John McCain and Military Morale

"I don't want to permit that opportunity to happen and I'll tell you why. You go up to Bethesda Naval Hospital, Marines are up there with no legs, none. You've got Marines at Walter Reed with no limbs." -- Sen. John McCain, at the conclusion of the Senate's debate on a measure to repeal the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy of the U.S. military.

Now that Mr. McCain has won his re-election, he is simply being true to himself. When he said that he was willing to repeal the ban on open homosexuals serving after the military studied the issue, prior to the prospect of this becoming a reality, that was the actual pandering.

It is absolutely wonderful to watch a man who committed adultery, left his disabled wife, and married into a booze-fueled fortune to finance his political career still retain the audacity to question the ability of homosexuals to not entirely corrode the military's morale and effectiveness.

Maybe he should leave the Senate and go back to the military to crash some more jets and not get in any trouble for it.

House Tricks

If I have learned anything from watching television, the holiday season is about being thankful, so here is my list of things for which I am thankful (to no one in particular).

[1] Television. Without it, I would be hopelessly unentertained.
[2] Junk food. Without it, I would be hopelessly famished.
[3] Freedom. Without it, I would be helplessly coerced.

As you can see, there is much to be appreciative for, and the existence of entertainment, sustenance, and free will in my decision making is a cause for celebration. I go on to share my list of thanks with the strange creatures that inhabit my home, through the most simple method of communication possible (the classic 'sticky note on the refrigerator' routine). Could you believe that they would respond simply by setting fire to the backyard? My vegetable patch – ruined.

I am trying to determine what, exactly, would possess these people – or maybe it was just one of them, acting alone – to react to a positive “fridge note” in such a destructive (not to mention expensive) manner. Sure, I knew about the psychopaths when I signed the lease, but I thought they were relatively cool... you know, the sort of folks who wouldn't just go setting fires to deliberately placed piles of trash all over a meticulously nurtured personal garden. Like many unsuspecting hard workers who are foolish and desperate enough to trust hipsters, I got burned.

Well, I have made up my mind. I will not be buying these ungrateful, unreasonable people any Christmas presents at all. Nor shall I put up any decorations, and I certainly will not prepare my annual fresh vegetable stew. Instead, I will level with them: if they are to trash my patch, I will invite my old 'friends' from 'school' over for a 'few' carefree drinks.

That didn't turn out to be the best idea, although the first thing the landlord noticed was the evident fire in the backyard, which I explained clearly was not my fault, unless perhaps indirectly if my happy fridge note inspired the violence, but the landlord did not seem interested in the finer details. I did not get the bond money back. Right before I was evicted, the eggnog in the fridge went off, but I drank it anyway, and threw my guts up all over the streets as I wandered around asking people for spare change. Merry Christmas.

Tips for Avoiding Holiday Disaster

When engaging in yuletide festivities, people often neglect basic protocols of safety in lieu of acting like completely uncivilised wankers. Today we will be examining a few hints and suggestions to prevent anything from ruining your Christmas celebrations.

COOKING

Everyone loves an extravagant holiday feast, but we can be fairly confident that people enjoy their livelihoods more. It is definitely not unheard of for an oven's contents to spontaneously combust, causing your meal to turn into ashed shit. Even worse, your house could be completely enveloped in the flames as well, ensuring the loss of your precious possessions and a hefty increase in your life insurance premiums.

The most obvious solution, of course, is to simply get take-out, but many people insist on a traditional homemade dinner. If you do feel that this is a necessary part of your holiday ritual, you would be well advised to cook as much as you can outside rather than inside. Sure, turkey tastes great, but is it really worth not having a kitchen anymore?

INEVITABLE FAMILIAL CONFLICT

Potentially even worse than your house burning down is the prospect of your family hating you forever because of the inappropriate comments you had the audacity to bring up during dinner. For example, take note of the following conversation:

Your Uncle: Wow, it's great to see you! How have you been?
You: After a long period of heavy soul searching, I have finally come to the conclusion that religion pertains very little relevance to my life. Last week I had an audition for a pornographic film, which I thought went quite well.
Your Uncle: Perhaps you will enjoy burning in the lake of fire for all of eternity, you blasphemous little shit.

For most of us, it is easy to see where you went wrong, but it might not be so easy for you. So, to summarise, when your uncle asks you how your life is going, you definitely do not mention your recent deconversion and subsequent foray into the sex industry. Instead, try this:

Your Uncle: Wow, it's great to see you! How have you been?
You: Great! Between my volunteer work winning souls for Christ at First Baptist and my role as financial director for the downtown soup kitchen, I hardly even have time to look at women lustfully!
Your Uncle: Well, at least they're keeping you busy then.

Crisis averted, and the best part is that your dipshit uncle will never come visit the soup kitchen to see you in action at your alleged place of employment, because he hates poor people far too much to ever enter an area so urban. It's a win-win situation.

DRIVING

It should go without saying that driving and alcohol do not mix. In the spirit of harm reduction, however, if you must drink and drive, you should preferably stick to hard liquor. Beer and wine may leave you feeling bloated, causing you to make unnecessary driving stops to urinate on the side of the road. Nobody likes to see that.

SETTING UP YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE

It's probably best to not bother with a Christmas tree at all, as they often attract wild animals with extremely contagious and fatal diseases. Rather than give you advice on how to prevent these animals from finding your house, we will jump straight into how to treat your guaranteed rabid infection after you stubbornly insisted on having a Christmas tree.

Your tree will be covered in cheap plastic decorations and candy canes, all while providing a sweet scent which is totally irresistible to badgers, squirrels, mad dogs, and so on, all of which definitely have rabies, herpes, and influenza. You will get all of these things.

Rabies: foaming at the mouth, a faint and dizzy feeling with the inexplicably overbearing suspicion that something terrible is about to happen - and it is, because there is no way to get to the hospital in time after a rabid skunk breaks into your beloved home and begins infecting your children.

Herpes: normally this would be a devastating diagnosis for anyone, but when you acquire it from the crazed small animal which is presently nesting underneath your Christmas tree, your situation is especially hopeless. The only cure is suicide.

Influenza: consult your physician and/or have a delicious fruit smoothie.

That's all for today. Join us next time for more tips on how to avoid an entirely horrendous holiday season!

Arguing with the Powers that Be

It is the one who is without fault who should throw the first stone, and despite having never actually done anything wrong, ever, I feel the need to examine the decision to execute cautiously. The scriptures mandate this penalty, and though I agree it is just, my opinions should have no bearing on the will of the mighty deity that reigns from above. This being noted, however, the person in question happens to be a good friend of mine, and as the only sinless person presently alive in Precinct 76, I cannot recuse myself from this application of justice due to an alleged conflict of interest.

The reflection does not cease, however, and more and more I begin to question the divine plan, potentially jeopardising my own sinless status. You see, Richard, or Ritchie, as I called him, was more than just an old school buddy; no, we had deep conversations about philosophy and stuff, and he was very capable of processing the most boggling theological questions and holding his own in an impassioned debate. Throwing rocks and shards of glass at this guy seems kind of messed up.

So what did Richard do that warrants this ultimate penalty, you may ask? What heinous crime did he commit that justifies such a harsh reaction? It all started one day in 2007, when Richard was taking funds from others' investment accounts he managed, in the hope of turning them into quick profits so that he could restore the accounts to their original balance, unbeknown to his clients, while capitalising on the successes. This alone would warrant five years in the county jail, but Richard was also eating a sandwich. A human sandwich.

Now, in a community like this, it doesn't matter whether you bought that stuff on the black market or if you killed someone just to eat their flesh; no, that is a really messed up, punishable offence and the Lord would have none of my protests were I naïve enough to lodge them. What is a sinless executioner to do? I was provided with the opportunity to have lunch with Richard before the execution, but I declined. I felt it inappropriate to humanise him further when I knew that I could not carry out the wishes of anyone but the heavenly father.

The execution was a solemn event, and only his older brother showed up to mourn his loss, and to nab half of the remaining funds in Richard's bank account, as well as estate and asset related money, the other half of which went to the local government, as is customary with executions. I signed off on the stoning, certifying that it had been performed according to standard procedure with no problems, without breaking a sweat and then went back to my shack to enjoy some iced tea.

To Forget Everything, For a Little While

He is trapped in the haze, compulsively answering to its whims and firmly establishing each day the nature of the grip. Innately aware of the damage it is doing, he continues, resiliently, creating justifications to remain in the hold so that he may forget everything, for a little while, for just a little bit longer. It is not an especially productive pursuit, but it is time consuming, usually to the detriment of his surroundings and the things that are important to him. If only, he dreams, he could finally run away from everything completely, and then there would be no need to block everything out. Little can he even comprehend the excuses that will begin to flourish should such a radical idea ever be enacted into reality. Little could he imagine just how badly he wants to forget everything, no matter far away he gets from it all. If he has truly forgotten one thing, it is that his problems are bigger than the mere fact that he is trying to escape from them.

No longer remembering the things that really matter seems to be the most prolific side effect, but sometimes he gains a slight nudge in the right direction, recalling what this is really all about. Such epiphanies are short lived and their mere mention out loud only further contributes to his long, steady decrease in credibility, as he is always the first person to forget them. The trust begins to evaporate, and as a result, so does enjoyment; the expectation of looming ostracisation becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and then nothing begins to matter at all – other than the pressing need to forget about everything, straight away... if only for a little while, for just a little bit longer.

What about people with real problems – extreme poverty, lack of access to medical care? He knows that others in the world face these issues, and he can forget about that too, as he indulges and listens to songs that he has heard hundreds of times before, in their own way functioning as a comforting distraction from whatever it was that seemed to be ailing him in the first place. Soon, nothing else is left, as the time passes quicker and moments of fortune are mere blips, positive things that may or may not have happened. He feels there is nothing left to do but continue his vain effort to throw it all away, and so he will.

More and more, he realises how detached he has become, and continues to go purposelessly through the motions, lamenting on all of the possibilities of a content existence that he threw away with one reckless decision or a careless thought. He amuses himself, passing time considering at which exact moment he fucked everything up completely, examining the ever-growing list of recollections and ranking them by severity. As his memories return, he only feels angry; angrier than he has felt in years. He considers all of the suppressed emotions, a trait he picked up in his youth, and how anger seemed to be the only one which was capable of passing through his rigid filters, wreaking havoc without regard for potential consequences. Now the anger seems to be unreasonably intense, and he wonders what he was trying to achieve. In no substantial period of time, things are back to normal, and all of the lists torn up and thrown away; the thoughts pushed away such a distance that they might never return. The whole exercise has taught him a valuable lesson: he had royally screwed up his life eons ago and possessed no choice but to remain a deadbeat. And so he would be, and if he was lucky; if he tried hard enough, maybe he really could manage to forget about everything for a little while, and then, hopefully, forget about it forever.

Pieces to the Puzzle

Polling Services Incorporated

After a careful consideration of the opinions offered by fourteen participants, we have been able to deduce a shocking result for the question, 'Does this beard look like a desperate attempt at trying to be Amish?' (All fourteen participants were shown different pictures of beards.) With a margin of error of 35.3%, 77% of respondents said yes, while 23% were undecided. In an even more stunning result, 53.7% of respondents suggested that they held a favorable view of late Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein. This could be a result of confusion with the United States President, B. Hussein Obama, suggested R. Lithgow, who is an undergraduate at the Community College of Boise, Idaho.

Five Ways to Cook a Trash Bin

1. Fry it
2. Grill it
3. Oven that shit
4. Eat it raw
5. Who the hell contractually obligated us to come up with five ways to "cook" a trash bin? This is bullshit.

How to Ruin a Perfectly Fresh Pair of Socks

And no, we are not discussing the most obvious and literal solution to this conundrum, which is to lose one sock: wear them ten days in a row, or until they develop dark brown-gray crusting on the entire underneath, and then wash them. You can even wash them again, and it won't matter!

Ode to the Devil

Throughout my many crises, it had been to you whom I turned for affirmation. Removing the fog, I can now see how this was a friendship of placation. Unable to consider interests other than your own, you sought animosity and strife; the actions of yours, not worth mentioning, make me wonder how you sustain your own life. Surely people of such arrogance could not wield influence or command respect. Surely creatures of such transparent degeneracy would, rather, be treated as a lowly insect. But I look around and I consider the people who appear to be in control; they bear strikingly similar characteristics, and then I just want to crawl into a hole.

The Radical Alternative Lifestyle

Pdiddy85: LOL, I called Freddy and asked if he wanted to come to the library, and he said “yeah, I just have to finish breakfast.” ...It's nearly 1pm.
Jhostile06: hah
Pdiddy85: Seriously, I mean even if I slept in that late... I would still call it lunch.
Jhostile06: well you do seem to like things the old fashioned way
Pdiddy85: What's that supposed to mean?
Jhostile06: oh, nothing
Jhostile06: have you tried energy drinks yet?
Pdiddy85: I had three sips of Red Bull last week, but it was so sweet. Ick.
Jhostile06: thats ok, the coke isnt as sweet
Pdiddy85: Come on man, this is only my junior year. I haven't even tried to make a move on that girl in chemistry yet, and you expect me to start dabbling in that rubbish?
Jhostile07: look, pete, buddy
Jhostile07: im from the future
Jhostile07: and you are gonna get pretty messed up... pretty shortly
Pdiddy85: Not only do I not appreciate your online trickery, I am offended by the sentiment that I would feel the need to abuse my body in such a way as you suggest.
Jhostile06: oh brother, im finishing my breakfast and then going back to bed.

High-Speed Trials and Tribulations

Germaine walked out of the restaurant having lost, once again, his body in a slump as he kicked dirt, scuffing his way to the car. He was looking for something better than all of this; an avenue of recreation that brought about true satisfaction. He drove home, and got down to his knees on the driveway after he closed his door. Looking to the heavens above, he sought forgiveness for his transgressions and pleaded for mercy.

That is when the Angel Radcliffe appeared before him, and calmly explained that the Lord's benefits had been capped due to excessive demand, and that there were not enough members of the heavenly staff to facilitate the full-scale operations that some civilians have been demanding. “We'll put you in for the best slot I have available, which means I might be able to get back to you next week.”

Poor Germaine waited four long, depressing weeks before he heard back from the Angel Radcliffe, who said that a cheque in the mail was forthcoming and that “everything is going to be fine, although you should probably be looking for a new source of income, to be honest with you, since we cut off the money after four weeks.” Four measly weeks of spiritual assistance, after a lurid wait of the same length, where Germaine actually had to begin eating his cat litter?

Those four weeks flew by pretty darn quickly – a lot faster than the four prior, needless to say – and then Germaine was again on his knees, and this time the Angel Radcliffe was even less sympathetic to the noble cause. “Look, buddy, we can only help you out for so long. Now, if you behave, and start earning some of your own freakin' cash, and donate at least ten percent of it to the church, you can start living like that again after you die, all right?” Germaine felt a little confused, and decided to sell his car, which he was not able to legally use in the first place.

After pulling a so-called 'runner' on a taxi to the casino, Germaine pulled his usual trick of what essentially amounts to robbing old, drunk men for money to buy his way into high-stakes games. The drinks are plentiful, sometimes supplied by stolen funds, and often conveniently provided by other, friendly gamblers who are hoping to intoxicate the competition. The exhilaration of nearly winning seven grand in some ways beats the sensation of actually winning it, until we start rationally considering the financial ramifications of such a victory. Such cynicism is hardly helpful in a lifestyle such as this; 'easy come, easy go.'

Wake Me Up When September Ends (I Am Comatose)

Okay, who shat in the sink? This kind of atmosphere is really interfering with my attempts to stay positive, especially because I have a weak stomach and so I threw up on the feces and now I'm just avoiding the bathroom completely. I did turn on the faucet, of course, but the job was hardly thorough and I am concerned that I cannot go back to clean it without triggering horrible sickness and panic attacks.

There is good news, though. I have been trying to come up with some all week, so here it is: I've vacuumed all of my clothing and I've ironed the carpet, even stepped into the shower (in the other bathroom) to have a nice rinse, and by George, I am feeling clean as a whistle. Like the sort of whistle that your dalmatian plays with repeatedly throughout the afternoon as it hopes to discern which category of food the whistle falls into. The sort of whistle that they find in a dead guy's rectum who is found alone in their apartment, hanging from a rope and clearly engaging in distasteful, lustful activities at the time of their unfortunate demise. Well, maybe a little bit cleaner than that. I am skeptical, since giant chunks of black shit keep falling out of my hair, and there are strange lumps all over my forehead which have made me reevaluate the wisdom of hats. No amount of scrubbing and brushing can provide the solution to this particular malaise.

Maybe I need to change the routine. I realized I was going blind shortly after my driver's license was revoked, and the deafness has been at bay for years, manifesting itself with an incrementalist approach which fucks with me constantly, since I can barely hear anything at all now. The hand shakes are so debilitating that I am unable to hold stable employment. Doctor Gregory Ross says there is nothing I can do, and suggested that I increase my alcohol intake. Now, I pay Dr. Ross a handsome fee for his salient medical advice, but I think I am going to try something else. In fact, I have reached my decision. I am going to be an Olympic swimmer.

The first problem, of course, is going to be not drowning. I am going to get some swimming lessons to start with, and then work my way up the ladder until I am competing in the greatest of events, barely staving off the total blindness and deafness, and I don't think the hand shakes will really matter, although I guess it is kind of embarrassing when you receive the trophy. This is only a minor nuisance, and I will certainly be 'saying cheese', in a ridiculously enthusiastic pose, as the photographers blind me further in their vicious flash attack. Finally, something to look forward to.

The newspaper suggested a number of teachers, and I chose the one with the funniest name (Yolanda Hollandaise), who to my surprise had extremely poor English, which was not really what I had been expecting. I brushed aside my concerns only so temporarily, learning that her fees were not enough to cover entry into any respectable community swimming pools, and we would be learning in the Essex-Hudson Dumpster River; one of the isolated spots where the beavers engage in their role playing of Civil War battles. It is a pretty creepy place, and it smells worse than my sink. Three hours and one rejected pass later, we drove back to Starbucks to enjoy a couple of decaf macchiatos, and then called it a day. The Olympic swimming thing? Damn, I'll have to think about it for a couple of weeks, while I explore some other, more potentially feasible options. It looks like someone else cleaned up the shit-puke, which means I can wash away the traitorous Confederate fur from my filthy likeness. It is going to be a long night.

Untimely Entitlement

Are you focusing on Christmas yet? In heaven, and the North Pole, and in Oklahoma, folks are already getting pretty rowdy at the prospect of the trees and the presents and the roast turkeys and the carols and the rolling good times. But... oh, it hasn't even occurred to you, has it? Here are a number of things you should be worrying about right now!

What are you going to get your boss? Your boss cares about you a lot – after all, they enable your lifestyle like few others ever could, by directly or indirectly providing you with your income. Now is the time to show your appreciation by giving a little bit of that income back to them, because they have truthfully earned it, through their own spirit of generosity (which lasts all year, and not just Christmas). Your boss has feelings, too! Make sure to incorporate these feelings heavily into your holiday planning, lest your workplace relations sour and your life becomes an unbearable clusterfuck of barely restrained incivility.

How are you going to decorate the exterior of your home? Christmas lights blazing from the outside of your lovely suburban home can become a giant competition, and you can win not only by having an outrageous lights display, but by putting it up and blasting the electricity every night starting a good three months early! If you live in the 'right' kind of place, you will have already been beaten by someone in your neighborhood before reading this column. Fuck global warming – this is Christmas we're talking about.

Where are you doing your holiday shopping? Have you even begun scouting out for the best prices, or do you simply not care about saving the most money you possibly can? You will probably care a lot more when you have to pull your kids out of private schools and start cooking at home. Imagine the shame as you walk to your car from the grocery store carrying baked beans and pasta, which you then have to prepare in your kitchen. People will see you from out the windows of their fancy restaurants, enjoying top grade food and relaxing in comfortable chairs, and at best, utilize you for a passing thought of pity. At worst, you will inspire them to ignite their own prejudices against the poor by becoming active in their local chapter of the Republican-Tea Party. Prevent this by collecting coupons excessively, and bargaining your way into lower prices (see 'Making Compelling Arguments').

When are you going to kick your kids out of home? Okay, let's get serious for a minute here. Before you can put up those impressive lights, which no one would even begin to assume you are using as a method of compensating for deficits in other areas of your personal life, you should probably have a conversation with your adult children, who are still leeching off you in ways that you never envisioned when you were their age, and who will be expecting gluttonous amounts of food, alcohol, and presents when the season begins to roll around. Simple solution. Kick 'em out. If they start to get bitchy about it – expecting some kind of hand-out, or acting like they are entitled to something – threaten to get a restraining order, and then do so if the threat is not enough. My twelve year old was unwilling to leave at the prospect of a restraining order, so I had to simply get one. Their life is a lot more difficult now, but not everyone gets to learn things the easy way.

Knocking on Heaven's Door

Treating paralysis: Position person on bed if they are not on one already. Pour one tall glass of sarsaparilla, seasoned with fresh ice cubes. Splash on face, then pull person to the ground, begin stomping them in the loins, and then drag them by their hair or arm, whichever produces more pain, across the floor and out into the concrete steps (where you will hear a number of satisfying thumps) until throwing them into the nearby dumpster for the ambulance and/or garbage collector.

Obscuring mosquito bites: Create a solution that is one part water, one part virgin's blood, and one part emu oil moisturizing lotion. Add two tablespoons of brown sugar as well as the finely crushed leaves of gypsophila paniculata, which should be handled with bare fingers at all times until placement into the solution. Stir thoroughly and let sit for three minutes. Take two drops of the stirred solution and pour over bite, before rubbing gently. Repeat for any remaining bites; drink what is left of the solution as it cannot be left out.

Kicking the habit: Remove everything in your home that reminds you of your addiction, preferably by flushing these items down the toilet, unless you regularly succumb to the hedonistic pleasures of psychedelic toad licking, in which case you should probably contact your local animal shelter. Delete dealers and users from your phone, stock up on good books and movies that you are comfortable watching, and then pre-heat your oven to 230 degrees. Set your timer for thirty minutes. After you have enjoyed an episode of a familiar favourite television program, and maybe snacked out a little on a piece of fruit (although this is unlikely), you will return to the oven. Open it and place your body in the oven, slowly and carefully so as to fit comfortably. If you are unable to fit, or close the door on your own, you may want to have a friend to help you.

Buying a home: Ask your real estate agent if you can take them out to lunch, insisting if necessary. Place laxatives in their beverage; when they return from their resulting bathroom visit, insinuate to them that they have been seriously poisoned and that you will only cure them if they are willing to lower the price of the home that you have nearly been conned into purchasing as though you were just any random idiot from the streets so desperate to buy a home that you would settle for any ridiculous deal. If he is not game, take him back to the bathroom and give him a wedgie; make sure to leave him in a positioning which renders him astounding difficulty in getting up, so that you have enough time to leave the restaurant without paying.

Blind Spot: Black Hole

W.R.T.: Don't go blaming President Bush for the War on Terror when we were clearly attacked by the forces of terrorism on September 11th, 2001...
L.S.A.: You know, you are right. And Bush was just as much a victim as anyone else – a depressing person leading a depressing life who just wanted to go home to his depressing family at the end of a depressing day. He couldn't truly have been expected to seriously consider all of his options before choosing the path that he did. Decision making in these kinds of circumstances is fast and usually based on instincts and inherent values – a quality the nation voted for in overwhelming numbers in 2000.
W.R.T.: That's true, although I do have to question the logic of some of his policies in the second term, to be honest. Bush got very unpopular near the end there and I think there is a pretty universal consensus that this was largely caused by dissatisfaction with what appeared to be his willingness to employ socialist techniques to manipulate the markets. By straying from his fiscally conservative principles, he lost the confidence of the general public.
L.S.A.: Yes, and he facilitated the culture of Obama bail-outs.
W.R.T.: Such as the Troubled Asset Relief Program, where Obama was bailing out banks and insurance companies left and right because they were “too big to fail.”
L.S.A.: That's absolutely correct, and there is quite a lot of confusion as to who is technically responsible for TARP. Communists tend to point to the fact that Bush's Treasury Department requested the relief package, that it was championed by Bush and passed in a bipartisan vote (with Obama, Biden, and McCain in favor). Realists note that Obama is currently the President and thus must be responsible for everything bad that has happened in recent memory, and as far as bad things go, bailing out the world's largest banks is pretty horrendous.
W.R.T.: It's no surprise to me, Leo; no surprise at all, that Obama has shown reluctance to consider bringing back the registration of communists. Instead, he wants you to register your rifle collection. I don't know anyone, personally, who doesn't own at least five guns. Around here, well, heh, I'd just like to see them try to show up with a clipboard, asking to have a look around.
L.S.A.: Another thing Obama doesn't want to register is the ever growing cohort of illegal aliens, unless it is by giving them all citizenship, so that they can start draining the welfare system and vote Democrat in monolithic numbers. It makes me sick when liberal communists try to grant people extra rights just so that they can increase their voting prowess.
W.R.T.: Yes – you can see it repeatedly throughout this nation's history. Whenever a group claims to be oppressed, the Democrats jump in and make them ideological martyrs before passing a bunch of over-reaching civil rights and voting rights bills that make it illegal for minorities not to vote. This is the only way the Democrats can win, because, and I don't want to put it like this, exactly, but they simply don't represent the will of the American electorate unless they alter its make-up.
L.S.A.: Be careful, Thomas. If Obama manages to force his fairness doctrine down our throats, you might just get arrested for saying stuff like that!
W.R.T.: I'm not sure that's how the fairness doctrine works, but actually, you're probably right. The over caffeinated generation of government dependent, amoral deadbeats that swept Obama into office are only just beginning to think that maybe they should have given John McCain a more reasoned look in 2008... So many people voted their emotions in that election, and this year we will only be able to slightly repair some of the damage.
L.S.A.: Couldn't agree more. I think the public is not distracted by phony diversions like Iraq, so we are in a very good position for these midterms. People are catching onto the fact that their vote matters, and that we need to vote the foreign born Muslim's enablers out if we are to make any progress in instituting a fundamentalist theocracy and free market paradise.
W.R.T.: Yes; perhaps we could follow the Vatican model.
L.S.A.: We probably aren't ready for that, but I like where you are going there. Forward thinking, Thomas!

Recyclable Misadventures with the Gang

We don't want to focus on these things too heavily, at least not with the incorrect emphasis; after all, it is the 'little things' which make life shine its most bright, but if we seek to over analyse, we run the risk of obscuring the real lesson. Nor is it wise to remain in a nostalgic mindset for gratuitous periods of time, for it is a natural cause of long-term unhappiness, but nonetheless, some of these tales will bear repeating here, with a disclaimer that they are told from an exaggerated lens with an incredible sense of personal bias in perspective.

Ricky was not having a good day. He was pretty much broke, felt isolated, and all he had left was his miserable 1995 Volvo, which used to have seat belts. He went for a search around the house for any remnants of booze – there had been a party there a couple of nights ago, which he didn't remember that well, except that his girlfriend broke up with him, or something like that – but the quest was increasingly difficult, given that Ricky had already spent the last several days fiendishly consuming what had been left over. He had a collection of 4-litre wine bags, all of them mostly drained, and poured what was left in the seven bags into a gigantic glass, mixing red and white, and topping it off with half of a shot of what he could only presume was really cheap vodka.

This could have been why, honestly, everyone else was avoiding Ricky like the plague. Roger wasn't interested in tennis. Olga wasn't up for coffee. Sammy Calamari had to cancel their jam for “other plans.” Ricky had planned to go through some more contacts in his phone, but then he drank the glass of wines. Halfway, he pondered that he wasn't sure he was in a state to socialise in the first place. Once it was finished, he had forgotten about the issue completely.

Meanwhile, over at the fish store, where Ricky was supposed to begin thirty-five minutes ago, Tucker was getting terribly frantic. He was under slept, nervous, and shaking, and although he always sought to avoid confrontation, he felt that he had no choice but to call up this Ricky fellow and explain that he was not about to cover his shift for him.

…

But I can't come in, dude, okay, Tucker, I'm sorry, man. I forgot to call. I'm so fucking sorry. Shit. Can you please call someone else? Okay? I really can't come in.
Where are you, Ricky? Are you at home?
Yeah.
That's a five minute walk. You tell me this all the time.
Yeah, but, like, between the solicitations of sympathy and rapid consumption of jelly shots, I can't really hold it together right now, bro.
I will bear this in mind the next time we converse.

…

Everyone else agreed that it was a good thing that Ricky lost his job. Nobody liked working with him, because he never took showers. This was another thing nobody liked about him: the inherently awful smell. We theorise that he last took a shower some time in 2006, and employment in the sales of fish is the kind with a lingering, unpleasant scent. We would all stop inviting him to parties, and saying hello when we run into him, or even hanging out with him every so often – but even though we all agree on these things, we have decided that it would not be very nice to say anything about it.

For his twenty-second birthday, we all chipped in and bought him a Stradivarius. You should have seen the look on his face.

This Update Was Written by Somebody Else

The guy who we usually get to write the stuff on here, who manages to drag himself in after lunch maybe a third of the time, if we are lucky, has decided that he has what is referred to in the business as “writer's block,” which means that he has been sitting at home and drinking beer compulsively for a minimum of thirteen consecutive days, so we have farmed out the rest of the content for this entry from a source of unknown credibility.

This Update Was Definitely Not Written by Somebody Else

The pricks that are in charge of this trash heap are trying to obscure the information provided in this article in the hope of discrediting the analysis which it offers, which indicates a total lack of testicles. I mean, these cowards are scared absolutely shitless at the very thought of any opposing viewpoints at all, so they go out of their way to make it sound like this was written by a vociferously eager asshole with no basis for their information except their own bullshit (editor's note: this is unequivocally the case). Anyway, here are a few of my special hints and suggestions on how to get ahead in this world, which is a pretty good one, if you know how to game it properly. It is all about playing the game...

The Game: Step One

There are a number of other things which are called 'The Game' also, and they are likely unrelated to the advice that I am presenting here. The Game, in this context, is a lifestyle choice that you must make if you are to commit to advancing yourself at the expense of all others. This begins by acknowledging each day that you are striving to be the best that you can possibly be, and that you are an amazing person with unique abilities and talents. Do not waste time praying, for prayer is a sign of weakness, and a cry for help to someone who is not listening. The only person who can help you is yourself.

The Game: Step Two

There are generally three types of people: the dumb, the evil, and the insane. You want to achieve a balance in your relationships with others, with a preference for the dumbs, who are the easiest to manipulate and also the most amicable in general conversation. The evils are your gateway into the world of fun, but you should not get too close with them, because they are inherently untrustworthy. The insanes are to be dealt with sparingly. They serve a purpose, of course—not many people are willing to rob houses, sell drugs, defecate in public, etc., and you need a sprinkling of that sort of shit in your life when you need a reminder of just how normal you are (even though you aren't really). Incidentally, the number one cause of being associated with an insane is reproducing. The number one cause of being associated with a dumb is, of course, marriage.

The Game: Step Three

Your possessions are dragging you down. Get rid of them. I read an article a while ago about some hippie couple in Oregon that manage to live with less than a hundred items in their house. Is that crazy or what? So, I gave it a shot, and I tell you what: I was robbed the next month. Fuckers got away with my razor!

The Game: Step Four

There is no step four, technically, since by now you should be basking in the angelic glow of your blissful nirvana, much as I do, living in an apartment which is literally empty, and starting each day with an hour-long conversation with myself to the mirror, where I consult notes and come up with strategies for implementing self-empowering goals. My friends are closely controlled, carefully classified, and universally distrusted. (Pro tip: the dumbs will trust you regardless.) What are you even doing still reading this? Grab some paint and get to work on signs advertising your garage sale! You have utensils to throw out and memories to make – and remember, only you can make it happen.

Getting to Know You for the Real You

Victor A. Foley: Hello everyone, and may I just send our warmest welcome to all of you guys and gals who are tuning in with us tonight. We have the pleasure of interviewing Hubert F. Dettmann, who is presently homeless but is famous enough yet to agree to be subjected to our notorious set of 'Twelve Questions.' How are you, Hubert? Do you have a nickname, since Hubert sounds kind of dumb?

Hubert F. Dettmann: Thanks, Vic, it's a pleasure to be here. I am doing really well, thanks for asking. You can call me Hubert, but my friends call me Hugh.

Foley: Okay, Hugh-bag, let's start with your personal background. Would you describe yourself as wealthy in friends? How about in finances? I need to stress that there is no cash prize for your participation in this program, but you can of course take solace in the free publicity, and in fact it would be advisable for you to use this rare opportunity to make a statement about who you are and what you stand for, but perhaps I am just ranting. But hey, the people watch this program to see Victor Foley and his amazing hair (motions towards head), so let's be realistic. If you haven't shot any crushed up methadone tablets in the last couple of hours, maybe you'll even be able to remember what the questions are.

Dettmann: Well, Vic, I would certainly say that I have a lot of acquaintances, and even a number of friends, who can call me Hugh, or any derivative thereof, of which you do not qualify as a member of this classification and thus are not accorded the privilege to engage in the activity mentioned prior. I don't really go for crushing up methadone, since it's not the best bang for my buck, and in the case of my own financial situation, you could say I am not doing so well, and I am well aware of the strict “no-prize” policy of your delightful night-time entertainment. Your polite clarification is always appreciated, Vic Foley.

Foley: What an eloquent little spiel, and you made me feel a little upstaged, to be honest, so I am probably going to make no attempt to hide my disdain for you at all now. But let's try to not let that interfere with what will otherwise be a highly informative and entertaining interview! What can you tell us about your parents? What was your first job?

Dettmann: My parents are both deceased; casualties of the Waco tragedy, which I am not really at ease discussing at length. My father was a very caring man who probably lost his mind due to the constant alcohol consumption and stressful job from which he pretty much never took a vacation until he snapped completely, joining the cult. My mother was a zombie from about 1984 onwards, and I still have no good theories as to what caused it. I think she just woke up one day and decided she didn't care anymore, and she was just going to exist; to go on autopilot until her tragic death. My first employment was washing dishes at a Korean restaurant. It was okay.

Foley: And is there any reason—not to be curt or anything—that you don't just pick up and get a job now, instead of moping around the streets, soliciting coins and pity? Do you attend any religious services on a regular basis? Have you tried anything to possibly upgrade the status of filth and degeneracy in which you claim to thrive?

Dettmann: I am not religious, Vic, but I do believe that people have an ethical responsibility to be true to themselves. That being said, I don't vote. I have no interest in your pity, and similarly hold little interest in attaining stable employment. Every so often I take a shower, or get a new jacket, or replace my toothbrush, if those are the sorts of things you were trying to get at in your last question.

Foley: Uh-huh. Well it is certainly fascinating that you lack any substantial views on an afterlife. A lot of people come on here and explain that they are fully aware of the rewards system in place for those who behave with merit and honor in their earthly life times. I can only lament that it is regrettable, yet utterly unsurprising, that you do not subscribe to similar values and the impact this has on your lifestyle is morally abhorrent and visually repugnant.

Dettmann: Right, so that wasn't a question, Vic, but I'm sure your loyal viewers appreciate that you have lodged a spirited defense of traditional family values.

Foley: They sure do, those self-important rednecks (winks at audience). You tell us that you don't vote. Do you hold any political beliefs? And to perhaps expand on the ninth question just a little bit, do you hope at all to stop abusing alcohol and pornography? These degrading materials are creating a black hole in your life that prohibits you from advancing further in society. There is a rehabilitation center down the street that will be open until November 24. You should probably check in now to secure a spot in that fine, yet tragically underfunded, facility.

Dettmann: You know, Vic, I guess you could describe me as a 'green', although I use that label sparingly and with hesitancy. What I am quite sure of is that all of the mainstream politicians are content to keep screwing us over so that they can keep working with the banks and big businesses to fatten their paychecks. I don't pay much attention to the daily aspect, but I do follow the elections, perhaps in the same way you might follow a sport, except that I don't care at all who wins. I made a decent amount of cash betting on the outcomes of races during the 2008 Democratic nomination contest, which was pretty swell. I think I bought a guitar with some of that money. I'm not really sure; I don't have the guitar anymore.

Another political value I hold dear is that pesky values voters types should mind their own business, and that certainly applies to the constant discrimination that I face as I attempt to harmlessly, rapidly consume generous portions of tequila in public playgrounds at night. There sure as hell aren't any kids there, so why don't you and everyone else just back off? But hey, I'm a reasonable guy. If they asked me to move somewhere else, perhaps suggested a suitable location, then I would be willing to negotiate. At best, they pour it out; at worst, I spend a night in hell. The answer to your question is no.

Foley: Well, Hugh-bun, it's been absolutely wonderful to have you with us here this evening, so I have one final question for you. What is your favorite color?

Dettmann: I appreciate your willingness to tackle the truly controversial burning issues of the day. The rigorous questioning has been, I hope, highly informative for your audience and I have certainly relished the thorough soul searching that I have had to conduct in answering your hard-hitting and objective queries. Thank you so much for having me this evening, and thank you for the free publicity, which is almost as satisfying to me as a cash prize may have been in the ridiculously unlikely scenario where I would receive one. My favorite color is brown, a dark tint of which I have smeared lovingly throughout the disabled and female audience toilets. I really appreciate being on your show, have a great night!

Really Diff'rent Strokes for Diff'rent Folks

NOT INTENDED FOR EXTERNAL CIRCULATION

Please do not distribute this document.

Thank you, all members of full-time staff, for your continued hard work and dedication to our company. As a reward for your efforts, you will be receiving one free movie ticket each this week with your paycheck. To get a better discount it has to be a G-rated film. You can probably organize a group movie screening, if you coordinate an event by working together through the exercise of the same skills you have utilized as coworkers. Thank you all so very much.

It is with deep regret and emotional nausea that I must go on to inform you of some of the cutbacks we will be required to make in light of the company's performance in the last two years. I am painfully aware of the sacrifices we have already made: shedding three-fourths of our workforce, the enforced overtime for no extra pay, the loss of the coffee machine, the water cooler, the heater, the air conditioning, the showers, the loss of our janitor and continued neglect for safety and health regulations, the fluidity of the date on when you technically get paid – yes, but I have had to give up my company car, and I certainly don't have a water cooler in my office (stop looking). Besides, you are definitely getting paid on Friday and you are all getting free movie tickets! Congratulations!

Sadly, in order to remain financially viable just this week, and to pay for your cinema experiences, I have begun to rent out our parking lot, so you will all either have to stop driving to work or find somewhere else to park. I am working on a deal to sell the parking lot which would yield us a handsome but temporary amount of capital, which I am trying to figure out how I would invest since I fired the accounting department and pretty much everyone else who doesn't put the little white bits of fluff sugar in between the two slices of caramel. The work you guys are putting in for this community, and the people who unwittingly buy your products across the nation, cannot justifiably be summarized in words, so I am also going to throw you a party. I have left you an envelope with $20, and it can be held during the lunch break at 12:30 tomorrow. The envelope is on the kitchen table with the balloons and the party poppers, so you don't have to budget for those. You guys are fantastic. Have a good evening,

Charles N. Moore, CEO
Luzerne County Jersey Caramel Factory Co.

Look, There He Goes Again

“There you go again.” – Ronald Reagan

I see that I may have caused you some anger, sadness, and/or inconvenience. I see that we will probably never trust each other on quite the same level as before, moving forward from this point. All of this is okay, though. I forgive you.

Can we be pals again? Chums like in the good old days? Or are you just going to hold a grudge? Am I asking you too many questions? You don't have to answer them all at once; just answer them in order. In quick succession. I have many more questions. We haven't been hanging out properly at all!

Listen, what on earth happened to our friendship? I cannot help but feel exasperated with despair when I think about the present state of things, and wish it were not so. Surely, it is not irrational to desire mending this stream of malicious thought, to repair the damage done and heal all wounds. Is it so horrible of me to ask for your cooperation?

You don't have to agree with me straight away. You probably need some time to think about this properly, to closely scrutinise all of your options. You are going to agree with me eventually, though, and it would probably make things a lot quicker and easier for both of us if you would kindly step out of the way of your own inevitable acceptance of this wonderful solution.

The thing I liked about you the most – and why I miss your company so much – well, I guess you were always my devil's advocate. You forced me to consider other perspectives on situations, different ideas that directly challenge my viewpoints, which is really useful due to my inherent, irreparable and serious learning capacity deficiency. Thank you for the knowledge.

Come over for a barbecue or something, we can cook duck. Or we could go to the movies... are you free on Saturday night? The megachurch in my suburb, Christ Foreshore, has services on Saturday nights. We could do communion next Wednesday; breaking bread and sipping grape juice concentrate out of K-Mart paper cups while thanking the Lord for his forgiveness. You see, he has graciously forgiven all of us, much as I have forgiven you.

So what do you think? Is this not worthy? Bit tempting? I'll come back in a couple of days and we can discuss this again. This has been great; we should do this more often. Aren't you enjoying this? Look, I'll call you tomorrow. I know you're not doing anything tomorrow. Don't even pretend to have to go somewhere, I can see through your lying teeth with x-ray like vision. Anyway, I have got to see a plumber about some ivory commodes, but I'll see you very soon. xoxo

Surveillance Cameras and You

There comes a time in a person's life when they must contemplate the decision to install surveillance security cameras in and outside their home, and it is not a milestone to be pondered lightly. Your family may come to resent this landmark reform, but you should pay their concerns no attention, for they will do whatever you tell them to do anyway, so there is no point listening to them whine and moan about things on which you will be unable to reach a consensus. Nobody has the time to engage in futile arguments all day (well, your family might). Tell them that you're going out, on account of the fact that you have things to do. You'll be back when you feel like it.

This is where the fun begins, for the surveillance cameras (which they will be unable to turn off) will be recording every moment of their tortured, pathetic existences, and you will be able to slip back in as soon as everyone has gone to sleep and spend the night watching what everyone else did when they were awake. The things you will learn! Ensure adequate password protection for your vault of voyeuristic video, lest your relatives gain access and begin scrubbing moments that reflect on them poorly. Unbeknown censorship is your worst enemy (with the possible exception of law enforcement, in the unlikely event that you happen to be not only filming highly illegal things but are also the subject of a search warrant for the 'protection of others').

Now, there is the question of what to do if you catch the cretins that occupy your house doing things that directly incriminate them – things that, theoretically, you should have no knowledge of whatsoever. But, dammit, when that ungrateful nose-picking, bed-shitting neanderthal with training wheels goes into your bedroom and begins messing around with your shit, dumping the stamp collection in the fucking sink, getting chocolate pudding shit all over the violin case, an inexplicable green stain on your bed accompanied with a very strange smell... well, you are really left no choice but to leave the computer monitor in a fit of rage to go and strangle the little bastard, probably waking him up in the process, but hey, he should be awake to see how he made you feel. (His protests that the dog is responsible will only vindicate your harsh violence.) Remember to pause the video before walking off for any necessary strangulation sessions.

It is worth quickly examining the impact of surveillance cameras in public, as a method of deterring crime. Countless studies, not even worth citing here, have found that surveillance cameras deter crime right up until the moment they are stolen and sold on the black market for substandard prices. (“We learned very early on that publicly owned items – cameras, statues, traffic lights – do not really sell as well as one would expect,” noted gang member and underground trafficking expert Ralph A. Lundy told me over coffee last month. He says that drugs, especially painkillers, and exotic meats are generally the staple items that allow him to pay off his mortgage.) Some other studies have suggested that rates of crime are much higher in areas where surveillance cameras are not located, especially when in close proximity to areas that are being monitored. This tactic is evidently more effective when people do not know that they are being watched, but civil libertarians generally throw a fit whenever anyone tries to suggest some sort of universal monitoring program, so we are stuck with giant signs letting criminals know to behave themselves, if only for a little while, so that they can keep walking along and go back to harvesting fetal tissue on the sidewalk once they are safely out of sight.

It Was a Fury Free Zone

“'At the end of the day'... at the end of the day, what, you sack of shit? At the end of the day, there's another day. Get me a cappuccino.” – Ralph Nader, to a policy assistant

Coughing up all this phlegm and tar; gonna feel so good; gonna feel just fine; the doctor offered quite the stunning diagnosis... it takes me out of my mind. Don't think for one moment that I am distracted, though. My thought process is still functioning at a stellar capacity, and I am formulating my response to you as we sit here, conversing in what would appear to anyone else a very calm, relaxed setting. But how incorrect they would be.

“Now, I don't mean to come across as bitchy, but” is a wonderful way to begin a monologue, and one of my favourites (virtually identical in structure to the immediate blow to the conversation that is “no offense, but...”). One way to not come across as bitchy would be to not put the idea into your audience's head as the start of your little diatribe. I mean, you give people these ideas; what are they gonna think? Come on. “Don't take this the wrong way”? Any way I'm going to take it now is going to be the wrong way, my good friend. Nothing but the wrong way.

And maybe this is the underlying problem; this running theme of passive aggressive responses to what is perceived to be passive aggressive behaviour. When I feel like I'm being screwed over, my immediate objective might become to screw the other person over just as bad, if not slightly worse. This is a natural instinct, but it is irrational, and it feeds the cycle of degeneracy. One may get to wondering if it is possible to maintain a demeanor of maturity while still attaining some tangible benefit in the form of spite and vengeance. The careful balancing act that must be followed requires great dedication and concentration. So, how does one be the “bigger man” while simultaneously breaking into the other person's house, vandalising the valuables and stealing the snacks? The first trick, obviously, is to not get caught, and if you fuck that up, then I have no advice for you.

The second trick is to never actually seek out conversation with this person, following your act of retribution: avoid them like the plague. That being said, if they approach you, do not let them know of any change in interactive dynamics; mention that you have been dreadfully busy lately, and that the two of you should catch up over coffee some time. Act as cordial as you possibly can be, without giving away the fact that it is all one giant, hilarious joke. If they catch on to the fact that you raided their pantry and electronics, they will probably want to extract some kind of revenge on you, or even involve law enforcement, so it is crucial to always be observant, watching out for the so-called “evil eyes,” which are generally a sign of very bad things about to come. In the case of instigation of physical assault, one must be prepared with the latest in martial arts techniques.

At the Cinema This Week

"Eternal Pleasure": A supernatural dinosaur incarnated as a man must fight his attraction to his whimsical taxi driver so that he can save the world from ultimate destruction first. Four Stars.

We Got Economic Problems Out the Wazoo

Nobody around here is denying that we are living in tough times, that things have been pretty difficult for a lot of people these last couple of years. I mean, just take a look at some of the effects of our budget cuts here in Rotunda, where the combination of decreasing tax revenue due to the affluent citizens moving out at a remarkable pace and the debt collectors knocking on the doors of the city council members on a nightly basis finally forced the city to adapt to some pretty serious changes in the role that the government plays in people's lives.

The city is no longer providing grants to the local community, arts, and recreational centers, and has ceased litter collection and garden maintenance in parks; the police no longer respond to armed robberies; the libraries have closed and the buildings have since been bought by a soft drink company and a sports mega-store; money for school upgrades, along with new textbooks, was canceled, so our 1997 books from the Texas Association for Educator Freedom Publishing Co., Inc., will continue to provide the finest in history and social studies education material. Naturally, the worst aspect, aesthetically, is that everything is falling apart. There is no money to repair anything, and everyone is hoarding their paychecks so that they can afford the massive amount of chocolate skim milk and science fiction novels that will help provide the smallest glimpse of escape from an otherwise treacherous life full of hardship. The roads and sidewalks are beginning to feel eerily reminiscent of photographs depicting towns decimated by the Great Depression. How can one possibly stay upbeat in an atmosphere of decay, chaos, and the manifestation of even greater amounts of greed and selfishness?

It goes without saying that all of these cost-cutting measures run contrary to the trusted economic conventional wisdom, which dictates that we should be investing in social services and stimulating the economy through generous spending more than ever. In this environment where everyone is looking out solely for their own interests, it is fascinating to see which markets are proving to be lucrative (other than obvious mainstays such as firearms, fast food, pharmaceuticals, illicit drugs, and other perpetual generators of wealth). Meanwhile, the city board is reduced to bake sales, car washes, and tearful solicitations outside places of worship. The feeling of derision that accompanies such fund raising is one that is unpleasant to revisit, and I cannot help but sink lower and lower into a state of depression with each subsequent Sunday morning.

Integral to any serious effort to maintain some semblance of mental stability in such dire conditions is to focus on life's simple pleasures (advice which is reiterated elsewhere in such noted studies as The Little Book of Calm, edited by John Wilkes Booth). A refreshing glass of lemonade in the afternoon sun can do more to repair one's emotional health than most things, and an aimless walk around the suburbs on a lazy weekend morning never hurt anyone. To be honest with you, I don't really have a choice: if I stay inside and blast the air conditioning all day long, I won't be able to afford food and I will have to resort to eating my own liver. We've got economic problems out the wazoo around here, so don't give me any condescending sob stories about your own troubles, mmkay?

Checking in with the Local News

CHARTER—A 23-year-old man was arrested when pulled over, driving at 90 km/hr with a blood alcohol content of 0.16. Judge William Rothfuss, noting that this was the defendant's third drink driving offence, stated that it was “disturbing and unseemly that this man would be able to continue to terrorise our roads” and deemed him a threat to society. His licence has been suspended for three months and he may be subject to community service.

LOUDOUN—A 40-year-old man was arrested outside of a bar after getting into a confrontation with another patron, picking him up and head butting him to the point that the victim received debilitating injuries. Police noted in the incident report that the man was clearly intoxicated and that his vehicle was parked very nearby. Judge Roy Silvers, questioning the mental stability of the defendant, sentenced him to six months of alcohol rehabilitation, suggesting that he would “clearly benefit from professional treatment to help alleviate evident anger management, temper fluctuation, and reactive response problems.”

ESSEX—A group of four men, aged 19, 20, 21, and 34, were arrested during a police raid on a suspected drug manufacturing operation in a low-key location in an exurban gated neighborhood. Two of the suspects have prior convictions for drink driving, and one has prior charges related to the cultivation of illicit drugs. Judge Amy Fratworth suggested that all four men would benefit from voluntary drug rehabilitation programs, while the eldest member of the group was scolded for “not considering the ramifications of his obvious influence over these younger men in shaping their lifestyles and societal attitudes which have put them in the position that they find themselves in now.” He was sentenced to pay a fine not to exceed $10,000 to be determined next month.

FORRESTER—A 58-year-old woman was arrested for the improper storage of two firearms with expired registrations, and the possession of fifteen additional illicit guns. Judge Barbara Cripps reacted to the defendant's justification for these weapons on the grounds of self protection with barely restrained outrage, offering that she “posed such an enormous threat to society, with possible links to the underground weapon industry which we need to investigate further, that it would be inhumane not to incarcerate her for the safety of the general public.” The defendant's lawyer, L. Furtusoza, decried the ruling as an infringement of civil liberties with concerning repercussions in the field of privacy rights law.

ARNATA—A dozen protesters organised out the front of the Arnata Clothing & Vacuum Outlet, in the hope of bringing attention to the business' alleged worker mistreatment. Employees hoping to enter the building at the start of the day were accosted by protesters demanding confirmations of stories describing the overtime conditions as adding up to approximately $30,000 in lost wages annually per full time worker. Employees are prohibited in their contracts from badmouthing the company in public venues, and risk termination if they violate this policy. So far, no workers have stepped forward to corroborate the details provided by three ex-employees. The city council discussed the matter in its weekly briefing, dismissing the complaints as hearsay and implicating that any investigation would be a very low priority in these cash-strapped times.

The Double Pronged Attack

“If my head weren't screwed on to my neck with these high quality bolts, I would probably lose the damn thing.” – Malcolm X

The key to winning any dispute, above all, is persistence. By standing your ground, you allow others to determine that you are absolutely unwilling to bolt from your principles, even when they are highly unethical and/or irrational. More importantly, even if they do not appreciate your moral sanctimony, they will still be forced to come to terms with your differing opinion, for it is only a matter of time before they grow tired of defending their own credibility. A lost cause is not one worth fighting, which is much of the reason that the United States is substantially winding down its military operations in Iraq. Neoconservative imperialists eventually grew unable, particularly by the time of the 2006 midterms, to put forward their theories without being met with uncontrollable guffaws and only semi-playful hissing. No doubt the present administration operates in awareness of the fact that its troop withdrawal and associated media spectacle could serve to remind the ideologically volatile public of what a certain party does when it has control of the military, incidentally causing an outrageously disproportionate amount of harm in regards to the “deficit,” which allegedly is a really important issue to a lot of overweight white people with a sudden bout of political motivation.

I've gone off on a tangent here, though, so let's get back to issue at hand, namely beating the shit out of your enemies. When being persistent and overly vulgar in sharing your independent (indie?) viewpoint, you also need to be fully aware at all times of the physical threat posed to you by those around you, and to always have basic techniques for self-defence ready to use once shit escalates to the next level. For example, perhaps someone asks you what you had for breakfast yesterday, but they have a spiteful look in their eyes, topped off with a grimace that is painful in its self-enjoyment. You should immediately punch them in the face, move back, and then go on as if nothing happened. What are they going to do, punch you back? That is a possibility, actually.

After following the advice presented here too literally, one may find themselves resting in a hospital, and should this happen to you it is wholly necessary that you follow these precautions:
a. Do not eat any medicine the doctors give you, unless they specify that it will cause sedation, hallucinations, and/or paranoia;
b. Do not eat any of the food provided in the hospital (vending machines excepted);
c. Do not sustain amicable interactions with any staff, who are trying to drug you so that you will begin worshiping the New World Order, praying in the direction of Mecca while drinking soy latte and feasting on tofu blocks, all in a largely successful attempt to distract you from the brainwashing that begins to take place as soon as you consume “paracetamol” or “oxybutynin” (among many others).

Begin to Fathom the Logic

“I just caught a plane from Denver, and boy, are my arms fucking killing me anyway.”

There are sights to see, places to be; people to find, which puts us in a bind. The deadline is looming over our heads like the beginning of a windy, destructive thunderstorm. As we get closer to our destination, it feels like we are only getting further away; frantically grasping at the map to figure out which incorrect turn we took about twenty-five minutes ago, when none of us were paying attention because we were all getting into a Pavement record while smoking cigarettes or something desperately credibility attaining yet patently ridiculous like that.

All good things come to an end, but bad things seem to linger on, outstaying their welcome and reminding you of it constantly. Some may consider this to be a cynical outlook, but when riding around in the Magic Machine with the space cadets, it is merely realistic. Terrible comments are coming from every direction, and aimed at every other direction. “You know, I could stab myself in the eyeball with a knife right now... hey, I could stab your eye, right now. Isn't that interesting?” Everyone takes a nervous drag, exhaling slowly in an ineffectual attempt to relax.

Eventually, we arrived to the Phoenix, Arizona Central Business District, and breathed a collective sigh of relief as we all knew that this was the moment when the true partying would manifest itself. I shot down some of the other suggestions (harassing Mormons, street art, heroin cinema) in lieu of checking out the Phoenix bar scene, knowing that there would be some pretty cool people there. Lo and behold, I was correct, and my friends were quite impressed: within ten minutes, we were all having thrilling conversations with young urban professionals.

It took us many weeks to get back home, because inevitably all of us got lost, phones long since smashed and laying in a water fountain, having a little bit too much fun with what would be, in retrospect, not necessarily the right kind of people. (Many of these people admitted to voting Republican, and nearly all of them possessed offensively over sized automobiles.) To make matters worse, all of us depleted our bank accounts on various life essentials (dental hygiene, illicit drugs, casino visits, Friday night pizza). It is not a pleasant thought to have to consider starting over life anew in the charming blob that is Phoenix. Of course, one of us contacted the old folks, who were willing to bail us out “for the last time, goddammit.”

Don't blame me for avoiding the beach, or camping trips, or the snow, or whatever the fuck else you over-privileged dickwads aspire to waste your weekends with. I've had enough of this directionless, ultimately pesky travel, and I can take it no longer. From now on, the most exotic thing I am ever doing is plugging in the video player to watch decayed VHS from the 90s. You can find me at home: eating biscuits, rarely engaging in movement, and gradually fulfilling my lifelong dream of morbid obesity.

Insurmountable Amounts of Sickness

I buy only organic fruits and vegetables with the money I earn from my job serving hamburgers, and on Earth Day, I walked to the bus stop instead of driving to work, and ended up sitting at the bus stop all day. Around 5 pm, I walked back. When I got home, I turned off the lights. I wrote a letter to my local newspaper about the poor bus services, which was probably filed into the shredder upon reception, if we are being generous (no one wants to have their carefully crafted bitch piece merely thrown in the bin, not even removed from its envelope).

Let me tell you about my problems, just in case that introduction there didn't really give much away. Nothing seems to work out, you know? It's a complete fucking mess. I will start at the beginning.

The Beginning

Rocky and I were driving around, looking for a good time (as is often the daily objective). Rocky was enjoying some ice cream, and I was polishing off my fifth beer, when we happened to come across a very friendly man who was stopping to talk to people in traffic with their windows down. Now, this wasn't just any two-bit schmuck asking for “spare change.” No, this man would become a very important factor in our lives. We just didn't know it yet.

He was willing to sell us ten dollars worth of amphetamines because he was quite desperate to purchase an alcoholic beverage. The desperation in his eyes was endearing to us, so we financed his drinking for the entirety of the evening, noting that ten bucks wasn't going to get us very far, especially since the sun had not even gone down yet. We both like to emphasise our shrewd sense of economic wisdom, and anyone worth their salt knows that making a $10 investment in speed is like going to a bar to drink lemon squash. Needless to say, we felt that we had made the right decision, and continued to drive along, making snarky comments about all of the ugly people in their ugly cars with their even uglier dogs.

Seventy-Two Hours Later (written immediately after the occurrences described)

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I hate cleaning up blood. Fuck. I asked Randy, who sold us the speed the other day, what to do. But he is not answering his phone. That little fucking prick. He ripped us off, too. Son of a fucking bitch.

Words cannot begin to describe how I feel about the entirety of this episode, except that Rocky looked a lot better before the head amputation. The sort of guy you would feel good about going out to town with, you know? These days, it's kind of a drag. But I don't have the heart to tell him.

I ended up getting to know Randy pretty well, incidentally, because he was in eager need of more cash and I was in need of more stimulants, and like the start of all good friendships, we could do little more than immediately acknowledge the inherent value that we could provide each other. Randy likes to do a lot of cleaning, especially at the beginning of the week, when he picks up litter around our streets. The second half of the week is not quite so dedicated to the public good, because Randy is acutely aware that if he does not smash beer bottles all over the next door cafe, he will not have anything to clean up come Monday. He usually sleeps in the second half of the week, as well.

In between pulling nearly invisible shards of glass out of my pants and cleaning the build-up from the pipe twice daily, I occasionally venture to the kitchen, where I find that Randy has not eaten anything since 1994, except possibly half of a packet of BBQ-flavour instant noodles.

I am in a rut. The vodka is causing me to parse my thoughts with even greater levels of anger and paranoia, but the deceiving sense of coherency only continues to build. It is the feeling one has at the beginning of an evening when they have decided that something terrible is going to happen, but they have not figured out who will instigate the badness. If no one else is willing to do it, then I will have to do it myself.

The kitchen is organised now, probably to a point of tidiness that it may never see again. The matches have been arranged with the intention of great quantity & great distribution. We are looking at something truly outrageous in the making, and the only thing that could possibly stop it would be interference from that conniving, seedy bastard Randall. Where, oh where, have you gone, Randall? It's only a Tuesday, and I know you don't sleep on Tuesdays.

Come out from where you are hiding, Randy. I want to see your facial expression as I extract my revenge on your filthy, hopeless “kitchen.” Never again shall you fancy the thought of boiling some water to make tea, only to keep sitting down, for now you shall not possess a functioning kettle. Eat shit, Randy, and thanks for the drugs.

Perception Damage with Ragin' Bender Jones

I cannot see properly; haven't been able to for four hours at least. The pre-sunrise frantic cleaning operation has begun, and I am not sure what I am doing, entirely, except that I am picking up items with my hands and then putting these items somewhere else, only to forget instantaneously what was just moved and its site of relocation. Completely, utterly useless. I'm quite sure that I knocked over some gigantic variety of potted plant when roaming through the backyard on my way back inside last night. I can't recall the details of all sorts of things on demand, but – well, I've got a hunch about this one. I definitely created a terrible mess. I'll go check.

No, I'm not going crazy (just permanently losing any sense of balance and coordination). I'm going to have to clean that up later, along with the stains in the sink. Do you think I enjoy this? Does this sound like a non-stop barrel of laughs to you? You have no idea how difficult I've got it, man. I didn't choose this. No one does, except those who are malicious and have nothing left to lose. In any other circumstance, saner heads would prevail. No, I definitely did not choose to live like this. Some might describe this decadence as an “anything goes-type situation” (AGTS) but everyone has their limits. Around here, we frown upon martinis before 11 am on Tuesdays, for example (though, admittedly, there is a sort of loophole available through sleeping in).

In moments of reflection I will find myself worrying about my own coherency and sensibility. Here I am, out-drinking all of my friends, and they come to me and start telling me the same story three or four times in the course of a meeting, sometimes with alarming proximity, and I have no idea whether to say anything or not. It's too late in the friendship to suddenly bring up some kind of embarrassing memory problem, but then that sort of honesty is useful because one can never critique their own performance accurately and objectively, and by opening a discourse which is transparent in its communication, one can learn details at a measured pace. This is usually preferable to the rush of information that may be dumped all at once, which can be followed by a stabbing rampage. (“What do you mean I've been forwarding you the exact same chain e-mail every two days since the middle of March, Bob? What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?”)

Impulsive decision making can be the cause of further casualties in the AGTS. One moment, I am eight beers deep and passionately arguing for the necessity of stronger antitrust laws, and suddenly we are at a crack den, crushing up ADHD medication and playing the Beatles on vinyl because no one can agree on anything else. Then the host will inevitably announce, with the demeanor with which one might announce a funeral, that we have run out of boxed wine, unless of course you happen to be the host and his girlfriend, who will be retiring to the bedroom shortly to indulge in the treats available to no one else. A group of us may go on a walk to remedy our increasing sense of malaise, in the hope of procuring further intoxicants or maybe just do something stupid (because, hey, “anything goes”). Thirty-six hours later and the face bruises generally serve as a healthy reminder that I have chosen pretty much the worst hobby in the world, and I can't even begin to come up with a good explanation for what happened to my bank account balance.

There was one day last year that I did not consume any alcohol, and it proved to be a heinous decision of epic proportions: I was driving along the highway, maybe 30-40 km over the limit, when I fell asleep and veered off the side of the road, tipping the car over, igniting a fire, which incidentally woke me up again, so I got out of the car, and saved the canary, but did not have time to rescue the trio of puppies (I do not mention this to potential benefactors). To my credit, I was neglecting to answer a phone call at the exact moment of the accident; I hastened to inform the officers of this but they appeared uninterested. If the accident had been caused by drinking, perhaps I would have stable employment in the noble profession of giving patronising lectures to school children about the inevitable consequences of drinking and driving. Why, oh why, did it have to turn out like this?

Passing the Buck (Not My Problem)

Rodgers: What do you expect me to do; sweep and mop the floor? Do I really look like I have time for this?
Ulster: You look like you have all of the time in the world, Rodgers.
Rodgers: Hey, get bent, man. Ain't my fucking problem.

This is the sort of situation that could easily escalate into violence with the help of alcohol. Over here at the Friends & Family of Deceased Alcoholics Association and Preventative Network, where we finance completely unbiased research into methods of tackling the so-called binge drinking epidemic, we have come to a number of startling conclusions.

A.) The number of injuries and deaths related to alcohol could be seriously decreased with a few restrictive measures, like increasing the purchasing age limit, increasing the excise health taxes on alcohol products, and harsher penalties for convictions of violent, drunken behaviour. There are a few caveats, however; for example, though we want to tax alcohol in accordance to its social and medical toll, wine is a major industry over here, so we should probably just leave that completely alone. If we increase the taxes on only beer and spirits, binge drinking should be reduced by 50% in the first year of implementation. (What's missing, you might ask? The graphic photos of bloated livers, oral cancers, fried colons, etc. with simple and direct warnings, such as “DRINKING BEER AND/OR SPIRITS CAUSES LIVER CIRRHOSIS.”)

B.) The number of drunk drivers on our public roads is still far too high to be considered safe by even the most lenient of standards. Clearly, random breath-testing and pulling over reckless drivers is not enough; perhaps the frequency of random breath-testing should be increased, which can be paid for with another increase in beer and spirits taxes. More armed cops on the street, patrolling around to break up any booze-fueled brawls, paid for with yet another brand new vodka tax. Feel a little safer yet?

C.) The number of people who take alcohol consumption as a threat to society seriously is still not high enough to broadly change societal attitudes and habits towards alcohol. This is why we need to apply the immensely successful Tobacco Prevention Agenda, with alterations, to alcohol. Some reports are now saying that the cumulative effect from binge drinking on non-drinkers rivals that of the second-hand smoke emitted by a cigarette smoker fulfilling their hopeless, life-destroying addiction to nicotine. It is socially acceptable to walk up to a smoker and cough; and soon, it shall be quite similar to walk up to a drinker and spit in their filthy beer. People will finally come around to the simple fact that self-medication is not only unethical and dangerous, but also entirely unnecessary in the age of anti-depressants. See your doctor today.

Emotionally Independent Self-Empowerment

Nothing gets my goat more than someone becoming unreasonably upset;
Everyone seems to overreact to everything and my patience is limited.
I find no use in calming people and telling them not to fret.

They are all completely full of shit, in the end, and that's what you
Need to remember about them, because after all, nobody is looking
Out for you (they are all really mean jerks) so you should do.

Now that we have that little poem out of the way – it came to me as I was tending to the vegetable garden this morning, just a brisk stroke of literary, emotionally in-depth brilliance, and it would go really nicely with a good guitar riff, now that I think about it – it's time to focus on self-improvement, and more specifically, direct and measurable results from your efforts. You want results! You want action; you want change; you want hope; you want reform. You don't just want these things. You need them.

The first thing to always keep in mind is that the negative opinions of other people are irrelevant. Self-empowerment mandates that you ignore the criticisms of your friends and foes alike, who almost never have your best interests at heart. Through dedication and practice, you can succeed at whatever you want, and the detractions of others are entirely meaningless. As long as you believe in yourself, you will see results. Dedicated readers will appreciate that this has already been demonstrated thoroughly by a friend of mine named Rodney, whose emotionally independent self-empowerment techniques have allowed him to discard the insulting views of everyone around him, including those of law enforcement. “The law is just their opinion,” Rodney tells me.

People appreciate confidence. Even if they continue to insult you, mock you, and generally treat you poorly, when you exert confidence in all of your encounters they will eventually respect you. You can always gain someone's respect by being better than them. Always be the bigger man. You are what you act, and in the end, everyone is really acting, so act to be the best you can be. Of course, you need to practice. For example: you want to ask out someone on a date. The age-old advice of self-help gurus to “bang a bunch of other people with whom you feel no emotional attachment to instead to gear up your confidence” is still useful today. If someone rejects your offer, ignore their rejection through persistence (people appreciate persistence). If they do not find you attractive, they are lying to themselves; make sure they are aware of the truth.

Another key component in self-empowerment is to constantly try new things. Test your limits: date people twice your age; quadruple the number of days you wear underwear without washing it; eat cat food for lunch on a gloomy Wednesday; seek out to actually be informed before voting, etc. People will appreciate your open mindedness and ability to immerse yourself in different hobbies and cultures with a practiced sense of comfort. Most importantly, they will envy you, which will in turn possess them to attempt to seek a closer line of dialogue with you. If they are worth their salt, you can continue to keep the relationship going.

It is vital that you are conscious at all times of your status with other people, particularly those you value, but also others who you may need to use as pawns ('pawns' being those who one vaguely knows, enough to invite to a party, but not to stop and say hello on the street in daylight), so that you may manipulate the living shit out of people to suit your own needs. Tricking the masses is easy; spread hatred and/or misinformation, engaging in smear tactics (a lie need only repeated so many times to become truth, and sometimes insinuations are just as effective as outright lies, since they can be harder to deny). Lyndon B. Johnson once spread a rumor at the very end of a notorious congressional campaign that his primary opponent was sexually active with livestock, and the conversation with the adviser goes roughly like this: “We can't say that, there isn't even an ounce of evidence.” “Yes, but let's make the fucker deny it.” This is the sort of thing we are talking about (Johnson won the election, incidentally, and not without the help of some friendly county commissioners), or perhaps getting the many branches of the gigantic conglomeration of media outlets that you own to repeatedly report an otherwise barely existent flurry of controversy among the climatology community regarding the validity of modern climate change theory.

It is also possible to manipulate people individually. Let us suppose that you are hoping to forge a positive relationship, or enhance an existing one, with someone who seems to at first be non responsive. It is thus essential to create an aura of indispensability to surround your character. Slowly, as you become more and more essential to the daily function of the other person's life, they will be left no choice but to do exactly what you want them to do. If they show resistance of any kind, delay plans to increase the assertion of your authority until you can lull them back into a false sense of security. More about this fascinating topic, and just what how you can get exactly what you want, all of the time, is available whenever you come to my conferences, where I give you lectures accompanied with PowerPoint presentations. You will be absolutely blown away by the barrels of knowledge you will abandon the snazzy hotel function room keeping all for yourself. Now is the time to make the move, and treat yourself right – after all, who else is looking out for number one?

Throwing Wild Parties

When all is said and done, and you are rotting away in a retirement home, long since forgotten by all but your closest friends (and not even they are a safe bet), one thing you will be able to look back on is how, at the peak of your life, you were known for throwing a hell of a party. If people still remembered you, they would be constantly bothering you with solicitations for advice on how to ensure people have the wildly good times that you were once known for facilitating.

Sadly, though your once legendary parties are now a forever buried remnant of your spent past, future generations still have much to learn from your indulgent, hedonistic ways. I have taken the liberty of compiling some of your key strategies for partying in the hope that the obnoxious alcoholics of tomorrow will not be confused as to what to do in going about their chosen lifestyle path.

STEP ONE: FINANCIAL BACKING

Generally, when people inform you that having a good time does not necessarily cost money, they are hoping to deflect attention away from their empty wallets. If you have no cash, you should start looking to your friends immediately, either for direct financial support (which is preferable) or assistance in providing required items: beer, wine, spirits, chips, a glass pipe, and petroleum. The guests you invite to your party should hopefully also aid in the valiant effort by bringing their own alcohol supplies as well as illicit drugs.

STEP TWO: DECORATING

Many people tend to assume that decorating your home in preparation for a party can be quickly and easily accomplished. If you find this step to be particularly stress-free, you are certainly doing it incorrectly. Decorating does not merely mean covering the entire carpet in wine-resistant coating and putting up colourful banners and posters on random parts of your wall. You must also remember to hide all of your valuables (pro tip: no one ever checks the front yard, especially if it's raining). Experienced party throwers always know to lock up the fridge and pantry, and obscure the plentiful supply of toilet paper so that guests are more frugal with their wiping. You will also want to hide your towels.

STEP THREE: INVITATIONS

Invitations are often a complicated business, as you can never be entirely sure who of your average seeming acquaintances deserves to be invited into your humble abode. If you get extra selective in your invitation process, and the party turns out to be a flop, you feel like a total idiot; if you invite everyone you've ever had a thirty second conversation with, there's a great chance that those people will show up while your closer acquaintances will be busy exchanging bodily fluids in the privacy of a crumbling share house. You don't want either of these things to happen.

You will end up needing to go through your list of potential invitees individually, asking yourself the same question for each person: “How upset would I be if I found this person passed out naked on my couch in a pile of vomit just before I leave for work?” If the answer is “very upset,” you will want to reconsider what value this person will add to the intended atmosphere of your wild party.

STEP FOUR: FOOD

People who stand around drinking enormous amounts of alcohol rapidly while apparently engaging in conversation often experience a phenomenon known as 'munchies,' where their drunkenness leaves them with a voracious appetite that can only be cured by easy to prepare, popular, and generally unhealthy snack foods. People get more drunk if they have had less to eat prior to the commencement of their binge, so you will definitely want to hide any foodstuffs until a couple of hours into the party, in order to better facilitate the social comfortableness of those around you. You should probably stay ahead of the pack, on the other hand, and eat as filling and nourishing a meal as you possibly can. This gives you an enormous advantage much later in the evening when the frightening reality of sunrise occurring in a matter of mere hours begins to make everyone feel great amounts of sedated pain and despair.

STEP FIVE: DRINKING GAMES YOU'LL LOVE

The way to win over the populist sentiment at your gathering once a suitable number of players have arrived, of course, is to engage in heinous drinking games which force everyone to get ridiculously intoxicated. Here are a few classics:

* Wait until there is a long queue outside your bathroom door. Get a small group of people (5-7) and stand around the queue. Everyone takes a drink when you hear a flush. Everyone takes a drink when you hear the faucet being turned, implying that someone has just washed their hands. If someone does not wash their hands, the entire group gets to jump on the person in question as they exit the bathroom. This game encourages good hygiene and has the added benefit of being right next to the bathroom, where you and your friends will be spending a lot of quality time.

* Look for a group of smokers, probably situated in your backyard, and ask them for a cigarette. Tear up the cigarette and empty the tobacco into a bottle of vodka and let sit for two hours. Strain the tobacco from the vodka, mix it with soft drink, and serve it to anyone who looks like they have stayed inside for the entirety of the party. This is not so much a drinking game as it is a fun chance to watch people get very sick (remember, you get to clean up the mess later!).

* This game is an individual one, which you get to play on your own. Take a big swig of whatever alcoholic beverage of your choosing every time someone you have never seen before in your life comes up to you and says, “Dude, great party.” You may be able to get drunk simply playing this game and not drinking at other times. (If this is achievable, you have definitely “won.”)

STEP SIX: KICKING THESE ASSHOLES OUT

It's three in the morning. The police have already told you to stop making noise and start getting people home, and you are getting a little bit sick of all this bullshit, too, if you are being entirely honest with yourself. This is where a wondrous transition occurs: in one moment, you are friends with practically everyone who has invaded your home, and in the next, you are yelling at them all to get the fuck out right now or you'll start throwing broken bottles at them.

No matter how thorough your late-night purge, there will be stragglers. People will be found in all sorts of odd places, sleeping in highly amusing positions and making objectionable noises which prevent you from going close enough to them to check if they are still breathing. Occasionally you will find a completely silent body, and you will lean up to it to not only find that it is alive but also smells worse than your bathroom, which has had an incredible stench of projectile red wine vomit for about two hours now. The best strategy for your stragglers is to wait until you rise the next day – the chances are they will feel embarrassed and either leave without saying anything or stick around and help clean up.

STEP SEVEN: THE PROPAGANDA WAR

Finally, you need to win the propaganda war. A party is only as fun and exciting as it is made to seem on Facebook, and to win this particular social game you will need a camera as well as a willingness to take literally hundreds of mostly uninteresting photos. From this collection of photos you will remove the blurry, hopelessly mundane, and personally embarrassing, and subsequently upload the rest of them to your profile page, where you must then go through each photo and tag every single person in every single photo. This ensures that your party photos show up on a large number of other people's profiles, and people simply browsing a friend's profile will take note of their friend's attendance at this seemingly wild party where he features in half a dozen totally wacky photos. Everyone loves proof of shenanigans and hijinks, and more importantly, when your brain begins to finally show noticeable memory impairment due to years of heavy chronic alcohol abuse, you will still have your photos to remind you of what a great party you were capable of hosting.

And so, to all of those in tomorrow's generations who are preparing for a long livelihood of barely making ends meet while not actually doing anything productive, I hope you have found this advice helpful. One day you, too, will be rotting away in a retirement home and lamenting on your inability to steer society's youth in the wrong direction. Godspeed and God bless!