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:: P.Net Mailbag #13
:: P.Net Mailbag #13
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Like clockwork, a new month dawns on us like stupid ideas dawn on the Republican party,
which is to say all too frequently. Why, it seems like just yesterday I was
spending my free time writing erotic fanfiction starring me and Playboy's Miss
June centerfold. All that time, it seems, is wasted because with the new
month comes new adventures with a new centerfold, whom I am convinced will also
fall under my lustful spell with minimal effort. (I do seem to have that
effect on paper women.) But with the coming of a new month also comes
something else aside from airbrushed love and I'm not just referring to the
hepatitis shot I get at the free clinic. Rather, I'm talkin' about bags
of mail and the letters contained within!
It's been just over a year and a half since I took over the mailbag duties from Randy "Norway Whore" Pollestad and even though I'm more than a little disappointed at myself for being unable to move on, I don't let that get in the way of continuing to provide you with the same low quality feedback/response updates that you're used to. Oh sure, I still hold on to my dreams of becoming a superstar just like parents hold onto ransom notes in the foolish hope that they might actually see their child alive again but we're both just kidding ourselves. I'm still stuck doing the same old schtick that I have always done. Skip Walker keeps telling me that I should be thankful that I even have a "schtick" to be stuck with because some third world countries don't even have clean water. He then made some kind of Christmas analogy which I tuned out because they don't pay me enough around here to listen. I think he might be off his medication anyway. But, silly me. None of this has anything to do with why you're here, which is a cheap way of saying that we should get on with the letters.
Dear P.Net,
Today I did something stupid, and you're the only one I can turn to. Over the weekend, my friend Chris gave me the Tuna Odorant challenge, and... I accepted. Long story short, I am getting paid two hundred of your US dollars to use canned tuna in lieu of deodorant for three consecutive days at the office, and I'm only allowed one shower per day. I've been here for twenty minutes and I feel fucking disgusting. Now I feel like I have to go through with it, because I already bought the tuna and I could use $200. What is wrong with me?
- Leonard
Hello Leonard,
They say that when life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. However, I find this advice in horrible taste considering the percentage of the population that is allergic to citrus. I mean, what are they supposed to do when life gives them lemons? Sell them? Sure, they could do that I guess, assuming that we still live in a perfect world and not some dysotopian future where the citrus haters amongst us haven't been cordoned off because cans of Sprite rule the day and our carbonated overloads dictate society. But you weren't given lemons so you don't have to worry about making lemonade. You were given cans of tuna. And what did you make out of those cans of tuna, Leonard? A gigantic idiot of yourself.
You see Leonard, I already hate you and I don't even know you. In my book, you're a grade A retard, the kind of retard that kids with Down syndrome point at and think, "well, at least I'm not him." You're a worthless empty soul who idolizes the idea of prostituting himself out for the amusement of others in the small hope that you might gain some sliver of recognition from your peers and a little cash to go along with it. You'd probably eat your own feces if someone was willing to pay you $50 to do so. Hell, I'll pay you $50 if you never, ever write another letter to anyone ever again. Do the world a favor and go experiment different inhalation techniques with deadly chemicals in a very small, confined space. If you manage to survive, the brain damage you incur can only improve your current situation. Think about it.
Dear PNC Mailbag,
While I am by no means a professional writer, I have written a number of articles for my local paper and had a number of short stories published in small circulation magazines. However, I feel that I'm not getting my fair shake as an author due to my limited audience and am looking for ways to expand my readership. The internet is one idea I had. You guys over at PNC seems to be doing ok so I'm curious if there is any advice or suggestions that you can give me to help me along my way. Thanks in advance.
- Walter
Hello Walter,
Holy shit, you're a writer, too? Oh man, we totally have something in common! How cool is that? We should totally get together and hang out. We can drink fruit punch while bouncing zany ideas off of each other until we hit comedy gold. Or until my mother says that I need to go to bed. One of the two. How awesome would that be? We could be the next literary tag team; the next Trey Parker and Matt Stone!
Seriously, speaking as a real writer for a real website on the real internet (not those fake internets that they advertise on late night television), writing in this vast universe isn't quite as easy as you make it sound. You can't just jump online and start spreading your inane dissertations. It takes years of dedication, meditation, a cow to sacrifice, a keyboard, spare parts in case that breaks, and lastly, $7.95 for a domain name. Even if you manage all of this, you're still not guaranteed success on the vast internets. Look at what society considers an accomplished writer and then compare that with what they have done on the internet. Take Shakespeare, for example. English majors all over the world still have masturbatory fantasies over his prose but what has he contributed online? Nothing. Do you want to know why? He couldn't hack it. The internet is too hardcore for Shakespeare so he stuck to his parchments and his sonnets and cried like a little baby whenever AOL told him that he had new mail. Not to say that his work couldn't be adapted, just that he's not the right person to do it. I have taken the liberty of doing what Shakespeare can not and making one of his more popular stories a little more internet accessible:
Sure Walter, I know I make it look easy but that's only because I'm good. Damn good. And I don't care how many articles you've written about Farmer John and his huge pumpkin crop or that sizzling expose uncovering how the state government of North Dakota spent their money, none of that matters on the internet. I'm sorry kid, you just don't have what it takes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go see how many hydrocodone pills constitute an overdose and then take twice the amount.
Hey Guys,
I'm in a bit of a quandry here. I share a house with three other guys, since we all go to college right around the corner. The other night, after a kegger, I was totally wasted and passed out. I woke up a few hours and found out that one of my room mates had stumbled into the wrong room and passed out next to me on my bed and his arm was draped over me. I want to chalk it up to the alcohol but I'm also thinking that maybe I should confront him. What do you think?
- Dwayne
Dear Dwayne,
Don't worry about confronting your room mate. Alcohol aside, all men get one free gay pass. This is a one-time use only card for whatever strange, accidental, or curious gay experience they may choose to experiment with be it a touching of the balls, an accidental grope in a bar, or wandering into the nail salon by chance and not immediately running out. Any further abuse or line crossing and they can be officially branded homo and are under the rules of Gay Man Law. For now, your room mate is still quite securely in the former catergory of "experimenter" and has not yet crossed over, so we will simply chalk this up to a one-time thing. As stated above, should his behavior continue, it's quite obvious that he wants to mount you and you can use this fact to embarass him in front of hot sorority girls at parties. Then you can totally bang one of them just to prove that you're straight. Or something like that.
With that, we bring a close on this the 13th edition of the mailbag. We here at the PNC sincerely hope that you have enjoyed the ride and wish you well for the rest of your day. Please be careful when exiting the vehicle and try not to fall and hurt yourself. We don't really care enough about you to call 911.
|
It's been just over a year and a half since I took over the mailbag duties from Randy "Norway Whore" Pollestad and even though I'm more than a little disappointed at myself for being unable to move on, I don't let that get in the way of continuing to provide you with the same low quality feedback/response updates that you're used to. Oh sure, I still hold on to my dreams of becoming a superstar just like parents hold onto ransom notes in the foolish hope that they might actually see their child alive again but we're both just kidding ourselves. I'm still stuck doing the same old schtick that I have always done. Skip Walker keeps telling me that I should be thankful that I even have a "schtick" to be stuck with because some third world countries don't even have clean water. He then made some kind of Christmas analogy which I tuned out because they don't pay me enough around here to listen. I think he might be off his medication anyway. But, silly me. None of this has anything to do with why you're here, which is a cheap way of saying that we should get on with the letters.
Dear P.Net,
Today I did something stupid, and you're the only one I can turn to. Over the weekend, my friend Chris gave me the Tuna Odorant challenge, and... I accepted. Long story short, I am getting paid two hundred of your US dollars to use canned tuna in lieu of deodorant for three consecutive days at the office, and I'm only allowed one shower per day. I've been here for twenty minutes and I feel fucking disgusting. Now I feel like I have to go through with it, because I already bought the tuna and I could use $200. What is wrong with me?
- Leonard
Hello Leonard,
They say that when life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. However, I find this advice in horrible taste considering the percentage of the population that is allergic to citrus. I mean, what are they supposed to do when life gives them lemons? Sell them? Sure, they could do that I guess, assuming that we still live in a perfect world and not some dysotopian future where the citrus haters amongst us haven't been cordoned off because cans of Sprite rule the day and our carbonated overloads dictate society. But you weren't given lemons so you don't have to worry about making lemonade. You were given cans of tuna. And what did you make out of those cans of tuna, Leonard? A gigantic idiot of yourself.
|
You see Leonard, I already hate you and I don't even know you. In my book, you're a grade A retard, the kind of retard that kids with Down syndrome point at and think, "well, at least I'm not him." You're a worthless empty soul who idolizes the idea of prostituting himself out for the amusement of others in the small hope that you might gain some sliver of recognition from your peers and a little cash to go along with it. You'd probably eat your own feces if someone was willing to pay you $50 to do so. Hell, I'll pay you $50 if you never, ever write another letter to anyone ever again. Do the world a favor and go experiment different inhalation techniques with deadly chemicals in a very small, confined space. If you manage to survive, the brain damage you incur can only improve your current situation. Think about it.
Dear PNC Mailbag,
While I am by no means a professional writer, I have written a number of articles for my local paper and had a number of short stories published in small circulation magazines. However, I feel that I'm not getting my fair shake as an author due to my limited audience and am looking for ways to expand my readership. The internet is one idea I had. You guys over at PNC seems to be doing ok so I'm curious if there is any advice or suggestions that you can give me to help me along my way. Thanks in advance.
- Walter
Hello Walter,
Holy shit, you're a writer, too? Oh man, we totally have something in common! How cool is that? We should totally get together and hang out. We can drink fruit punch while bouncing zany ideas off of each other until we hit comedy gold. Or until my mother says that I need to go to bed. One of the two. How awesome would that be? We could be the next literary tag team; the next Trey Parker and Matt Stone!
Seriously, speaking as a real writer for a real website on the real internet (not those fake internets that they advertise on late night television), writing in this vast universe isn't quite as easy as you make it sound. You can't just jump online and start spreading your inane dissertations. It takes years of dedication, meditation, a cow to sacrifice, a keyboard, spare parts in case that breaks, and lastly, $7.95 for a domain name. Even if you manage all of this, you're still not guaranteed success on the vast internets. Look at what society considers an accomplished writer and then compare that with what they have done on the internet. Take Shakespeare, for example. English majors all over the world still have masturbatory fantasies over his prose but what has he contributed online? Nothing. Do you want to know why? He couldn't hack it. The internet is too hardcore for Shakespeare so he stuck to his parchments and his sonnets and cried like a little baby whenever AOL told him that he had new mail. Not to say that his work couldn't be adapted, just that he's not the right person to do it. I have taken the liberty of doing what Shakespeare can not and making one of his more popular stories a little more internet accessible:
"Oh Romeo, oh Romeo, what art thou e-mail address?"
"Why? Doth thou wish to spamith me with advertisments for dick drugs?"
"Heavens no, Romeo. I am just a lonely teen who is horny. Thou shoud checkith out my webcam. LOL."
"I accept thine proposal. Please allowth my trojan horse into your backdoor."
"Of course, but first thee must pay $9.95. These goods doith cost money."
|
Sure Walter, I know I make it look easy but that's only because I'm good. Damn good. And I don't care how many articles you've written about Farmer John and his huge pumpkin crop or that sizzling expose uncovering how the state government of North Dakota spent their money, none of that matters on the internet. I'm sorry kid, you just don't have what it takes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go see how many hydrocodone pills constitute an overdose and then take twice the amount.
Hey Guys,
I'm in a bit of a quandry here. I share a house with three other guys, since we all go to college right around the corner. The other night, after a kegger, I was totally wasted and passed out. I woke up a few hours and found out that one of my room mates had stumbled into the wrong room and passed out next to me on my bed and his arm was draped over me. I want to chalk it up to the alcohol but I'm also thinking that maybe I should confront him. What do you think?
- Dwayne
Dear Dwayne,
Don't worry about confronting your room mate. Alcohol aside, all men get one free gay pass. This is a one-time use only card for whatever strange, accidental, or curious gay experience they may choose to experiment with be it a touching of the balls, an accidental grope in a bar, or wandering into the nail salon by chance and not immediately running out. Any further abuse or line crossing and they can be officially branded homo and are under the rules of Gay Man Law. For now, your room mate is still quite securely in the former catergory of "experimenter" and has not yet crossed over, so we will simply chalk this up to a one-time thing. As stated above, should his behavior continue, it's quite obvious that he wants to mount you and you can use this fact to embarass him in front of hot sorority girls at parties. Then you can totally bang one of them just to prove that you're straight. Or something like that.
With that, we bring a close on this the 13th edition of the mailbag. We here at the PNC sincerely hope that you have enjoyed the ride and wish you well for the rest of your day. Please be careful when exiting the vehicle and try not to fall and hurt yourself. We don't really care enough about you to call 911.
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