Judgment Day

Jerry Bruckheimer was finally getting the death sentence for directing propaganda movies. In the “future” it became known that Jerry Bruckheimer’s Pirates of the Caribbean franchise was riddled with subliminal anti-gay messages. Johnny Depp’s non-sensical dialogue and flamboyant movements created a chemical reaction in the viewer’s brain that made them despise same sex couples. The research that went into this sublimation of anti-gay messages was extensive and now Bruckheimer paid the price thanks to a clear minded society and legal system. 

Despite the death sentence he received, Bruckheimer was still hell-bent on making things epic and made all sorts of ridiculous demands for his last day. He had everything planned very specifically and requested that the death sentence be carried out at midnight so he has an entire day to utilize. Somehow the courts allowed his ridiculous demands simply because he had a lot of money. Bruckheimer wanted the day to be perfect. It was his day and Bruckheimer was death-zilla, a playful derivation of bride-zilla. This is how the day played out:

6 a.m.: Jerry Bruckheimer awoke and drank fifteen cups of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee while watching a chimpanzee masturbate, something Jerry Bruckheimer always wanted to see. 

7:30 a.m.: Jerry Bruckheimer masturbated after the chimpanzee session and took a nap.

9:00 a.m.: Jerry Bruckheimer had his last breakfast of two penguin eggs (sunny side up), a polar bear steak (medium-well), and desert king snake blood in a shot glass. He threw up the entire meal after finishing it and took another nap.

11:00 a.m.: Jerry Bruckheimer was still nauseous and sick and refused his last lunch. He sat by the toilet instead and drank small sips of water and pepto-bismol. 

12:30 p.m.: Jerry Bruckheimer bathed a pool of crocodile tears. The crocodile tears pool was by far the most expensive request as it required the death of 20,000 crocodiles to extract the tear glands and nearly decimated the crocodile population. Jerry Bruckheimer was well aware of this and stated to local papers, “If I, personally, don’t decimate something before I die, then my life truly was meaningless.”

2:30 p.m.: After an extremely extensive bathing in crocodile tears, Jerry Bruckheimer lay down on a bed of live baby leopards and smoked 38 grams of opium. 

6:00 p.m.: Far into the depths of opium psychosis Jerry Bruckheimer ate his last dinner which was the face of Lindsay Lohan (medium-well) garnished with peyote buttons and jimsonweed seed pods. 

8:00 p.m.: Jerry Bruckheimer was now hallucinating very violently and returned to his baby leopard opium den to smoke another 26 grams to relax. 

10:00 p.m.: The hallucinations were still violent but the opium helped Jerry Bruckheimer navigate his body better. Jerry Bruckheimer then had sex with the same chimpanzee he watched masturbate earlier in the day.

Midnight: After vigorous and rather athletic intercourse, Jerry Bruckheimer was executed by having his head chopped off by a vintage guillotine from the French revolution of 1789. He planned to say something epic before the execution but was exhausted from hallucinations and chimpanzee intercourse.

Mr. Apathy

Mr. Apathy worked a fairly normal job at Geico. He handled auto insurance for commercial vehicles. He spoke in a monotonous tone because he didn’t care for bright, flavorful inflections of voice. Mr. Apathy just wanted to do his job and come home to think about nothing, but drinking some wine and maybe ordering a pizza.

Life was generally stagnant for Mr. Apathy. He lived in Seattle and his family, based in Charlotte, gave up on contacting him years ago. Mr. Apathy didn’t care though. He never returned their calls. Mr. Apathy worked from 9-5, Monday-Friday, but lived about 45 miles away from his job. Therefore, including time spent on the road, he really worked from 7:15am-7:00 pm.

Mr. Apathy slept from 10pm-6am. He received a hearty 8 hours of sleep every night. On the weekends he would average 12-14 hours of sleep, sleeping from 10pm-10am(or till noon). If you figure out the math of his time, he only has about 4 hours each to himself each weekday and 10 hours each day on the weekends. That is 40 hours of consciousness a week to himself.

Now add up the time he spends eating, showering, brushing teeth, going to the grocery store, buying standard maintenance items for himself and his house, and maintaining his home (i.e. mowing, shoveling snow, fixing things that break and general cleaning). Those activities add up to about 25 hours. Leaving Mr. Apathy with only 15 hours a week.

Every week Mr. Apathy only receives 8.9% (7 days of the week x 24 hours = 168 hours in a week; 15 hours of true free time/168 hours in a week = 8.9%) of time for himself to think, create and do.

Sure Mr. Apathy could work less, get a job closer to home, rent an apartment, not sleep as much or any of a number of things to increase his percentage of time for himself. But honestly, he just doesn’t give a shit. That 8.9% is all he needs to attend a sporting event, watch his favorite TV shows, see a movie at the theater, go to an alcohol serving venue, etc...

Maybe Mr. Apathy could find a woman to bear children for him and his 8.9 % could turn to 0%. But Mr. Apathy doesn’t want that. He would rather just laugh at his favorite television programs and root for the home team of some sporting spectacular. He may even retire early because he works so hard.

 

But wait...

Mr. Apathy received a rare disease that cut his life drastically short. No retirement for Mr. Apathy! That doesn’t matter much to him anyway. He knew that he was going to die at some point that’s why he didn’t care all along.

Questions for discussion:

1. Is Mr. Apathy acting Absurdist and/or Nihlist in his approach towards life? Explain.

2. How are you different from Mr. Apathy?

You’ve Got a Friend in Me

Carol was sorely depressed because she had no kids, never married and her best friend died 9 months ago. Carol loved to go to the hospital. She was so lonely at home, but in the hospital she was well taken care of by nurses and doctors. People talked to her and asked her how she was feeling.

Carol wanted to go to the hospital again. She drank five glasses of 2007 Merlot (apparently it was a vintage year for California Merlot). Once the inebriation set in, Carol walked out to her concrete back porch with her cell phone in her pocket.

She staged a scene with a step ladder under a light fixture on her concrete pad. She climbed the ladder, unscrewed the bulb, and shifted her weight to tip the ladder towards the ground. Her plan was to fall and break a bone in a sort of staged accident. The plan didn’t go so smoothly.

Carol dropped the bulb which shattered and then she fell onto the glass shards. While falling, she panicked and attempted to brace her fall with her hand and fractured her wrist in multiple locations. Her right hip collided with the concrete and fractured as well with a large piece of bone separated from her iliac crest. Carol had superficial and deep cuts in her face, arms and hand from the broken light bulb. Carol was incapacitated.

She reached for her cell phone but found it was missing from her pocket. The cell phone fell out of her pocket and landed a few yards out of reach from her squalid body. Carol slowly lost consciousness from internal and external bleeding and died from hypovolemic shock. Yet, she gained an eternal friend: the friend of Death.

The Ortanique Dilemma

“Don’t touch that! It’s dirty!” yelled the mother at her six year old daughter.

Wegmans, grocery ultra-market, was pulsating. Humans were grabbing ritual items in a methodical manner. Eyes darted around and made Jeremy extremely paranoid. Jeremy was extremely high on marijuana and this did not help matters. Jeremy had a vague plan of “getting something to eat” at the Wegmans.

Jeremy entered the produce section and began to look busy among busy humans so as not to stand out. Jeremy wasn’t planning on getting produce but panicked and became overwhelmed by products and people. He found himself looking at oranges and contemplating the different varietals in his head: Valencia. Clementine. Minneola. Tangerines. Ortanique. Navel. Wait a second… Ortanique? Jeremy was taken aback by the Ortanique citrus varietal. He read the description very quietly to himself:

“Ortanique… A blend of an orange, tangerine, and unique fruit. Huh?”

Jeremy reached for an Ortanique and began examining it. During the examination an elderly woman with a mini shopping cart plowed through the aisle he was in and the mini-cart brushed up against his back. Before he could adequately respond, however, the woman continued on without apologizing for her aggressive shop-cartery.

Jeremy returned to his analysis of the Ortanique. Jeremy hated seeds and hoped the Ortanique didn’t have any. He didn’t know if the Ortanique was going to be another botched orange varietal purchase.

A woman of childbearing age, possibly a current mother of young, began examining oranges in close proximity to Jeremy. She shot a quick glance at Jeremy and this made him uncomfortable. She probably wants me to vacate, Jeremy thought.

Jeremy departed with a single Ortanique and the woman moved into where he was standing. Jeremy was correct in his assumption that she did, in fact, want him to vacate the Ortanique region of the orange section. The orange section was all hers now.

Jeremy took the Ortanique to the “7 items or less” line. The man in front of him had dozens of items (NOT seven or less) including untagged produce that the cashier would have to determine the PLU# and weigh the item (a task for the consumer to carry out in the produce section NOT the busy cashier). The man was dressed in a suit and frequently checked his phone. He seemed irritable even though he was in the wrong.

Jeremy waited with his Ortanique and didn’t want to look at the man. Jeremy was forced to view the magazines which flanked him on both sides instead. The magazine covers were mostly women staring at him. Some held food dishes. Some held their breasts. All of them had their eyes locked in on Jeremy. Jeremy got a little angry with these magazine women. Then he got paranoid because he was angry at the magazine women. Lastly, he chuckled thinking about the magazine-women situation in general.

At last he was at the register getting “checked out.” The young female cashier was full of energy:

“Did you find everything ok?”

“Yeah…”

Jeremy wanted to say something more and felt awkward with the increasing silence. He didn’t like the idea of this cashier working for him. It didn’t seem right. The transaction was completed regardless and Jeremy found himself back in his automobile, alone with the Ortanique.

He peeled open the Ortanique and broke off a slice. To Jeremy’s dismay the Ortanique had seeds. In addition to the seeds, this particular Ortanique didn’t taste very good. It was only mildly sweet and was somewhat dry. Jeremy threw the Ortanique remains out of his window and sighed.

Fuckle Buckets

Josh went out to the bars because he was looking to fuck tonight. Josh loves to fuck. It made him feel so good. When he was drinking he thought about how awesome he was. He was punching his male goombas and showing off his dominance which the goombas didn’t threaten. Josh was on tonight. Josh was going to fuck tonight. 

At the bar were a whole lot of buckets all over the place. The buckets had real nice holes in them. Josh wanted those holes. Josh wanted to fuck-the-shit out of those holes. Josh just didn’t want any bucket. Josh wanted a hard-to-get bucket. So Josh kept drinking and feeling up the buckets. Most of them were light and Josh didn’t care for a light bucket. Light buckets were too easy. You could just pick one up, take it home and totally have your way with it. 

No.

 Josh wanted a heavy bucket. Josh wanted to pick it up and show all his friends how difficult it is to manage the bucket due to its weight. Then he would take that heavy bucket and struggle to his home with it and fuck it. This is Josh’s life. 

Josh took a thick shot of whiskey and decided to make a move. He was eyeing out a bucket all night and decided to check it out. The bucket was real heavy. Josh got hot. This bucket may have been the heaviest bucket in the whole bar. Josh did a little test and tipped it around to get a feel for it. 

“Oh man you’re fucking heavy,” Josh said to the bucket. 

Josh picked it up and grew fatigue instantly by the weight. He was flabbergasted by the intense weight of the bucket. Feeling out of his league and foolish he dropped it on the ground. His friends noticed this and began laughing at Josh. Josh left the bucket and returned to his friends angry and distraught. Upon leaving the bucket some other guy came up to the bucket and began sizing it up. 

“Oh shit Josh that bucket sure showed you,” said Dylan, Josh’s generic white friend.

“Yo! Fuck off man! That shit’s mine,” Josh replied. 

Josh marched over to the bucket and pushed away the guy who was sizing it up. That guy, whose name was Marc, got offended by Josh pushing him away. Marc was a pretty decent guy, but some adrenaline and testosterone ran through his veins and made him act like an aggressive chimpanzee.

“What the fuck man, I don’t see your fucking name on this bucket,” Marc hollered.

“Do you have a fucking problem with me?” replied Josh.

“Looks like we do now.”

Josh and Marc began fighting by moving their closed fists towards each others’ bodies in a delightfully primitive manner. The altercation ended with Josh “winning.” Marc had lost a tooth. Josh was the man. His dick was ready.

Josh, now riding high on adrenaline and alcohol, stomped over to the bucket and picked it up. Josh was thrilled to be strong enough to pick up the bucket and soldiered it all the way home. When he got home the bucket was his and he was free to do anything he wanted with it. 

Josh fucked the bucket.

Fucking Hard and Getting your Rocks Off

Josh wants to find peace in his existence, but Josh is a male. A male human means Josh has an external penis that is dependent on being inside something to complete its function. This may seem ridiculous because it is… SURELY! It is ridiculous to think that you need an appendage to be enveloped. Here’s the twist!:

Josh is a hard dude, which means he lifts weights, eats meat and makes fun of the “fags”, which is a broad derogatory term used by Josh to deem those less “manly” than himself. Josh IS the man, as his comrades call him. But I mentioned a twist and here it is for real:

Josh has a vulnerable penis and even more vulnerable testicles. These external organs if damaged will make Josh a “fag” to his comrades and he would hardly achieve the status of “the man.” Therefore Josh has to protect his external organs in the vagina. Now here’s the twist for serious…:

Josh pretends like the vagina is something he owns and runs. “I fucked that bitch hard,” as Josh says, referring to inserting his vulnerable penis into another female’s safe and protected vagina. Josh wants to pretend like his penis isn’t vulnerable. Josh is a pitiful and a disgusting specimen of humans.

What’s worse is his testicles will never be protected. Therefore he has to manifest this insecurity with the most outlandish claims of power in reference to his weak and pathetic testicles. “I got my rocks off on this fucking slut’s face,” says Josh, referring to releasing sperm from his extra, tender-soft testicles.

In short, listen to the idiots. Their metaphors are extremely humorous.