Your Resume
Alright, let’s take a look at your resume. Uh huh. Okay, not very impressive. Three jobs in six months isn’t a good sign. And, typing ten words per minute. That’s not something you want to point out unless asked directly.
Now, here under “Education,” you’ve misspelled the word “school,” which wouldn’t be so bad if it were a typo. But “skool”—that’s how a child would write it. And, over here, see? You’ve crossed stuff out and written in pencil. Maybe consider printing out a new resume. Also, fewer profanities.
Under “Computer Skills,” you wrote down “Facebook.” It might be better to say “social networking,” because this makes me think you’d spend your whole workday on Facebook. That’s just a hunch.
Normally, a resume this inept would go straight into my trash. However, it was so bad, I felt I should bring you in to give you advice. Now, I can see that you are an incredibly handsome man. Very, very attractive.
You should know I am not gay, but something about how your eyes crinkle when you smile makes me want you around all the time. Also, your firm handshake made me feel like a man’s man.
So, you're hired! Congratulations.
The assistant position requires competence, so I can’t give you that job. But, we had a VP position open up. I’ll put you there. It’s a bigger salary and has subordinates to do the work, anyway. Do you kayak? You seem outdoorsy. I’d love to come along next time you hike or kayak. Nothing gay or anything … My god, you’re tall.
The position starts next week, but you can swing by earlier if you want. I’m free for lunch any day this week. I’ll tell you which secretaries I have crushes on, and maybe you could woo them for me. Is that weird? I’ll call you to set things up. I’ve got your number from where you scribbled it on your resume.
Acceptance Speech
Thank you for that warm applause. And, thank you to Forbes Magazine for this prestigious award. It is an honor to be on this stage with so many amazing entrepreneurs.
Aggregation … wikis … memes … cloudsourcing. Business is no longer about steering the ship; it’s about riding the wave. E-commerce use to be about building a website or a social network. Now, those are simply the seeds of a cross-platform empire. Two years ago, I planted that perfect seed when I created CoolRetardedOrGay.com.
We all realize Web 2.0 or 3.0 or 6.0 are about giving voice to the voiceless. And, I believe in that. I truly believe that only the people can decide if something is cool, retarded, or gay. Not academics or critics. They’ve controlled what’s cool, retarded, or gay for too long. So, I put the decision into the public’s fat, sticky hands.
You see, the trick was--and only someone outside the “establishment” could see this--it was that voting is not a binary system. It’s not always hot or not, Democrat or Republican, perky or MILF-y. Sometimes there’s a third party, and that party is called Retarded.
Let’s say you have a video, and it’s a spoof of a Coen Brothers’ adaptation of Donkey Kong, and you get Jude Law to guest star as Stewie from Family Guy. Now is that cool or gay? Hold on. It’s not up to you. You’re wealthy, powerful entrepreneurs. It’s up to the faceless masses to decide, and they demand more options. They might think it’s retarded.
Or, say you have a t-shirt that portrays Oscar the Grouch as a hobo. To someone keyed into what I will call the “college sensibility,” that would be a cool vote. A grumpy homeless man might vote gay. Everyone has an equal say online. The Internet is the true democracy where any twenty-something male with a high speed connection can make his opinion heard.
And, opinions can change over time. Maybe, that ornery hobo could take “ownership” over the message and wear that shirt in ironic gayness. Maybe, the Donkey Kong video will shift from cool to retarded and back to cool again. Nothing is constant in the cool/retarded/gay continuum. The Information Age is about unpredictable, unnecessary change, but I’m here as proof to Wall Street that you can ride that mindless wave to financial fortune.
Look at CoolRetardedGay Sportswear. CRG Hard Cider. CoolRetardedGay Airlines. Look at CRG’s military support contracts in Afghanistan. Once you open your ears to what the people want, you can start selling it to them. It’s not about telling the public what their basic needs are. It’s about listening to their basest desires.
Thank you for this Forbes NextWave Business Award. As I accept this honor, I want to leave you with one word … Retarded.
Droopy Beauty
Pardon me, Miss. Has anyone ever pointed out that you look like the beautiful version of Droopy Dog? You know who I mean by Droopy Dog? The old cartoon character? You look like the beautiful, feminine, human version of him.
Please, don’t be insulted. I mean it as the highest compliment. You are a gorgeous woman—confident, poised, almost regal. I’m sure men have told you that in the past. But, has anyone mentioned the Droopy Dog thing?
I can’t quite place my finger on what the similarity is. Maybe, it’s your lovely, melancholic eyes. Maybe, it’s your red hair. Maybe, it’s your slight jowliness. Whatever it is, you radiate this Droopy Dog vibe, but in a completely stunning way.
It’s so subtle, I’m sure a lot of people don’t notice the resemblance. Especially since there hasn’t been a new Droopy Dog cartoon in like fifty years. But, c’mon, someone has to have seen Cartoon Network at some point and made the connection. No one has ever told you that you’re a lovely Droopy lookalike? I would even say dazzling.
If you haven’t picked up on my signals, you should know that I am hitting on you. Hard. Can I get your number? Or, I could find you on Facebook? Either way, we should get together some time. I have an erotic Screwy Squirrel costume, if you’re into that kind of thing.
My Fancy House
Welcome to my home!
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[Text of the above audio.]
Well, hello! Welcome to my fancy house. It’s very fancy. Please, join me in the foyer, which is French for “fancy entryway.” Ah, I see you’ve noticed the marble floors. Yes, how very, very fancy. And, what’s this above us? A chandelier? Why, that’s French for “chandelier.”
Ah, and ahead, two spiral staircases both leading to the same place. How very, very fancy! They were built by my contractor, Roy. Roy, say hello to the people.
[Roy] Yeah, um so … Yeah, sure, this guy asked me to build him a real fancy house. And, y’know, he drew this picture on a napkin, and it looked like if a castle had a baby with the Acropolis. I mean, there were columns and a moat. It was kinda weird at first that he wanted everything to be white and marble. And, I told him I don’t make marble roofs, because they don’t—
Ha ha ha! Yes, Roy, that’s very interesting, but you’re blocking their view of the fountain. A fountain indoors? How very fancy! Ah, I see you’ve noticed that the fountain has putti, which is Italian for “tiny naked angels” all peeing on that seahorse. How very, very fancy.
And, what’s behind it? Why, it’s a mural on the wall called trompe l’oeil, which is French for “fool the eye.” It’s a painting, but it looks like a window—a window that looks out onto a Greek seaside. But, we’re not in Greece! We’re in my house! Ha ha ha ha ha!
Not for long, though. Why don’t we take a walk outside and see it from the outside? And, we’re walking together. Walking, walking, walking, walking, ha ha ha ha, walking, walking. And, we’re outside looking at the lawn. And, what’s that over there? Why it’s topiary, which is French for “fancy bushes.” And, look at that. A peacock, which is the fanciest bird. I ordered him from the SkyMall catalogue. He’s made out of cement, but he’s covered with the fanciest glass jewels.
Ah, I see you must be going now. Well, enjoy walking down my very fancy driveway. Take a look at my fancy mailbox. It looks like a lion trying to eat my mail! Ha ha ha ha! How very fancy.
Everywhere Person
Hi there. Sorry to bother you. We’ve never met, but I wanted to point out that you’re my Everywhere Person. Do you know what that is? It means that I bump into you everywhere. Not only in our neighborhood, but sometimes near my work or at concerts or restaurants.
Have you noticed it too? I guess about a month ago, we were in line at IKEA at the same time. Before that, you were in the audience at a stand-up show I did. We seem to travel in the same social circles but don’t know each other yet. You were at my friend Claire’s book reading, so you must know Claire.
Maybe we should go ahead and skip all the mutual acquaintances and formal introductions and go straight to being friends. I mean, we both like Wilco. I saw you in the beer line at their Coney Island concert. And, we both support local bookstores, since I’ve bumped into you twice at the one on 81st. Also, we both use the same shampoo. I noticed you buying it last week at Walgreens. It’s pretty good shampoo, right?
We both enjoy midcentury graphic design. I spotted you carrying a huge Campari poster up your front stairs last week. Also, we both like Trader Joe’s frozen rice. There was an empty box of it in your trash. And, guess what? We both have wives named Colleen. Again, I know from looking through your trash. Your cable bill is getting pretty steep, huh?
What do you say we grab lunch sometime? We can go to the Thai place you seem to like on Broadway. You must, since you eat there every Tuesday around noon. It’d be a good chance for me to return that comb I took from your bedroom.
We both snore, by the way. Funny coincidence.
Yoga Class
Hey! “Knock knock.” Is this Intermediate Yoga? Am I in the right place? Oh, shhhh, yeah sorry. Shhh. Right. Sorry I’m late. I’ll be quiet.
Let me just find a mat. Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me. Comin’ through. Hey, I know you. You’re Bill’s wife, Kim, right? Good to see you. Excuse me. Pardon me. Just making my way … to a … mat. Got it! Got a mat. All set.
Quick question before we start. Well, I mean before I start, since everybody started without me. Is this the kind of yoga with all the magic mumbo jumbo? Like, do I have to buy into all that chi energy and tiger ancestors and your soul breathes through your butthole stuff?
Because, this is my first yoga class. I know it’s Level 2, but I figure I pick up on stuff fast. And, how hard can it be looking at some of the pudge-os in here? Not you, Darlin’, you look great. You look like a beer commercial. Whatever you’re doing, keep at it.
Right, shhhhh. Quiet. I get it, you’re all concentrating on your buttholes. Y’know, I wouldn’t have to yell if you left some mats open in the front for people who were understandably late, because their cats threw up in the Toyota Camry. Fine, fine, I’ll shut up.
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That wasn’t me. That fart was not me. I just want everyone to know, since I feel like I’m the designated bad guy already. Believe me, if that fart was mine, you’d know it. I had a breakfast burrito.
No, lady, you be quiet. You think all that shooshing is quiet? It’s not. It’s loud, and it’s distracting my chi flow. Pay attention to your own noise level.
Oh shit! My back! Ohhh, my back! Dammit, lady, you made me throw out my back! See what your shooshing does? Ow ow owww. Somebody call an ambulance. Kim, go call an ambulance. Model-looking girl, will you ride in the ambulance with me? I’ll need someone to comfort me and cradle my head.
No? You won’t? Alright then, never mind about the ambulance. Kim, good hustle with that cell phone, but I’m okay. I’m gonna go outside and grab a smoke. That usually helps. I’ll be back in two shakes. Don’t do the Dogward Down without me.
Our Discussion
That’s great news about your job, and I’m so glad we’re having this chat about work and life, but I was wondering if we can talk about TV now.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve really enjoyed our conversation. It’s good to hear what you’re up to, and I think we’ve worked through a lot of good ideas. But, it’s been almost 45 minutes without mentioning what TV shows we’re watching.
Like Modern Family. When you said that thing about buying your boyfriend a gift, it reminded me of a recent Modern Family episode. And, I wanted to ask if you had seen it too, but the opening never presented itself. I’m glad to know that you found him a cool watch, but I still don’t know if you’ve been watching Modern Family. If not, you should be. It’s a great show.
Also great, Parks and Recreation. That show is really coming into its own. Much funnier than your story about your new niece. Not that you’re not funny. Just, how can you compete with TV? They’re professionals at that stuff.
All this talk about bosses and getting ready to have kids has gotten kinda heavy. Can we talk about something else? We don’t have to talk about just TV. We can talk about anything. How about Netflix? Anything exciting on your Netflix queue?
Do you do Netflix streaming? It’s great! I’ve been waiting like a half hour to tell you about it. In fact, I kinda zoned out on what you were saying, because I was trying to think of a streaming documentary that I thought you’d like. I’m sorry about that. It was Trumbo, by the way. It’s a documentary about the blacklisted screenwriters.
Anyway, don’t feel like you have to talk about TV or Netflix. I’m happy to discuss whatever. As long as it’s not work or politics or family stuff. Or plans or travel or books or feelings or the weather. But, like DVD box sets or those new 3-D LCD screens or Blu-ray players would be great. Whatever you want.
Southern Lawyer
Alright then, a bit about little ol' me.
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[Text of the above audio. Best read in a deep, Southern Gentleman accent.]
Now, I’m just an old-time southern lawyer. I don’t cotton much to the fancy things in life. If I had my way, I’d spend my days sittin’ on an old porch swing, sippin’ on a nice, cool ginger beer or lemonade, watchin’ the moss grow on Miss Bessie’s willow trees and reminiscin’ on a nice game of golf I saw when I was a young boy.
Maybe run my thumbs under my suspenders—a new maroon pair every Christmas from my wife, Adelaide—and ponder a life lesson or two imparted onto me by a mystical colored fella I met after the war. Sit there hearin’ his soothin’ voice in my head replayin’ gentle words of wisdom about takin’ it easy and enjoyin’ life as it comes along.
Instead, I’m here in my offices, tryin’ to sync my Blackberry calendar to my Google calendar. But, our IT manager has uploaded a new Linux-based OS to our client server, which he claimed would ease some of the bounce back we were getting’ durin’ our batch processin’ of large data dumps for our class action clients.
Every time I boot up the shared drive, I’m gettin’ these Windows registry errors, and I tried to log in as the network administrator and look at some of the lines of code to see if I could recognize any common glitches in the information architecture. But, it seems to be havin’ problems authenticatin’ passwords, so I’ll just ask my assistant, Jeffrey, to do it when I return home from my trip to Dubai on Wednesday.
Alright, On Three…
Alright, calm down. It’s gonna be okay. I know you’re scared, but you can do this. We can do this. I promise. We’re going to have to deliver your baby inside this elevator.
No no no, I understand. You’re upset. You wanted to have your baby in a hospital or maybe at home like a hippie. But, we’re trapped inside this stalled elevator, and your baby says it’s time to come out. So, I’m going to need you to breathe, and when I say so, I want you to push as hard as you can.
Shhh, it’s okay. Don’t fight it. It’s Mother Nature. Women have been having babies for centuries. Maybe longer. Just go with your instincts. Now, I don’t have any towels or boiling water with me, but I do have this suede jacket a bottle of Aquafina—
What? You’re not in labor? But, you’re sweating and breathing so hard. Yeah, I guess you were running to make the elevator before the doors closed. That would explain it.
Wait a minute, you are pregnant though, right? Good! Phew! Good, ‘cause if you weren’t nine months pregnant, this would have been way more embarrassing. Two months? Oh. Well, congratulations on twins. No? Just a big lady. Okay.
Wow, I hope they get this elevator moving soon …
Sorry I didn’t hear you earlier when you asked me to hold the doors. iPod …
Have you thought about any names? Right, I’ll be quiet.
Rumors of Roid Rage
I’ve called this press conference today to state definitively that I, Andy Ross comedy writer, am not on steroids. I have not now, nor have I ever taken steroids. Despite all evidence pointing towards me being on steroids.
First off, my testicles have always been this small. My mother says that small testicles run in our family. But, she did let me spend all day, every day on a rocking horse until I was 10. There might be something there.
Secondly, the hair growth in odd patches in odd places. That one’s weird. I admit that. But, my hope is that hair growth is simply part of the aging process, and I am plucking wherever I can reach.
Thirdly, I admit to a disturbing increase in forehead acne, which points towards steroid abuse. However, this one has a straightforward explanation. I recently found that unsalted butter is the only thing that makes my bangs stand up the way I like. There’s nothing more to it that plain ol’ butter bangs.
Finally, the fits of seeming "roid rage." Okay, I know that I got pretty upset earlier, but it’s just that I couldn’t find any postage stamps in the apartment. Even though I just bought a whole entire goddamn package of stamps last FUCKING TUESDAY! AND, THERE’S NO GODDAMN WAY WE COULD HAVE USED THAT MANY STAMPS BY NOW! … Sorry. I’m sorry. Pardon the, uh, outburst. I just— this stamp thing is one of my buttons, y’know?
So, in conclusion, I swear to you in the press and to my fans that I am not now, nor have I ever been under the effect of steroids. The added body mass is just because we got an ice cream maker for Christmas. I will not be taking any questions. Thank you, and God bless America.