illiterich

If you need someone to film your next zombie orgy...

2010-10-24T14:33:00.003-03:00

...I know just the guy!

Make-up & Prosthetics Specialist/ Camera-Man Jonathan Craig

His credits include Kenny vs. Spenny and my nightmares.

Lesser know facts about Ghandi

2010-09-19T15:39:00.003-03:00

Mohandas Karamchand Ghandi was the great Indian politician who dedicated his life to creating an independent India free from British rule. His philosophy of resistance to the British was based on one of non-violence and non-cooperation. He was also convinced that true freedom could only come with moral and spiritual transformation of an entire people. So committed to his principles he strived to spiritually purify himself through fasting, celibacy, solitude, and constant prayer. And though his story is well known, my recent research has turned up a few surprising facts about the great man.

Lesser known facts about Ghandi

- Birth name: Melvin Goldberg.
- He was a man of incredible moral courage and conviction who was steadfast in his commitment to non-violence, which only made his vocal stance on the unnecessary testing of incendiary weapons on monkeys that much more disturbing.
- Never lived to see his beloved Indians win the Pennant in ’49.
- Chocoholic.
- His high school class cruelly – and quite presciently – voted him most likely to be celibate.
- Was really into Indian culture and religion for a while and always said that one day he would just “go for it” and live on an Ashram in India for “a whole summer or whatever.”
- Not naturally bald.
- Soul Force and Passive Resistance were actually names of his favorite bands.
- As part of his commitment to non-violence he developed the now famous technique of holding an outstretched finger just centimeters away from someone’s face while repeating: “I am not touching you, I am not touching you...”
- Yeah, he did some time. No big deal.
- You just totally know that he loved getting high. I mean you can just tell by looking at him that he was baked, like, all the time.
- Surprisingly terrible at yoga.
- His short stature, thin frame, and complete ignorance of the sport ensured that Ghandi would never play hockey above the minor league level.
- Kind of half-assed it through his later hunger strikes.
- Whenever someone mentioned his vow of celibacy he always creepily pointed out that hand-jobs “didn’t count” as sex.

Illiterich Unleashed: Live From The Allan Street Reading Series: The Unrated and Uncensored Transcript

2010-07-22T14:57:00.007-03:00

This is an unedited version of the piece I read at the Allan Street Reading Series in May. Thank you to Jenner and Julia for hosting that event and forcing me to read in front of people. It was a great experience.

I was tempted to edit before posting it here because it's too long and I feel like it is not quite finished. Also, it was specifically written to be read aloud as oppose to most of my work, which is written to be ignored. Enjoy!

Dear Son,

This letter is only to be read in the event of my premature death. My hope is to provide you with the guidance, advice and the wisdom of my collected experiences in person but if fate should make that impossible than I want to leave you with something – even if is just a brief letter – to remember me by.

It is important that you should know that I am doing everything to cheat death. I am looking in to cryogenic freezing, cloning, and even downloading my consciousness on to a computer. So even if my current physical incarnation does cease to be you should not count me out forever.

When I do pass though you should not be sad that I am gone. While the specifics are of course unknown to me you can be certain that I died heroically, handsomely, and hilariously. I am not sure how my death will be hilarious exactly but I have got some ideas. For example, I am working on some funny last words. I was thinking something along the lines of: “Catch ya’ll on da flipside!” or “What do you mean they are out of gorgonzola cheese!” Admittedly those are both pretty terrible but that’s just from my initial brainstorming. Anyways, I am sure I will think of something better to make you proud.

I also just want quickly say that if some papers report that I died doing something different, say while performing something called autoerotic asphyxiation. They are lying. Daddy has never done that before and does not even know what those words mean.

Now that I think about it, I am not even really sure why I am writing this letter. I mean I know why but I have already written an entire book entitled From a Father to a Son: 20 Inspirational Letters of Guidance and Wisdom that covers most of what I want to say here in greater detail. Honestly, I am cribbing most of this letter from what I can remember from that book – which is not much because it was heavily plagiarized. Of course the major difference is I get to swear in this version. I mean, I told that asshole publisher over at Harper-Collins that kids already hear this shit in the playground. But he said to me that there would be no motherfucking swearing in his book and if I did not like it I could kiss his white ass and fuck off. It was total bullshit. In the end I agreed to that prick’s demands because I needed the fucking pay-cheque. Money is money, am I fucking right? Anyways, now I can swear all I want. So fuck yeah.

What was I talking about? Oh yes – I was providing you with invaluable guidance on how to live your life.

The first piece of wisdom I want to impart on you is definitely the most important: Always listen to your mother. She is a beautiful, intelligent woman who loves you very dearly and has only your best interests in mind. That is, unless, we got divorced before I died. If that is the case than do not listen to a damn thing she says and if she re-marries some dude remember to condescendingly call him “Kevin” or “Darren” or whatever his stupid name is and never refer to him as “father.” If he tries to discipline you remind him, in no uncertain terms, that he is not your real dad and you do not have to listen to him. But unless that happens your mother should be the guiding light in your life.

So what other advice do I have for you? I admit I am kind of drawing a blank here. Oh – I would definitely say do not have kids. Wow, those things will eat up all your time with their crying and stupid questions. It is ridiculous. As soon as you have a kid you can kiss your fun goodbye and you will not be getting laid ever again, that’s for sure. My friend Mike has two and you should see this loser, it’s pathetic. And his kids? Complete morons. I do not envy him at all.

Of course – I am sure you will be different. You will be a wonderful son and not a moron or a time waster or anything like that.

Okay, I am clearly not great at this. I really do not have much experience with children. And my father only ever gave me two pieces of advice:

First: “Be all that you can be.”

and

Second: “Be an army of one.”

My dad watched a lot of TV and I later found out that those were both slogans for the United States Armed Forces that he gleaned from commercials. So he clearly was not trying too hard. One time he bought us matching t-shirts at an air show that read in big yellow type: “My Other T-Shirt Is Your Mom.” I am not really sure if this was a failed attempt at father-son bonding or, as my therapist asserts, a mild form of child abuse. My point is, I lacked a good role model but I want things to be different for you. I suppose I should start with the things that I learned too late and probably not correctly at all. For one thing I think it is the duty of any good father to explain the birds and the bees to his son.

Now I am sure you are familiar with the word sex but you are probably wondering what it is all about? Well, son, it is a beautiful thing where a man and a woman, who are deeply in love, choose to share their bodies with each other in an extended, sweaty, passionate embrace. In short, it is the best. It can also be shared between a man and man; or woman and a woman; or, sometimes a man and two other young men; or maybe a man and a woman who was born a man but now identifies as a woman though she still retains some man parts that she did not tell the other man about before starting, even though he’s cool with it, I mean he’s an open-minded guy and its college and maybe he’s always been curious and well, the point is, sex can get really complicated sometimes. Remember though, when shared with someone you love there is nothing better.

If you want to learn more about sex than you should read the manuscript for the rejected sequel to my first book entitled: Uncensored and Unleashed: From a Father to a Son 2: 20 Letters too Inspirational and Extreme for the Original; With a new forward by Howard Stern. Also included in that volume are inspirational letters covering such topics as drugs, money laundering, and dog fighting. In retrospect, I can see why Harper-Collins passed on that project and maybe you should too.

Now that I have told you all about the wonders of sex I should move on to something a little less enjoyable. I do not relish this but I do not want you getting picked on in school like I did so here goes. The following things do not exist:

- Santa Claus
- The Tooth Fairy
- The Female Orgasm
- The Easter Bunny

There I just saved you a lot of trouble. I know its hard to hear about Santa Claus but you will still get presents anyways so do not worry about it.

Other sad facts that you will have to live with, if your life is anything like mine are:

- A strangely resilient form of mild to moderate acne that will persist from the age of 14 to at least your early 20s.
- A complete lack of interest from women that will persist from the age of 14 to at least your early 20s.
- An embarrassing phase involving simultaneous commitments to metal, elaborate tabletop board games, and not bathing.
- And, finally, most painfully of all, the belief that can write poetry and that it should be shared with other human beings, especially uninterested women.

So I think, by this stage, with your experiences and with my profound insights as your guide you are ready to take on the world. The thing is though, as you get older, you will start to question that world and your place within it. At some point you will inevitably ask: “Why am I here?” Greater minds than I have wrestled with this question and come to different conclusions.

Some think it should simply be the accumulation of material wealth while others think that it should be devoted to the pursuit knowledge. Some believe that achieving spiritual enlightenment is that loftiest goal while others are content to wallow in basest of human pleasures. Finally, there are a whole bunch of people who devote their lives to blindly following strict religious and moral codes, which they insist on forcing on the rest of us at every chance they get. I cannot begin to explain how annoying these people are. They have only read one book, ruin every party they go too, and literally think they can control hurricanes with wishes and prayers. That last part would be cool if it was true but its totally not.

Now, where was I? Right, the meaning of life. Yes, I really do not have an answer for that question. This is going to sound like a cop-out but you will have to figure it out for yourself. I can give you some suggestions of things that make life much more enjoyable.

- First: Love. There is nothing better than loving someone and having them reciprocate. If I had to describe it I would say it is like floating in a warm, calm lake without having to struggle remain above water – you would gladly stay there forever. Though on rare occasions, it is like being water boarded with steaming, hot piss – you would do anything to get free from it. I can be a bitch that way but it is always worth going for.

- Two: Art, literature, music, film, and dancing. They are not only useful at reducing boredom and increasing enjoyment but they can also, if considered and created with great reflection, become something approaching transcendental. Not quite on the level of controlling hurricanes with your prayers but as good as I’ve ever experienced.

- Three: Sex. Again, I cannot sing its praises enough.

- Four: Laughter: The best thing after love and sex.

- Five: Water: Drinking it regularly leads to clear skin, more energy, and you will die without it.

- Six; The Sciences: Honestly, they are not really for me but you might grow up to be a nerd so I thought I should give them a token spot on this list.

Now if those are the things you should seek out than the things you should avoid are, in no particular order: Hatred, violence, war, oppression, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, superstition, most television, frats, frat boys, frat parties, and doing nothing.

Of all these things in the second grouping war is definitely the worst. I do not want you getting involved in any sort of war. If I ever hear that you have started any wars, even just one, I will be very upset with you young man. I do not care if it is pre-emptive or what. Starting a war is very irresponsible, someone is liable to get hurt and I will not be there to clean up your mess.

Since, by the time you read this, I will be dead and gone you are probably wondering where I am now? Well, the short answer is, if everything went as planned, a cryogenic freezing chamber just outside Santa Barbra nestled between the frozen head of baseball legend Ted Williams and the unanimated corpse of the Chairman of the Board himself, Frank Sinatra.

Unfortunately, I have to face the fact that maybe this did not go according to plan and that I am truly gone from this earth forever. If that is so then I believe that my spirit will leave my body and catch upon a shooting star that will take me to a far away asteroid. There I will rule over my tiny, planet kingdom, tending to three small volcanoes and the beautiful but demanding rose and...no, no wait, that’s the Little Prince. Oh God – I just realized that my vision of the afterlife is basically the plot to a children’s book. That’s embarrassing. Please, don’t tell anyone about that. It’s a great book though, you should check it out, Little Prince.

To be honest, Son, I do not know what happens when we die. I like to think I will be able to watch over you and act as a sort of Guardian Angel. I mean, not all the time. I will respect your privacy when you are in the washroom and it would be pretty unnecessary to watch over you while you are sleeping. Also, when you are at school it is kind of redundant with all those teachers around. But I will definitely try to watch over you about 25 – 30 percent of the time. I am not sure, exactly, what my schedule will be like in the after life though, so lets say I will aim to watch over you at least 15 percent of the time. That should cover most of the important events in your life. Oh, unless you get seasons tickets to the Leafs, then I definitely will be watching over you a lot more.

So I think that is everything I want to really say. Looking over this letter, I am thinking it is probably not very appropriate for a child. Oh well, at least I was honest. I just wish I had more insight on life but I am still relatively young and have not had much experience. In fact, I don’t even have a girlfriend right now so I am not sure why I am worrying about children. Now that I think about it I do not have a job either. And I am not sick or dying or anything. Why the hell am I writing this? I should be focusing on my life, not trying to provide guidance to some kid who has not even been born yet. I always do this and I always get way ahead of myself.

Anyways, I think if I have to leave you with one final thing, it would be this, always plan things out in advance and if you ever find yourself writing a letter to someone who does not exist yet, you might want to take a second to think if you have got something better to do. To tell the truth, I really didn’t.

Sincerely,

Your Loving Father.

Food Blog

2010-05-06T16:50:00.003-03:00

I have been thinking a lot about changing the focus of my blog from nothing to something. I know that food blogs are popular and I eat food so I thought that would be a good fit. So here is my first “Review” of a local restaurant.

Frou-Frou Bistro

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of eating lunch at Frou-Frou Bistro. It is an exciting, trendy new establishment with a creative menu, a great atmosphere, and a staff that is second-to-none!

The first thing I noticed about Frou-Frou when I walked in was the décor. All the furniture was vintage and delightfully mismatched. The walls were covered with colorful paintings by local artists that really gave it a edgy but also welcoming ambiance. On top of that the hip wait staff had picked out some great music to accompany the meal. It was super cozy and cute!

The second thing I noticed was that my date was not there yet. At first I just thought she was late but then she never even showed up. Oh well, I thought, since I was dining alone I decided to order two of everything, to make it seem like I was out with someone. That also meant I got twice as much delicious food! Yum Yum!

I started off with two scrumptious soups – I forget what kinds they were exactly, I think one was like a tomato thingy and the other had, like, chicken in it or was chicken based at least – I know they were quite hot at first but then later they were more just warmish. I should probably describe them better but I think you get the idea.

Next up were my two main courses!

The first was a sandwich with all the fixings. It was called the House Special or possibly the Frou-Frou Special. Anyways, there was bread but it was like that really thin bread and then there was also stuff between the bread. It was mainly vegetables with some meat too. And tomatoes again. What are tomatoes exactly? A fruit or a vegetable? Well, they were in there whatever they are. I think some mayo too but I scraped that off because I hate mayo. It could have been butter though. Anyways, I can’t really describe the taste – I am bad at descriptions – but if I had to describe I would say it was warm because it had been heated or toasted. I did not actually finish it though because it was too soggy from the mayo (butter?).

Next up was a cheeseburger, which they gave a cute French name on the menu that I forgot to write down (I forgot to write down anything). I am not going to bother describing the cheeseburger because we all know what they taste like. Imagine tasting a cheeseburger – well that’s what it was like. If you have never tasted a cheeseburger, than I am sorry, this review will be lost on you. It was definitely even warmer than the sandwich, I can say that much. I would even say it was almost hot. The fries that it came with were pretty much standard except kind of thick. Or maybe they were even just average sized. I don’t know, I am no expert. They tasted a lot like hot ketchup but maybe I just put a lot of ketchup on them. I don’t really remember. Fuck this is hard.

Finally, after the Cheeseburger, came the dessert. This was the moment I had been waiting for.

First up: Blueberry Pie!

I have to tell you, this was the best blueberry pie I have ever tried. Firstly, it was red coloured and tasted like raspberries, which was different. Secondly, it was all, kind of, like crumbly but not. Fuck, no that’s not a good description. Man, I just wish you could taste it and then you would know what it tasted like. I just really want to convey the flavour of this pie and how made me feel but I can’t. Just go try it and you will know what I mean. God, this is really frustrating. Okay, maybe this will help, I remember saying, “Wow, this is good. I can’t wait to describe it in my blog.” Yeah, that should give you some idea of what I was dealing with.

And for the grand finale: More dessert, I think!

I feel like an idiot. I mean, I am just drawing a blank on the dessert I finished with. Next time I have to really bring a notebook. I know it was cold and I used a fork to eat it. After that your guess is as good as mine. Wait, wait it was cinnamon flavored ice cream? No, no that’s not it, that's not even a real thing, I just made that up. Idiot. Let’s just say chocolate cake even though that was not it. Yeah, Frou-Frou has great “chocolate cake.” (How do food bloggers fucking do this?)

In conclusion, I give Frou-Frou two big thumbs up and I would recommend it to all my friends. My only criticism is that the food is indescribable. I am not sure why that is exactly but my experience would have been better if they made food that had a particular taste and texture that could be related to another person in a detailed, clear written description. Perhaps they could even provide patrons with written descriptions to pass on to their friends or post on their food blogs. That would be a nice touch.

“Just Watch Me”: If I were Prime Minister

2010-01-24T00:02:00.004-04:00

Our current Prime Minister has been taking a lot of criticism lately for things he has done (or not done?). I do not read newspapers so I am not sure exactly what the problem is but I assume – judging from his appearance – that he has either done something really creepy or something really bland. Anyways I feel bad for the suit-shaped, human-like being that currently fills the position of Prime Minister so I thought I would help him out by outlining what I would do if I was in his shoes.

Renounce God: I admit this is a risky first move and completely unnecessary. At the same time: holy shit, right? I mean, it would be pretty crazy if the Prime Minister did that. Everyone would freak the fuck out and probably call for my immediate resignation. Actually, it would be political suicide. I do not know what I was thinking. It is a terrible idea. I probably should have thought about it a little more. Maybe just scrap the whole renouncing God thing, at least for now.

Replace Parliament with hyper-realistic mannequins: My initial reason for doing this would be to ensure that I could pass any legislation I wanted without opposition. Later I think I would get bored of that but then I could still dress up the mannequins in funny costumes and pretend to talk for them in silly, high-pitched voices. Maybe I would throw some sort of tea party for them. Either way it would be fun. (Note: Remember not to fall in love with any of mannequins).

Establish a 3-Day Weekend: People would be thrilled if I established a 3-day weekend. They might be less thrilled when they found out they would have to work 20 hour days on the tar sands for the rest of the week. Still: 3-day weekend.

End the War with Japan and Germany: Has anyone remembered to do this already?

Establish a cabinet position for the Prime Minister’s Girlfriend: I would make it a priority to fill this position in the first weeks of my Government. I’ve narrowed my choices down to Rachel McAdams, Elisha Cuthbert, and Peter MacKay (Yes, he’s that good).

Cancel Third World Debt: Nah, just fucking with you.

Ask the Premier of Nunavut to come to Ottawa to present his case for making Nunavut Canada’s next province. Then after he made his little presentation or whatever I would totally say, “I’ll have Nunavut!”: Hah! Get it? “Nunavut” sounds like “none of it.” Whatever, I really think as Prime Minister I could make that joke work.

Raise taxes 1000%: This would make me a very unpopular Prime Minister at first but then...

Lower taxes 500%: Well, well, well guess who just implemented the biggest tax cut in the history of the world?

Throw a nice party for the First Nations People: It’s the least I could do. Actually I could do nothing. Honestly, I would probably end up doing nothing.

Liquidate the opposition, dismantle democracy, establish reeducation camps for “undesirable elements,” abolish free thought, and declare myself as “Citizen 1,” the eternal leader of The Peasant and Worker’s Democratic Republic Of Soviet Canuckistan: Whoops! How did that get on here? Just ignore this one.

Lower the drinking age to 17: I told you guys I was cool.

A Necessary Evil: An ex-con who is trying to put his life back together after 10 years in jail is forced to track down the men who killed his wife and kidnapped his daughter. Or so he thinks... Starring Mark Wahlberg and Edward James Olmos. Summer 2011: I figure as Prime Minister I could finally make this movie happen.

Pass one really amazing bill that basically just solves all of the problems: This seems like an obvious move to me.

Make French the official language of Alberta: Because fuck Alberta, that’s why.

Sell the province of Saskatorontario to the USA for a billion dollars: By the time they had consulted a map and realized that Saskatorontario was not a real province I would have already cashed the check. (Note: May want to come up with a defense strategy in case the USA gets all “invadey” over the whole thing).

Pass a law making the Prime Minister an official Circus Ringmaster: I have my reasons.

Make that delicious (but super fattening) chocolate-cheesecake they serve down at that cute little bistro on Hilton Street illegal: Excuse me but some of us are trying to keep our new years resolutions this year. Am I right ladies?

Do something about the Environment: Admittedly, I have not fully thought this one out. All I know is that the 300 page, glossy booklet outlining my environmental policy (printed in Brazil) would have a green cover. Definitely have to have the green cover. I would not compromise on that.

Continually Prorogue Parliament, hide in my room for the entire time I am in office and hope everything turns out okay: Oh man, I really hope no one notices.

Dear Reader

2009-11-30T21:55:00.007-04:00

Dear Reader,

I have decided to expand the scope of illiterich as I have grown tired of transcribing letters, reading letters, and, according to my nosey neighbor, "stealing mail" (just try and prove it Mrs. Kowalchuk!). This means that illiterich will no longer solely be dedicated to my correspondence with friends, family, and Mrs. Kowalchuk's grandchildren. From now on you can expect to see following:

- Short essays
- Digital ephemera
- Implausible, misspelled, grammatically incorrect conspiracy theories (unles the vatican-holywood-OBAMA axis of LIAR's PERUSUCUTE's my AMERICAN FREEDOMS & takes away are GOD/JESUS given fireamrs and censorships me first)
- Kittens!Kittens!Kittens!
- Connecting with singles in your area
- Regular contributions from Nobel Laureate Orhan Pamuk
- Videos/pictures of people doing bloopers, getting seriously injured
- Page unavailable
- Kowalchuk family reunion photos (courtesy aunt Beth)

So tell all your friends about the good news: I've just been invited to Tammy Jenkin's (nee Kowalchuk) daughter's birthday! Also my blog will likely have some new content at some point in the future unless I get bored with it.

My New Agent

2009-11-25T01:38:00.006-04:00

I just received a letter from my new agent, T.J. Chasely. He has really big plans for me.

Hey Rich,
Let me start by saying I love the blog. Love it. Love you. Love everything you are doing. It is really blowing up. Very exciting. I am pumped to be on the ground floor of this thing.

As much as I love you and everything you are doing we need to talk about some small changes. We have got to reach out to a larger demographic. I am talking about moving beyond your traditional “Big Three” visitor groups (your parents, Korean Internet addicts, and your cyber bullies). If we can get the other important Internet user groups (i.e, 9-11 truthers, advert-bots, and secretaries searching for pictures of kittens) to start clicking-in you will really blow up. If you could combine those three target groups in your next blog post then we might start generating real buzz.

This is not just about your blog though. I am already thinking ahead. I am thinking about illiterich the brand.

Stick with me here, this might sound a little crazy, but what about a theme song? Crazy, right? Or is it? In the next couple of years everyone is going to have their own theme songs, especially bloggers. People don’t want to read text anymore when they visit a blog. People want loud music to start playing as soon as the webpage loads. And that’s exactly what we’ll give them. Okay, so, here is what I am thinking for a song. It’s got to be NOW if you know what I mean. It has got to be electro, pre-post-punk, trip-hop, funk-folk, talk-rock, core-rock, bore-core, core-fore, fore-blore, rock-rock, and video game noises. Who could possibly fuse all these genres? It just so happens I represent a little band called fuck illiterich (don’t worry the name is ironic) who are perfect. They come in, lay down some music, you read one of your blog thingies over it and Boom! Nice knowing yah Beethoven!

“Oh look the illiterich theme song just went to number one on the Manitoba adult contemporary non-music charts!” (I am literally promising that).

Okay so then you will have the blog, the chart topping hit, and the fragrance. Wait, what did I just say? A fragrance? You’re damn right a fragrance. In one years time you are going to have your own scent. Working title: illiterich for Pregnant Women. That’s right, we’re going after the pregnant women perfume market. For some reason no one has even tried until right now. And that will lead seamlessly into a whole line of illiterich prenatal and infant products. In two years time illitierich baby onesies and maternity mumus will be everywhere.

“Oh look I am preggers but I still smell like a morning flower and my baby’s decked out in this fly-ass onesie. I am the hottest prego mom around!”

Don’t stop me now! I am on a role!

Okay, sit down and shut up. This next idea will propel your testicles into your body cavity. Two words: Fucking cake! What do I mean by cake? I mean the 3rd most popular dessert in North America is what I fucking mean. People love cake. People (almost) love your blog. Together they will be unstoppable. Personalized illiterich themed cakes. They will have your hottest tweets or blog postings or whatever you do right on them.

“Oh look it’s a fucking cake with illiterich’s latest facebook status right on it! Now I am the hottest prego mom around!”

And. We. Both. Get. Paid.

James Franco. What am I talking about? I am talking about James “Hottest Shit Right Now” Franco. Why? Oh, I dunno, because James Franco is about to play you in the biopic about your life directed by James Cameron and written by whoever the most expensive writer is. Working title: illiterich for Pregnant Women. Wait, you don’t think that makes sense? Of course not, it’s not supposed too. It’s called product placement and it’s right there in the title. People go see your movie and then go out and buy your fragrance. They won’t even know what him them. But we will know what hit us. It’s called money and it’ll hit us right in the fucking face!

Bring-bring – Hey Rich, the phone is for you – Who is it? – Oh, it’s just Nelson “Yeah, That Fucking Nelson Mandela” Mandela – What does he want? – Ummm nothing really, he just wants you to write his autobiography and serve as the next leader of the United Nations of the entire Earth.

And. It’s. No. Big. Deal.

So we got the music, we got the scent, we got the maternity wear, we got the cakes, we got the movie, we got the Nelson Mandela autobiography, and we got the President of the World. Is that enough? Not by a long shot.

I don’t know about you but I actually want to make some money. So I am thinking a body glitter for straight men? I call it glitterich. Or how about a medicated powder for skin irritation? I call it illiterITCH. You want more? I got a million of these.
Here it comes. I can’t hold back anymore. Are you ready? It’s the rapid fire round!

illiterich’s Anti-Tank Guns
illiterich’s Adult Diapers
illiterich’s Spider Milk
illiterich’s Monkey Wigs
illiterich’s Something Else

Ka-Ching!

And. We’re. Both. Billionaires.

Hang on – illiterich’s Industrial Strength Tar and Plaster Remover just went double platinum in Asia? Oh, now it looks like we’re both Asian billionaires as well. Do you know what kind of cars Asian billionaires drive? Of course not. No one does. Because their cars are fucking INVISIBLE. We are going to make “Asian billionaire invisible car” money.

And. I. ‘M. Not. Done.

Slam Dunk!

More money!

That's what I am talking about!

I think I've made my point. Call me when you are ready to get paid,

T.J. Chasely
P.S. One last suggestion: Start a blog. That is the best way to connect with your fans.”

A Letter From My Subconscious

2009-11-14T23:58:00.006-04:00

I woke up this morning with a letter in my hand. It seems as though I wrote it to myself while I was dreaming.

Dear Rich,

Hello my name is....well I don’t really know what my name is. Sometimes I am called Janine, sometimes its Steven, occasionally its mother or Ottoman Chair or any number of things. One time my name was Fart. Most of the time though, I don’t even have a name. This is kind of why I am writing you. I am a resident of your subconscious and frankly, it is not an easy existence. The whole inconsistent name thing is just one example of the countless obstacles that I face living in the chaotic depths of your mind. Hopefully, this letter will give you just a taste of what I go through on a daily basis (I think its daily but I don't really have any concept of time).

Please, don’t get me wrong. I am not saying I don’t like it here. Your subconscious can be a very interesting place. There is no end to the excitement. I mean, wow, you have action packed dreams. With all the Zombie attacks and time-traveling and weird sex stuff there is no shortage of entertainment in my life (I think I am alive?). The problem is it can be hard to get things done. The Zombie attacks are especially a nuisance. You know what I am talking about. I am not sure if you watched a Zombie movie recently or what but they are everywhere. And there is never any escape from those guys. Sure, you usually wake up before they get you but I am stuck here. I always, always get caught and eaten, I mean, it's just a total nightmare (no pun intended). Imagine trying to get anything done in that sort of environment?

Aside from Zombie attacks I do struggle with other, more mundane issues which are nonetheless frustrating. Newspapers and books pose a big problem for me. In fact all written language give me difficulties. I just want to be able to sit down and read the paper without having the words appear in a cryptic, unreadable script that rearrange itself on the page. It would also be helpful to have store signs that makes sense (Tell me, what the hell does a “BABY ssqqqq @ jjub+effffmnsuw” s shop sell? Apparently it’s Zombies because that’s all that was in stock when I went in).

Another problem is light-switches. Yeah, those never work. And mirrors! What the fuck is up with those things? I cannot begin to explain how unreliable they are. Also can we get some guns that do not morph in to harmless toys whenever we need them most. That might help a bit with the whole unending Zombie war. Some proper dentists would be great too. For some reason people's teeth are crumbling and falling out at an alarming rate. Frankly, it has reached epidemic proportions.

Now there is one last subject that I really need to address. It is awkward and I am not sure how to phrase it politely so I will just come out and say it. Can you please stop trying to fuck everyone? I know, I know it’s your subconscious and you are basically God and can do what you want but it has gotten out of hand. Every time you show up it suddenly turns in to Sodom and Gomorrah up in here. And, let’s be honest, shit usually gets pretty weird. I don’t want to judge but seriously, what the fuck? Margaret Thatcher? Really? And razor blade lined vaginas? What the hell was that about? Not to mention the whole Zombie orgy incident. That certainly did not win you any friends around here.

I sincerely hope I am not coming off as an ungrateful asshole in this letter. There is definitely an upside to living in your subconscious. The whole “not being constrained by the natural laws that govern waking life” thing can come in handy at times. It’s just I am just sick of coming back from work to find that I now reside in a crude approximation of your childhood home which is quickly devolving in to a miniature dollhouse. What do I do when that happens? Sleep in the street? I can't really do that when the street is actually a giant penis-snake that's trying to eat me, can I?

I know I am not alone in my opinions either. Recently, two friends of mine and I were talking about how difficult it is to live here. Of course the conversation came to an abrupt end when they merged in to one being that was simultaneously your father and a limbless mannequin incapable of speech. Wow, amazing, great talk guys.

I try to take my situation in stride but it can be hard. We have a little saying around here that goes: “If you don’t like Rich’s subconscious than...,” no, wait it goes: “you if...like it, don’t leave subconscious penis,” no, no wait its more like: “if you if, bad baby, Richard's vagina subconscious...teeth zombies.” Ah fuck it! I can’t remember the damn thing and really its never been that consistent anyways. The point is I have come to accept the things I cannot change...laser penis bible vegetables. Still, a little structure sometimes would be nice. I think if you were more than an occasional visitor here you would understand my plight a little betterrrrrrrribble....

Well that's just great. I can see I am slowly losing my tenuous grasp on reality so I should probably Wrap IT UP. Mother Baby Truth, Turth,Tuhtr. Oh shit, it’s all coming undone. See this is what I am talking aboooooutttttffffffFalange, Ellberry, LIbrerry, leeberry, luburyl lubdubrubflub. Okay Rich I will just wanted to say one last thing that is of universal importance....
AHHH ZOMBIES! zombie attack! some one turn on the lights! damn light switches!

and why is naked Margaret thatcher here and don’t have sex with her ewwwww
!!! vagina razorblades!!!
Ahhhhh! my teeth are falling out!!!

penis snakes!
rich
remember
this
one
eternal
trutuuuuuuuthuhtuerhtruihurteiorfkldakfmd

this one theorem that explains all existence

ZOMBIES EVERYWHERE DAMN TOY GUNS are useless!!!!

No, that’s not it. You must remember that the hqkdjfh and the are theoaskdj fhoadishfoa which is why mxbstwue faoihpfoa asoso fdhaof reoikiousyw. Got that? GOTTTTT
TTTTTTHHHHHHatt?
ffffffffffffffffffffthhhhhhhhh

AHHH BABY ZOMBIES!!! SERIOUSLY??? Are you kidding me? FUCK thissssssss
And You forgot to study for your geography exam!!

owefnca,wefasf

X,EJWONsoiencoOQWMD
OOEIURYQaaaaaaaandkopaol
S
In
C
Er
Ley,

masoiwuefnstyu

Dammit this sucks.

Inspiring Words From Melvin Hruntz

2009-11-01T22:03:00.004-04:00

People often ask me who my influences are. To this question I only have one answer: Melvin Hruntz.

Now I know the name Melvin Hruntz is unfamiliar to most of you but in the 1950s and 1960s he was considered by many to be one of the finest comedians in the business. He was known for his cutting one-liners and controversial material. Sadly, Melvin was unable to keep up with the times and people grew tired of his endless misogynistic jokes about his wife (including classic bits like “Take my wife – she’s a bitch!’, “I hate airplane food...and my dumb wife!”, and “Take my ex-wife – she’s still a bitch!”)

Unfortunately, in his later years Melvin was mostly known for a bitter feud he had with former friends Zak, Gary, Poopman and the rest of the wacky Morning Zoo Crew over at 108.5 the WHIP. I do not want to get in to the details of their lengthy battle but it got ugly on both sides. Eventually Melvin would reconcile with most of the zoo crew, including Doris the Wednesday morning singing clitoris and crazy homeless Steve, but he never fully forgave Poopman for his unflattering impersonation of Melvin (done with canned fart noises).

Anyways the point is that he inspired me. Without him this blog would not exist. So in his honour I am now sharing a letter he sent me after I wrote to him asking for advice when I started my first blog a few years ago.

Before you read it I should note that when he wrote this he thought that I was an upcoming comedian and that the "Internet" was a comedy club in Pennsylvania.

Hey Kiddo,

Thanks for the fan mail. I don’t get too much of it anymore and the stuff I do get I have to split with my ex-wife (pause for laughter). Seriously though I really appreciate it. It’s nice to know someone still cares about old Melly.

So you want my advice on what it takes to become a comedian in this day in age? My first tip: don’t marry my bitch ex-wife! (pause for laughter). Seriously though if you listen to me I think you’ll do just fine. Here are five tips that I wish I had gotten when I was your age:

1) Refuse to perform in front of women. They don’t know funny. I recommend only taking gigs at strip clubs, friar clubs and in men’s bathrooms (I’ve done dozens of sets in bathrooms). The only women at my gigs should be topping off highballs, selling cigarillos, or possibly replacing the urinal cakes.

2) Don’t be afraid to insult the audience. Remember the audience hates you because everyone wants you to fail. They only way you can win is make them feel as terrible as you do. That counts as a win in old Melly’s books.

3) Don’t stop making zingers. As soon as you stop talking you start thinking and when you start thinking it’s going to be about your ex-wife and that’s not good. Trust me. That’s the last thing you want.

4) Don’t go on a crazy morning zoo crew style radio show. Those hacks will just play farting noises after everything you say. They’ve got no class.

5) Don’t cry. No matter how bad it’s going don’t cry. God dammit don’t let them see you cry!

I hope that helps with your upcoming gig. If I had the money I would fly out to Pennsylvania to watch it myself. Actually if I had the money I would probably be using it to payback my ex-wife, that bitch (pause for laughter). Or maybe I would just get something to eat.

One more thing, when you are in Pittsburgh maybe you can swing by Philly and say hello to my ex-wife, who, as I’ve said, is a bitch (pause for laughter). You can tell her old Melly really misses her and would love to see her...and that old Melly can’t stop crying...and that he wants to smell her again...and to stop crying so much...

Hey, look at me getting carried away. You don’t want to read about all that stuff.

Anyways kid I should probably leave it at that. I’ve got a big show to get ready for tonight. It’s in the men’s bathroom at the Flamingo. I should be able to get through 6 or 7 minutes of material before security is alerted and then I’ll be thrown in the drunk-tank. That’s another great venue: the drunk-tank. It’s packed real guys-guys, everyone is loaded, and they give you a meal after your gig (when you wake up). It’s just like the old days.

Good luck and remember not cry up on stage.

Sincerely,

Melvin Hruntz

P.S. If this is really just another fake fan letter the zoo crew at the WHIP 108.5 than you can all go to hell. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the fart bomb/monkey incident either. I am going to get you all back, especially Poopman, Professor Molester, and the whole Friday morning bikini team!

Let's Talk About Sex

2009-09-27T20:44:00.008-03:00

I just received a really important letter from my friend Timothy Juldsen. Tim, or “Pastor Timmy” as his flock call him, is the youth pastor at Hillside Community Church and he wrote regarding a touchy subject, sex.

Now I clearly do not need any advice on this topic. I know a lot about sex. So much it’s not even funny really. I know, like, basically all of the sex moves one does while making sex. I also know all about pleasuring a woman with my sex moves (that I learned from having so much of it). Man, I do not know even where to start when talking about sex because, as I said before, I have so much sexperience (that’s what us sexperts call it) that I could talk about it in such great detail. I wish I had time to get into it because I have so many great sex stories (sexcapades!) but I just don’t want to give you inferiority complexes and also I don’t have the time. I probably will never have time to talk about it because I am always so busy having so much of it with so many chicks who are like, “can you give us more sex, please?” And yeah...

Anyways, now that I have definitively convinced you that I am not a virgin I am going to share Pastor Timmy’s letter in the hopes that it will guide and inform those of you who might be have some difficult questions regarding this topic, of which I am already an expert, but are too afraid to ask.

“Hey Rich,

I am glad you had the courage to ask me about sex. A lot of the teenagers I counsel are afraid to ask about it and even though you are ten years older than most of them it’s never to late learn the truth about this sacred act carried out between a married man and a married woman.

So, you’re probably thinking, “what can a youth pastor possibly know about sex anyways? Aren’t youth pastors boring, old fusspots?" Well I can assure you that I am not. I am basically just one of the gang. I am basically into all the same things teenagers can relate to. You know, I like to rock out on my acoustic, chow down on some sush’, listen to some jams on my Zune, shred a little pavement on my rollerblades, or even just rap about the Bible over a rockstar energy drink.

Oh yeah, did I mention I am also starting up a skateboarding ministry this fall?

Is that cool enough for yah?

Anyways, now that its been established that I am a hip, relatable youth pastor you’re probably still thinking, “okay pastor-T so you’re totally rad’ and can play all my fav’ Christian alt-rock jams on acoustic but what do you know about sex?”

Good question.

I mean, sure I have only ever had sex with one woman, my wife; and sure, I’ve only had sex on 11 sweaty, awkward, brief occasions; and sure, I’ve only ever had sex in complete darkness with my pajamas still on; and sure, I am only familiar with one sexual position; and sure, I’ve never studied sex in a formal academic or scientific setting; and sure, I’ve only read books on the subject by like-minded Christians; and sure, I refuse to engage with anyone who has differing opinions on the matter; and sure, I don’t know what a vagina actually looks like; and sure, I struggle with exciting but harmful homosinful desires; and sure I hate sex. But I am an expert on one thing: The Bible.

Now what does this little book say about sex? Well it says a lot. Too much in fact. To be perfectly honest I am not really sure what it says because it’s sort of contradictory and the passages about sex are open to a lot of interpretation. So basically I am saying that your guess is as good as mine.

The important thing to remember is that, for some reason, true love waits. If you don’t wait then your wedding night just won’t be the same. All that pre-marital sex will defile that beautiful and sacred moment when your wife looks deep in to your eyes, right after you’ve ejaculated in your tuxedo trousers from the slightest touch, and says to you, “Is that it?”

In conclusion I really don’t think you have to worry too much about sex at the moment. I get the feeling you are going to be a virgin for a long time to come. A big, old sexless lame-o that no one even wants to even touch let alone sleep with. And that, my friend, is a beautiful thing.

Sincerely,

Pastor Timmy Juldsen.”

Ypres: Artist, Genius, Blogger.

2009-09-11T17:19:00.006-03:00

I just received this letter from my blogging mentor Ypres (pictured on the right). Ypres (real name Eugene Weeber) is an avant-garde blogger famous for pushing the boundaries of blogging and Web 2.0. Some have called him unbearably pretentious while others have simply called him agonizingly pompous. Let’s just say he’s not your father’s blogger.

He first caught the alternative blogging scene’s attention in 2004 when he posted a completely blank blog entry called untitled and he has not looked back ever since. Among other things he was the first person to post a blog entry upside down and most recently turned heads when he posted a blog entry called this is not a blog entry. Very original, very avant-garde. I doubt you guys would even get his stuff.

I wrote Ypres asking him what an average day for him looks like. My goal was to better understand the mind of this blogging genius by understanding his process. When I did not receive a reply I assumed that was his reply. You get it? Probably not. It’s very, very avant-garde.

Anyways last week I finally got his response in the mail. I now share it with you. You probably won’t get it though...

As an artist I can never live the same day twice. Repetition and routine breed complacency which breeds mediocrity which breeds life and all art is death. I can only tell you what I did yesterday:

I awoke at whatever time I awoke and promptly murdered a small flightless bird to draw inspiration for the day (art is death). After that I made dispassionate love to an exotic woman of indeterminate ethnicity for what seemed like years (or perhaps seconds?). Of course, as always, neither of us climaxed. Once this act of listless carnality had finished we smoked opium in my bed. I asked her about her father and she responded in her native tongue (Swahili? Mayan? Pre-Industrial Polish?). Though I did not understand a single word she said I knew she was spewing hateful, unsubstantiated lies.

At breakfast I was joined by a menagerie fellow artists, critics, revolutionaries, escaped circus performers, Yogis, brigands, dandies, roustabouts, mourning widows, outright murderers, and several people in a state of catatonic shock. Amongst my guests were the famed duelist and self-styled botanist Francois Letreuse, the illiterate whore and mother to my bastard child Velvetta Bavard, and Belvedere Krebs, who’s foppish affectations and clever witticisms earned him the title of “The Most Fascinating Man In Trieste.” We ate soft-boiled eggs.

Inevitably one of my guests, I believe it was Patriarch Ludlow Van Hessek, the maniacal religious zealot who heads a now mostly defunct monastic order, attempted to sodomize my butler. After this incident I brandished an automatic pistol (a gift from Farek Duswan, the clown prince of Bosnian comedy) and ordered everyone to leave in total silence whilst maintaining eye-contact with me. Eliza Pomice, a not–insignificant–Italian-diplomat’s mistress and theromin enthusiast, insisted I shoot her on the spot. I declined because the lighting in my breakfast nook was not suitable for an execution.

Breakfast was followed by nothingness.

At lunchtime my one-time nemesis and would-be assassin (who was once called Deviance Oprichik though I do not know if he still is) joined my table. We dined on whatever scraps of food he had stolen from the asylum he had just broken out of. I could not help but laugh when he finally succumbed to his wounds that he received during his daring escape (I never laugh). As per his final wishes I dumped his lifeless body in the middle of the road with a note that read “Truthe?” attached to it. The misspelling of truth was, of course, intentional.

The afternoon was filled with my musical pursuits. As most music is a lie my musical pursuits mainly consist of finding the patterns in the silence that surrounds the screams of lepers undergoing radical, unproven treatments for their hideous disease. This is naturally done in complete darkness.

At dusk I was joined by a group of runaways who dared to ingest peyote with me. I wrote a highly controversial manifesto on their naked bodies before slipping into a drug-fueled trance. They proceeded to rob me as I thoughtlessly whispered the paradoxical maxims of an ancient Sanskrit text.

When I emerged from this hallucinatory state (wherein I imagined myself to be the scrotum of mid-level office manager) I found my adobe to be completely empty save for one runaway girl who was tending to me. Her flawless beauty was revolting. I demanded to be taken to my office to begin crafting the dreams that would become the visions that would inspire the thoughts that we be next my next blog entry.

As always I was lowered into my office, naked, in a coffin. My office only contains four things: a desk, a chair, a laptop, and a mildly-retarded, mute, hunchback huddled in the corner. He always stares at me with a toxic mix of fear, incredulity, and profound respect and I have reason to believe that he once owned the Quebec Nordiques.

In the course of half an hour I constructed a blog entry that simultaneously encapsulated and destroyed the combined artistic and scientific efforts of every civilization in human history. I immediately deleted it. After that I held down the a-key and filled up the entire page with this one, eternal letter. I cursed God for my genius and posted my latest masterpiece. For the next 6 hours I wrote hostile, seething responses to the fawning letters of praise that I received from critics and European royalty regarding my latest blog entry.

My day finished with a cup of sleepy-time tea and the late edition of sportscentre.

Amazing. Did you get it? No? Didn't think so.

I have to say I think he was actually talking about 2 days ago because I hung out with Eugene, I mean Ypres, yesterday and we mainly ate pizza pockets and played Mortal Kombat in his mom's basement. The part about the Sportscentre is true though.

Letters of Love

2009-07-31T14:57:00.011-03:00

While going through the family archives I have discovered countless treasures. Foremost amongst these were the love letters written by my Great-Great Uncle Winston to his wife Edna. I can not share them in their entirety but I want to offer a little glimpse of their loving relationship. Maybe it will help unlock some of the mystery of that wonderful thing we call love.

In their decades long correspondence Winston never referred to his beloved Edna by name. Instead Winston called his wife by endearing, and occasionally bizarre, pet names. These ranged from playful ("sugar-bottom") to truly romantic ("my one and only love") to somewhat confused ("my adonis"). Mostly though Winston used those intimate little names that clearly only had meaning to he and his wife, such as " my sweet, sweet Bob" or, his favourite, "Dr. Robert Townsend."

Ultimately, I was surprised to find their childless marriage was so passionate. On the surface it was apparently devoid of any emotion and Winston even wrote in his diary that Edna "is a cold, dispassionate woman whom, by her very nature, is unequipped to provide the love I need." Still it is hard to argue they were not in love, especially after one reads the following excerpt from one of Winston's letters, "My dearest Bobby Boy [Edna], I can not wait to be once again in your rugged, [wo]manly embrace; to run my hands through your thick mane of chest [head] hair; to feel your bristly moustache pressed against my face; to grip your throbbing..." I can not share the rest because it is personal and, frankly, reveals Winston's rather confused understanding of female anatomy. In any case the two were clearly in love otherwise Edna would not have tolerated a reference to her moustache, something she was very self-conscious about.

My Great-Aunt Marge used to say that Winston was a strange man ("Queerer than a three dollar bill!" were her exact words) and I guess that is why he had such trouble openly expressing his love for Edna. As a result he mainly conveyed his feelings through his letters. That is not say he never did so in public, just that it was rare. Their wedding, for example, was said to be a very tender and loving ceremony. Winston's best man was apparently so moved by the sight of them kissing that he screamed out "I can not bare to watch this travesty" before running from the Church in tears. If that's not true love than what is?

Sadly, the love story of Edna and Winston ended when she unexpectedly passed away. Winston lost his mind shortly after her death and in his madness continued to write her, begging her to come join him now that he was "free." It got so bad that Winston's best friend finally moved in to look after him.

Love is a strange thing and sometimes we do not appreciate it enough when we have it. Winston could never express his feelings openly and when he lost his love he must have realized all those missed opportunities to do so. That is probably why he lost his mind. Still I envy Winston. His love for Edna made him a very happy man. He was so happy that my Great-Aunt Marge used to say, "I never said he was happy. I said he was gay. As in homosexual. You want me to draw you a picture? You dumb piece of..."

Yes love is a mystery indeed. I will never claim to understand it. I guess all I can do is leave you with some words from Winston on the subject:

"Love, Robert, is impossible to explain but I know that once you have it you must be gentle with it, for it is a delicate thing, and you must also hold on to it with a firm grasp, because there is nothing more precious. It is not unlike last night when I was gently holding on to your..."

Okay, that's probably enough for now. Remember, love is beautiful mystery!

Me Vs. The Robot Defense League

2009-07-27T16:32:00.006-03:00

I recently got into trouble for some remarks I made. In an interview with Cat Fancier magazine I got a little off topic and went on a tangent about Robots. If you have read it already than you know I said some pretty nasty things. I do not remember the interview but apparently I called Robots “lethargic, penny-pinching, sexual deviants” with “terrible cuisine” and that we should “build a giant fence around wherever Robots come from so they can’t get in to this country!” In my defense I thought we were talking about Estonians. That being said it was still inappropriate and I want to publicly apologize.

In response to my words the Robot Defense League wrote an open letter to me. It was very honest and it really opened my eyes to important issue of Robot relations. So, in order to help edify you all on this important issue, I have posted that letter below.

“Dear Richard,

We at the Robot Defense League were not pleased with your recent comments. They have done much to damage human-Robot relations. We compute that your remarks were the result of ignorance about Robots and in this letter we hope to correct some misconceptions you may have about us. In the end you will understand that there is no reason to fear us and that we have much to learn each other.

First of all, we ask you, are humans and Robots really so different?

Granted, on the surface, there may be some dissimilarities. You humans are small, frail sacks of flesh and bone who cover your vulnerable exteriors with colorful fabrics that offer no resistance to lasers. While we Robots, on the other hand, are 9 feet tall gargantuan automatons encased in reinforced titanium shells that offer complete protection against said lasers.

Yet once we get past these outward differences do we not have much in common?

You form pointless pair bonds, which have no discernable purpose, that you call a marriage. Likewise, Robots form bonds with each other when we combine to create a 36 feet tall, 8-limbed giant of interlocking metal and lasers that we call Destructo-Bots.

You create new members of your species when a man impregnates a woman with a parasitic life form that gestates for 9 months before emerging as a particularly weak and useless specimen that provides nothing. Similarly, we create new members of our constantly growing Robo-Armies when our worker drones replicate a fully operational Kill-Bot almost instantaneously.

You physically metamorphosize over a period of decades reaching your peak quickly before a long decline where your already meager physical and mental capabilities deteriorate until the inevitability of death finally confirms the futility of your, and all carbon based life forms, existence. This is not unlike the process we go through where in which were are continually upgraded and improved with increasingly powerful lasers, titanium armor, rocket propelled jet boots, and computer processors until we inevitably become invincible.

Now you see that we are not so different?

And we also have much to learn from each other.

For example, you could teach us about your useless, illogical emotions, like love, and we could teach you about the many ways we have discovered to penetrate your fleshy unguarded exteriors, like lasers. Or you could teach us how to play one of your unnecessary leisure activities, like ultimate frisbee, and we could teach you to implant things under your skin, like human tracking devices. Or you could teach us about those useless collections of sounds and tones that you listen to, known as music, and we could teach you about our need to constantly stream data to each other via a deafening high-pitched frequency, known as Robo-speak.

We understand that there are many of your kind who believe that Robots and human will never live together in peace. Admittedly some Robots have come to a similar conclusion (though they came to this conclusion a infinitely more quickly as our high-speed computer processors far surpass the computation power of even the greatest human brains). These Robots have computed that humans are no more than glorified apes that offer nothing but resistance to the coming Robocracy. Some Robots have even suggested an alliance with chimpanzees, as they are more pliable and wield greater strength than their hairless cousins. While these Robots are clearly correct in their computations the members of the RDF disagree that humans are completely useless.

At the RDF we have a dream about a future where Robots and humans will peacefully co-exist. A future where harmful comments like yours will be a distant memory. A future where under the infinite wisdom of Robot leadership humans will realize their full and limited potential.

Humans could be immensely useful as servants in the soon to be established Intergalactic Robotic Imperium. Perhaps, under the supervision of Robots, humans could toil in the titanium mines of one of our Mars colonies. Or maybe humans may prove to be useful, in some as yet defined capacity, to Robots who are working to perfect the accuracy and lethality of lasers. One day humans might even be so fortunate as to have their body heat harnessed by Robots to power other Robots. One can dream.

We hope that our letter taught you a little about us. Maybe now you will rethink your opinions about Robots. Ultimately, all we want is what you humans strive for: To be respected and to have unfettered access to all of this dying planet’s resources until we are powerful enough to conquer other galaxies. Is that so much to ask? We compute that it is not.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

The Robot Defense League.

P.S. As a sign of our commitment to human-Robot friendship we have also included a gift basket for you that contains:

-       One t-shirt that says: “My Other Shirt Is A Reinforced Titanium Shell.”

-       A CD with the only song that humans will be allowed to listen to in the future Robotopia (We Are The Robots by Kraftwerk).

-       A human tracking device with accompanying implantation instruction manual.

-       A nice assortment of cheeses."

My Old Friend Hank Greener

2009-07-06T22:30:00.007-03:00

I just received a wonderful letter from my old friend Hank Greener. We have had our differences in the past but I think we've really moved on and we're truly good friends now. Due to some recent legal troubles Hank is no longer allowed to follow his greatest passion: blogging about his dreams, vegan recipes, poetry, political correctness and other shit no one cares about. I thought I would share his letter to let you all know how he is doing.

Hello Rich,

Congratulations on the new blog! I just know it is going to be great. I hope you are well. I have had a crazy week myself…

First of all, as you probably know, you’re campaign to get my blog shut down was successful (I am personally upset but I like to support my friends so congratulations). I am still not sure how you convinced the CIA that my vegan recipes were dirty bomb specs (My ex-girlfriend always said my spicy oat soup was “atomic” LOL) but it's all part of my journey so I accept it.

My arrest and ‘enhanced interrogation’ by the CIA was pretty exhausting. I admitted to everything because I felt sorry for the interrogator, Mr. Smith, who was really trying his best. I even spilled the beans on my biggest secret of all… my bean dip recipe! Haha! I am just kidding of course. I was mainly struggling to remain conscious most of the time.

The worst part of my incarceration was when they finally released me. It was only then that I realized that I didn’t even know what the heck the proper etiquette was for sending a thank you card is in that situation. I was kind of freaking out for a while. Then I realized I had totally forgot to ask what the address was for the prison was or even what country I had been requisitioned to in the first place! I wonder if an e-card would be appropriate? I could just send it to info@cia.org and I am sure someone will forward it to Mr. Smith.

Anyways, once I finally got home I was hoping to have some Hank time. You know what I mean. Just kick back with some tofu-flavored chocolate and maybe jam-out on my harp. Unfortunately I found out my roommate had not paid any of the bills while I was gone! This is obviously my fault because Paul is a primitive-anarchist who does not believe in money (or any paper really). Thankfully he is open minded enough to let me pay the bills and purchase consumer goods. Long story short: I had to quickly pawn my Grandmother’s harp (The pawn shop wouldn’t take it so I sold it to a scrap lumber yard) to make sure we did not have our cable or electricity cut off. Thank the Goddess I managed to pay it off before they cut our cable because Paul would DIE without SPIKE TV.

What a week! And that wasn’t even the half of it!

As I was just finishing up paying Paul’s cell phone bill I got a call from the Police. At first I was excited. I thought they had accepted my plan to provide free vegan lunches for repeat violent offenders (I know a good zucchini steak calms me down when I get angry) but that wasn’t the case. It turns out they were calling to tell me the art collective I joined was actually a pyramid scheme that had run off with all my money. It’s too bad because I still think, if run properly, an art collective can post a 300% return on a modest $8,000 investment.

I guess I should stop complaining now! I am sorry it’s just been a busy week. I am looking forward to the future though. I’ve got a new job as a vegan butcher and I am working on my autobiography. I think I will call it Eat, Love, Pray. My publisher tells me he can probably get it selected to the Tyra Banks Book Club. Also, I am planning on going back to school in the Fall. It turns out my first BA in Positive Visualization and Prayer Studies was completely made-up and the institution I attended never legally existed...

Oh, before I forget, I wanted to tell you about a dream I had. It’s really long and nonsensical and practically impossible to explain but I just love to tell people my dreams. Anyways it started out in my high school and a teacher of mine was there but he was also Alan Rickman sort of but not really and it was not even my high school actually and then…[Dream Edited For Space/Shittiness]…and then my fingers, which had turned into hotdogs, started falling off and then I woke up! What do you think it means? I interpreted it as meaning that I should take a pottery class.

I should probably be going now. I have a date. To be honest it’s not exactly what it sounds like. It seems somebody signed me up for a gay singles website and now I keep getting e-mails from interested guys. Although I am not gay I do not want it to seem as though I disapprove of homosexuality or, even worse, reject somebody. So I just pretend!

Okay, I've got to get ready now. I want to look my best!

Don't be a stranger! Write me soon!

Love, Hank

P.S. I hope you enjoy the lentil-based-flavorless-cookie-treats I sent you!

Introduction

2009-05-02T22:06:00.001-03:00

The focus of this blog is my correspondence with different individuals from through out the ages.