throw up constantly. If I drink too much, I’ll throw up. If I eat too quickly, I’ll throw up. If the wind picks up, I’ll throw up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I have no stomach. Or I’m dying.
I went on a date about a year and a half ago where the meal sort of turned into this “fun” eating contest. (I didn’t get it either).
This was an absolute nightmare situation for me because a) I like to win, and b) I instantly felt compelled to keep up because I didn’t want to seem like a pussy. We arbitrarily decided to see who could eat the most because apparently that’s a fun thing to do after just meeting someone (you fucking idiot!) and about ten minutes into the meal, I was done. Fifteen minutes later, I thought, “He’ll never want to keep dating me if I don’t beat him at this eating contest and even though I’m actually not enjoying his company I don’t want him to not like me”, and then one hour later I pretended my phone rang, walked out of the restaurant, and threw up all over a car.
Then I came back into the restaurant and kept eating.
By the end of the night I resented that stupid fucking contest so much that I grew to hate the guy and never saw him again.
I also did not win the contest. Frankly, I lost just by being a part of it.
ME: So I saw your resume, but give me a refresher. Tell me a little about yourself.
HIM: Um. I like to read fiction. And I like to hang out.
ME: I mean tell me something relevant to this job.
HIM: Oh. Not much.
ME: Things move pretty fast here. We film a lot and there’s a lot of last minute changes and things that go wrong. Tell me about a time when you had to work under pressure or fix a last minute problem.
HIM: One time I worked as a projectionist at a movie theatre.
HIM: And sometimes I would forget to start the movies and then my manager would be like “Uh, you gotta go start the movies” and I’d be like “Oh, right. Shit.”. And then I’d have to go like run and start the movies.
HIM: Cuz people can be so mad if the movies are late. Is that what you mean?
I got really close to excusing myself for a second, typing up the interview verbatim, printing it out, and then having us read each other’s parts aloud to see if he noticed anything. I didn’t, but I really should have.
This is the video in question, in case you’re curious.
And here is the letter we just got from a reader:
“Love The Onion in all its formats. The Slut Spill piece, however,
is evil. Would you shoot a similar one with n*ggers, kikes,
wetbacks, towel-heads, etc.? With the hazmat suit, etc.? I think
not. You come up to the line, usually, but this one is a giant leap
You can make fun of a kind of person, but you gotta keep them
“people”. When they’re not people anymore and equated with sludge
or animals being led to slaughter (what other time are animals
trucked en masse?), it contributes to, you guessed it, misogyny,
“otherness”, rape, assault, murder, and other things you yourself
don’t have to worry about. You leave it to the rest of us to clean
it up as best we can. Is this funny to anyone who is not drunk or
What’s the downside with reworking it, but keeping them people? Oh,
it would take more work on your part to make it funny.
Who determines who’s a slut and who isn’t? Oh, right, you. Unlike
n*ggers, kikes, wetbacks, towel-heads, etc. We ALL know who they
are. Unless they don’t look like our stereotypes…
Again, love, love, love practically everything you do. But this one
crosses the line.”
I am not including this person’s name on here, but it is ridiculous. If you would like to know what it is, email me. It’s stupid/hilarious.
Also, please note that the original email is not censored. That N-word is spelled out completely.
Emails like this are why I like my job.
If you want to kill all the gay people in the U.S. come on down to the 4:45 showing of “A Single Man” at Chelsea Clearview. We’re all here.
Also, everyone in this theatre seems to know each other except me.
I know people enjoy this show, but I’m trying to watch Chelsea Lately, and I feel like I’m in a Supercuts.
Whenever Christmas time approaches, I picture myself on a cold, snowy night running out of a church while “Carol of the Bells” plays. You know what scene I’m talking about; the one where Kevin finally talks to Scary Boot Man, and realizes he’s not so scary after all. But then it dawns on him that he’s late to booby-trap his house because the Bad Guys have scheduled to rob his family at 9pm sharp. So when the clock strikes nine, he runs home to set up traps in less than zero seconds.
When Christmas time approaches, I honestly play “Carol of the Bells” constantly, and if I’m walking down a street in Brooklyn, for example, sometimes I’ll start running like Kevin runs from the church. (But not until the part where the song picks up because it wouldn’t make sense to start running too soon.) For the first part of the song - the slow buildup - I pull my beanie down snug and watch my breath in the air. And sometimes I get super close to wondering if it would be fun to get teary-eyed for the sake of it. Then the music kicks up a notch, and I start running.
Every Christmas season is spent trying to rub up as close as I can to anything that walks, talks or quacks like the Chrismtases in Home Alone. Like that house? I would move in tomorrow. I watched Home Alone on a plane a few months ago, and that house is not as well decorated as you are remembering, but I would move in this afternoon and never change a thing.
Last night I had a dream and in the dream I was Kevin and it was that scene where it’s Christmas morning and he comes down calling for his family and they’re not there - but then his mother walks in and he stares at her for a really long time but then runs to her. If you know me, yes, having deampt this last night is a little trite, but I can’t control what I dream, so lay off.
I think if I could live in one movie scene over and over again for a good while, it would be that scene.
Or the scene where Kevin plays that black and white movie to trick both the Pizza Man and the Bad Guys into thinking there’s a gun fight happening in the house. It ends with the line “Keep the change, you filthy animal!” and this prank happens so many times in the movie that there’s almost barely time for the rest of the movie.
I love it mainly because he says he’s going to give the guy to the count of ten to get his good-for-nothing-keister out of there, but then you know what? He only counts to two, then SKIPS to ten. That scene is where I learned about the importance of exploding expectations whenever you are writing a fart. See?
Also, do you know what other scene happens a lot in that movie? The scene where Kevin puts on aftershave and then it stings so he puts his hands to his face and screams. This does not just happen once. It happens twice. Maybe three times. Maybe nine thousand. But you know what? I have never been in Kevin’s situation, so who am I to judge? And also, I’m not here to poke holes, I am here to celebrate.
Needless to say, if and when I convince a close female aquaintance to birth a child for me, I am going to purposely leave that child home alone one Christmas so that he can live out that movie in a way that I only tried to.
“Lawyers representing Prop 8 sent a bullying cease-and-desist letter to the Courage Campaign Institute demanding that we remove the Prop 8 Trial Tracker logo — depicting two mothers and two children — from our web site. Ironically, their letter descibed our logo as “substantially indistinguishable” from their logo showing a man, woman and two children.”