I am a man of many talents. In fact, “Talents” is my middle name. Or, at least it is whenever I fucking want it to be. You see, I’m gifted in the divine art of making fake names. You may be thinking “But anyone can make fake names.” But not like me–check it: Jet Guyison WOOSH! Slamston Triad ZING! Harlem Lightpost.
That power trio sure got you to shut your word hole, Mr. Lax Creativity-Bergstein. Just as it would be unfair for a mother to hog all her breast milk, it would be similarly ridiculous to not share the art of creating electrifying pseudonyms. Here are some pointers.
Nothing says “I’m a powerful man” better than a fist-pumping first name. Create a monosyllabic name that conveys danger, wicked fast transportation, or Zeus-mediated fistfights–the most robust of first names employs all three. Fast Danger-Fear, Flint Boomrock, or Fear Danger-Fast will all do. Still confused? Refer to the names mentioned earlier: “Jet,” “Harlem,” and “Slamston.” Jet conveys speed. Harlem evokes fear of tall people, and Slamston alludes to the ever-present threat of femur-snapping sex.
If you’re feeling unoriginal, you can outsource the task of creating an ingenious nom de plume. The mentally handicapped happen to be fake-name geniuses. Simply have your local tard pronounce any old name. Robert Marshall turns into Barbell Martian. Martin Stone becomes Magnum Stone! And, if you are lucky enough to get an especially tarded tard, Ed Turner becomes Ignatius Featherfoot.
Inspiration for a good first name is everywhere. Things like geological formations, forces of nature, and animals will help spur your ingenuity. My three-day peyote hike through Death Valley produced Butte Waterspout, Windy Cougar and Plateau Despondence. As you may have gathered, the Indians have long used this trick to come up with such classics as Red Cloud and Sitting Bull. Just make sure your fake name doesn’t lend itself to oppression.
Let’s face it, no one’s going to listen to Maynard Browning. But what if you got a message straight from the desk of M. Browning, Superpresident, or his Excellency, Maynard de Marron? With an appropriate awe-inspiring prefix (or occasional wonder-encouraging suffix), you can turn any Alan Scott into a Lieutenant Apollo Starshooter, ambassador to the sun.
Now, armed with the power of the alias, you’re a regular Flashpack Dangermount, ready to upset the tyranny of the Name. My only warning: use your godlike power for good. Use it for evil only if you really, really need to.
Most people think that the Supreme Court is just a bunch of old white dudes who sit around reading all day and occasionally get up to have an opinion or aneurysm. This is pretty much true. However, what most people don’t know is that the Supreme Court doles out justice not only in the courtroom, but also in the streets. Behold The Supreme Court Justice League!
_ Justice Sutherland has a deadly brush with danger when his secret identity is nearly discovered! _
Teenager 1: Hey, who’s that naked old dude in the phone booth?
Teenager 2: I think that’s Supreme Court Justice Sutherland, famous for his defense of the right to an attorney in the Powell v. Alabama case.
Teenager 1: What, is he like, putting on a cape?
Justice Sutherland: Zounds! Teenagers are not as stupid and uninformed as I have heard! There’s only one way to handle this. I must use my rhetorical powers to drive them off, thus preserving my secret identity!
Teenager 1: What the hell? Now he’s yelling at us.
Justice Sutherland: Dammit. Well, there’s always the Gavel of Justice. [kills teenagers with a hammer]
_ Things get sticky when our heroes encounter an old nemesis who has given up humanity for cybernetic implants: Alexander Hamilton! _
Alexander Hamilton: So! It’s the weakest branch, here to stop my nefarious plan for world domination!
Justice Ginsburg: That’s right, Alexander Hamilton. We’ve defeated all of your poorly-trained henchmen and now nothing stands between us and you. So what are you going to do now?
Hamilton: [transforms into Alexander Hamil-Tron] BECOME A GIANT ROBOT.
Justice Ginsburg: Well, shit. What do we do now?
Justice Thomas: Let’s argue that it was never his original intent to turn into a robot and limit his authority to ports and harbors
_ The Supreme Court Justice League finds that one of their number has betrayed them, and is trying to steal that most vital of treasures: the constitutional rights of the American citizen! _
Evil Justice Roberts: Mwahaha! With my constitutionally mandated powers, I shall strip all Americans of the right to an attorney, thus redefining American federalism…FOREVER!
Justice Thomas: Not so fast, Roberts! You didn’t count on the Supreme Court Justice League’s secret weapon!
Justice Roberts: Fool! You’re too late! The court decision is already being implemented at the state and county level! Mwahaha!
Justice Thomas: Oh, I beg to respectfully dissent. You see, I know your one weakness.
Justice Roberts: And what is that?
Justice Thomas: Like most Supreme Court Justices, you’re older than dirt’s much older cousin!
Justice Roberts: Curse you, Supreme Court Justice League! [dies of heart failure]
_ The League encounters villains with a score to settle: Christian Fundamentalists! _
Fundamentalists: The jig is up, Injustice League! You’ll never succeed with your evil plan to kill babies using the Roe v. Wade decision!
Justice Thomas: That’s where you’re wrong! As Supreme Court Justices, we have the Constitutional duty to kill babies!
Fundamentalist: Oh, I didn’t want it to have to come to this…but I’m afraid you leave me no choice.
Justice Thomas: What are you guys going to do? Throw Bibles at me?
Fundamentalist: [chants ancient language while drawing runes in the sand]
Jesus: [appears in burst of golden light, rolls up sleeves, tilts hat at jaunty angle] Fear my Jesuswrath! [throws Bibles at Justice Thomas]
Justice Thomas: Stop that! Those are going to leave welts!
Jesus: So do coat hangers, Mr. Thomas. So do coat hangers.
_Hi WASPs, I’m Daniel Brady. From my name you’re probably guessing that I’m white too, but I’m not. I am an Irish/African-American male who happens to looks like a Native American version of Aladdin. As complicated as this may seem, be satisfied to know that I am a Jew’s nose away from being the amalgamation of every oppressed ethnic group in America. _
Although you might control every market, own every media outlet, hold most important government positions, and put on blackface to be Colin Powell, you really are not all that great. So stop making burrito jokes and encouraging Wayne Brady.
Since I grew up in a rich white neighborhood, I have a history with you guys. I would like to shame you with memories of how you made my life hell before you drive off in your BMWs and hide in your houses sequestered within the hills of La Ca+A|ada.
White Guy: So you’re black, huh?
Me: Well, not really. I’m only half, and Malagasy too. We are not a result of the Bantu-Niger migration where the skin color is very dark. It’s a common misconception that all Africans are black. It is a diverse continent.
White Guy: So…is Malcolm X your uncle or something?
Teammate #1: Hey Daniel, afraid of the water?
Me: I’ve been playing water polo with you guys for the last five years, and now that you know I’m African-American you think I’m afraid of water?
Teammate #1: Sorry man, don’t “bust a cap.” I just thought you people were afraid of all forms of water…except for watermelon, that is.
Teammate #2: Hi-oh! Snap! [They give each other high fives]
Me: …
Teammate #1: But seriously, show us your dick.
Teacher: And that is the paragraph on black history we are going to study. Any comments?
Me: [as everyone turns to me] Madagascar was a French colony. They did not export slaves to America from there, so stop looking at me.
White Kid: Calm down, Frederick Douglass, no need to start a Black Panther Party meeting here.
[Group of white people surrounds me]
White Girl #1: Well…aren’t you going to breakdance?
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t know how.
White Guy: Step dance?
Me: Nope.
White Girl #2: Surely you must be able to at least tap dance. I mean how are you people supposed to make money if not by entertaining us? Gregory Hines must have at least taught you something. I’m no black expert, but I’m pretty sure you guys would do anything to get out of having a real job.
Me: I can pick locks.
Group of White People: [nods approvingly]
White Guy: Damn it Daniel, I know you only got into Berkeley because you’re a minority. That’s why I didn’t get accepted.
Me: What are you talking about? I worked my fucking ass off to get good grades and do extracurricular activities while you just partied it up and got into car accidents.
White Guy: Yeah sure, whatever. Either way, my dad had to donate a whole new wing to Haas in order for me to go. Now I’ll never get my own hovercraft.
Me: So, how’s it going?
Blonde Girl: Sorry, you’re just not my type.
Me: I’m sorry, you must have me confused. I’m not Indian, I’m African-American.
Blonde Girl: Oh! Well, in that case…[bites lip] but then again…
Me: And I won’t tell your dad.
Blonde Girl: [face lights up] Show me your dick.
Love,
Daniel Brady
Investigators recently obtained a warrant to search Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch in connection with his upcoming child molestation trial. But the investigators were in for a big letdown.
“When I was first put on the task force I was pretty excited,” said Sergeant Mike Patrick of the Santa Barbara police force.”I had heard all sorts of rumors: that [Jackson] sleeps in an oxygen chamber, that he has the elephant man’s skeleton on display, that he wears suede boots while bathing. I couldn’t wait to tell my wife what crazy weirdo things I would find. But when we busted the door open, Michael was just sitting in a comfortable-sized living room on a slightly worn, muted-green couch eating a Lean Cuisine microwave dinner and watching Friends reruns on a modestly sized TV.” Other members of the team were equally disappointed.
Lt. Mike Gonzalez reported further disappointment. “I was expecting, like, fifty bags of plasma and a single white peach in his refrigerator, but the only sort of weird thing was that he had put a completely empty carton of milk back in there,” he said.
“Oh,” Gonzalez added, “and his dryer door was broken so it wouldn’t close all the way. You’d think he could afford a new one.”
After the raid, police apologized to Jackson for the inconvenience and Jackson graciously offered them something to drink, but all he had was water and orange juice that he worried had turned just south of fresh. The taskforce politely declined and left him to restore the boring order of his overall average home.
A recent study commissioned by the Office of Student Life has concluded that everything on the Berkeley campus is uphill. “No matter where a student begins, his journey to any campus building will inevitably lead him up a steep incline,” said the study’s director, Dr. Eric Vinson. A typical humanities student’s path will take him from the BART station to Valley Life Sciences Building, to Wheeler Hall, and then to Le Conte. Vinson warns that such constant, grueling hikes have a profound and daunting effect on morale. “Over four years, a Berkeley student may indeed develop the calves of a matador, but the negative reinforcement caused by always walking up a grade leads inevitably to depression and truancy.”
Professor Falcone of the Physics Department denounced the study. “This is ridiculous pseudo-science. Unless UC Berkeley were built on a Mobius strip, there is simply no way that every campus building could be uphill from every other.” He then left to deliver a lecture at the top of a rope suspended from the sky above Hearst Mining Circle.
I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that no job I will ever have will provide me with the opportunity to be a hero. It seems a little unfair, then, that just by virtue of being employed in certain occupations as a fireman, for instance you’re suddenly considered one. You wouldn’t call me a doctor if you saw me in a hospital, or Chancellor of the Universe if I put my pants on before my shoes. Being a fireman is similar to doing one of these things. And everyone calling them heroes is like lying to retarded children.
If I walked down the street wearing a bright yellow coat and goggles, you wouldn’t call me a hero, you’d direct me to the nearest tickle fight, which you’d rightly assume I had not only organized, but had been eagerly anticipating participation in. After thanking you, I’d then go into the Glittery Pink Feather shop to buy things made out of lace.
And don’t even get me started on members of the armed services. That’s like a giant coward bomb full of failures. Here are the reasons for joining the military with their corresponding anti-heroic origins in parentheses:
Some say it’s the unrelenting stalwartness in the face of danger that makes them heroes. Bullshit. There are three things a fireman thinks when he walks into a burning building:
So to the firemen and members of the armed services: we’re lying to you. Everyone at home is glad they don’t have to do what you do. Do you know how much fun watching a parade is? No. No you don’t because you’re always in them. Watching a parade is like having sex on a mountain of happiness. You may get to be on display, but you’re also walking seventeen miles down a road on a sunny day.
Let’s face it: death is really trendy right now. With US Weekly regulars like The Pope and 3000 Indonesians dying, kids are all rushing out to the malls to have their feeding tubes removed. But not so fast! Much like tongue piercings, dying is something you immediately regret afterwards. Also, dying and tongue piercings both constantly terrify old people.
So who really wants to die? It’s bleak, it’s not any fun, and it makes your family cry. But unlike your Political Science degree, you can’t fix death by telling people you’re still thinking about Law School. No, death is a tricky customer.
Avoiding death, on the other hand, is actually quite simple for any non-dumbfuck. Just use common sense at any given point and you’ll live forever. For example, if it has whirling blades, don’t have sex with it. Don’t eat at a place with a sign that says “Health Inspector: D” or “La Val’s.” Don’t eat soup, because it always leaves you unsatisfied.
Getting sick: don’t do it! Simple. But if you’re one of those Mountain Dew rock stars that just has to live on the edge, try this: only contract diseases that sound bad but aren’t fatal, like Fickle-Cell Anemia or Bread Cancer. Signs of poor health include coughing and sneezing, which means you’re already sick and could die. Even poorer health is indicated by coughing and sneezing blood onto downed powerlines.
Okay, you’re a cocksure racecar driver with a pregnant wife and you crap valuable baseball cards. Though you’ll probably never die, don’t go and do anything stupid like buying life insurance. That’s like signing a paper saying “Yes, I’m going to die one day.” You can’t bet against yourself! Pete Rose never bet against The Cincinnati Reds, which is why they always win at everything.
Say you live a long and healthy life, but death still comes after your decrepit and withered soul. He’ll probably want to play a game of chess with you, so if he’s winning, be sure to swallow a bunch of the pieces and choke. Don’t give that asshole the satisfaction of winning at chess. Same goes for playing poker with death, or a footrace with death, or playing chess with your grandfather.
Every time I think about the hereafter, I’m reminded of an old-world proverb my mother used to tell me at night. “Matt,” she’d say, “you’re going to die at 21 in a fiery hovercraft accident.” Which reminds me of the new-world proverb: “Hey, what’s the number to that hovercraft rental place.”
(1)
Screenwriter: You know, people sometimes ask why there were so many jokes about September 11th in the movie. And I always tell them the same thing: “Fine, you take them out. Then Jamie Kennedy would only have been able to do forty minutes of rapping stand-up comedy.”
(2)
Director: OK watch this–this is integral.[Girl presses button]
Director: Took me 57 shots to get that one right.
Producer: 57 shots.
(3)
Director: This was his second movie, and he actually had a good amount of dialogue in this one. So yeah, the Screen Actors Guild technically forced us to give Vincent Gallo’s Penis separate billing.
(4)
Director: We were trying to figure out how to shoot the psychedelic trip scene, and I said to the D.P., “Why don’t we take the drugs off that table and put them into that camera!”
Director of Photography: [chuckling] We ruined a lot of equipment that day.
(5)
Director: Yes, traditional monologues only have one speaker. But we found that it was kind of hard to hear only one person over the piercing battle cry of a hungry Tyrannosaurus. So we got seven people to give the speech.
Producer: Interesting note, the third guy is actually saying it backwards.
(6)
Screenwriter: Since this was an adaptation, we wanted to stay as true as possible to the original source, which was The Scarlet Letter.
Producer: But that in turn was just Top Gun during the Civil War.
Screenwriter: Right.
Producer: So we saved a lot of time in the end by just reading Top Gun: The Book.
Screenwriter: That’s where I got the idea for the first, third, and fourth volleyball scenes.
