wojr - words, occasionally sentences
Friday, April 30, 2004
If You Eat Your Wheaties, You Too Can Grow Up to Be The White Devil
Oddly enough, the text on the poster translates to:
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYONE!
wojr
Oddly enough, the text on the poster translates to:
HAPPY 5PM FRIDAY EVERYONE!
wojr
Thursday, April 29, 2004
They're Forgiving On The Late Fees, Only a Couple of Hail Marys
Got this in my inbox.
God can now save your credit as well as your soul.
wojr
Got this in my inbox.
God can now save your credit as well as your soul.
wojr
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
HAVING A BAD DAY?
Things could be worse
You could be a minstrel.
Two words: SECOND PUBERTY.
It could be your turn to catch.
Your credit card interest could double.
She might have always faked it.
You could be on some crappy reality show.
Your sex organs could stage a walk-out.
Your boss could enjoy patting you on your ass.
Two words: THE PLAGUE.
"Amber alert" could actually sound like a bad thing.
Your friends could be planning your intervention right now.
It could burn when you tinkle.
Arnold could be your governor.
You could lactate from your ears.
It could be Monday.
HAPPY HAPPY HUMP DAY.
wojr
Things could be worse
You could be a minstrel.
Two words: SECOND PUBERTY.
It could be your turn to catch.
Your credit card interest could double.
She might have always faked it.
You could be on some crappy reality show.
Your sex organs could stage a walk-out.
Your boss could enjoy patting you on your ass.
Two words: THE PLAGUE.
"Amber alert" could actually sound like a bad thing.
Your friends could be planning your intervention right now.
It could burn when you tinkle.
Arnold could be your governor.
You could lactate from your ears.
It could be Monday.
HAPPY HAPPY HUMP DAY.
wojr
HOW CAN YOU START AT THE END IF IT'S THE SAME AS THE BEGINNING?
As I get utterly bogged down by my crazy so-called life, here's the introduction to my latest and greatest, THE INFECTIOUS FICTION OF SHUT-INS:
FADE IN:
INT. ARTHUR BOTCHOK'S APARTMENT (PRESENT) - DAY
A small, cluttered living room of a small, cluttered apartment is littered with papers and film scripts. On the floor in the middle of the room, ARTIE BOTCHOK, an elderly Jewish man with a sizable silver Afro, lies face down in a pool of his own vomit.
ARTIE (V.O.)
I hate when movies open on a dead body.
(beat)
Then the focus immediately locks onto that person's death.
Against the far wall, an antiquated desk and typewriter are buried beneath even more discarded paper.
ARTIE (V.O.)
All everyone cares about will be how that person died and never how they actually lived.
Beside the desk, shelves that are built directly into the wall, are overflowing with more film scripts.
ARTIE (V.O.)
This story is not about my death or even my life.
(beat)
It's about the moments before the latter and after the former.
Hanging from the shelves is a loose page of a script. It contains the exact dialogue Artie just uttered.
INT. SHOPPING MALL FOOD COURT - DAY
INTERVIEW #1: Talking directly to the camera, BETH is sitting amid a sea of haggard shoppers on their fast food respites from consumerism. A striking beauty, Beth is the epitome of 'prim & proper', dressed in a conservative navy business suit. Her long blonde hair is pulled up tightly behind her head with not a strain out of place.
BETH
I had a blind date earlier that night. Really good-looking guy, but totally dull. I was going to sleep with him though, until he asked me to split the check. After that stunt he didn't even get a peck on the cheek from me.
(beat)
So, there I was on my way home, stuck with all these prior
expectations of frivolous sex and not looking forward to another night of mechanical love, if you know what I mean. I decided to stop at this dive bar up the street from my place. The crowd there is hit and miss; sometimes young and hip, sometimes old and toothless. That night, it was definitely a miss. Except for this young couple playing pool. Both of them were extremely attractive, really firm and athletic. I figured "What the hell? I need a good threesome story." Several drinks later, Scott, Terry and I are all pretty blotto and I offer my place to sleep it off. They accept. Steve and Terry had been dating for three months, banging their brains out for the last two and a half of them. In spite of that, I could tell Steve was starting to lose a little interest. It explained the way he was checking me out. Anyway, I'm digressing. Long story short, we all end up on my bed going at it like bunnies.
Beth pauses briefly to gauge the reaction of her unseen interviewer.
BETH (CONT'D)
Terry definitely got into it. I think she had some lesbian tendencies lurking there. I liked it. All my parts were getting the required attention, but I prefer to be the star of the show, not a guest player. So, when Terry and I headed to the bathroom to freshen up our girlie bits, I made my play.
(beat)
I told her that Steve was my brother and we had been playing this game with all his girlfriends since he moved out here to L.A. Typically, she freaked out. Grabbed most of her clothes and headed for the door, cursing both our names the entire time. Now, poor, cute, dumb-founded Steve had no idea what happened. I explained what I did. I also told him he could go after her and try to work things out. He would need to produce some family documents or, at the very least, introduce her to his parents. Or he could stay there and continue to f##k me into oblivion.
STEVE, a generic handsome man in a navy suit matching Beth's, enters and gives Beth a tender kiss on the cheek.
BETH (CONT'D)
Hi, hon. I was just recounting how we met.
Steve addresses the camera as well.
STEVE
Interesting story, isn't it?
(beat)
Just think, if her blind date had only paid the whole check, we might be together today.
Beth smiles broadly.
Feel free to email me any thoughts, comments or criticisms.
wojr
As I get utterly bogged down by my crazy so-called life, here's the introduction to my latest and greatest, THE INFECTIOUS FICTION OF SHUT-INS:
FADE IN:
INT. ARTHUR BOTCHOK'S APARTMENT (PRESENT) - DAY
A small, cluttered living room of a small, cluttered apartment is littered with papers and film scripts. On the floor in the middle of the room, ARTIE BOTCHOK, an elderly Jewish man with a sizable silver Afro, lies face down in a pool of his own vomit.
ARTIE (V.O.)
I hate when movies open on a dead body.
(beat)
Then the focus immediately locks onto that person's death.
Against the far wall, an antiquated desk and typewriter are buried beneath even more discarded paper.
ARTIE (V.O.)
All everyone cares about will be how that person died and never how they actually lived.
Beside the desk, shelves that are built directly into the wall, are overflowing with more film scripts.
ARTIE (V.O.)
This story is not about my death or even my life.
(beat)
It's about the moments before the latter and after the former.
Hanging from the shelves is a loose page of a script. It contains the exact dialogue Artie just uttered.
INT. SHOPPING MALL FOOD COURT - DAY
INTERVIEW #1: Talking directly to the camera, BETH is sitting amid a sea of haggard shoppers on their fast food respites from consumerism. A striking beauty, Beth is the epitome of 'prim & proper', dressed in a conservative navy business suit. Her long blonde hair is pulled up tightly behind her head with not a strain out of place.
BETH
I had a blind date earlier that night. Really good-looking guy, but totally dull. I was going to sleep with him though, until he asked me to split the check. After that stunt he didn't even get a peck on the cheek from me.
(beat)
So, there I was on my way home, stuck with all these prior
expectations of frivolous sex and not looking forward to another night of mechanical love, if you know what I mean. I decided to stop at this dive bar up the street from my place. The crowd there is hit and miss; sometimes young and hip, sometimes old and toothless. That night, it was definitely a miss. Except for this young couple playing pool. Both of them were extremely attractive, really firm and athletic. I figured "What the hell? I need a good threesome story." Several drinks later, Scott, Terry and I are all pretty blotto and I offer my place to sleep it off. They accept. Steve and Terry had been dating for three months, banging their brains out for the last two and a half of them. In spite of that, I could tell Steve was starting to lose a little interest. It explained the way he was checking me out. Anyway, I'm digressing. Long story short, we all end up on my bed going at it like bunnies.
Beth pauses briefly to gauge the reaction of her unseen interviewer.
BETH (CONT'D)
Terry definitely got into it. I think she had some lesbian tendencies lurking there. I liked it. All my parts were getting the required attention, but I prefer to be the star of the show, not a guest player. So, when Terry and I headed to the bathroom to freshen up our girlie bits, I made my play.
(beat)
I told her that Steve was my brother and we had been playing this game with all his girlfriends since he moved out here to L.A. Typically, she freaked out. Grabbed most of her clothes and headed for the door, cursing both our names the entire time. Now, poor, cute, dumb-founded Steve had no idea what happened. I explained what I did. I also told him he could go after her and try to work things out. He would need to produce some family documents or, at the very least, introduce her to his parents. Or he could stay there and continue to f##k me into oblivion.
STEVE, a generic handsome man in a navy suit matching Beth's, enters and gives Beth a tender kiss on the cheek.
BETH (CONT'D)
Hi, hon. I was just recounting how we met.
Steve addresses the camera as well.
STEVE
Interesting story, isn't it?
(beat)
Just think, if her blind date had only paid the whole check, we might be together today.
Beth smiles broadly.
Feel free to email me any thoughts, comments or criticisms.
wojr
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
I Wouldn't Trust Jeb Bush With This Election Either
When I mentioned yesterday that religion needed better ways of advertising, this is vaguely what I was I talking about.
It would be the first time a Persian would carry the Redneck vote.
wojr
When I mentioned yesterday that religion needed better ways of advertising, this is vaguely what I was I talking about.
It would be the first time a Persian would carry the Redneck vote.
wojr
Labels: Political, Religion, Snide Remarks
Monday, April 26, 2004
It's Not Like I Want The Taxes To Be RETROACTIVE
Saturday, I was trying to cross the street when this car pulls up in front of me. The vehicle contains three quasi-elderly women so I have no real fear of being robbed or raped. (Hope, but no fear.) Thinking they needed directions, I leaned over so my eyes are at their eye-level instead of my crotch. And what did they do?
Offer me some crappy pamphlet in addition to salvation in the Almighty Lord Jesus Christ.
Which just puts me in the worst mood ever.
First off, I want to know what aspect about me says that I need, let alone want, salvation? Don't I just exude content with my sinning ways?
Secondly, does Jesus need the extra public relations? Do people not know who Jesus is? Hasn't Mel Gibson fixed that problem?
Lastly, do we really need drive-by conversions? (Also, why didn't the salvation of my soul at least warrant them parking the car first and coming up to me on foot? No, all my ever-lasting soul gets is a California roll.) Are churches and synagogues camouflaged now? Do we not know where the Gods live anymore?
I'll concede that the literature distribution must net them some converts. These people have been doing it for way too long not to have any success. If it didn't work, they would have stopped by now. Their batting average can't be that good though, but once they get you. OH BOY. They've got you. Lock, stock and barrel, man. Let the tithing begin.
Now don't get me wrong, I am all for freedom of religion in this country. I think any church can set up shop, open the doors, put an ad in the yellow pages and see who shows up. I may bitch about the advertising, but they just need some wittier slogans for me to get over that. Telling me I'll burn forever in a lake of hellfire won't make me a fan too quickly.
My problem, however, is with the money. In my opinion, our country gives way too much money to religion. Especially the South. Religion is big business. Has been for the last five, six hundred years and I accept that. If there is a market for it, well, you can't blame the business for selling it. But we can tax them. WE CAN TAX THE HELL OUT OF THEM.
I mean, I'm not the biggest fan of defense spending. But it helps the nation's economy. It means more jobs for Americans, more capital in the marketplace. Defense contractors while probably overcharging the government, have to pay taxes on that income. Their employees have to pay income taxes as well. The money comes full circle. It ends up helping education, research grants, more defense spending, flying G.W. out on another family vacation.
Now, I know some money given to churches goes towards social programs, food programs - various things that help the community. Kudos to them. But not all the money goes there. Who pays for those huge cathedrals & synagogues, the solid gold tabernacles and Stars of David, payoffs to families of the sexually assaulted, or whatever it is the Hare Krishnas need? But hey, it is the churches' money, let them spend it as they see fit. But why should they be excluded from paying taxes? If not income tax, how about sales tax? Hey, if it reduces the taxes of their worshippers, that should mean more discretionary income for their followers which should mean more donations in the offering basket. Right?
It seems to make sense, but it may just be me. I can be bitter. I have an afterlife of fire and brimstone to look forward to.
wojr
Saturday, I was trying to cross the street when this car pulls up in front of me. The vehicle contains three quasi-elderly women so I have no real fear of being robbed or raped. (Hope, but no fear.) Thinking they needed directions, I leaned over so my eyes are at their eye-level instead of my crotch. And what did they do?
Offer me some crappy pamphlet in addition to salvation in the Almighty Lord Jesus Christ.
Which just puts me in the worst mood ever.
First off, I want to know what aspect about me says that I need, let alone want, salvation? Don't I just exude content with my sinning ways?
Secondly, does Jesus need the extra public relations? Do people not know who Jesus is? Hasn't Mel Gibson fixed that problem?
Lastly, do we really need drive-by conversions? (Also, why didn't the salvation of my soul at least warrant them parking the car first and coming up to me on foot? No, all my ever-lasting soul gets is a California roll.) Are churches and synagogues camouflaged now? Do we not know where the Gods live anymore?
I'll concede that the literature distribution must net them some converts. These people have been doing it for way too long not to have any success. If it didn't work, they would have stopped by now. Their batting average can't be that good though, but once they get you. OH BOY. They've got you. Lock, stock and barrel, man. Let the tithing begin.
Now don't get me wrong, I am all for freedom of religion in this country. I think any church can set up shop, open the doors, put an ad in the yellow pages and see who shows up. I may bitch about the advertising, but they just need some wittier slogans for me to get over that. Telling me I'll burn forever in a lake of hellfire won't make me a fan too quickly.
My problem, however, is with the money. In my opinion, our country gives way too much money to religion. Especially the South. Religion is big business. Has been for the last five, six hundred years and I accept that. If there is a market for it, well, you can't blame the business for selling it. But we can tax them. WE CAN TAX THE HELL OUT OF THEM.
I mean, I'm not the biggest fan of defense spending. But it helps the nation's economy. It means more jobs for Americans, more capital in the marketplace. Defense contractors while probably overcharging the government, have to pay taxes on that income. Their employees have to pay income taxes as well. The money comes full circle. It ends up helping education, research grants, more defense spending, flying G.W. out on another family vacation.
Now, I know some money given to churches goes towards social programs, food programs - various things that help the community. Kudos to them. But not all the money goes there. Who pays for those huge cathedrals & synagogues, the solid gold tabernacles and Stars of David, payoffs to families of the sexually assaulted, or whatever it is the Hare Krishnas need? But hey, it is the churches' money, let them spend it as they see fit. But why should they be excluded from paying taxes? If not income tax, how about sales tax? Hey, if it reduces the taxes of their worshippers, that should mean more discretionary income for their followers which should mean more donations in the offering basket. Right?
It seems to make sense, but it may just be me. I can be bitter. I have an afterlife of fire and brimstone to look forward to.
wojr
Labels: Advice, My Writing, Political, Religion, Snide Remarks
