|
|
|
Return to the home page
|
|
|
Don't Bogart the Pointy Rocks
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
It's always important, in any business, to appeal to the greatest number of people in your market or audience. Newspapers and magazines write to the average reading level, which is the 6th grade, while radio stations play music that will numb the sensibilities of most people. In some cases, it's smart marketing. In others, it's just dumbing it down to appeal to the lowest common denominator.
But the Bible?
According to a recent story in the London Observer, a panel of 15 "eminent theologians and linguists" have recommended that the International Bible Society reword its Today's New International Version of the Bible to clear up any confusion that young people might have about it.
It seems the word "stoned" actually means "stoned to death," and has nothing to do with drug addiction. According to these 15 theologians and linguists, this important distinction has escaped the understanding of most young people.
"Dude, have you ever looked at your Bible? I mean, REALLY looked at it?"
I would think, given the Bible's overall "Thou shalt not" reputation, a rule against using recreational drugs to achieve a pleasurable, mind-altering effect would be pretty obvious. So I think if anything has escaped anyone, it's that 15 eminent theologians and linguists have no clue about the average young person of today.
Of course, you have to wonder what is really going through the minds of a typical teenager during a typical teenage Bible study, other than, "Man, Jenny is really hot. I wonder if she'll go out with me." Do they think people went around firing up a left-handed cigarette or snorting a quick line? What do they think it means when someone got stoned in Ancient Israel?
Pharisee #1: Zimri of Heshbon, you have been found guilty of committing adultery while eating a cheeseburger on the Sabbath. The elders of the Temple have decided that you shall be stoned.
Pharisee #2: Yeah, so light up this doobie and play some Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon."
Prisoner: Aww, man, I wanted to hear some Bob Marley.
Pharisee #1: As it is written, so shall it be. Lay down a little Babylon By Bus.
Pharisee #2: Wait, leader dude!
Pharisee #1: Dave. My name is Dave.
Pharisee #2: Dave's not here, man.
Pharisee #1: What?
Pharisee #2: Never mind. I mean it's not 4:20 yet. Stoning law says that heathens are not allowed to be stoned before 4:20.
Prisoner: Dude, lighten up. It's 4:20 somewhere.
Pharisee #1: Actually, it's 12:45. It's not 4:20 anywhere.
Prisoner: Forget it. Just fire that thing up. I'm ready for my punishment.
Pharisee #2: You're not a cop, are you?! You have to tell us if you're a cop if we ask you.
Pharisee #1: That's right. It's high time the cops quit cracking down on us. It's not like we're hurting anyone.
Pharisee #2: Dude, you said "high time."
Prisoner: That is so freakin' hilarious.
Pharisee #1: I know. I screwed that one up so -- wait, what? Who are you?
Prisoner: I'm Dave.
Pharisee #1: No, I'm Dave.
Pharisee #2: Dave's not here, man.
Pharisee #1: Yes, I am. I'm right here. But what are we doing here?
Pharisee #2: What are any of us doing here?
Pharisee #1: No, I mean what are we supposed to be doing here?
Prisoner: I forget.
Pharisee #2: Me too. I gotta go. I need to finish my entry on alt.conspiracy.papyrus. I think the Mesopotamians and Samaritans are trying to control our minds by washing their clothes in our rivers.
Pharisee #1: Yeah, I need to go too. My parents are coming down on me pretty hard. Apparently they're not happy that I'm still living in their basement. I told them, I'm only 32. I've got plenty of time to find my own place. But my old man is on me not to cut my beard or lift anything heavier than a fig on the Sabbath.
Prisoner: Cool. I'll catch you guys later then. You want to meet back here tomorrow? We'll finish up where we left off.
Pharisee #1: That's cool. See you, dude.
Pharisee #2: Yeah, see you, Dave.
Pharisee #1: I'm Dave.
Pharisee #2: Dave's not here, man.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of April 1st, 2005)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
|
Extra! Extra! Journalists Sometimes Lie!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
I always used to roll my eyes at people who said "you can't believe everything you read." With the exception of all supermarket tabloids and magazines, I had always believed that newspapers were -- for the most part -- fairly trustworthy in the news they reported. Whether I agreed with them or not, I thought the writers always tried their best to be as honest as possible.
Boy, was I wrong.
According to the New York Times (official motto: "Hey, we learned our lesson after the Jayson Blair thing!"), Assistant Secretary of Health and Human Services, Wade Horn, was found to have hired three nationally syndicated columnists to secretly shill for Bush administration policies.
These conservative columnists -- Michael McManus, Maggie Gallagher, and Armstrong Williams -- were hired to write about a variety of topics, including a marriage initiative and No Child Left Behind. This is normally not a problem, as journalists will sometimes hire themselves out as PR flaks for some extra income.
The problem is these three promoted their pet issues in their columns without saying they were being paid to write about them. A clear violation of journalistic ethics which, believe it or not, actually exist.
In fact, there were so many PR agencies being hired to write and produce fictitious news segments that the General Accountability Office forbade federal agencies from creating their own news reports "that conceal or do not clearly identify for the television viewing audience that the agency was the source of materials." The GAO said this violates government restrictions on covert propaganda -- something we haven't even been allowed to use during the Iraq war.
In other words, we can torture people, we just can't lie to them.
Of course, it's not too surprising to learn that the Justice Department and the Office of Management and Budget ordered all executive branch agencies to ignore the GAO. Translation: even if it's illegal, we still want you to do it.
But this is normally not something journalists do, at least not without some disclaimer that says "I am a shameless, unethical hack who was paid huge sums of money to sell my soul to sleazy partisan interests."
I say this partly out of a sense of moral outrage at the violation of journalistic ethics and the public trust, but mostly because no one has ever made this kind of offer to me. That, and I can't get it all to fit on a t-shirt.
That's not to say I haven't freelanced as a PR flak myself. I can think of two notable instances where small business owners -- a personal life coach and a pizza restaurant owner -- paid me to use my writing and advertising skills to promote their businesses. I wrote an outstanding sales letter for the life coach and eye-catching door hangers for the pizza guy.
They each went out of business six months later.
In my defense, it wasn't my fault. I did the job I was hired to do, I did it well, and I even went above and beyond the call of duty. But I still couldn't shake the feeling that there was a connection between my work and their. . . non-work.
Believe me, nothing is a bigger blow to a writer's ego than out-and-out failure of the company he is writing for. Receiving a rejection letter from a magazine is nothing compared to the thought that somehow you have single-handedly managed to destroy a man's life work and dreams.
As a result, I try to avoid writing on behalf of causes I support. I'm now afraid that any attempts to write for them would cause gross violations of human rights, plunge the world into a wave of fascism and communism, and bring about the return of Walker, Texas Ranger to television.
So instead, I'm offering my services for hire to my favorite causes or companies, but I'll write for the opposition instead -- sort of a secret agent/saboteur copywriter. This will guarantee the failure of that particular organization, thus paving the way for the success for my own chosen cause.
It works something like this: For the price of a new BMW Z4 3.0i Roadster, I'd be happy to say wonderfully glowing things about Mercedes. For a year's supply of Papa Johns pizza, I'll write outstanding reviews about Pizza Hut. And for a 5-year subscription to DIRECTV and the NFL Sunday Ticket, I'll tell everyone I can about how great the Dish Network is. Each of my target companies will soon go out of business, leaving my secret employer to reap the rewards (and give me 2% off the back end as well).
Hey, who are you going to believe, me, or some unethical hack like Armstrong Williams or Mike McManus?
Uhh, don't answer that.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of April 8th, 2005)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
|
Adventures in Vegetarian Taxidermy
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
York: Hello, and welcome to Mark York Kitchen Adventures. I'm Mark York and this is my kitchen. Today, I'm joined by David Taylor, noted vegetarian taxidermist and activist.
Taylor: Hello, Mark.
York: Hi, David. Vegetarian taxidermy. That's a new one on me. How does that work?
Taylor: Well, let's say you've just enjoyed a particularly good vegetarian meal, like vegetarian lasagna or tofu and curd pizza, and you want to commemorate the experience. How would you do that?
Yorks: Well, actually I'm not--
Taylor: That's right, you'd have the vegetable stuffed so you could display it for family and friends to admire.
York: But didn't I already eat it?
Taylor: That's right.
York: So how do I stuff it and save it for later?
Taylor: Believe it or not, that little problem set us back for six months. Then we came up with a new solution. We stuff a replica of the vegetable.
York: A replica?
Taylor: Sure. We take a vegetable of a similar look and size, empty out the seeds and flesh, which we save for later -- can't let that go to waste, can we? -- and then fill it and close it up. And then the client has an exact replica of the scrumptious vegetable they just enjoyed.
York: What kind of vegetables do you prefer to work with?
Taylor: Oh, we especially enjoy working with your larger vegetables, like pumpkin, squash, eggplants. Tomatoes are okay as well.
York: Aren't tomatoes technically a fruit?
Taylor: I try to avoid that "in the box" thinking. It burdens our understanding of vegetables and our ability to do good quality work for our clients. It's just one more example of Corporate America trying to prevent us from achieving our true artistic expression.
York: Achieving your true. . . ? How does Corporate America benefit by making you call a tomato a vegetable?
Taylor: You know how they are.
York: Apparently I don't.
Taylor: They're afraid of art and the truth it speaks.
York: What kind of truth can you get from a vegetable?
Taylor: Vegetables encourage us to return to Mother Earth and embrace her energies. Corporate America is afraid of people turning their backs on their materialistic ways.
York: I. . . see. What about the way a vegetable is raised? I'm sure a vegetarian activist such as yourself must have some preference about that.
Taylor: Absolutely, Mark. We find that organic vegetables are the easiest and best to work with. They come from the earth and don't put any nasty pesticides or fertilizers into the ecosystem. Our business is to celebrate the best the earth has to offer, so obviously we have to use subjects that celebrate Mother Earth's giving spirit.
York: Hmm. And what kind of filler do you use?
Taylor: We use a combination of non-expanding polystyrene foam and a two-part petroleum based epoxy.
York: Two-part. . .? Never mind. So what do you do if a client wants to have a vegetable stuffed from a meal six weeks previously, or they live five states away.
Taylor: We ask them to provide us with several photos of the vegetable in question, and we'll locate one that closely resembles the subject.
York: (Chuckles) Or they could just take the photo and have it framed.
Taylor: A picture? Why would someone want a picture of a vegetable? That's crazy. A picture is just a brief snapshot of a memory. A stuffed vegetable allows a person to experience the texture and weight and smell of their stuffed vegetable.
York: What does a stuffed vegetable smell like?
Taylor: Well, for the first few months, it smells like non-expanding polystyrene foam and two-part petroleum based epoxy. So we discourage the owners from smelling their new vegetables too deeply.
York: So if you're a vegetarian taxidermist --
Taylor: And activist.
York: And activist -- how do you feel about your fellow taxidermists who deal with animals?
Taylor: They're killers and murderers.
York: But they didn't actually kill the animals, the hunters did.
Taylor: But they provide an opportunity for the hunter to glorify their murder of animals.
York: So you're opposed to the consumption of any meat product.
Taylor: That's right. But a life without meat doesn't mean you can't enjoy different cuisines. Why, for example, I've got a great recipe for vegetarian haggis. It involves rolled oats, several different grains, and soybeans.
York: But that's not even haggis. Haggis is sheep intestines, stomach, liver, and other parts. By its very definition, haggis is made from sheep organs. It's like cooking a slab of tofu and rolled oats and calling it a vegetarian steak.
Taylor: Actually, now that you mention it. . .
York: GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of April 15th, 2005)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
Excuuuuse Me!
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
Erik is out of the office this week, so we are reprinting a column from 2002 about his favorite subject: loud bodily functions.
The news was enough to make any self-respecting, beer-swilling Guy clap his hands and squeal like a twelve year old girl at a Britney Spears concert.
Burping is considered a serious activity. There's actually a world record burp, a world's loudest burper, and even scientific instruments and impartial judges to monitor these events and confirm a new world record.
And to the chagrin of wives and girlfriends everywhere, all of these factors were brought to bear on the London Science Museum on Friday, August 2nd. That's when world record burper Paul Hunn (no relation to my friend Jeff Hunn) attempted to beat his own earth-shattering record of 118.1 decibels, which he set in 2000. To give you an idea of how loud that is, if you stood 100 yards away from a jumbo jet taking off, you'd experience 120 decibels.
Unfortunately, Hunn's efforts fell short when he developed a sore throat after three attempts. Although his burps did get louder with each try, his final one only reached a disappointing 110.5 decibels, which is comparable to sandblasting, sitting in the stands at a NASCAR race, or that stupid kid driving past my office blasting his stereo.
"Sadly, he didn't break the record and had to stop after a few tries because his throat was getting too sore," an unnamed spokeswoman at London's Science Museum told Reuters. "But when he heals up, he's determined to set a new record."
Naturally, Hunn was a little disappointed at his efforts, but promised to return when he felt better.
Another unnamed spokeswoman (or possibly the same one, it's hard to tell them apart) told Ananova: "He's going to try another day, but he's a bit winded at the moment. Plus everyone in the room has passed out from the odor." (She really didn't say that last part.)
Guys everywhere were heartened by Hunn's optimistic, never-give-up attitude, and voiced their own support.
"BRAAP! I think he'll make it next time." said one bystander.
"You can do it -- BLURG! -- Paul!" another cheered.
"PHAUGH! What's everyone talking about?" asked a third.
Representative Della Howes, Senior Records Researcher for Guinness Book of World Records was on hand with sound level meters and recording equipment to monitor and confirm Hunn's attempt. She waved her hand frantically in front of her nose as she explained Hunn's shortfall. "He was under a lot of pressure with everyone watching. But I suppose it's like the athletes at the Commonwealth Games at the moment -- you have to train hard for it and just go for it."
Interestingly, Howes seems to be the go-to gal when it comes to measuring uncommonly loud sound. In 2001, she helped measure the record for "loudest group of people in a single location" for the English band Hear'Say. On September 6th of that year, at Wembly Arena in London, approximately 10,000 screaming fans set the world record by generating 128.8 decibels of sound.
They beat the previous record of 128.7, set on October 1, 2000 by Denver Broncos fans in Mile High Stadium. Howes was present for that record as well.
"It was louder than a jumbo jet," she said of the Hear'Say record. "The noise was the loudest we have ever recorded for a single group of people in one location."
To put Hunn's accomplishment into perspective, his world record burp measured only 10.7 decibels less than the screaming of 10,000 young teenagers.
Hunn chugged an unspecified carbonated beverage and gulped mouthfuls of air, which any eight-year-old kid will tell you is the secret of successful burping. There was no word whether any of the soft drink companies are considering underwriting any future attempts, although they're being short-sighted if they miss this opportunity. Imagine the publicity that could come from being known as the Official Carbonation Supplier to the World's Loudest Burper.
Announcer: When quenching your thirst isn't the only thing you need, try Belchy-Fizz Cola for the loudest, longest belches. Whether you're trying to amaze your friends, impress a date, or when you just want to clear a room, take a big swig of Belchy-Fizz Cola. World's Loudest Burper Paul Hunn swears by it.
Hunn: Hey kids, for world class belching, turn to Belchy-Fizz. It's a big part of my training regimen. BRAAAP!
Believe it or not, Hunn actually does have a training routine, including spicy food and exercises to force air into his stomach. These include deep breathing, cardiovascular workouts, and riding on top of a car with his mouth open.
Hunn's attempt was part of the London Science Museum's current "Grossology" exhibit (sciencemuseum.org.uk), which overcomes a child's lack of interest in science by appealing to their fascination with the sick and disgusting, and teach visitors more about how the human body works. Features include snot trivia, a display on which foods create the most gas, and even a Rube Goldberg-type device that ". . . explores the many different causes of vomiting."
So remember Guys, after you let fly with a particularly loud and satisfying belch, and your wife or girlfriend gripes about the noise and/or odor, don't mumble excuses. Look her right in the eye, tell her you're learning science. Or better yet, tell her you're training to break the world's loudest burp, and then challenge her to do better.
Just don't come crying to me if she can.
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of April 22nd, 2005 - originally published in 2002)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
|
Ramblings of My Two Year Old Son
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2005
Yaay, morning again! TV and breakfast and milk in a sippy cup! And I love waking up to a really good poopy. That means Mommy has to change my diaper. She makes such funny faces when I do that.
Hmm, something smells funny. I'll just open my eyes and--GAAH! It's that Daddy guy. What's he doing home today? Oh wait, it must be -- what do they call it? -- Satter Day? Daddy always wakes me up on Satter Day.
What are these things on my head? Oh wait, I remember. What did Daddy call them? Die Odes? He said they'll read my mind and transfer my thoughts to a computer -- whatever that is -- so he can write his column. Lazy hack. Get your own material!
I remember he put these on me last week. I tried to run away and nearly gave myself whiplash when I reached the end of the wires. I think he said these are wireless.
Dude, put me down, I just woke up! Give me some space. Your morning breath would kill a horse. Ha, take that! How's that for a right hook? Next time don't stand so close. Good thing you had your glasses on.
Aw, man. He startled me so bad I can't even make a good poopy. Hey, you! Daddy! My diaper is wet. Get this thing off me. That's more like -- put it on! Put it on! It's cold in here. Look, it's making my -- oh jeez, I hope that's not permanent. I look like a one year old.
My day is going from bad to worse. Now I've got one of those stupid Die Odes in my hair. I hope that cute little diaper filler from next door, Stacy Something-or-other, doesn't see me. I look like a complete dork. Ha, take that! Stupid glasses. Just stick me in my high chair and bring me some breakfast.
What's this crap? I don't want Cheerios, I want bacon and eggs. Bacon. Bayyyy-kunnnnn! Do I have to draw you a map? Bring me some stupid bacon. Let's see if I can get my point across a little better. I'll just throw the Cheerios on the floor and throw a fit.
"WAAAAAAHH!" Ooh, milk in a sippy cup. It'll do for now. But I want BLTs for lunch today! Hey, Grover's on my cup. Hi Grover. Are you on TV today? Huh? Say something. Stuck up little monster. Every day I try to talk to him, but he doesn't say a word. When he's on TV, he's all cute and fuzzy and talkative, but get him alone, and he just clams up.
<LATER. . . >
Huhhh? What happened? I must have fallen asleep in my high chair again. I hate it when that happens. What's Daddy laughing at? Put that camera down. What are you -- oh man, I've got Cheerios stuck to my cheek. Take that! Dang, I missed.
Dude, turn on the TV. No, not Pokemon. Not Dora the freakin' explorer either. I want Sesame Street! Sesame Street! Seeeessss -- ooh, it's Hometime with that sexy Robin Hartl. She can build me a new crib any day.
Forget it, I've seen that one before. Turn on Thomas the Tank Engine. You know, the talking train. No, not the talking plane. The talking train. Hey, that reminds me. Where's' MY Thomas?
"WAAAAAAHH! Tama, Tama." Thanks, Daddy dude. Daddy found Thomas. I guess he's not so bad after all. Now I can watch the show and drive Thomas around on my high chair.
But yuck! 'Tama, Tama?' What the heck was that all about? I distinctly said 'Thomas the Tank Engine.' What's all this 'Tama' business? Stupid cognitive development.
Hey, where's my breakfast? Oh yeah. I threw it on the floor. That was stupid of me. I better not do that any-- ha ha ha! I knew I couldn't say that with a straight face. Hmm, let's see. Where was I? Oh yeah, breakfast.
"WAAAAAAHH! Cheechos!"
Cheechos? I said Cheerios, not Cheechos. I think I'm losing my mind. Something's going wrong here. It's these stupid Die Odes or whatever it is Daddy stuck to my head. I've got to get them off. They're ruining my brain. I'll just get this -- ow, my hair! My hair! I forgot about that one.
Almost done. These Die Odes are making me stupid. I was a bright, intelligent two-year-old, but now I'm starting to sound like a punch drunk 18-month-old. Just one more Die Ode and I'm--
<TRANSMISSION ENDS>
=====
Erik Deckers
(published week of April 29th, 2005)
- Return to the top of the page
- Return to the home page
|
|
