The Macroqorp Company Newsletter has been put online for the edification of all employees. Please note that a thorough reading is mandatory, and a score of less than 80% on the subsequent exam will result in termination.
Have a great day!
April 30, 2007
April 26, 2007
Raiding the Archives, Part One of a (Hopefully) One-Part Series
Shit is crazy, yo. That's basically all I'm going to say about my personal life, so as not to disillusion you when you realize that even at my lowest, with woes stacked high upon my bent back, I am by far better off than you will ever be. But the fact remains, I'm not quite up to the challenge of posting regularly for a few weeks, so here come some old MQ articles that still make me laugh. If you're totally over Onion-style comedy/journalism, might want to click here right about now. Otherwise, enjoy!
Jews Celebrate Year 5766 With Jetpack Moon Parade
Many UCSD students, as well as others in the La Jolla community, have noted the recent and prolonged absence of large numbers of practitioners of the Jewish Faith. According to recent NASA reports, this mysterious disappearance occurred the world over, and may not have been, as many assumed, “a really good fire sale somewhere.”
Shots taken by the Hubble telescope have revealed that Jews, in celebration of Yom Kippur, which loosely translates to “Future Day,” have engaged in a ritual as old as time itself: the annual Jewish Jetpack Moon Parade.
Explained Rabbi Herschel Rabbinowicz, “The Jewish calendar differs from the Gregorian calendar. By our reckoning, we have just entered the far-off year of 5766.”
Rabbinowicz explained that, in honor of the new year, Jews across the globe flew to the moon via their personal jetpacks in order to meet, celebrate and engage in a futuristic ritual known only as “gnoshing.”
NASA reports have been sketchy, hinting not only at structures raised on the surface of the Moon itself, but also even more astounding details. Said NASA official Hank Bradshaw in a recent press release, “using our telescopic capabilities, we have been able to get rare glimpses of this festival in action.”
Bradshaw went on to describe a device he has termed the “laser dradle,” as well as “meals so kosher, they were previously thought to be only the domain of science fiction.”
Rabbinowicz, and many other representatives of the Jewish community, have assured us that we have little to fear from them. “Though our fleet of Yamulke Saucers could easily destroy you,” Rabbinowicz has said, “we Jews are a very peaceful people.”
He then added, “unless you fuck with us, then it’s ‘Eye For an Eye.’ We’ll have our elite Jewish Space Commandos firing laser cannons at you in three nanocycles. I’m looking at you, Germany.”
Perhaps in response to such threatening remarks, the White House has been working closely with NASA to discover some way of defending against the Jews should they attack.
Though little is known about the top-secret program at this point, NASA has made public that the Jews’ biggest weakness seems to involve an inability to say the name of God. NASA engineers are currently working on turning this concept into some sort of a gun.
Bush, Avian Flu Locked in Battle for 3% Approval Rating
President Bush is pulling out all the stops in his new campaign targeted at raising his approval rating to three percent, which would leave him in a dead heat with his bitter rival, the avian flu. While Bush’s approval rating has been steadily declining since his reelection, the fatal contagion known the world over as “bird flu” has enjoyed a slight increase in popularity.
“It’s really got some new ideas,” said one flu-supporter at a rally in Chicago last week. “Bush is old and stale, the bird flu is an outsider, not beholden to special interests.” Indeed, the avian flu has enjoyed quite a reputation of bipartisanship, willingly infecting members of any political party with its deadly viral load.
The flu hovered at a two percent approval rating until late last month, when it was revealed that Osama Bin Laden had contracted the disease. “No wonder,” said an anonymous hick we interviewed on a whim, “that there turban’s probably got a whole nest in it.”
Though Bin Laden survived the illness, the flu was seen by many as a hero. “It did more than Bush ever has,” remarked on ardent bird flu enthusiast.
Bush’s campaign targeting the avian flu has entailed a series of negative ad campaigns, speeches, and rallies all across the US. One television ad aired recently depicted the bird flu infecting innocent baby chicks, while harmlessly passing over a pack of bloodthirsty wolves.
“Though this depiction is technically accurate,” explained Marty Columbus, the avian flu’s publicist, “it is purely a matter of genetic incompatibility, not one of preference for wolves.”
Columbus continued, “Bird flu. Bird.”
Nevertheless, President Bush has said that he hopes to continue his campaign well into the spring, and to reach an eight percent approval rating in mid-April. “Shoot for the stars,” Bush said at a press conference, “that you may land among the high single digits.”
Bush has also attempted to subtly align himself with some of the flu’s policies, in a move that he hopes will reveal him to be “able to compromise on important issues.” For example, Bush’s new slogan, “Spreading the Bushdemic!” is hoped to draw flu-lovers to his camp.
“Other slogans were tried,” remarked Bush’s campaign manager Helen Cox, “but somehow ‘Bush Fever: Catch It!’ just didn’t play with test groups.”
Cox says the Bush administration has no doubts that they will “trounce the bird flu” in the battle for popularity. “Now, we’ve just got to beat out Skin Cancer, that film that develops on pudding if you leave it out, and weevils.”
She added, “curse those handsome weevils.”
Editorial: Get a Camera, Quick
By: Brad Hawkins, Olympic Hopeful
Seriously, you’re gonna want a picture of this. What is it? Well, go grab that old jumbo box of Lincoln Logs from the back of the closet. Okay, now open the top and turn the box over, so all the contents spill onto the floor in a big pile. See that? You’ve made a 1/7th-scale replica of the dump I just took.
No, I didn’t flush, and I’ll tell you why. This shit is going to make me famous. Besides, even if I did flush, the resulting strain on the toilet would likely literalize the phrase “shit storm.” We’re talking mountains here, people. The only way it could’ve been improved is if it had been all in one, connected piece.
Oh well. Something to shoot for.
Wait, is crapping an Olympic event? Seriously, go check, because if it is, we gotta save this puppy. I mean, what kind of American would I be if I didn’t offer my talents in representing our nation?
I can see it now. Me, up there on the golden throne, getting my medal. Or medals. Depends on how many events there are. Size, of course, but maybe there’s an entry for creativity, or consistency, or some sort of figure shitting event. I can smell the endorsement deals now.
Here’s some advice to all you young kids out there: never give up on your dreams, and eat plenty of fiber, and you never know what might happen. One day you too could find yourself atop a rising hill of sweet, brown glory. Dream big kids. Dream big.
Hold on a minute. I think my ass is still bleeding. Oh yeah, it’s definitely going. Okay, hold that thought, I’ll be right back. And when you grab the camera, make sure to get the wide-angle lens!
April 20, 2007
The Superficial: 1862
NOTE: I totally swear this looked perfect on the old blog. Too lazy to try and make it work on this system, but you can click for a bigger image.
April 16, 2007
A Survey of the X-Treme! Part One!
NOTE: To read a lengthened, funnier version of this article on the main CRACKED page, click here.
If the 90’s brought us anything of note, it was either Kurt Cobain’s suicide, The Usual Suspects, or the X-treme marketing movement. Of the three, guess which was easiest to turn into a modular humor article? Hint: the piece about Cobain’s suicide will be up next week.
The original bad boy of phylum Erinaceomorpha, Sonic has often been credited with starting the whole X-treme movement with his in-your-face attitude, gravity-defying speed, and undying thirst for gold rings. Whether exploding robots to free baby animals or foiling the plans of an overweight physician, Sonic goes nothing less than blue, spiny balls out at all times. This motherfucker will spin dash directly into your spine; he doesn’t give a fuck. And when you’re paralyzed for the rest of your life, he’ll be using the chaos emeralds to woo a sexually questionable, underage fox. The brand has been somewhat diluted by several less extreme cartoon series (chili dogs? No, Sonic subsists entirely on an all-pussy diet) and the addition of a ridiculous number of supporting characters—Tails, Knuckles, Amy, and even a robot and some sort of giant retarded cat—but when you see that glint in Sonic’s single, misshapen eye-viewplate-thing, you have to admit, he retains a certain air of the X-treme.
Level of X-tremity!
A busload of electric guitarists jumping a shark-filled Grand Canyon.
What could be more X-treme than a roasted corn snack? Lose a couple fillings to Corn Nuts, and you’ll know. It seems that when the makers of Corn Nuts discovered that their product was essentially the over seasoned, unpopped kernels left over from the Orville-Redenbacher factory, they decided that instead of improving it (or possibly providing some sort of Corn Nut-softening agent with every bag) they’d use an X-treme ad campaign to openly challenge consumers to bite through the menacing, nacho cheese-flavored rocks. Their personified cobs of mutant corn are truly frightening, urging you to devour them if only to prevent a future corn uprising. Looking at a bag, one imagines an angry cob bending you over a desk and whipping you with his horrifying husks, or else helping other cobs beat you into membership in an all-corn street gang. But did the strategy work? Hell yes! You can hardly go anywhere in the rural South these days without seeing someone crunching into a handful of Corn Nuts, gladly sacrificing their few remaining teeth for the exhilarating flavor of Corn Gone Wrong.
Rating on the X-treme-O-Meter!
Tony Hawk coming to your eighth birthday party.
How can it not be X-treme? It’s got X right in the name! When you sit down to watch some X-games coverage, don’t be surprised if you find yourself literally blown to the back of the room as an electric guitar wails to a fourteen-year-old snowboarder grinding pipes. Unfortunately, that effect eventually wears off, and constant comparisons between the X-games and its older, more respectable brother the Olympics has left the franchise worn and weary. It’s like that cool cousin you looked up to when you were ten. At first, the fact that he smoked weed instead of doing homework and snuck into R-rated movies all the time seemed awesome, but by the time you’re twenty five and he’s in his late thirties, smoking weed instead of collecting unemployment and sneaking into pay toilets all the time, some of the glamour wears off. Not that the Olympics is looking much better, that steroid-popping tight-ass. If there’s any lesson in all this, it’s that there are no more good role models for kids outside of professional wrestling.
X-tremeitude!
Steven Seagal, pre-Executive Decision.
For the place on your body you thought would never be X-treme enough to challenge your taint: Right Guard X-treme! Coat your underarms with this pine-scented gel and even your most X-treme friends will be ashamed of their own, dull, workaday armpits. Deoderant is a latecomer to the land of X-treme marketing, only getting really hardcore after 2000. But seeing as how antiperspirant gels and being X-treme are such a good match, one has to wonder how this didn’t happen sooner. Really, it’s a no-brainer: after skateboarding off of the world’s biggest ramp or pulling an 1180 on your BMX, what does a truly X-treme person need more than the assurance that his deoderant is kicking the shit out of stink molecules, as portrayed by sexy roller derby babes? Furthermore, Right Guard has had celebrity endorsements from Method Man, Red Man, and king of X-treme Bam Margera, who you know has to stink something fierce. As the 90’s mantra goes, if it’s X-treme enough for a skateboarder who named himself after Barney Rubble’s son and routinely beats his fat father on national television (God, what a dick), it’s X-treme enough for me.
X-tremeiousness!
A helicopter battle raging high above the surface of the moon.
If the 90’s brought us anything of note, it was either Kurt Cobain’s suicide, The Usual Suspects, or the X-treme marketing movement. Of the three, guess which was easiest to turn into a modular humor article? Hint: the piece about Cobain’s suicide will be up next week.
Sonic the Hedgehog!
The original bad boy of phylum Erinaceomorpha, Sonic has often been credited with starting the whole X-treme movement with his in-your-face attitude, gravity-defying speed, and undying thirst for gold rings. Whether exploding robots to free baby animals or foiling the plans of an overweight physician, Sonic goes nothing less than blue, spiny balls out at all times. This motherfucker will spin dash directly into your spine; he doesn’t give a fuck. And when you’re paralyzed for the rest of your life, he’ll be using the chaos emeralds to woo a sexually questionable, underage fox. The brand has been somewhat diluted by several less extreme cartoon series (chili dogs? No, Sonic subsists entirely on an all-pussy diet) and the addition of a ridiculous number of supporting characters—Tails, Knuckles, Amy, and even a robot and some sort of giant retarded cat—but when you see that glint in Sonic’s single, misshapen eye-viewplate-thing, you have to admit, he retains a certain air of the X-treme.
Level of X-tremity!
A busload of electric guitarists jumping a shark-filled Grand Canyon.
Corn Nuts!
What could be more X-treme than a roasted corn snack? Lose a couple fillings to Corn Nuts, and you’ll know. It seems that when the makers of Corn Nuts discovered that their product was essentially the over seasoned, unpopped kernels left over from the Orville-Redenbacher factory, they decided that instead of improving it (or possibly providing some sort of Corn Nut-softening agent with every bag) they’d use an X-treme ad campaign to openly challenge consumers to bite through the menacing, nacho cheese-flavored rocks. Their personified cobs of mutant corn are truly frightening, urging you to devour them if only to prevent a future corn uprising. Looking at a bag, one imagines an angry cob bending you over a desk and whipping you with his horrifying husks, or else helping other cobs beat you into membership in an all-corn street gang. But did the strategy work? Hell yes! You can hardly go anywhere in the rural South these days without seeing someone crunching into a handful of Corn Nuts, gladly sacrificing their few remaining teeth for the exhilarating flavor of Corn Gone Wrong.
Rating on the X-treme-O-Meter!
Tony Hawk coming to your eighth birthday party.
The X Games!
How can it not be X-treme? It’s got X right in the name! When you sit down to watch some X-games coverage, don’t be surprised if you find yourself literally blown to the back of the room as an electric guitar wails to a fourteen-year-old snowboarder grinding pipes. Unfortunately, that effect eventually wears off, and constant comparisons between the X-games and its older, more respectable brother the Olympics has left the franchise worn and weary. It’s like that cool cousin you looked up to when you were ten. At first, the fact that he smoked weed instead of doing homework and snuck into R-rated movies all the time seemed awesome, but by the time you’re twenty five and he’s in his late thirties, smoking weed instead of collecting unemployment and sneaking into pay toilets all the time, some of the glamour wears off. Not that the Olympics is looking much better, that steroid-popping tight-ass. If there’s any lesson in all this, it’s that there are no more good role models for kids outside of professional wrestling.
X-tremeitude!
Steven Seagal, pre-Executive Decision.
Deoderant!
For the place on your body you thought would never be X-treme enough to challenge your taint: Right Guard X-treme! Coat your underarms with this pine-scented gel and even your most X-treme friends will be ashamed of their own, dull, workaday armpits. Deoderant is a latecomer to the land of X-treme marketing, only getting really hardcore after 2000. But seeing as how antiperspirant gels and being X-treme are such a good match, one has to wonder how this didn’t happen sooner. Really, it’s a no-brainer: after skateboarding off of the world’s biggest ramp or pulling an 1180 on your BMX, what does a truly X-treme person need more than the assurance that his deoderant is kicking the shit out of stink molecules, as portrayed by sexy roller derby babes? Furthermore, Right Guard has had celebrity endorsements from Method Man, Red Man, and king of X-treme Bam Margera, who you know has to stink something fierce. As the 90’s mantra goes, if it’s X-treme enough for a skateboarder who named himself after Barney Rubble’s son and routinely beats his fat father on national television (God, what a dick), it’s X-treme enough for me.
X-tremeiousness!
A helicopter battle raging high above the surface of the moon.
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