GTA Could Save Your Child

G.T.A., for those of you unaware, is an acronym for Grand Theft Auto. After reading the title of this post, you may be a little confused because in the real world, Grand Theft is the name for the penalty associated with the theft of property valued over $1,000. Grand Theft Auto then naturally means the theft of a vehicle and is usually a felony charge. You may be confused as to why committing a felony would be in any way beneficial to anyone. But that’s not the point of this post. I am not suggesting that stealing a car valued over $1,000 dollars could save your child… Maybe it could, but I’ll save that discussion for my future murder mystery novel.

The Grand Theft Auto I am referring to is the video game. Not the first two, because they had terrible graphics and the camera angle was from the perspective of The Great Leonopteryx (the big-ass flying bird monster from James Cameron’s Avatar), but the rest of them.

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The third installment in the Grand Theft Auto series was of the most controversial video game releases since Duke Nukem. The game begins with a mute protagonist who had recently escaped from prison, and upon his freedom starts doing odd jobs around Liberty City (a fictional doppelganger of NYC). These odd jobs start out as driving scantily clad women to their minimum wage jobs, but eventually escalate into shooting it out with The National Guard in the streets of Manhattan… as odd jobs so often do.

From GTA3, to GTA Vice City, to GTA San Andreas, to GTA4 and finally to GTA5, the games have received a significant amount of disparagement from the concerned mothers of America. They say that the game encourages violent, misogynistic, racist, discriminatory, and otherwise frowned-upon behavior, but I whole-heartedly disagree.

All the game does is put the player into a virtual world where they can do pretty much whatever they want. Sure, you could pick up female escorts and then proceed to murder them in cold blood, and you are welcome to rob banks and kill all the witnesses with a grenade launcher, heck, you may even be tempted to boost a few cars or water-board a guy or two, but the point is that no one is forcing you.

Apparently all these concerned mothers forgot about the other options and life choices available to Grand Theft Auto players. You could use your playing time to make your character become a dedicated dog-owner. You can feed your dog and clean up after it and even walk it. For players like this, GTA5 is nothing more than a giga-pet with really really good graphics. I see nothing wrong with that. You can day trade in oil futures. An extremely lucrative activity to engage in. You can go on virtual shopping sprees. You can ride roller coasters, and play golf and drive jet-skis. You can even run around saving damsels in distress like some kind of vigilante… no one ever accused batman of corrupting their son. 

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All I have to say to the people who blame Grand Theft Auto (the game) for their child being an awful little miscreant is this:  The game did not corrupt your child, your child is just an asshole. If he thinks that driving like a maniac and stabbing old ladies in the game is the type of behavior that can one day translate into real life marketable job-skills, he is probably already doomed. Being able to separate a video game from reality should not be a challenge, and if it is, then maybe the kid has other issues.

Here’s how I see it: Grand Theft Auto could save your child.

As I said before, the game features the option to murder, steal, take the lord’s name in vein… whatever you wanna do, its your game. I see this as a safe outlet for us to blow off some steam. We’ve all been cut off by some jerk in a hummer, and some of us (myself included) may fantasize about jumping out of the car and cold-cocking the guy right in the moneymaker. Wouldn’t it be better if instead of assaulting a hummer-driver in the middle of the street, getting some undesired attention from the authorities, stealing an Apache Helicopter, and then going on a violent terroristic rampage through Los Angeles in real life, we could just curse under our breath, go home and fire up the PS3? I sure think so.

Maybe there would be less bullying, less hazing, and less school shootings. I myself can’t sleep until I have brushed my teeth, said my prayers, and murdered at least a few hundred pedestrians. Imagine if I had to perform my night-time ritual in the real world! Maybe Grand Theft Auto is just what America needs. Maybe instead of letting criminally insane high school freshman talk things out with their guidance councilors until they end up on the home page of CNN.com, we should just let them play a video game. I say instead of blaming the creators of Grand Theft Auto for our problems, we say, “Thank you, Rockstar Games. Thank you for making America a safer place.”

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Letter of Rejection

Flash back to senior year of high school…

This was a time of best buds, of easy classes, of picking on stupid freshman, and most importantly, of applying for college. Throughout high school I prided myself on my ability to scrape by doing slightly less than the bare minimum. I would do my homework about one minute before it was due, I would take as many study halls as I could, and I would take any presentations as opportunities to ridicule my friends in a public forum. High school was an awesome time for me, until I started applying for college.

I figured I was a shoo-in at any world renowned university. As far as college applicants go, I was essentially at the tippy-top of the A-list.

  • Multi-sport athlete (receiving about 140 seconds of meaningful playing time in each of them)
  • Extracurriculars such as designing a line of “Guenther Security” shirts and drinking UV vodka on the weekends.
  • A 2.5 cumulative GPA, proving that I wasn’t just average… I was average PLUS.
  • A 26 on my ACT, which actually shocked a lot of people.
  • Author of an informational Holocaust rap titled “Anne Frank Baby” sung to the beat of, you guessed it, Ice Ice Baby.

After receiving multiple letters of recruitment from colleges such as: East Burlington Community College in Colorado, Madison Tech in Wisconsin, and Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired, I figured it was time to start choosing where I would T.C.O.B. (take care of business) next year. I had limited my choices down to the following three schools: The University of Wisonsin-Eau Claire, The University of Wisonsin-Eau Claire and The University of Wisonsin-Eau Claire.  I had toured the school with some of my best friends and we had all pretty much decided we would tear shit up as blue-golds the following year. There was just one problem. After my buddies had received their respective letters of acceptance from The University of Wisonsin-Eau Claire, congratulating them on trying so hard in high school, I received the following letter.

Dear Jacob,

Please have your parents or a literate friend read this letter to you, and advise them to skip over any big words.

We regret to inform you that you are far too stupid to be a student at The University of Wisonsin-Eau Claire. Typically students at our prestigious university go on to become C.E.O’s of major corporations, astronauts, Nobel Prize winners, and close personal friends of Leonardo DiCaprio.

After reviewing your application, we recommend that you consider ending your education with high school. Assuming you don’t end up in prison, we recommend that you pursue a career in jizz-mopping, break-dancing or dressing up in a Little Caesar’s costume and waving a sign around outside the restaurant.

Thank you for wasting our time with your application,

The University of Wisonsin-Eau Claire

 

Now this was around four years ago, so I may have mixed up a word or two, but the essence of the letter is there. Having never experienced adversity, or even stress, I did not take this letter too well. I had always figured that college recruiters would understand that high school is kind of a joke, and that despite my awful GPA, I was decently smart. I was sadly mistaken.

Unable to cope with the rejection, I responded to their letter. I figured that they would take my bold response as proof that I was resilient enough to be a blue-gold. I explained that I had been going through some stuff during my underclassmen days at Henry Sibley High School, and that I had turned it around and essentially pulled my head out of my ass. I received the following letter:

 

Dear Jacob,

It appears that you did not understand the previous letter, so here is a picture to better explain our response.

Stop sending us letters,

-The University of Wisonsin-Eau Claire

Attached to the letter was a picture of a dog pooping on another smaller dog.

 

It’s crazy to think about what could have happened in an alternate universe, where I was accepted to the UWEC. I imagine that I would have gotten deeply depressed when I realized how terrible Wisconsin is, and would have lost all my teeth in an effort to fit in with the locals. Eventually, through some type of butterfly effect, a series of cataclysmic events would have resulted in a zombie apocalypse and I would be left as the leader of a bad-ass gang of zombie killers, but eventually killed and eaten by my number-two guy.  All I can do is look at my life now, and appreciate all the great things that happened after I received these letters. I am six days away from graduating from the University of St. Thomas with honors and as a member of the Delta Epsilon Sigma National Honors society and I want to say, Thank you UWEC, for rejecting me, because you sent me down the path to where I am right now.

 

College House

If you are planning on going to college, are currently in college, or went to college at some point in your life, I think you will be able to relate to this post. Throughout my higher education, I have lived in three different college houses, each one with varying degrees of mayhem. The first one I have extremely fond memories of. It was one of those houses where you have to wear shoes in the living room for fear of stepping on glass or dead bodies. It was, for all intents and purposes, a party house. It was complete with holes that were punched in the wall, a roof to sit on, and a wide assortment of couch people. Couch people, for the laymen, refers to a segment of people who chose not to live in their own house, but simply sleep on the couch at other people’s houses. They are typically male, and they typically like to party, but as long as you keep them fed they don’t cause much trouble.  But despite our running it into the ground, it was home and I had some of the best times of my life there.

The second house I lived at was about 15x nicer than the first one, probably due to the fact that I had two fewer roommates and we kept it very clean. It was fun, and I was able to impose my neat-freakiness onto the whole house, but it was quiet and a little boring. The house was very conducive to getting good grades, but we rarely went out and lived extremely far away from campus. All that being said, once I moved into my third college house, I would give anything to move back to that small quiet/boring house.

Some quick background on this house: It was likely built between 1814 and 1905. It is insulated about as well as swiss cheese. Its surrounding neighbors are primarily old ladies, who will not hesitate to alert the authorities when they see a car parked on the street after 8:30PM. The house’s floor-plan could be described as borderline insanity, featuring a bathroom that is the only entrance to the basement, as well as outlets that are strategically placed in useless locations and never where you would plug something in.  Now, that you have an idea of the background, allow me to walk you through a virtual tour of my third college house. ..

Let’s start with the upstairs bathroom. You will notice from this short video clip, that turning the doorknob does not actually turn the latch mechanism. This is a relatively new development in the post-apocalyptic wasteland I call home, and what it means is that nobody will be able to shut the bathroom door. I can already see good times ahead.

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Now if you would kindly follow me downstairs to the living room you will find a wide assortment of strange and mysterious things. The first thing I would like to comment on are the objects in this photo. We have A) a belt B) some slippers C) an empty backpack (that doesn’t belong to any of the roommates) D) National Lampoons family Vacation (the case is empty) and E) a half drinkin’ Miller lite. And the winner for most concerning object on the living room floor goes to….. A) the belt.

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In addition to the strange and unexplainable objects, our living room is host to possibly the largest Red Dog shrine in the entire continental U.S. Now I can imagine what you are thinking, A) dope instagram filter and B) clearly that is about a decade’s worth of Red Dog consumption, but you are sadly mistaken. However, fear not Mom and future employers, it was a collection from a large gathering of which Red Dog was the unofficial sponsor, so its not like my three roommates and I casually threw back twelve hundred beers one afternoon.

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As we continue through the main level, you will find our spacious dining room. We have never actually eaten a meal at this table, although we have played a significant amount of beer-pong, which I actually prefer to eating dinner. This room is pretty standard for a college house other than one small detail. If you would direct your attention to the bottom left of this image, you will notice that there is a toaster oven on the floor. You may be wondering, why is there a toaster oven on the floor in the dining room? And to that, I will respond by saying, I have no fucking idea.

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You may remember from the brief time we spent in the upstairs bathroom, that the door did not shut. Well, this is the other bathroom option in the house and the light has been burned out for the last month.This leaves me with two potty options, a door that doesn’t shut or doing my business while in total darkness. How many soon-to-be-graduated fully grown men does it take to screw in a light bulb? Apparently more than four.

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This door leads to the fourth bedroom, which is occupied by a fourth roommate. I have not seen, or heard from this fourth roommate in a few weeks and I am unsure if he is dead or alive. However, there isn’t any smell coming from under the door so I think that strongly supports the latter. In most houses, the occupants would know if any of their roommates had moved out, left the country or spontaneously combusted, but in a college house? Hey… Why not?

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I realize now that I made a mistake when I said my potty options were between the two previous bathrooms. There is in fact, a third toilet and this one is extra special. It lives in the basement and is surrounded by no barrier. This toilet is used almost exclusively by Samara, the evil demon/ghoul that lives in the basement. I typically do not try to use this toilet because Samara is kind of a territorial evil demon/ghoul and she gets upset when I use her toilet paper. She has yet to come upstairs and cast spells on us, or murder us, or whatever it is that evil demons/ghouls do, and I attribute that solely to the fact that I have not encroached on her personal restroom.

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The moral of this story is that I am extremely excited to move out of this house and into a place with light bulbs, working doors and a general feeling of safety. For anyone reading this who has had experience with a college house, I hope you can relate somewhat to my every day life.  As for Samara, I hope she finds what she is looking for in the afterlife. Also, Samara, if you kidnapped my fourth roommate, then you should bring him back because he is probably falling behind in his schoolwork.

Über Facts

ÜberFacts, for those of you who don’t know, is a twitter handle that posts random facts about basically any topic under the sun. The handle is extremely entertaining and I thoroughly enjoy being a follower. There is however, just one problem with Über facts: Every once in awhile they post things that are simply not facts. For example, they may post something like, “Happy people tend to be richer,” this may be true, but it’s important to remember that correlation does not always mean causation. Plus, I think there is a good chance they flipped the variables around. A more reasonable claim would be that,”Rich people tend to be more happy.”

Another questionable style of fact that Überfacts commonly tweets are extremely specific and unbelievable statements that sound more like hearsay than a proven fact. Sure, they may be true, but I think they would be hard-pressed to find more than one credible source to back them up. These tweets would be something like, “The mayor of Key West, FL declared war against the US, surrendered after one minute, then applied for one billion dollars in foreign aid.” 

They also regularly tweet links to articles that are 100% opinions. For example, “15 movies with terrible endings” or “10 stupid school dress code rules”. You get the idea.

These facts that aren’t necessarily facts combined with a statistics and marketing research course started bringing out the cynic in me. Now, I no longer trust any of tweets from Überfacts. But don’t worry, there is good news. This has given me the opportunity to make up my own list of facts that seem remotely possible, but may or may not be true. Did you know…

  • High school cafeterias throw away an average of 15,000 gallons of ketchup each year.
  • Singing can increase your sperm count.
  • 3 out of 5 college professor have reported taking pictures of their students with their smart phones.
  • Drawing three-dimensional cubes in the margins of a notebook can reduce your risk of cancer by 10%.
  • In ancient Madagascar, women with blonde hair were called pissmops.
  • Mixing toothpaste with UV-blue causes the same reaction in the brain as smoking bath-salts.
  • Gullible spelled backwards is eblillug
  • Jar-Jar Binks is Arabic for “Snitches get stitches”
  • Steve Jobs came up with the idea for iPod after he ran out of room to hold his illegally pirated music downloads.
  • Due to contractual issues, In the 5th and 6th Harry Potter films, Harry Potter is actually played by Justin Timberlake wearing a Daniel Radcliffe mask.
  • In China, it is common to put soy sauce in sprite.
  • In 1907 a man contracted rabies from licking old newspapers.
  • It would take approximately 27 years to chew through a standard refrigerator door.

Now don’t get me wrong. This is not an attempt to slander Überfacts, in fact, (<<see what I did there) I am loyal follower and look forward to reading their tweets every morning. I am simply pointing out how easy it is to make up facts, and how important it is to get information from a credible source.

Patent Pending

With an impending graduation and no offer for a career-type-job with salary and benefits, my future remains uncertain and frankly, quite scary. However, recently I have made the decision to opt-out of a career of short-order cooking and “livin’ in a van down by the river” and decided to make my fortune the new-fashion way. Rather than work hard for my money, I will make millions of dollars from one or more of the following genius ideas:

Bottled Air

There is so much pollution in the air these days, especially in large urban areas, that it can be nearly impossible to get a breathe of fresh air. Well now, a clean and refreshing breathe is as easy as opening a bottle. Instead of breathing toxic air, like a poor person,  you can carry around your own personal bottle of fresh air. Whether you want the air from a crisp ocean breeze, a northern forest pine, or the wind from the top of a mountain, all you have to do is open up the top and breath in, and your lungs will be transported to a cabin in Northern Minnesota, a beach on the Almafi Coast, or a chair lift in the Swiss Alps. As a potential investor I can imagine you may be wondering, “why would anyone pay for air, when they can breath it for free?”  Well allow me to answer your question with a question, why would anyone pay for water when they can drink tap water for 1/100th of the cost? The answer is simple, because we are stupid Americans.

 

Rent-a-Ninja, Inc. 

This business model is simple really. Customer feels unsafe… customer rents a Ninja to protect them. Despite the fact that martial arts still exist, you rarely see ninjas in your day-to-day lives. I believe this to be because of a major job shortage for ninjas which left the vast majority of them unemployed. Rent-a-Ninja, Inc. will not only offer these unemployed ninjas a job, it will offer an effective security rental service to every day consumers. All you do is place an order for a ninja using our toll-free number (the Rent-a-Ninja mobile app is coming soon) explain the nature of your request, and a ninja will arrive at your location within the hour.

  • You are expecting a night time commute through The Bronx? There’s a ninja for that.
  • You drive a Mercedes Benz and you are afraid someone might break in? There’s a ninja for that.
  • You are getting picked on at your middle school? There’s a ninja for that. 
  • Your daughter and her friend were kidnapped in Europe and sold into white slavery? There’s a ninja for that. 
  • You are lonely and you just want someone to snuggle with? There’s a ninja for that. (Rent-a-Ninja does not support the use of services for the purpose of any illegal, immoral, romantic, sexual, or otherwise nefarious activity)

 

The App Closing App

Perhaps this is a problem that I alone face, but having my iPhone’s battery die 12 seconds after I unplug it is a reoccurring source of displeasure in my life. I had owned exclusively blackberries for about five years, so when I first got the iPhone, I was a virgin to the concept of Apps and Apple products in general. I loved the phone, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why it was dying so quickly, even when I was barely using it. Then, after raising my concern to my uncle, a long-time iPhone user, he took one look and explained to me that I have had 4,572 apps open since pretty much the first day. After calling me stupid, he then asked me why I had literally never closed any app I had opened, and how I could expect my phone to last all day when I have been running Apple Maps for 9 months strait. I responded to his questions in the following way. I had fully assumed that when I pressed the big button with the square, and whatever app I was using ceased to be visible on the screen, that meant that the app was closed. My assumption had clearly been wrong, and I learned that you have to click the big button with the square twice, and then you could go through and close all the apps you had opened. As useful as this app-closing revelation was, I still managed to forget to close the 4,572 apps and continue to do so today. So, without further adieu, I bring you this: The App Closing App. This app would be the only one you never close, and its only function will be actually closing an app when you click the big button with the frickin’ square on it. The result: longer battery life and a significant amount of dough in my pockets.

 

Mandaids

Whether you are a 9 year-old girl who fell off her bike, or a 215 pound Navy Seal who stubbed his toe on a guy he just killed, every once in awhile you bleed. While its okay for small children and woman-folk to cover their boo-boos with adhesive bandages, tough guys like you and me are ridiculed and emasculated when we use them. Quick riddle: How do you solve a major social injustice while you simultaneously invest in a sure-fire start up business? Answer: Mandaids. These adhesive bandages allow men to protect their open cuts and lacerations while avoiding the humiliation of  wearing a Dora the Explorer Band-aid. The outer, visible side of the bandage will have pictures of things like severely infected knife wounds and road rash, so that the injury appears much worse to any potential critics and the user can heal without any criticism.

Imagine, while making copies of your expense reports, you give yourself a deep and painful paper cut. If you use the band-aids at the office, your coworker, Chad, will call you a pussy and then pretend to call the waaahhmbulence and all of your other coworkers will laugh at you, after which you will spend the rest of the afternoon quietly weeping in the men’s room about both your paper cut, and your loss of masculinity. Pretty humiliating right?  Well this time, imagine you cover up your paper cut with a Mandaid. Instead of looking like a “pussy”, your finger will look like you got it caught in a table-saw. That douche-bag Chad and all of your other coworkers will think you are such a bad-ass  because you A) own a table saw and B) didn’t even need to cover up your wound when you mangled your finger in it. Problem solved.   “Mandaids. The first bandage for tough guys”

 

Vulgar Emojis

As great as Emojis undoubtedly are, sometimes you simply cannot find one that encapsulates the emotion you want to express. Vulgar Emojis would offer its users a couple more pages of emoticon options, however, these particular emoticons will be vulgar, offensive and generally inappropriate. Examples include: A middle finger emoticon, a Helen Keller emoticon, a decapitated horse emoticon, a Hitler emoticon, and various emoticons murdering each other in creative but violent ways.

 

World’s Least Safe Minivan

This idea might have a few potential set backs, but allow me to explain. The product itself is a minivan, for the sake of this pitch, visualize a Honda Odyssey, but instead of earning the 2014 Top Safety Pick+ from the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety, it is ranked as the most dangerous car on the road. This minivan will basically just fold after colliding with pretty much anything. It will feature chain-link airbags that deploy with the force of a right-hook from boxing legend Mike Tyson, as well as a 99% window tint on all six windows (inside and out). The minivan will offer no shoulder-belted seat belts, side-mirrors or anti-lock breaks. Trial research has reported reoccurring incidences that include, but are not limited to:

  • Hit a pot-hole: the entire axle falls.
  • Get rear-ended: the engine explodes while the doors automatically lock.
  • A bird poops on the windshield: the two rear tires pop.
  • Park for too long: Van turns on and accelerates without warning or anyone in the driver seat.
  • Turn sharply: Chain-link airbags deploy causing blunt-force trauma, closed head injury and sometimes death.

Although market trend reports have suggested a consumer preference toward high safety ratings, this minivan will feature a negative 2-star safety rating, earning it the title of Motor Trends’ 2014 death-trap of the year. Now again, as a potential investor you may be wondering, What kind moron would purchase a van like this?  The answer to your question is Moms with multiple children (commonly referred to as Soccer Moms), and the reason why can be chalked up to basic self-handicapping. If you are unfamiliar with this term, it is defined as the process by which people avoid effort in the hopes of keeping failure from hurting self-esteem. One common form of this is alcoholism. People who experience early success will sometimes turn to alcohol so that if they begin to fail, they will be able to blame their alcoholism, or conversely, if they succeed people will say, “wow! they were able to do all that, even when they were drunk the whole time.” Another example would be a golfer who uses sub-par clubs (pun intended). This way they can either lose because of the clubs or win despite the clubs. The reason that this would apply to the dangerous minivan, is that our marketing communications strategy would provide soccer moms with an opportunity to satisfy their “esteem needs” according to Maslows’s hierarchy of needs. The objective will be to subtly explain the minivan’s self-handicapping function as a method of satisfying a sense of esteem for our target market. To do this, we will use taglines like “it’s not the car its the driver”, “Cars don’t save people, people save people” “The best bowlers in the world don’t need bumpers”. The proud owners of our van will be able to brag to the other moms who need to drive cars with high safety ratings. They will be able to say that they are the safest drivers, because they get all the kids safely to practice despite driving a car with a subzero safety rating. The producer of this minivan will enjoy the low manufacturing cost, as well as capitalize on my extensive and practical knowledge of consumer behavior.

 

Selfie Hat 

All of your friends want to know what you are doing at all times, no matter how boring or private. Of course your friends need to know when you are working out, or when you are at the club, or even when you are performing mundane household chores. And what better way to show them what you’re doing, than with a picture of your face while you’re doing it? But how many times has this happened to you?: You are at work and you are beginning to feel the boredom setting in. Suddenly, you receive a photo of your friend and her cat’s face with the caption, “hanging out with my kitty”. Clearly your next move is to snap an up-close photo of yourself bashfully pouting and to attach a caption that reads, “ugh…stuck at work”.  The problem is, all of your coworkers will see you taking the picture, which is, in most settings, socially unacceptable. Selfie Hat offers a simple solution to being able to casually and inconspicuously take a selfie.  The Selfie Hat is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a hat thats brim features a small, backwards facing camera lens. The camera connects wirelessly to your smart phone, tablet or computer device, and allows you to take high-definition photos of your face, and share them with your devoted fans. (Available in a variety of styles.)

 

Despite their ingenuity, these seven ideas are only pending at the USPTO, but there is no doubt in my mind that when they come to their senses, I will be granted exclusive rights to use and sell all seven ideas under U.S. Federal Law.  In other words, although these ideas are clearly just an attempt at humor and to poke fun at how irrational consumers are, and obviously not serious suggestions, you should not try to steal them.

Naked and Afraid

While the rest of America pretended to be entertained by the NFL draft, I treated myself to a reality show that’s got entertainment value in spades. The show I am referring to is called Naked and Afraid. If you haven’t seen it, you are most likely under the impression that I am writing about an HBO late-night-soft-core porno or maybe a slasher film, but you are sadly mistaken. If you have seen it, you can go ahead and skip down a paragraph or two, while I explain the plot to these other idiots.

Two survivalists, one man, one woman, (who are either ex-military or that person you tell your kids not to stare at in downtown Los Angeles) are stripped of everything, including their clothes, and dropped into hostile environments. First they are assigned a P.S.R. or a “Primitive Survival Rating”, which takes attributes like mental toughness, experience and probably insanity and assigns them a score out of ten; with a one being the lowest and a ten being a Katniss Everdeen. They are given one survival item each, which usually ends up being a hatchet/machete and a flint….or fire starter…thing…. and then they are sent off into some ridiculous jungle, desert or swamp. The challenge: see if they can survive in the wilderness for 21 days completely naked and completely afraid.

What I really want to do is talk about the last episode which takes place in Bolivia. This is probably the best episode I have seen and it ended in suspense and mystery. But first, some quick background info about Bolivia, it is located in South America and it is pretty much like every other South American Country. Or in other words, It is hot, everyone likes soccer, there is probably a rainforest or two, a couple panthers, and a few dozen old ladies carrying baskets on their heads. Anyways, the reason this episode is so crazy is not because of the environment, but because of the female cast member, Sabrina. With a P.S.R. score of only 6.7, she falls somewhere between Dora the Explorer and a cameraman on Man vs. Wild. She then goes on to do three of the strangest, most memorable things, I have ever seen on reality TV.

1) Sabrina starts by introducing herself as an “American Witch”. If I am her male co-survivor, all i’m thinking is Shit!! Mainly because everyone knows that muggles are better suited for primitive survival because they haven’t been babied by their magical abilities all their lives. Plus, this witch is not a cool witch like Hermione or Selena Gomez, she is one of the bad ones… like the redheaded witch from Hocus Pocus. Throughout the 21 days, she wastes her energy making little witchy sculptures that look like what goth kids draw in their notebooks. Meanwhile, her partner is contracting, and I quote, “three kinds of jungle diseases”, including Malaria! So, either this lady was casting spells on him from day one or he was just off on his own rolling up jungle plants and smoking them. In the end, it says his recovery is on-going. I just want to take a second to truly appreciate the craziness that took place here. What other reality show has witches and people actually getting fatal diseases on the set? That guy is either dead or dying and he had a  P.S.R. score of 8-point-something which only puts him a little bit behind Liam Neeson.

2)  Her partner eventually gave up and was probably air-lifted to the best medical facility in Bolivia or in other words, the airport where he was then immediately flown to the U.S. where the doctors wear shoes.  Completely alone, Sabrina decides to pursue what I like to call, “The Wilson Approach“. The Wilson Approach comes from the hit film Castaway. In the movie, although I am sure you have seen it, Tom Hanks is trapped on an island for years all by himself. During his time he befriends a volleyball that washed up on shore with him. He draws a face on the ball, names it Wilson, and then proceeds to talk to it all the way up to the moment when Wilson floats away and breaks everyone’s heart. Well, Sabrina the witch took a very similar approach by drawing a smiley face on a rock and naming him “Mushroom Man”. As lovable as Wilson undoubtedly is, I would like to make some quick comparisons to demonstrate some key differences between Wilson and Mushroom Man. First of all, Tom Hanks is stuck on the island for 5 years (or something like that, I haven’t seen it in awhile) so befriending a volleyball is arguably reasonable behavior. Sabrina is about a week-and-a-half into her journey, is was only alone for like 20 minutes before she starts talking to Mushroom man. Secondly, Tom Hanks names Wilson after its brand of volleyball, a logical thought process even for someone who is friends with an inanimate object. Sabrina on the other hand, names her rock Mushroom Man even though the rock does not resemble a mushroom in any way. Image

3) Sabrina pulls of one of the boldest strategies I have ever seen in a survival situation. After being left alone to fend for herself while her partner selfishly dies in a Bolivian hospital, Sabrina begins to starve. She manages to hike about 30 feet from camp to a lovely little area at the base of a waterfall. The two survivors had been using this area to fish, cool off, and contract jungle diseases through their urethras (not sure if that’s the plural for urethra or not). However, famished from her lack of food, Sabrina is unable to catch any live prey. She has all but given up, when she finds, and I shit you not, a decaying bird head. Yes… a decaying bird head. She picks it up and as gross as it is, the audience takes a small amount of comfort in the fact that she is a survivalist, and no self-respecting survivalist would eat a decaying bird head. But then we remember, this is no ordinary survivor… this is a Rock-naming witch lady. Now, I know I am in no place to give wilderness survival advice. Realistically, I would have a P.S.R. of about 0.7 because I am Jewish and I can’t even tie a fishing knot, but even I know you shouldn’t eat decaying bird heads. However, Sabrina apparently skipped the “what to do when you come across a rancid old bird carcass” lesson at nut-job school, and she ate that bird head like her mamma made it. Soon after, she was rushed to a hospital and treated for Appendicitis, Hepatitises A-Z, and pretty much every other infection known to man kind. Luckily,  she is expected to make a full recovery.

Although, like I said, this is one of the better episodes of Naked and Afraid, there are a few unresolved issues. Did the male survivor, Vincent, ever recover? Is there a massive law suit against Naked and Afraid (probably not because I’m sure they sign about ten waivers)? What house was Sabrina placed in at Hogwarts? Did she get to keep Mushroom Man? If she did, did she divorce her husband (yes she is married) to be with Mushroom Man instead? The world may never know. Anyways, I urge you to tune in Sunday nights at 9PM ET/PT to catch the next thrilling episode of Naked and Afraid…. Unless you have HBO then watch Game of Thrones instead.

R.A.P.

Rhythm Assisted Poetry 

October 8, 2002. The day that Rhythm Assisted Poetry gave way to Retards Advertised Profitably. October 8th, 2002: The official release date of lil’ Jon and The East Side Boyz’s album, Kings of Crunk. Now I know what you are thinking, you bought that CD just like everyone else you hypocrite, and you are right. “Get Low” was a smash hit and I will still sing along every time I hear it. The only reason I place so much blame on little Jonathon is that after this album, people started realizing that fame and fortune was attainable without any talent, as long as you had a cool beat and somebody shouting affirmative interjections in the background. After “The Kings of Crunk” rap started becoming what it is today and ladies and gentleman it is not pretty. Somehow the lyrics have gone from  true stories of overcoming poverty, east and west coast battles and deep personal confessions, to money, lies, big-booty-hoes, and nonsensical phrases that kind of rhyme with the N-word.  Here are some of my personal favorite rap lyrics: 

“Love is evil, spell it backwards, I’ll show ya.” Eminem 

  E-V-O-L…. what’s that spell? Evol. For those of you interested Evol is actually an all-girl pop group… from South Korea. Now I may be in the minority here, but the new Eminem just doesn’t do it for me, and the worst part is that he is still one of the best. This is likely a textbook case of playing at the level of your competition, because in the 90’s and 2000’s Eminem was a genius… now he just sounds like a white lil’ Wayne.  

“I exchange V-cards with the retards”- Mack Maine

To steal a line from my boy, Lil’ Jon, uhhhhhWHAAAAAAT!!??      

“Clap clap clap for my money
Clap clap clap if you count money
Clap clap clap throw some money
Slap her in the booty, with some money
(Flocka Waka Flocka Waka)”

“That’s that white clear shit, I don’t fear shit (MONOPOLY)
I’m my CEO shit (MONOPOLY)
I’m a artist with a artist, and his single hard as mine, that’s real shit” -Walka Flocka Flame

Mr. Flocka teaches us that believe it or not, money rhymes with money, and shit rhymes with shit… no matter how many times you say it.

“Bandz a make her dance”- Juicy J

Schoolz a make you smart.    

“As the sun rotates and Pit gets bigger
And more countries in the world like Hitler
Commando bomb, double 0, 3, 0, 5
AKA Mr. Worldwide, ha ha ha”

“Now watch him make a movie like Albert Hitchcock” – Pitbull

Who the fuck is Albert Hitchcock?  A quick test to make sure you are listening to a Pitbull song is to ask yourself the following questions: Does he randomly say “Mr. Worldwide, Mr. 305 and Dale” about 26 times? Does he arbitrarily shout the names of densely populated cities? Does he say nonsensical things that sound inspirational at first, but are actually meaningless and stupid? If so, there is a good chance you are listening to mistah worldwide himself. 

“I don’t have no trouble with you fuckin’ me, but I got a little problem wit’ you not fuckin’ me” -Old Dirty Bastard

WU-TANG! 

“Boy, I’m cock-a-manian
The most zaniest, insaniant
Pulling up in Merced-iance
Rolling up like I’m Damian
I love girls that’s Arabian, Albanian, caucasian
I ride around gettin cranium cause my dick is hard as titanium”

“Ok I say that shit again, I said it once before
I just, I just, I just, I just want it all
I glisten and shine with miss’s fine model chick,
Big behind, bad enough to skip the line” -Big Sean

Big Sean teaches us that it is possible to throw together a hit song with a tenuous grasp of the English language,  provided you are able to just kind of make up words… Hell, they don’t even have to rhyme. 

They know who I be, cuz my name on my clothes”- Soulja Boy

Fun fact, Soulja boy did come out with his own line of clothing in 2008. Unfortunately, the song this is quoted from came out in 2007. So in other words Soulja boy was just writing his name on some shirts. 

“They ask me what I do and who I do it for
And how I come up with this shit up in the studio
All I want for my birthday is a big booty hoe”

“She got a big booty so I call her Big Booty”

“Her pussy’s so good I bought her a pet
Anyway, every day I’m trying to get to it
Got her saved in my phone under “Big Booty”

2 Chainz is probably most famous for his obsession with prostitutes who have larger than average Gluteal muscles. Also, in what ass-backwards universe do the words “FOR” and “STUDIO” rhyme? 

“I live by two words: Fuck you, Pay me”- Kanye West 

I counted four words there… but hey I was never much of a mathematician. 

Dear Burglar

I hesitate to call you a burglar, simply for the fact that you did not actually burglarize me, well I guess in the strict, legal definition of the word “burglary” you did burglarize me, but you didn’t actually take anything so I will just call you an invader.

Dear Invader,

First of all, I would like to applaud your sharp eye for unlocked doors. Typically I am very diligent when it comes to locking my car door. This probably stems from a past experience where my car was burglarized in every sense of the word, but I can’t be too sure. I assume it was my remote key that is to blame for your invasion of my property, lately it has been under-performing and I have been forced to click the lock  and unlock button several times before my car responds. Regardless of where my habit of routine car locking came from, or why I failed to secure my vehicle last night, you managed to catch me the one time I slipped up. So, kudos to you.

The real question here is: why did you break into my car, empty out my backpack, rifle through my glove compartment, and remove my stereo deck/dashboard from its original place, but proceed to not steal any of it? This, I have been speculating on all morning, but I simply do not understand.

My first thought was that perhaps someone caught you in the act. This is definitely possible, because if I were breaking into someones car and got busted I would have also probably stopped. However, based on how thorough you were in your search for valuable items, I can only assume you left on your own terms. I mean you found the secret compartment that took me like three weeks to discover, so either you are an expert on the subject of 1997 Honda Cr-V’s, or you had a considerable amount of time to raid my car. I am going to assume the latter.

The problem now, is that your decision not to take anything becomes a complete mystery. Maybe you saw that I had a butter knife holding my glove compartment shut. This ghetto problem solution/brilliant display of resourcefulness would have indicated to you that I,(and I can only assume) like you, are in a sticky financial situation. Perhaps you empathized with me and had a change of heart mid-burgle. If that is the case, then thank you! I appreciate that you understood how much I needed my backpack, sunglasses, graphing calculator and stereo. In fact, I would like to buy you a beer and you and I can have a long discussion about graphing calculators and stereos, or maybe we can just joyfully reflect on what a funny word “burgle” is. I truly want to believe that you only half-robbed me because you had a fundamental change of heart during the course of your break in, the only problem is that I am kind of a cynical guy. In other words, I understand that you are the type of person who would break into a stranger’s car in the first place, which leads me to believe that you are a pile-of-shit. (sorry, the curse words may have been unwarranted)

If that is the case, and your decision not to rob me did not come from a place of empathy, then that leaves me with two options:

1) You had the full intention of robbing me, but after examining the contents of my car, you found nothing that you believed to be valuable or worth stealing. If so, I am deeply offended and I urge you to please reassess the monetary value of my belongings. Because unless you are one of the rare highbrow car burglars, I don’t understand why you would leave my graphing calculatorstereo, or sunglasses… I mean their Tommy Hilfiger for Christ’s sake.

2) You have been following me for weeks, maybe even months, and have discovered that I am a neat freak. This is the most disturbing possible motive for your half-burglary, not only because it means you have been stalking me, but because it means that you trashed the interior of my car for the sole purpose of terrorizing me. You knew that the mess you made would give me a considerable amount of anxiety, and would then force me to be late to class because I had to tidy it up a little bit before driving. This also means that if my suffering brought you some kind of happiness, then you are probably a maniac and you are also very likely to strike again. The question is, how?

Will you break into my room and reorganize my Harry Potter book collection so that it is not in numerical order?

Will you remove the batteries from my remotes and hide them?

Will you go into my text books and write believable, but incorrect answers and tips in the margins?

Will you switch my pillow covers so that I can’t tell which one is the comfy one until I put my head on it?

Will you displace one of the slats under my bed so that if I sit down too hard on my bed it will fall and my mattress will be lopsided?

I guess the purpose of my letter, Mr. Burglar… or sorry, Mr. Invader, is to get to know you a little better. I hope you write me back, and tell me all about you. I’d like to know so many things, like do you live in the area? Is burglary a full time job for you, or more of a hobby? Do you have kids? Do they burglarize cars? Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever been in a fight? What’s your sign (in the zodiac/ astrology sense of the word)? Did your horoscope tell you to break into my car and not actually take anything? Do you also dislike gluten-free people? No rush and no pressure, all I want to do is try to better understand the events that transpired May 1st sometime between the hours of 12:00 and 7:45am. Just send me a letter, I’m sure you know the address.

Look forward to hearing from you.

xoxo-

Jacobscribbles