I don't think before I type's Posts
It has (more than likely) been well documented that San Francisco was hit hardest by the economic struggles that barely registered in the more exotic, booming metropolises of this country, such as the lush, resort-fueled paradises of Detroit, Michigan and Davenport, Iowa. Everyone here has felt the pinch in one way or another, from the rich man who has been forced to replace the dollar he used to put in a wheelchair-bound homeless woman's cup with a shame-ridden side-to-side head shake and a spritely dodge of her outstreched hand, all the way down to the other rich man whose weekly trips to Michael Mina just haven't been the same now that tough times allow him only the Russian osetra caviar with his three-course prix fixe meal, rather than the Golden osetra he and his mistress had grown accustomed to. The slumped shoulders of the insanely wealthy have nearly replaced the Golden Gate Bridge as our most iconic image and none of you seem to have a solution.
What you need is a really good movie idea to sink all your money into, San Francisco, and that is where I come in. My brain has hatched what, with your help, is sure to become the greatest cinematic achievement since The Land Before Time X: The Great Longneck Migration.
Behold:
The film stars National Board of Review Freedom of Expression Award-winning actor and American hero, Richard Gere, in the role he was born to play: CableACE Award-nominee, Richard Gere.
The film opens with a shot of 1999's Sexiest Man Award-winner, Richard Gere, walking into a laboratory and meeting a scientist, played by none other than Empire Award-winning actor, Pierce Brosnan. He has been unanimously chosen by the entire world to be the first person cloned. The cloning is a huge success, as people everywhere rejoice that they now live in a world with two Richard Geres. Quickly, though, two Geres just aren't enough. A GERE IN EVERY HOME becomes the rallying cry of the masses. Richard Geres begin pouring off the assembly line. It still isn't enough. Demands are made for more personalized Richard Geres. The scientists begin to tinker with their cloning device. Black Richard Geres, Pudgy Richard Geres, even the ultra-expensive Teacup Gere, begin flying off the shelves. The Geres soon outnumber the non-Geres and everyone is extremely happy to live in a world that is so Gere-centric. But soon the flaws in the design are exposed and the Geres begin acting erratically, most notably in their sudden desire to kill every living thing that is not Richard Gere. Chaos ensues.
The original Richard Gere, being the only one who truly knows what goes on in the mind of a Richard Gere, is called upon to defeat the massive army of Richard Geres. The next hour or so is filled with gratuitous violence, as Richard Gere dispatches of Richard Gere after David di Donatello Award-winning Richard Gere in a variety of innovative and humorous ways.
The climax comes when Richard Gere fights the leader of the Richard Geres in a giant gerbil wheel. Richard Gere kills him and then flashes that classic Richard Gere smirk at the camera. The movie ends and the title of the movie fills the screen:
FIRST GERE
During the credits there is a shot of a Richard Gere crawling out of some rubble, possibly opening the door for the sequel: Second Gere: Gere Today, Gone Tomorrow
Additional Notes:
- The movie is expected to gross over $18,000,000,010.
- The tagline for First Gere will be "Wish You Were Gere"
- The plot of the movie can be viewed from the angle of Buddhism, making the film about Richard Gere's struggle to destroy his dependence on "self", or it can just be viewed from the angle of "oh wow, that was the best movie I've ever seen."
- Saturn Award-winner Pierce Brosnan is the backup choice to play the lead role of Richard Gere, as well as the roles of all additional Geres that appear throughout the film. Richard Gere is the backup choice to play the head scientist.
- This will be a silent film.
So there you go, people of San Francisco, I have shown you the way out of your financial hardships. Empty your piggy banks of their blood diamonds and check under your couch cushions for trust funds, because You + Me + Richard Gere = $$$
You can send all investments in the form of cash or personal check made out to
Dylan Macturk
High Tide Bar, stool #6
Tenderloin, SF
Feel free to leave tagline suggestions for Third Gere in the comments and don't forget to add Bee Season starring Richard Gere to your Netflix queue.
Check it out, kids. I know a lot of you girls have been looking for answers ever since you shamefully let that guy Rick fingerbang you in the back of his Prius after your swim meet. And guys? I know you have been wondering what it all means, in no small part due to the fact that no amount of male posturing is going to take away the feelings of guilt and confusion you experience when you softly pleasure yourself to the cover of the Old Trout magazine you found in your stepfather's work shed. You've seen the disapproving looks from churchgoers as you stumble along on your Sunday morning walk of shame, the glitter and dried blood on your trembling hands a sure giveaway that you do not have God in your life. Thinking for yourself has gotten you little more than a Valtrex prescription and some hazy memories, and seeing as how your mother tends to be on her third or fourth gin and tonic by the time you get home from ditching school, you need to find another irresponsible adult who can answer the most important question you will ever ask: Do I really even WANT to go to Heaven?
As someone who resembles an adult, I can assure you that you don't, and I would like to suggest you just hurry up and GO TO HELL, please?
If you're scared of Hell, don't be. It has long been said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. That is great news for a couple reasons! For one, scorned women are everywhere on Earth. You have probably seen them in Starbucks bitching about their distorted body images as they muscle through a venti frappucino with extra whipped cream. They are the type of women that will complain about the glass ceiling in their workplace while micromanaging your installation of a skylight in their home. If Hell hath no fury like these women, one must conclude that these women aren't in Hell. Good. Let people who have lived a life without sin deal with their whining for eternity in Heaven. I will be in Hell, soaking in the hot tub drinking round after round of hot buttered rums with women who know their true value and judge themselves based on who they are as a person, rather than the strict and unfair standards imposed on them by society. And the best part is that based on all this, in Hell, if you get tired of a particular woman, you can just scorn her and she'll disappear.
Scorned women really aren't THAT bad, though, and if you've dealt with one of them here on Earth, you have already dealt with something worse than anything Hell can offer. So there are a lot of things worse than a scorned woman that apparently just won't exist in Hell. Off the top of my head, that means there will be no Black Eyed Peas songs, empty bottles of whisky or hipsters, and that is enough to convince me to go there. Furthermore, there won't be any babies. Most of us can agree that babies are the worst, so it stands to reason they wouldn't be allowed in Hell based on the previously-described guidelines, but some of you may argue that babies should be allowed there because they bring nothing but joy and love into the world. If you are one of those people, you are an asshole, because you just said you wanted to send all babies to Hell.
It is also true that All Dogs go to Heaven. I know a lot of you are probably sitting around praying to die so you can be reunited with Sprinkles, your childhood pet. But that dog was mangy and flea-ridden when he got hit by that sedan, and he still is today. In fact, Heaven has surely by now become so overrun with dogs that it a veritable nightmare of rabies and bite scars. Everywhere you turn you see old, crippled dogs being humped into submission by their younger, virile counterparts.
The conclusion seems obvious. If you want to spend an infinite amount of time scratching your flea bites while some woman you don't know complains about how her cloud isn't as big as yours as you are driven rapidly insane by a deafening number of crying babies and yelping, raped dogs, Heaven is the place for you.
Otherwise, go to Hell, please?
*please mention this post to the men who are furiously masturbating at you on Chatroulette.com and remember: The Twilight Saga: Eclipse is in theaters this June!!
First things first: I am not your mother. If I was, you would have been born with severe Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and your tiny eyes and misshapen hands would make it very difficult for you to operate a computer and read the screen, thus rendering this entire post useless to you. But just because I didn't squeeze your ungrateful husk out of my vagina (FULL DISCLOSURE: I do not have a vagina), don't think for a second that I can't tell you how to live your life.
Look, I get that you are all teenagers and that you only have time to read one blog before you start nervously sifting through whatever magazines are available in the abortion clinic you're currently seated in for the second time in the past three months. Really, I get it. And I also get that you don't want to be lectured in that ONE blog, but maybe you need to be. You don't listen to your REAL parents, and if you keep letting your stepfather talk you into stuff, you are going to keep ending up in this waiting room hoping your name is about to be called. So maybe it is time you took advice from a complete stranger. I know you're thinking, "Oh God, this is going to end up the same way as the time when I took a stranger's advice to drink a Jägerbomb out of a dixie cup while he was giving me a ride home from the mall", but you're wrong, because if you follow my advice, you are more likely to cure a diesese than contract one.
Because my advice is to STAY IN SCHOOL, please?
There are many reasons staying in school is a great idea for you, but, honestly, I don't know any of them because I didn't stay in school long enough to learn them. But I do have some guesses:
1. Manipulation of other people
Look, it is just a scientific fact that the smarter you are, the easier it is to manipulate people in order to get the things you want. Practice today on the smartest drug dealer you know. Using whatever reason/excuse/lie you can muster, convince them to give you free drugs. If it works, you get to go get high. As a reward for being smart! If it fails, you are a disgrace. A sober disgrace who probably can't even afford bootstraps to pull yourself up by. You need to sneak onto the bus without paying and go DIRECTLY to the nearest school and beg them to let you in. I would HURRY.
2. Getting laid
I don't know what kind of lies you tell yourself when you're crying to sleep at night in front of a muted tv playing a Project Runway marathon, but they simply aren't true. No one wants to have sex with you. They might do it as some sort of power move, or pity move, or because they're so drunk that they just don't care, but they really don't want to and they will surely come to their senses soon (unless they too are an uneducated ugly person, in which case you two will probably just concede that there is LITERALLY nothing else out there for you and pathetically cling to each other the same way a piece of trash sticks to a bum's foot, dragging along until one or both you tumbles into the dark abyss of the gutter.) So, if you want to get laid, you are going to need to intelligently talk a man/woman/Edward Cullen manillow into thinking it's a good idea. WIth proper schooling, getting your waitress at Hooters/waiter at Applebees to blow/fingerbang you in her Jetta/his Sonata will be a piece of cake. (Yay cake!)
3. So you don't end up with my job when I drink myself to death
This should really be reason number one, because my job is a perfect example of what you will be forced to do once you have repeatedly tried to flush your life down the toilet only to have it keep popping back up until you finally reach your hand in there, grab it, dry it off and decide to sadly parade it around town. I am a personal assistant for a group of potentially-deranged Germans. My pay-grade allows for constant eating out, if your idea of eating out is taking the crusts from thrown-away sandwiches to Dolores Park and covering them with ketchup from packets stolen out of the Burger King on Market Street. My direct boss, is a lovely old German woman who invites me to do fun tasks such as:
a.) take the olive oil she is using for her salad and cover a hammer with it. Then set the hammer by the door, where it remains for months until mysteriously disappearing one day when she is supposedly out of town.
b.) buy her stamps. Be warned though, if you buy her stamps with pictures of athletes or spiders on them, you will be forced to pay for them out of your own pocket, which will be tough because you can't afford to buy new pants every time your pockets become shredded from the sharpness of your work keys.
c.) painting white buckets white. This is a common occurrence when you have my job. You will be handed a white bucket and a can of white paint and you will be told to paint that white bucket white. If you attempt to reason with your boss, you will be screamed at and potentially be called "a gay". FUN FACT: You will also be called "a gay" if you admit to being cold, even though you work in a dark, damp basement without heat, because "gays are allergic to cold".
You will one day be working outside while people are spraying the apple trees with poison. Later that day, your boss will try to convince you to eat a rotten, poison-covered apple off one of the trees and when you refuse, she will begin to eat leaves off the tree like a giraffe to show you that you are a total pussy who believes too much of what you read. That very same day, you will be looking for your boss and you will find her squatting in an alley, urine streaming from her shriveled old body and she will look at you and tell you "this is where we pee when we're here".
I feel I have probably made my point by now, and you're probably desperate to finish reading this so Dr. Russel can Dustbust another unborn fetus out of your miserable vagina, so I will wrap it up. Your life is sad and getting sadder. School can make it better. Stay in school, please?
*don't forget to sext this blog post to all your friends and remember: The Twilight Saga: Eclipise is in theaters this June!!
[Ed. note: dropping out of school will also cause you to write really long-winded and potentially unreadable sentences. See above for multiple examples.]
STEP ONE: Log-in to your Friendster account (or email, if you cannot afford a Friendster)
STEP TWO: Title your message. You want it to come across as professional. You are not sending another pitiful, begging-to-get-in message to the Admissions Board at yet another community college, so a title like School may be OUT, but I would like to be IN will not cut it. I recommend a title that speaks for itself and lets the reader know you mean business. Something like Title of professional message.
STEP THREE: Send the following professional message (or email, if the complex messaging system of Friendster is above your intelligence level):
Hello sir (or in other circumstances, madam. You may be thinking to yourself, "A woman? Running a blog? Not a chance.", but you are wrong, grandpa, because times have changed from the days when you had to blog uphill both ways in the snow. Women run just about everything now, with one notable exception being THIS blog.)As you are likely aware, I got your email address from one Kate Horton, she of the paralyzed hand.Since she is practically dead (probably), it was her dying wish (I'm guessing) for me to send you this email inquiring about writing for Uptown Almanac.A couple months ago, I saw thealmost definitely Oscar winning and critically acclaimedmovie 2012. In it, one dumb character talks to another dumb character about how they have to "download a blog", or something. It really hit home for me, as I realized that I have never had a blog "downloaded", because that is not even a sentence that really makes sense, but also because I do not write a blog. I would literally hate for the world to end in two years without me having any blogs available for people to download as they board their arks while the Earth crumbles around them.Please don't deny me of my childish dream. I will make you proud, depending on how little it takes for you to feel pride.So that's it. My to-do list had one item on it for today and now it's done, so I'm going to start really getting drunk.Thanks a bunch, sir.-dylan (always end it with the name dylan, regardless of what your parents/kidnappers named you. It just looks more professional.)

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