Today, Vogue. Tomorrow, the world.
Author ArchiveMy place of current employment is in the process of laying off people. It’s a business decision because we’re not making enough profit the way we’re doing things right now and so a bunch of my co-workers have to go. I’m not crazy. I don’t like this, since I’m also in the “You Are Eligible To Get The Hell Out Before We Throw You Out — IF We Throw You Out And Really You Won’t Know When It’s Gonna Happen - Ever - Like, Even If You Survive This Layoff Period” group, but I do understand the economics of the move. Capitalism isn’t pretty. It often isn’t fair. But it works a lot better than the rest of the economic systems the world’s great thinkers and societies have thought up so I’m in favor of it. I’m also in favor of ice cream three meals a day but I’m not in favor of ballooning up to the size where you have to be wedged out of your home with a crowbar. So yeah, I’m often torn between seeing the reality of things and wishing things were happy for everyone. When we were all summoned to hear this news, my colleagues appeared stunned and had that “Whatever will I do? Where ever shall I go?” look. Thankfully, nobody slapped the back of their hand to their forehead and swooned outright. I mean, none of us had fans to bring them “to” so they’d have been out of luck. Plus we were all on deadline and really needed to get back to the work we still had until we were told to pack it in. But I thought to myself that, while we were hearing the harsh, harsh reality of it all, many people were acting as if The End Was Nigh. Newsflash: It isn’t. You’ll just have to find another job. Americans have been finding another job since… well, since before there were Americans. When Merrie Olde Mother England kicked out all the citizenry who weren’t down with the king, those folks hit the high seas for The New World. They had been fired from England and found new, rewarding work at America, the hip, funky, cool new country on the block. And they thrived. England pulled a Starbucks and tried to keep on expanding its franchise all over the world but they eventually ended up closing most of those stores. Even France copied America’s business model and started its own little boutique, “Libertie, Egalite, Fraternitie,” which has been pretty successful except when it was overtaken by German management for a short time. When in America, prepare to work. And don’t get comfortable doing what you do because times change and with that shift comes an alteration in how many jobs are needed in which industries. This country’s expansion westward was a product of the “manifest destiny” idea and for my colleagues and me, our manifest destiny now is to be ready to expand our own horizons. That means you’ll either find work elsewhere to earn a living or, if that’s too tough and you can’t make ends meet, you could just kick off and never have to worry about paying that ginormous Visa bill. Personally, I’m totally in favor of living and I hope my colleagues are too. Which is why we’d all better start looking into what, for most of us, will be at least our second career. My own manifest destiny appears to be “X-Ray Technician,” since it doesn’t involve many math skills and I am absolutely OK with that if it ever comes to pass. Perhaps the pursuit of happiness involves wearing scrubs to work each day and if that’s the case, I say Westward Ho.
In this installment of our occasional “Let’s Ask…” segment, celebrity guest blogger Hamburglar, noted McDonald’s hamburger thief, ’70s TV pitchman and prison fashion icon, answers a question from a select Chrisco Spins reader. Dear Hamburglar, My lying, cheating himbo of a so-called “husband” has abandoned me for another woman. In fact, he has left me for Madonna. The singer, not the Blessed Mother. But I wouldn’t put it past the man-whore to go after HER, too! This man WHO HAS NEVER WON A WORLD SERIES RING, I REMIND YOU is doing it with an old hag who is HERSELF married and has children and HAS NOT HAD A BIG RADIO HIT SINCE “LIKE A PRAYER” and she’s SO gonna need one when I rip out all her hair WHICH I AM SURE IS A BIG FAT FAKE WIG and, just so all you girls who think my lying, cheating himbo of a husband is so HOT or whatever, let me just say right here and now before God, my babies, the gossip writers at Page Six of the NY Post and this divorce court judge that I must now weep in front of while saying the Prayer For Alimony Mejor, that he may have a great batting average on the baseball field at Yankee Stadium and all that but in el dormitorio he can barely make it around third and when it comes to sliding into home the lying, cheating himbo is, like the No. 13 he wears on his pinstriped jersey, CURSED! I am the one who can bench press 250 easy in a Victoria’s Secret bikini, not HER. Ay Dios Mio, why must I suffer so at the hands of a lying, cheating scumbag and his slutty OLD pointy-bra wearing PUTA?!!!! YOU MAY SING “LIKE A VIRGIN,” YOU CARA DE CONA, BUT OH YOU ARE MOST CERTAINLY NOT A VIRGIN!!!!!!!!! PUNTA POR FAVOR!!!!!!! YOU ARE MORE LIKE A PINCHE PUTA! DO YOU HEAR ME, AMERICA? AND HE IS A MAMAHUEVO WHO CANNOT HIT A CLUTCH HOMER WHEN IT IS MOST NEEDED AND I AM NOT JUST TALKING ABOUT BEISBOL!!!!!!!!!! OJALA QUE MUERAS, ALEX RODRIGUEZ!!!!!! CAGO EN TU LECHE!!!!!!!!!!! Hey Hamburglar, you made a lot of money from those McDonald’s ads, right? I like a man in stripes, mi guapo, if you know what I mean. *wink* *wink* Gracias and… are you single? - The Future FORMER Mrs. A-Rod The Hamburglar replies… Robble robble robble. Robble ROBBLE robble robble… ROBBLE! ROBBLE! Robble robble robble. Hee hee hee hee… Robble robble robble. Robble robble robble. Hee hee hee… Join us for the next installment of “Let’s Ask…,” when former U.S. President and Playa In Chief William Jefferson “You can call me Bill, baby, just make sure you call me — but only when SHE’S not home” Clinton answers your questions about livin’ fast, lovin’ hard and proper cigar etiquette for gentlemen. Thanks be to YouTube, this obviously troubled woman was found and faces charges for harassing an elderly lady on a MARTA train here in Atlanta. Her chosen method of haranguing was a truly awful, profanity-laced freestyle. There’s a link in the story to the video. It’s just… sad. For everyone involved. Me, I feel for the elderly lady. Nobody should be subjected to such a public display. But watching this nightmare in broad daylight, it’s worth noticing how the lady being screamed at keeps her cool. She’s the picture of class and dignity as everything around her is insane. I know this: Seeing her wise example, I have so much yet to learn. A blogger I know today asked if someone should be fired. The blog was going bonkers online and readers were writing in to share opinions. In other words, the blog was doing what it was supposed to do — provoking real thought, spurring readers to interact and spend time on a website (the site in question is not this one, although we’d like you to hang out here, of course). But company blogging policy dictated that its fan bloggers cannot call for the firing or removal of certain public figures. This blogger had no idea. The company didn’t tell the blogger this - until the blog was going crazy, of course. Please join me in a Greek chorus of “HUH?” And here I thought the point of posting blogs was to stimulate conversation among the masses, not to stifle debate. But I guess only columnists, most of whom aren’t interested in blogging and having the guts to actually hear BACK from their readers, are allowed to be so lofty as to enjoy the First Amendment right to free speech and expression of opinion. Interesting. Has anyone told our Constitution?
In this initial installment of our occasional “Let’s Ask…” segment, celebrity guest blogger Tom Cruise, noted film star, Scientology expert and couch-jumper, answers a question from a select Chrisco Spins reader. Dear Crazy Tom, Y’all. OK, so I was kind of like married to this dude - let’s call him “Hay-Fed” because he’s got a face like a horse, ha ha HA - and like it was all crazy and sexy and shopping for trucker hats at Wal-Mart late at night all barefooted and a WHOLE lot of eating hot wings with champagne three meals a day from room service and, I mean, it was real classy at first, y’all, but then he knocked me up and I popped out a kid and then he was all up on me like some humpy dog and THEN I had another baby like all right away and I couldn’t sing no more because of all the peeing and pooing and burping — and the babies were just as bad, y’all. So I dropped his sad skinny ass and got all bald, which I thought was a good idea at the time but kind of sucked because I found out you sunburn real bad on your head unless you wear pink wigs. Anyway, people have been saying I’m crazy and I can’t sing and dance and I’m a bad mother to my babies because I maybe HAVE been known to let them play with my cigarette packs. Oh, and I kind of was rushed to the hospital once. Or twice. Or like a few times. For rehab and stuff. Ask my mom. She’d know. She knows it ALL, y’all, and she will TELL you that just like she tells ME that ALL THE $&*@ING TIME OH MY GAWD!!!!! Thanks, y’all - “Crazy” Brit Brit Crazy Tom says… Wow. OK. HA HA HA HA HA!!! You’re… you’re… you’re… you’re GLIB, Brit Brit! YOU’RE GLIB! I’ve done RESEARCH on psychiatric drugs and THEY DON’T WORK! HA HA HA HA HA!!! ARE YOU LISTENING?!!! Only WEAK-MINDED PEOPLE take them and a simple AUDIT from my friends at the Hollywood Hills First Church of Scientology Savings & Loan would work WONDERS for you! KATIE, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE HA HA HA HA HA, and I just sent our good friend BROOKE SHIELDS a coupon for a free mind audit (bring a friend - HA HA HA HA HA!!!) and she LOVED IT!!! Her exact words afterwards were “Xenu loves me, this I know… L. Ron Hubbard tells me so…” YEAH, BROOKE!!! HOW MUCH DO I LOVE THIS WOMAN?!!! NOT AS MUCH AS I LOVE YOU, KATIE!!! AND YOU, SURI!!! YEAH!!! YEAH!!! YEAH!!! I AM IN LOVE, AMERICA, IN LOVE I TELL YOU!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! Yours in the joy of jumping on random couches - Crazy Tom Coming soon: In the next installment of “Let’s Ask …” celebrity songstress Beyonce Knowles discusses her love of ultra-diva Tina Turner, except for La Tina’s unfortunate ’80s hair period. This coming week in April, we’ll mark the following tragedies in recent U.S. history:
I’ve dreaded this week every year since 1999, when I started noticing the pattern of violence apparently reserved for this particular set of April days. T.S. Eliot begins his 1922 epic masterpiece poem, “The Waste Land,” taking note of the dichotomy that marks this time of year: April is the cruellest month, breeding We look forward in spring to newness, warmth and the promise of what’s to come, forgetting, perhaps, just how cold, bitter and unforgiving the winter has truly been.
America, I have to ask: What. The. HELL? True story: My friend D. lost her 12-year-old sheltie, Mags*, to a combination of the pain of doggy old age and some form of bladder disease this past September. She didn’t think she’d get another dog, at least not anytime soon. She was grieving. Enter Black Dog*. The short of it is that D. was then dating a guy who had two Labs and she adored them. Checking out Atlanta Lab Rescue’s site, she hit upon tons of awesome dogs needing loving homes. At a meet ‘n’ greet with some of the Labs, she met Black Dog, distinctive from the other Labs in that her tail was docked. BBD (Big Black Dog, as we also call her) came over and put her big ole black head in D’s lap. That, D. told me later, was the kicker. “I think I’ve found my dog,” she told one of the volunteers. “I think your dog found you,” he replied. Black Pearl Dogs has identified “Black Dog Syndrome” for what it really is — the same kind of dumbassness that marks those among us who judge people (or pets) based on color instead of character. But unlike me they take the high road, politely say that Black Dog Syndrome is really a shame and keep on working tirelessly to promote what’s important: boosting adoption of black and/or dark-colored dogs to keep more of them from being euthanized simply due to lack of homes willing to take them. Dogs don’t appear choosy about who they roll with. Most cool dogs I’ve known that were well-treated romped about with all kinds of guys, gals and kids and I don’t think they discriminated based on race, gender, sexual orientation or national origin. Dogs aren’t color-blind, but studies show they are color-limited. Man’s Best Friend doesn’t care about black or white much. We shouldn’t either. Can’t we all just get a dog? * names slightly changed to protect their goofy human friends (me)
Enter the enemy of all those who purchase electronics to win friends and influence people: Technological advancement. I knew it was all over when my friend D. casually strolled by my desk one evening to show me her shiny new silver iPod Shuffle, aka The Updated Version That, Just So You Know, Is Way Way WAY Much More Compact, Cooler And Portable Than Your Stick Of Gum FugPod Will Ever Be So THERE Ha Ha! Naturally, my stick of gum Shuffle became the figurative white albatross around my neck. It looked lame hanging on me like some reject from the Flava Flav For Juniors collection. Whenever I tried jogging with it, it would swing from side to side; it was like having my own personal pendulum bearing down on me, Poe-like, and my OCD-plagued soul was the pit. What torture. So of course I went to Target and bought my own itty bitty silver Hey I Downsized And Now I Can Jog With It So Really It Was For The Good Of My Health iPod Shuffle and since then it’s been all good. Tonight, though, I got out the old stick of gum. It works fine and for all practical purposes, is brand new. I had 197 songs on it from back in the days when I thought it made my life complete and I just erased them all, every single one. It’s time to start over with a fresh template here, a new beginning for this token that once held me speechless. It was never the perfect gift but it’s one that I cherish because it was given with real purpose, not just to satisfy a “birthday requirement.” Less is more. Holding it now, I understand that.
Our ritual goes like this: I pop by to pick up my car, he’s sitting in the glassed-in box that approximates an office over there and we make the swift, deft, expert exchange. “Thanks, babe,” he says in an accent that I honestly still haven’t yet figured out. “Good luck,” I reply. He’ll nod knowingly and say something like “Let’s hope it’s a good one. Last week, not so good.” He’s a Leo so it’s dicey with them. Geminis like me, we’re an odd lot and nobody understands us - except other Gems. What I hate are those Thursdays when I’m not here or I can’t pick up the early print copy of the Sunday horoscope for my friend. It bugs me to leave him hanging like that, life in the balance, until the next week when we do it all over again and everything’s right in our little universe. |
We here at Chrisco Spins are not only dedicated to intelligent debate among our own bloggers, but are absolutely committed to providing a public forum for those in society who seek an outlet for opinions classified as “gibberish” or “unintelligible” or “obviously written by TV ad people who were high at the time.”
