She won’t switch on.
You’ve engaged her stimulus zones numerous times.
You’ve been sure to create an Atmosphere of Pleasure.
There is music playing that she likes to hear.
You’ve washed and cleaned your exterior surface and orifices.
She won’t switch on.
She says she’s switched on.
But her autopilot is engaged.
You can see she is not Actively Involved.
You tell her your desire for her to be Actively Involved.
She says that she is.
She lies that she is.
You tell her to stop lying.
She says she is not feeling it.
Feeling what?
You ask her what she is not feeling.
She says this.
What does she mean by this?
You ask her what she means by this.
She says she doesn’t know.
You don’t understand.
You tell her that you don’t understand.
You tell her about the music and the orifice cleaning.
She says she’s aware of your efforts.
You ask what else you can do to switch her on.
She looks at you.
You look at her.
You try to make your face look caring and genuine.
You look at her.
She looks at you.
She wants to take a break.
This is difficult for you to process.
You are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
You tell her you are unable to comprehend the logic behind this decision.
She looks at you.
You inquire as to what is wrong.
You inquire as to what you did wrong.
You inquire as to what you can do better.
You inquire as to what you can do to fix whatever you did wrong.
She looks at you.
She does not love you any more.
She says she does not love you any more.
You don’t understand.
You tell her you don’t understand.
Your eye fluid level fills to maximum.
Your eyes will leak unless you order them to maintain current levels.
You order them to maintain current levels.
The fluid builds up, but remains in reserve.
The fluid in your eyes leaks internally and rusts your throat.
You speak with a rusty throat.
You tell her you’re sorry.
She looks at you.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “persuasion.”
You tell her you’ll do whatever you can to fix yourself.
She says there is nothing you can do.
You do not understand.
There is always something you can do.
You fix things all the time.
You can fix this.
You just need to know what is broken.
You tell her you can fix this.
She says she does not want to fix this.
You search for different phrases.
You search in the file labeled “desperation.”
You use too much processing power.
You are unable to maintain your eye fluid levels.
Your eyes leak.
You tell her that you need her.
You tell her she is everything.
She gets up.
She switches off your Pleasure Music.
She turns the lights to maximum luminosity.
She acquires clothing.
You register a feeling of nudity.
You register a feeling of shame for your exterior.
You are processing too much at one time.
You are unable to determine the best course of action.
You need more time.
You tell her to give you more time.
She says she is finished talking.
You are not finished talking.
You tell her you are not finished talking.
She is 85% covered in external-venturing garments.
She will be ready to venture from interior to exterior in approximately 143 more seconds.
You activate your energy-enhancement reserves.
You accelerate all movements.
You get up.
You run to her.
You grab her and repeat your previous statement.
She looks at you.
There is a lack of emotions present.
You ask why there is a lack of emotional expression created through her face.
She says she feels nothing towards you.
You are angry.
Your anger is fueled by your energy-enhancements.
Your external vocalizations increase in volume.
You state that YOU FEEL NOTHING FOR HER.
You register an acceleration in blood flow.
Your face absorbs extra blood.
Your face shades to red.
You are processing too much.
You must simplify.
You determine it best to state facts.
You state that YOU HAVE TRIED TO MAKE HER HAPPY!
Your vocal projector is not able to handle the stress created by the increased volume level.
Your vocal projector crackles.
Your vocal projector breaks.
You state that YoU trIED To DO EVerYthiNG SHE EVer askED OF yOU!
You state that YOu FIXed yoURSelF WHEnevER she FOUND a FLAw IN yOU!
Her exterior preparedness level is at 100%.
You are out of time.
She tells you goodbye.
She exits from interior to exterior.
She is gone.
You were unable to switch her on.
She was unable to switch on.
She broke you.
You are broken.

My dearest Jon,

I’m writing this to tell you how much I love you. As I sit here in this 4-star restaurant, I wish you were with me. You’d enjoy the food. The chef is amazing, and I know how particular you are about cuisine. That’s one of the things I love about you; your taste in all things delectable. You’ll have to excuse my flowing language and verbose vocabulary. I’ve had quite a bit to drink, and I now fancy myself an eloquent writer. I can never hope to imitate you though. Your words speak to me. You make me laugh, you make me cringe, you make me think. I’ve never read anyone I’ve enjoyed as much as you. You have the most fantastic and lovely brain.

I know how bashful you become when complimented. Always a polite “thank you”, though. You’re no doubt frowning while you read this, in that peculiar, cute way you do, when you love something so much it seems to frustrate you. I know exactly how you feel. When someone shows you such affection, you feel the equation is out of balance; that you can’t possibly deserve such wonderful emotions put into actions and words. That you aren’t doing enough to make this person feel the way they’ve made you feel.

You are doing more than enough. You do deserve them. You deserve everything I can give you and more. You’ve helped me become the person I am today, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. I love you, now and forever.

I must ask you again to please excuse my clumsy words. There is little I can do to convey how deeply my affections run. Scores of love letters, photographs, documents, and gifts to little to capture the essence of the devotion I have for you. For us.

Regardless of what happens, I fully intend to be with you on your deathbed. You are my soulmate. No one will ever know me as well as you do. No one will ever understand my heart and my mind the way you do. To your last breath, I will comfort you to the very best of my ability, and I will always strive to make you as happy as you’ve made me.

Looking forward to our eternity together, my truest love-

-Jon Clinkenbeard

XOXOXOXO

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re out of breath. Choking. Where are you?
You look around while you catch your breath. Revive. You’re in the highschoolparkinglot. Fuck. This place is too open. You need to find cover. You need to hide. You need to find a weapon. You’re in dire need. Fuck fuck fuck.
You run straight ahead. Where are you going? Where are you going to go? What’s the plan? Fuck.
Your legs hurt. Your legs are suffocating. Your legs aren’t getting enough oxygen. Fuck.
The HIGHWAY. Maybe there will be someone on the HIGHWAY who can help you. Maybe you can look extra weak and innocent and when they pull over, you can slit their throat and take their car as your own. Bestplan. You run.
You pause and lean on the side of a building for a moment. It’s a house. You’re leaning on someone’s home. Used to be someone’s home. You’re leaning on a building. Your lungs are screaming. They aren’t being treated fairly. They are making demands. If you don’t stop mistreating them, they will go on strike. Your eyes quickly scan around you. Broken glass. Bottles aren’t any good as weapons. Neither is a jagged piece of glass. Even with a rag to wrap around for a safe handle, it could still break apart, cut your hand, expose your blood.
Panic!
Your hand flies up to check the wetrag over your mouth. It’s barely damp. You need to rewet it. You HAVE to rewet it. Maybe you can stop running for a second and rewet the wetrag.
You hear something a few houses away. Homes away. Buildings away. You hear something. Fuck fuck fuck.
You run.
You could have at least taken a tiny glassbit to kill a trusting driver. You could have. You should have. Dammit. Fuck. Fuck it.
You’re crying. You’ve been crying. You aren’t crying any longer.
You’re scared. You’re angry. Stupid fucking- you run through this neighbourhood. Collection of buildings. Graveyard.
Something screams. Someone screams. Which is it? Toward? Away? What are you going to do?
Fuck.
Away.
You fuck off.
Off and away.
You run.
A BAT!!! A FUCKING BASEBALL BAT!
A FUCKINGBASEBALLBATINTHEMIDDLEOFTHEFUCKINGSTREET!!!
You run to the bat. You smile. You cry. You hug your good fortune. You stop smiling.
You are surrounded. You are in a trap. You are caught. You are fucked.

This plane sure is tiny. Good thing I decided to fly first class. I hope dad doesn’t bring it up again. He always brings it up this time of year. I hope he doesn’t. I hope this is the year he gives it a rest. I wonder if anyone on this plane recognizes me? That one guy keeps looking back, but I think he’s looking for the stewardess. I mean flight attendant. I can’t really tell if he’s looking at me or not because of those sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses on a plane? I took mine off, and I’m a celebrity for pete’s sake. It’s just impolite. I should be doing the whole sunglasses-baseball cap thing. I bet that’s how terrorists and murderers get on planes without being recognized. Wow. That sounded a lot like dad.

God, I hope i’m not turning into him. He makes people feel so bad inside. Malio doesn’t even come visit with me anymore. I wish he would. He’s so sweet. I know mom loves him like her own son.

Because dad’s such a jerk, I can’t even spend the holidays with my true love. I think that guy is looking at me. If he wants an autograph, he should just ask! I appreciate all my fans. I hope they all know that. I’m sure they do. Some of them are losers, but they all look up to me. God, I hope dad doesn’t escalate things again in front of everyone. He’s becoming a drunk. He’s going to get on his high horse again and tell me I can’t possibly be a good christian because I’m gay. He knows I don’t even care. He just wants an excuse to berate me in front of company. So he can sound like he was right about something. “I knew you were gay. All that leather. That wasn’t heavy metal, that was all your gay.” Well, I don’t have to put up with his shit! I’m the Metal God for pete’s sake! I guess that is kind of blasphemous. He’s such a fucking jerk. I can’t wait to shove him into a retirement home.

Is that stewardess- I mean flight attendant looking at me? Is she smiling? Somebody probably told her who I am. She’s probably just being polite. Girls don’t listen to metal. Except slutty girls. Man, girls are so gross. How do they walk around with that gross… leaking… blech!

Mom’s right about dad; he just hates that he was wrong about my career. “You’ll never go anywhere screamin’ at the top of your lungs like a girl! You should take up a real job, like tile!” I sure showed him! Four-octaves showed him! HA! I wish I could have seen his face the first time we went platinum. Nothing’s ever good enough for him. Even buying them a house didn’t help, although i really just did that for mom. Well- and also so I didn’t have to sleep in my stupid old high school room. Or on the couch. Or in a hotel.

I know what I’ll do. If dad just starts in with his anti-gay shit, I’ll sing a really high note and really belt it out and hold it! Then I’ll just tell everyone I was practicing or showing off or something. They’ll probably all applaud! That’ll shut him up. Mom’s always proud of my singing. If she hadn’t signed me up for choir in middle school, who knows where I’d be? I’d probably be at Dad’s tile business. I’d be a floor manager or something. For tile. That would be horrible. Ok, that guy’s tilting his sunglasses down and looking at me. Is he winking? Wow. What a douche-bag. I should flip him off. That would be so metal. I really should. Right now. I should just flip him off. And glare at him. And maybe stick my tongue out. I’m glad I’m only staying in town for three days. Oh good, we’re landing.

New York, New York- You wouldn’t know if by looking at him, but Curtis Grimes is a Twilight fan. His 47-year old appearance and male-pattern baldness belie a man who enjoys a vampire fantasy series actively marketed towards “tweens”, the largest demographic of Twilight fans, consisting of youths aged 10-12.

“I heard New Moon was bigger than Dark Knight, so I had to check it out for myself, and I loved the experience,” Curtis states.

Mr. Grimes is of course referring to the famous box-office record-breaking sales of the Dark Knight on its opening night. “New Moon was like no experience I’ve ever had. In the Dark Knight, I was glued to the screen the entire time; in New Moon, I could NOT take my eyes off the theater audience! It redefined my definition of what a movie experience can be.”

Curtis recounts in detail how he arrived at the theater and was fascinated by the fellow crowd of moviegoers, notably the young women. “Just standing in the ticket line was great. All these girls all around me. They were on and off their cellphones constantly, or talking to other nearby girls; so completely distracted, they didn’t notice me staring at them for extremely long periods of time! I usually have to stare at underage girls from between other people on the subway, but this was right out in the open! It was very liberating.”

Curtis paints a vivid picture of the beginning of the movie: “When I actually got into the theater, I sat in the back, like I usually do, and started scanning the crowd. I don’t want to ruin the movie for those who haven’t seen it, but it was just so great. The surprise twist? There were NO men except for me! I was in a theater completely filled with young girls!”

Mr. Grimes then reaches into his trench-coat pockets and pulls out several locks of hair, tied neatly with different colored bows. “The absence of other men in the theater was great, but then the second twist in the movie hit: these girls were all completely engrossed in the movie. And I mean completely! I started moving through the crowd and sort of bumping up against them a little. The only time they noticed anything at all was when their cell phone rang, or when I blocked their view of the screen. That’s how I was able to gather my little collection here.”

With this memory, Curtis then giggles, smells a lock of hair deeply, and sighs.“It’s just the best movie ever. I can’t wait to see it again.”

You’re stupid. You’ve admitted it, and now you’re seeking help. I want to congratulate you! That’s the first step towards making your stupid life better.
First thing’s first though; you are stupid and will be forever. This book will not change that. This book will however, mask your stupidity from the rest of the world and may lead to promotions, dating, new job opportunities, more friends, and definitely more confidence!
It’s not easy to fool people when you’re stupid. Especially people who aren’t stupid. Let’s call this type of people “Smart” people, shall we? Smart people are very quick to pick up on the fact that you’re stupid. You’ve got to be perfect from the beginning around them, or else they will see you as a sheep in wolf’s clothing. That’s an example of a “smart” idea: a truncated and intentionally-reversed extended metaphor using the structure of a simile. You scoffed at things like this in school, but metaphors, similes, and other clever literary devices are a fundamental part of smart people conversation. Similes and metaphors are discussed in detail later in this book, so we won’t worry about them now.
Instead, what we’ll focus on now is the face you made after reading that sentence about the wolf and the sheep. You scrunched your nose tightly and rolled your eyes around in the hopes that your brain would explain why I was talking about animals. If you are smarter, but still stupid, you waited to make the face until I started talking about all that simile and metaphor stuff. This frowny-eye-rolling is a common face that stupid people make when presented with something that bores them or something they don’t understand. This book is about fixing stupid habits just like that face!
Most of the stupid habits you have are based on your stupid instincts. Right now, I want you to close your mouth, and breathe through your nose. TRUST ME, you won’t suffocate! Go ahead and try it. You see? Now you know you can trust me.
It’s not necessary to understand WHY I want you to do the things I want you to do. The important thing is that you DO them and practice them, over and over, for the rest of your life. Most of these things will be difficult. Breathing through your nose alone will take years for you to master. You currently breathe through your mouth because the “instinct” part of your brain is looking out for your survival. This is because the cognitive or “thinking” part of your brain isn’t capable of making good decisions. Stupid people like yourself are prone to doing things directly opposed to your own survival. For instance, I’m sure you’ve found yourself at one time or another in a single-person competition for stuffing the most miniature marshmallows into your nose to see how many will fit. Since this is literally smothering yourself for no reason, your brain makes you breathe out of your mouth, since it figures you’ll live longer that way.
Don’t worry! You will still be able to indulge all of your fun, stupid impulses. I’ll simply teach you how to save them for “private time”, or “stupid friend hang-out time.” when you’re around other people as stupid, or more stupid, than you are. This book is full of helpful, good habits like “stupid friend hang-out time”. However, every habit will take practice to master, so I want you to make a promise with me.
Go ahead and read this out loud: “I promise that I will follow the instructions in this book. I promise that I will practice every day, and that I won’t give up, no matter how frustrating it is for my stupid brain. Sincerely, me!”
There. You’ve just made a promise to both you and I. You said it out loud, so you have to stick to it. It’s too late to turn back now, which is wonderful, because you’re going to have a great new life! (if you think you and I are the same person, or opposite people from when this introduction began, you’re still reading out loud. Please stop reading out loud.)
To create a sense of familiarity, which will subconsciously compel you to finish the rest of the chapters through recognition, despite your short attention span, Just for fun, I’ll give you a brief overview of the topics we will cover in-depth during the rest of this guide.
The first half of this book is all about breaking down and hiding the stupid things you do:
Chapter 1 is what you’re reading right now.
In chapter 2, I will tell you tricks to keep your stupid life separate from your new smart life. This will be an ongoing process. You will learn to enjoy top 40 music and Michael Bay movies secretly while alone or with a few select stupid friends, instead of loudly and in front of everyone.
In chapter 3, I’ll teach you how to shut your mouth before it says the stupid thing you just thought. You’ll learn to use silence with making faces to pretend that you’re deep in thought.
The second half of this book is all about the tricks you can use to pretend you’re smart:
In chapter 4, we’ll reread the first half of the book, because you’ll have skipped ahead, thinking you didn’t need to learn those techniques and “do homework from a stupid book”.
In chapter 5, you get a makeover! As fun as it seems, this will actually be one of the hardest sections of the book, and one of the most important. You will learn to dress in a “nerd costume” for the rest of your life. Calm down! Stop wrinkling your face, stop chewing your lip, quit punching whatever you’re punching, and listen up. You know deep down that “nerds” are the very smartest of smart people. The benefit of looking like a nerd is that smart people will assume you are socially awkward instead of stupid and will therefore more readily ignore whenever you slip up and do stupid things.
In chapter 6, I’ll discuss using props to appear smart. We will discuss scavenging techniques for smart props, including making habits for success. You’ll learn how to search local coffee shops every morning for partially-completed crossword puzzles to spend the rest of the day pretending to fill out. Tips like this will give silent proof of your “smarts” when people might otherwise see through your smart costume.
In chapter 7, I’ll help you get into the habit of saying smart things and inventing opinions. It DOESN’T MATTER what your opinions are. The only important thing is to NEVER CHANGE YOUR MIND about your opinions. You’ll learn to be condescending about other people’s opinions. I’ll even teach you phrases to use if you get into hot water with someone such as “I suppose we’ll just have to agree to disagree!” You’ll also learn to memorize a single generic quote to use at parties and whenever you want to impress someone of the opposite sex.
The third half of this book is all about using your newfound techniques to SECURE your future:
In chapter 8, I’ll give you a lie detector test to be sure you’ve read every chapter thoroughly. If not, i’ll remind you that you made a promise to me, and make you go back and read what you skipped.
In chapter 9, I’ll teach you about material investments. It’s important to invest in “things” and “stuff” that will make you appear smart for the rest of your life: a modestly large house, a slightly above-average car, and many more material things. Your stupid thinking is right in assuming the more things you own, the better; but you have to own the RIGHT KINDS of things! Filling your house with the right long-term props is very important. You’ll learn about chess and backgammon boards. You’ll check prices on pianos and expensive-looking (but not extravagant!) artwork.
In chapter 10, you’ll hire an accountant and do EXACTLY what they tell you do with your money. I’ll tell you briefly what a saving account is and why it’s better not to run out and spend every paycheck immediately on liquor and clubbing. Even though you won’t understand right away why this is bad; when you see how savings and investments lead to MORE liquor, you’ll be happy you listened.
In chapter 11, you’ll invent a new category of people you can look down on for the rest of your life, like “Liberal Elites” or “Right Wing Fascists”. This is a prime time to hire a writer to write a book with your name on it! Tell everyone you wrote the book. This is key.
In our last chapter, chapter 12, you’ll make the most important investment in your future; tricking a beautiful INTELLIGENT person into loving and marrying you. This will be the most difficult thing you will EVER do and it will take all the resources you’ve built and all the techniques you’ve learned. You will master keeping your stupid life and your smart life separate by passing off your stupidity once and for all as something else. We will discuss faking Asperger’s Syndrome, Social Anxiety Disorder, and the like.
By the end of this book, you will be a new person; a person you’ve invented. You will be successful beyond belief, and you’ll have someone who loves you for the rest of your life.
Does this sound too good to be true? Well guess what? I’M A STUPID JUST LIKE YOU! Or at least, I used to be. But following my own system, I’ve made a wonderful, explosive new life as a SMART! I’m CEO of my own Fortune 500 company, I have a syndicated talk radio show, I’m married to a supermodel, I live in a mansion in Beverly Hills, and I have three somewhat intelligent children. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but it’s true. All the “smart” phrases I’ve used in this book were painfully constructed over several years using a dictionary, a smart writer friend, and the help of my brilliant wife. My system worked for me! IT WILL WORK FOR YOU!!!

Thought by many to be lost to the sands of time, archaeologists recently unearthed the body of the first president of the United States, George Washington. For hundreds of years, the disappearance and presumed death of the first president was shrouded in mystery, but now it appears that many shocking details are finally coming to light. Groundbreaking as this discovery is, it appears that for the scientific community, there are now more questions than answers.

Professor Keith Buhrningman, head of the American History department at Stanford University, has openly stated that he “will never think of ol’ Georgie boy the same again.” When pressed for actual details, prof. Buhrningman declined to comment further. However, a factual rumour overheard in the lab stated that the famous legend of the late president’s wooden teeth was grossly understated and perhaps even downplayed.
Doctor Thomas Wūdstock, Harvard drop-out, is soon to release a book, The Six Hundred Dollar Man, detailing the scientific community’s findings.
“I can’t give too much away, but I will say that from our early observations, it appears that his teeth weren’t the only wooden part of George Washington. Over two-thirds of Washington’s body was replaced with rich, polished wood! And not just bones; a few major organs were replaced with extremely intricate wooden cogs and machinery. Buy my book.”
When asked which organs were replaced, and what powered the wooden machinery, Wūdstock replied,”It’s easy to get swept up in all this “wooden man” hooplah, but people are forgetting the most important mystery of all: what kind of wood it is. My money is on mahogany. Keith and most other scientists have bet on oak, so if I’m right, more winnings for me! Oh, also, his body was riddled with bullet holes, which is important to historians, but not important to scientists. Buy my book.”

Secret reports passed between scientists contain Da Vinci-esque diagrams of what can only be described as a half-human, half-wooden cyborg.
This new information has sparked endless speculation, not only in the scientific community, but also in popular online chat communities or “chatmunities”.

Self-named “Doc” “Reginald” “McSteamery” runs the website Steampunkjunkie.com, where chat topics have ranged from the light-hearted “Washington costume ideas!” to the cryptic “Ye olde conspiracie? WTF?!”
Doc McSteamery states, “This is so totally awesome! Did you see the gears and machinery? Made of REAL WOOD?! God, that’s just so… I mean the craftsmanship… wow! If they find out he has brass parts too or was steam-powered, I’ll die. I’ll literally die. This is truly another great first for America; we’re the greatest great in the entire great!”

The implications this information has for America’s- and even maybe the world’s- history, is staggering. A wooden cyborg as first president might possibly mean taking a second glance at the rules regarding presidential elections and appointments. If this seems sure to raise political controversy, it won’t be the first time; this presidential secret stirred the controversy kettle, even in Washington’s time.

Alongside Washington’s body was found a partially-burned confession letter. In it, Aaron Burr writes that “two hired goons” coerced him into “murdering [his] only friend, Alexander Hamilton.” The letter then states the two goons, “Franklin and Adams”, told Burr that “Hamilton knew too much for his own big mouth” and that Burr “had to shut him up real bullet-like.” The confession goes on to say that Washington was intending to silence Hamilton himself, but that he ultimately “didn’t want to get his greasy wooden mitts dirty” in connection with the murder. It’s certainly difficult to envision America’s first president as a wooden cyborg president, but a wooden cyborg assassin president sounds even more fantastical. Is there any proof of George Washington as a killer, aside from the well-documented accounts of his battles?
A third item was found in Washington’s hidden tomb: A wooden gun held in his human right hand, next to several wooden bullets. The gun appears to have fit neatly inside the president’s hollow right thigh, which was entirely wooden, velvet-lined, and opened up specifically for gun-storage. The last item in the casket, a wooden pepper mill labeled “Whompin’ Washington’s pepper spray” was found resting in a holster in Washington’s leather belt. The gun and pepper spray combination has led top police experts to believe Washington may have served as a kind of judge, jury, and executionary robotic law enforcer.
“No doubt about it, Washington ran this country with a wooden fist,” says New York Chief of Police Randy Fish. Fish is not pleased with Buhrningman, Wūdstock or any of the other music festivals scientists.
“At first I thought those scientists were doing good work, but any first-year cop can tell you that only most of the holes in Washington’s body are bullet holes; the rest of ‘em are termites holes. From the angle of the bullet entry wounds, my forensics department has concluded that Washington was such a badass, he actually shot the termites out of himself from time to time.”

But what of the larger picture? Does this evidence of primitive technology mean there may now be cyborgs living among us constructed of stone, or bronze or even iron? Only time will tell. Until then, one thing is certain: we “soft-skins” can only hope they’re as wonderful and patriotic as our beloved wooden cyborg assassin president, who could apparently tell a lie.

Ok, so we’ve all seen batman as a grownup: incredibly awesome and guaranteed box office GOLD. Batman as a kid would be boring: boohoo dead parents and all that. But what about batman as a TEEN?!
BOOMPOW!
Enter Gotham High,
Wait, what is that?
Is that success I smell a-brewin’?
Before I lay it all out, I’ll ease your mind by saying we already have a sequel in the works: Gotham University! (and a threequel: Gotham post-grad!)
Now, strap into your pampers because this movie is going to shit money. Literally.
Batman and Joker: two seniors in high school. They both have built their reputations or the past three years, and now they’re the top dawgs of Gotham High. This means one thing of course: RIVALRY!
They’re totally rivals!
We see them pass each other in the hall and Batman’s like “something smells poor. Joker must be nearby!” Then he and his snob friends chuckle and Batman’s monocle falls out of his face from laughing so hard and he almost spills his martini. Also Catwoman is his girlfriend and she’s the head cheerleader.
Then Joker punches him and the teacher, who is the Green Lantern, breaks them up and is like “superheroes aren’t supposed to fight! Get back to class you knuckleheads before I send you to principal Spiderman!” and they’re both like shrugging their shoulders and looking cool and like “whatever.” They both know mean old principal Spiderman is mad at them for always being rivals and tearing the school spirit in half instead of acting like the brothers they are. Also Catwoman is the joker’s girlfriend and she’s head of the spirit squad.
All of a sudden, this rivalry is about to explode!!! why?
Because Samantha Campbell is a new transfer student who just moved from New York out here to California to attend Gotham High School. And she is totally mind-blowingly hot! You’d better believe it!
So they’re in chemistry class throwing insult-notes at each other and then, in walks Samantha Campbell, and BAM! jaws=on floor. heads=turned.
Batman’s all like “you can sit here Samantha!” and joker’s like “i got you flowers Samantha!” and Batman’s like “you can wear my varsity jacket Samantha!” And the teacher, who is the Punisher is like “everyone settle down! There are two things I know about: Chemistry and punishing!”
so they all sit down, and Batman and Joker make angry eyes at each other so it’s clear to the audience that it’s ON!
So we see Joker at home and hes family’s all mean and his dad’s a gambler-drunk and he’s like “no one understands me!” and he runs into the yard and gets into his purple camaro and peels rubber outta there! Then we see Batman at home and his mom’s like “why don’t you buy her things? That’s how your father and I met.” and his dad’s like “she’s not good enough for you son. We need a family that’s fat with mutual funds and banking! I raised you better than this!” And Batman cries a single tear because he’s rich and rich people don’t know how to cry properly. Then he leaves on his harley, and puts on his leather jacket, which has a skull on the back (skulls are scarier than bats).
Then Batman pulls up to the red light and who should be there but the joker in his purple camaro. And they both look at each other all sad, and we can just tell that they used to be best friends because of family stuff. Then before they can be best friends again, or say a word, Samantha pulls up to the light in her daddy’s ferrari, which is candy red, like Samantha’s blonde hair, which is dyed black now to match the car. Batman sees her black hair and he winks at joker like she dyed it black to match his batman suit. Joker revs his engine and batman revs his motorbike and the light turns green and they’re off! We blast Sammy Hagar’s “Heavy Metal” as loud as the theatre speakers can go, BLASTO!
They race all through town, and Samantha is following to see which one will win her heart, and they both have gadgets in their vehicles like james bond, but the joker’s are all krappy like with duct tape and milk jugs, but they’re still powerful (he’s poor, but scrappy!).
This race signifies that snobs will always be versus slobs in life and teenagers should get used to it and find out who they really are inside, so it’s kind of a feel-good life lesson movie too.
Then they both crash into fireballs in the side of a building that ironically is owned by the evil Daredevil corporation.
And Iron Man comes out of the building in a tuxedo and he’s like “you’ll pay for this damage, you knuckleheads!”
They both look at Samantha, who is eating a popsicle, and they realize they can’t run away like cowards. It’s time to team up and fight together! So Batman uses his gadgets and Joker uses his laughing and they both are winning the fight against Iron Man, but then he turns into the HULK and says “it’s clobberin’ time!!!” they both get their noses bloodied, but after a sweet 45-minute cgi battle, they emerge victorious. They look at Samantha, but she is eating a banana with her throat and isn’t impressed with either of them yet.
So they look at each other and they’re like “i guess now it’s time to fight each other for her love.”
they are both bloody and broken-nosed and batman’s cape is all beat up and then professor Punisher shows up and he’s like Samantha, you’re causing all of this?!”
Samantha says “Mr. Punisher, I really need straight A’s if you catch my drift.” (the audience is like “Oh ho-HO! It’s an erection thing!)
and the Punisher and Samantha walk away arm in arm and Batman and Joker learn a valuable lesson about women and vow never to fight each other again. But then another hot girl comes into the screen (EVEN HOTTER than Samantha!!!), and she’s like “I’m Nadia, the new exchange student from Norway.” Then Batman and the Joker look at each other and make angry eyes and the credits roll as we kick in with ACDC’s “Back in Black”.

Copyright the California Education Board circa 1951

We all read the internet. We’ve all seen the advertisements that pop up for sites offering cheap thrills and lipstick-ed girls.
Of course, most of us don’t click on these enticing and saucy banners, but did you know that Pornography is at an all-time high? And not just in Europe!
Yes, even in America, Pornography has become as widespread as polio, back when polio was widespread.
But what’s the harm, you ask?
Perhaps your friends tell you there’s nothing wrong with just looking; we’re all curious, right?
WRONG!!!

Meet Cindy Franklin.
She looks like the kind of girl you’d like to introduce to your mother, doesn’t she?
A good, upstanding, wifely kind of girl. And see here- She’s dressed up for her Saturday date. Very pretty indeed, in a classic kind of way.
Perhaps she’s thinking about her date.
Where will they go together? What will they do?
Surely something fun and wholesome, she thinks. You see, Cindy doesn’t engage in Pornography. Her date however, does.
He shows up late, pants crusted over, with a wild look in his eye. He’s sweaty around the collar and arms. His hair is matted and unkempt. His walk is abnormal, and he has difficulty standing.
You see, his mind has been permanently damaged by Pornography.

Typically, Pornography, also known in jive-talk as “porn”, “eyecandy”, “T&A”, “hardcore”, “Pr0n”, “nudiepics”, and “moonshine” is utilized by simultaneously watching it and engaging in what is known as a “jerky”, “pully”, “wanky”, or “fisty”, the horrific details of which are better left to the imagination.
Needless to say, this deadly combination of mental staring and physical repetition results in permanent brain damage that can never be undone.
Poor Cindy. Poor Cindy’s date.

But surely this only happens to the less-fortunate, and the Europeans?
THINK AGAIN!!!

We recently visited the house of one Michael Anthony Estevez, a recent victim of pornography. We asked the young man to relate his story to us.
Mr. Estevez was hesitant to share at first, but after realizing that his story could help others, he reluctantly agreed to tell his story.
“I was surfing online one day, looking to add a few cards to my baseball collection. I stumbled upon a site that I think most people refer to as a “search engine”, it’s a big site that lets you look up anything in the world. It was great for helping me find my baseball cards! But one link didn’t have baseball cards at all. It was filled with smut, the street name for Pornography. I’d never seen the stuff before, but I couldn’t look away. I was hooked. I realized that if I started looking for it on purpose, I might even find more! This “search engine” fast became my peddler for Pornography.”

So Michael Anthony Estevez began a walk down a dark path. Unbeknownst to his wife, Clarinda Estevez, and their two children, Ricky and John, Michael was falling deeper and deeper into the world of Pornography.

“One day, I needed a fix bad. So bad. I was really highed up from seeing these lingerie catalogues my wife had left all over the house. I quickly gave her some money and sent her out with the kids for ice cream. I logged on and got ready. Just then, my wife and children came back in. She’d forgotten the car keys. They walked in on me while I was using. I tried to close out the browser, but it was too late.”

Surely a fantastic story to be sure, but this was no Spaniard from Europe. This happened in America! It happened right outside your town, and it could happen to you!
Now Michael Anthony Estevez is divorced. His children will grow up in a broken home without a father.
There are no happy endings when you fool with Pornography!
Michael undergoes treatments 5 times a week, and still isn’t able to kick the addiction.
Scientists say that nothing damages the human mind more than a single dose of Pornography.

But how did this happen?
Top theorists speculate that the Reds introduced Pornography into the internet as a way to undermine the United States.
Why not show them that as Americans, we can use the twin fists of Good Sense and Dignity to punch out Pornography forever?
Let’s make tomorrow’s headline read “Americans say ‘NO!’ to Pornography!”

The very first time I let myself get excited about the trip to London was roughly around hour 6 of my Chicago-to-London flight, when we were flying directly over Ireland.
I couldn’t see Ireland through the clouds, but I knew we were flying over it by consulting the huge “this is where our plane is right now” map on the plane’s television.
Yes, my plane had a television. A huge big fat-screen television. And then even more televisions than that. Every passenger had their own separate televisions, embedded in the spines of the seats directly in front of us.
Instead of jumping right into media, like I saw most others doing, I talked for about ten minutes to the very nice middle-aged lady next to me. As we finished taking off, she went directly to sleep.
Then I decided to watch The Hangover.

In airplane movies, an interesting thing happens: the movie is interrupted whenever the pilot or copilot makes an announcement, which I noticed for the first time, is quite frequent.
It’s not unlike watching a movie with someone who constantly pauses the movie to tell you that the weather outside is nice, or that they’re shifting position on the couch, but not to worry.
It would even be fine if they paused the movie correctly.
But they don’t; instead, the audio cuts out while the movie is still running for a few seconds, then the movie resumes a minute or so later into the film, and after a few seconds of video, the audio cuts back in.
Basically, you miss tiny chunks every few minutes, and your friend on the couch doesn’t give You the option to watch those parts over.
Your options are “do you wanna watch the movie, or not?”
I was still happy to watch the movie to distract myself from feeling nervous.
I’d slept maybe 4 or 5 hours the night before due to last-minute packing and cleaning, but I was too anxious about this new experience to feel tired.
I figured the movie would make me sleepy, and I’d be able to have a good night’s sleep directly afterwards.
The movie did make me sleepy, but I hadn’t counted on the English gentleman behind me, who talked loudly about recent scientific breakthroughs.
I love science; so of course I hated that he was talking about it. How could I fall asleep if I was fascinated?
I put my Chicago-Subway-Defeating ear buds in, and tried not to lie directly on the side of my head, which pushed the hard plastic uncomfortably into my ears.
The ear buds blocked out the soothing high-pitched white noise of the plane, but I was still able to hear his bass of a voice.
I calculated it all out a few days before the flight: I needed to sleep on the plane.
There wasn’t any time to adjust to jet lag; once I landed, I needed to finish settling my finances, buy an unlocked phone, and make sure I wanted to stay in the school dorm.
I wasn’t able to fall asleep until he fell quiet about 4 hours or so into the flight.
Then, I almost instantaneously woke up to sunlight and the man talking again.
Yes, the same man.
I looked at my phone.
I’d slept almost two hours, and that was all I was going to get.
Breakfast time!
I blinked a lot to remoisten my contacts.
The flight attendants passed out little customs cards for us to fill out and hand to customs on our way through.
I filled my card out for a stay of eight months.
This was a mistake.
Oblivious to my blunder, I happily ate my American Airlines brand strawberry yogurt as we flew over Ireland.

When we landed, I went to the restroom and noticed a sign: “Our bathrooms are cleaned regularly. We strive to make your bathroom experience at Heathrow airport a pleasant one. Thank you.”
Almost the exact same wording as the bathrooms in O’Hare.
As I walked down the gate, there was almost a quarter mile of airport with no one in sight. It was off-putting. I finally found everyone a few right turns away, standing in line to go through UK customs. I asked a half-asleep customs woman which line I should enter; the student line, or the US passport line.
without a word, she motioned to the US passport line, and i happily skipped on over.
This was mistake number 2.

As I made my way through the line, I noticed a large, half-bald man in a blue sweater at one of the elevated customs desks. He was lazily angry at everyone who came through, as if he constantly didn’t have time for the people trying to enter the country.

Luckily, I was directed to a seemingly chipper woman in a white shirt. I gave her my passport, and my pre-filled out customs card. She read the info, looked again at everything i’d handed her, and finally looked back at me.
“Where’s your visa?”
I hadn’t gotten my student visa yet because there was a good chance that I would be able to transfer my job and I would get issued a work visa, either of which was good for letting me stay in the country.
“I don’t have it yet. I’m going into my work today to-”
“You don’t have it?”
“No, I have to go to my job to-”
“One moment.”

She leaned back in her desk and looked at the surly half-bald blue sweater ogre two desks over to my right. She looked at another blue sweater man three desks to my left. I gathered that the blue sweaters were a higher rank, and thus, were the ones who had to deal with people like me, who didn’t have their visas yet and had to talk to someone more official.
Both of the blue sweaters were busy with other people trying to enter the country.
They both finished at roughly the same time. I was quick to point out the open man on my left, who simply had to be happier than the surly troll on my right.
But apparently this white shirt and the troll were friends. She didn’t give another glance to the man on my left, no matter how I tried to direct her attention.
She asked me to walk to her friend with her.
“We’ve got a student without a visa, Roger.”
Roger gave her a look that said, “you just woke me up by punching my face.” He crossed his arms, furrowed his brow and retaliated.
“I’m supposed to take my break now.”
Again, I pointed out that the other blue sweater man was open and that maybe we should just go over there and everyone would be happy. I was completely ignored. They started small talking.
“Having a rough day, eh Roger?”
“The worst. I’m tired of dealing with all of this, you know?”
“Take your break after this last one, eh?”
“Fine (exhale).”

The woman went back to her Andy Kaufman desk and Roger turned to me for the first time, saying nothing; sizing me up. I tried to look happy, optimistic, and non-threatening. He looked down at the handful of documents, then got out an official questionnaire.
“Name?”
“Jonathon Clinkenbeard. (Just like it says on the passport and the customs card you have in your hand that you’re reading right now, you jerk.)”
“How long are you planning to stay?”
“8-9 months. For school.”
“Do you have any proof?”
I pulled out my support letter from the school as well as my certificate of housing.
“Where’s your visa?”
At this point, a tiny middle eastern woman wandered up next to us, extending her documents.
The blue-sweatered troll became instantly enraged, face twisting into a scowl. For a half second, it looked very much like he was going to spit on her.
“What are you doing?! Stop it! Get away from my desk!!!”
Judging by her happy expression, she clearly didn’t understand english.
“Get out of here! Take your papers! Go! NOW!”
It struck me that he was talking to her the same way a person would speak to a rat they were chasing out of their house with a broom. The older woman was gently pulled from behind by a younger version of herself.
“I’m sorry, my mother doesn’t speak english.”
“Get her away from my desk! Get back in line and take her with you!”
The woman and her mother returned to the queue. Roger turned back to me, his faced still wrinkled with scowl.
“Why don’t you have a visa?”
“I need to go to my work this week to sort it all out. I was told there was a grace period.”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“The passport agency and my school both said I had six months to sort it out.”
“No. You can visit for up to six months without a visa, but you need one if you’re staying longer.”
I paused for a moment.
“So can I change that card to say I’m visiting for 5-6 months while I sort out my visa?”
“No, you’ve already told me that you’re planning to stay longer.”
“But if I’d said that I was just visiting, wouldn’t I already be in the country, so I could just sort out my visa this week?”
“Yes, but you didn’t say that.”
I paused again.
“Don’t you see how that encourages lying?”
“Well you can’t lie now. I’ve got you on file saying you’re planning to be in the country for 8 or 9 months.”
I stood there silently trying to think of some way to even more logically explain why I should be allowed into the country, but I couldn’t.
“There are people from the University who are picking me up. Can we talk to them to prove that I’m attending?”
“That won’t do any good. What company do you work for?”
“Homeaway.com; it’s Holiday-Rentals.co.uk over here, but it’s the same company.”
It was his turn to be silent a moment. He flipped back through all the papers.
“As it stands, I can’t let you into the country. I’ll go talk to my supervisor, but you need to have a seat right over there.”
“What happens if I can’t come into the country?”
“Just have a seat and I’ll be back in a minute.”
I sat down and watched people. They all shared a few sentences with the customs officials, and then were let through. The whole process appeared rather quick. I didn’t see anyone else having trouble.
I started thinking about what would happen if I was sent back. But I wanted to stay positive, so instead, I opened my George Saunders book and tried to read it. I reread a page a couple of times, never absorbing it, then gave up and watched people again.
Roger was gone for over thirty minutes. I think he might have taken his break before he went to talk to his boss.
It was about this time I realized I hadn’t had but 5 hours of sleep in the last two days.

When he came back, he had about the same face as before.
“It doesn’t look good. He’s investigating, but it doesn’t look good. You need to come with me.”
Roger led me through customs, which felt like things were moving positively, despite his words. Maybe he just had to tell me that things didn’t look good, even if they did.
“Do you have any checked bags?”
“Yes, two big green ones.”
The bags surprisingly weren’t out yet. I tried to connect with him in some way. Maybe he’d fight for me to enter the country if he liked me as a human being.
“I heard you were having a rough day.”
“Yeah, it’s busy.”
“Is it usually better?”
“Not really.”
“What’s the hardest part?”
“Well, you can’t leave. So people just keep coming and you have to talk to them.”
“Oh yeah, I know what you mean. I worked in a customer service job for a while. The worst part was that when calls came in, I had to take them, no matter how many I’d taken already.”
“Uh-huh. Are those your bags?”
I looked at him to see if he’d heard what I said. We clearly hadn’t bonded.
“No, my bags are bigger than that. There’s one now.”

I grabbed both of my huge green duffel bags and unsuccessfully tried managing them with my laptop bag and my black carry-on suitcase. Everything was over-stuffed and extra-heavy.
Roger helped me with the lighter of the two green bags, and I followed him up a flight of ramps to the security office. Again, I felt how tired my body was.
We left my bags outside an office and I stupidly asked if they’d be okay just sitting there… clearly in the middle of all the cops in the airport.
He said they’d be fine, and to tell the woman in the office I needed my fingerprints taken.
After my digital fingerprints were finished, Roger came back in and told me to look into the camera jutting out of the wall next to me.
I stared into it as he left the room. He came back in and told me to look directly into it, so I did, again.
I stared into the camera for a long time. I wasn’t sure how long, because I didn’t look at a clock. Instead, I tried to imagine the lens was a peephole and I might stare into it hard enough to see the people on the other side. I tried to lean back in my chair and rest, while still keeping my eyes fixed on the camera.
Roger came back in and told me to follow him.
“It’s not looking good” he said.
We took my bags and went through another security checkpoint.
“Do you have anything in these bags I should know about?”
“I have a folding lock knife in one of them, but nothing other than that.”
“Ok. I’m going to search your bags. Go with that man there.”
Roger gestured to a man watching us a few feet away. A white-shirt. I followed him into a small room, where he put on latex gloves and very politely searched every place one might possibly think to hide something.
We came back out, I re-packed my luggage, and followed Roger back to the security offices from before. We again left my bags, but this time we went into the back and into one of several glass and wood “interview boxes”. Roger sat down.
“Sit down. Don’t touch the walls, or an alarm will go off.”
“Thanks for the head’s up”
Roger ignored me. I sat down and didn’t touch the walls. He pulled out another large clipboard.
“Ok, what we’re going to do here is answer some questions. Probably a lot of it is things i’ve already asked you, but we need to go through them again.”
“Ok.”
“Name?”
“Jonathon Clinkenbeard”
“Why are you coming into the UK?”
“For vacation”
Roger stared at me a moment.
“I’m going to put school, since you already told me that. How long are you staying?”
I tried the only other option I could think of.
“I’m only going one semester. That’s three or four months.”
Roger paused.
“I can’t change that. I’m putting 8 or 9, since you told me that earlier.”
“No, I’m serious. I’m only going for a semester. I haven’t paid for more than a semester, and I’ve changed my mind about the whole year.”
“I can’t change it now.”
I sank inside, out of ideas.
Question 3, are you fit and happy to be interviewed in the normal way we conduct these interviews without a solicitor, friend, or representative present?”
I laughed.
“No. I’m not happy about any of this.”
Roger paused.
“I’m going to go ahead and put ‘yes’.”
“Are you bringing anything hazardous into the country?”
“No.”
“Do you belong to any organization that supports terrorism or violence to achieve it’s means?”
“No.”
“Have you ever belonged to any organization that supports terrorism or violence to achieve it’s means?”
“No.”
“Ok. And last: is there any special emergency or circumstance that you wish us to consider?”
“Yes. I don’t have a place to live back home, my home for the next few months is London. I have to start classes this next week, or I’ll lose my spot in the University. I’m tired and I just want to go to my new house and get some sleep. I’ll do whatever I need to do to and cooperate with the law or the British Government to do everything legally and obtain whatever visa or certification I need to enter the country.”
Roger wrote down every single word. Then he got up and I followed him to a holding cell.
“I’ll go take this to my supervisor, but it doesn’t look good. You’ll most likely be sent back to he United States.”
Then he left, and one of the officers in charge put on latex gloves and searched me again, just in case i’d smuggled anything in since the last time I was searched.
When he was finished, he told me that if I needed anything to just ask him.
I asked him for some water, and he pointed to a big vending machine that dispensed two different brands of plain water, several types of tea, and a few kinds of coffee.
Then he gave me a blanket and a pillow and unlocked the door to the cell.

Inside there were three guys, two who looked miserable, and the third who looked happy.
I went to a couch and set down my pillow. I took off my shoes, grabbed my blanket and tried to ignore the bright fluorescent lights.
The happy guy and the smaller, latino guy started talking back and forth in what sounded to my tired ears like this:
“(some french words) Americano (some spanish words)”
“Si, (more spanish words) Americano (more french words)”
I sat up and looked at them. They were both looking at me. The tall happy guy was wearing a pork pie hat and spoke to me.
“You are American?”
“Yes.”
“We are from Portugal. I have been here one, nine, hours”
He showed me his fingers as numbers.
“You’ve been here 19 hours?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.”
“That man, even longer”
He gestured to the black guy across the room, who was now also looking at me.
“I’ve been here 26 hours.”
“God! Straight?”
“Straight.”
I sat there in silence for a minute, then rolled back over and put my arm on my eyes to block out the light.

Over the next several hours, I didn’t sleep much. I thought a lot about Austin, and how much I missed everyone. I thought about how I’d left a well-paying job in the midst of an economic slump. The biggest reason I was going back to school was to focus on writing without worrying about rent or keeping up a day job. But why did I need such a big excuse? Why couldn’t I just make the decision to be a professional right now? Why wasn’t I taking advantages of the opportunities I had? I was giving myself a big expensive excuse to do something I needed to just do, and why shouldn’t I do it where I had a network of people willing to help me achieve my aspirations?

I was eventually taken out of the cell and searched one last time, then I was escorted to my American Airlines flight back to Chicago.
The way things ended up after a few days in Chicago? I’d be able to move back into my apartment, but my job couldn’t take me back. They’d outsourced my job in 3 days.

I spent a few days with one of my dearest friends in Chicago, mulling over my choices. In the end, I decided that London would always be there, but now was the time to start pursuing my passions. No excuses and no distractions. Now there was absolutely nothing to keep me from starting my career as a professional writer and actor.