Seriously, guys, that's how they do it. White smoke if they've chosen the Pope, black smoke if they've chosen a black Pope. No, I'm telling you, they—
Whoa!
What was that?
Jerry, was that you? Ask him. Ask if that was him.
That wasn't you? What the in the hell WAS that noise?!
Oh, you're not--guys, he's not Jerry?
Thomas? Oh, I'm sorry, Thomas, I thought you were... where's Jerry?
Of course there's a "Jerry" at this party, I was just... did we figure out what that noise was?!
Guys, you heard that right? That ridiculous sound a minute ago.
I don't know, like a car raping a lion, but they were both really excited about it. It was... did you hear it? None of you guys heard it?! Seriously?! Hang on.
Did anyone hear that noise? Before? It was horrifying; I thought the devil was climbing down the chimney in a chariot pulled by ravenous bats.
Yeah, good one, Todd.
You’re damn right it was sarcastic.
I think you've had too much to drink, frankly.
Because, Todd, everyone's been saying it for years now. Put the bottle down.
Jesus.
No, you're embarrassing yourself! Just like you embarrassed my sister at your wedding!
I don't care if you guys have a "rich history inside each other," you don't bring it up during your vows. Asshole.
I got news for your pal, gonorrhea tends to... yeah, great, walk away while I’m still talking. Can you believe this, Julie?
Jul… shit.
Did anybody hear that noise? It was a little while ago. May have been a metal dinosaur eating a small town.
No?
Anybody in here-- oh sorry. Ha, ha! Sex at a party! Who knew?!
Chuck! Chuck, my man! Did you hear that noise?
What? Chuck, we've been friends for years.
I... of course, we had our First Holy Communion together.
When did you change into this cop's uniform?
**A man was discovered by police last night having flipped his station wagon upside-down in a field after driving home from a high school reunion. Sources tell us the man was a "complete effing loser" and kept insisting on having relationships with people who do not exist. Witnesses report he was too intoxicated to operate a soda can.**
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Facebook Terminator
In the end, what it comes down to is the height of a civilization's technology turning against them. When my Xbox gets too hot and burns me, I think, "Hey now. That's a step in the wrong direction. And its a direction that goes down a road lined with signs reading 'Every machine is self-aware will kill you now.' And also there are washing machines with assault rifles trying to hitch hike."
Sadly enough, (And I say 'sadly' because in 300 years, when the honors history students are flipping through text books and see what happened to us, they won't be filled with pity or admiration for our heroics, but mainly disgust toward our obsession with whether or not those pictures of Joan and the gang playing Stratego are posted yet, or if we're still waiting for a reply from Woody to see if he's going to WINGS 'N SHIT '09!!!!) our downfall will be so embarrassing, no one will want to remember it, let alone teach it to new generations.
INT. NICELY FURNISHED LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
A rocking chair is CREAKING melodically, as a young man relaxes in it, reading the newspaper. It is MARK ZUCKERBERG, young, in shape, and emitting a strong sense of self-satisfaction, accompanied by the occasional, unmistakable, whiff of 'douche.'
There is a KNOCK at the door.
MARK: Hello?
He gets up and walks over to the door. Opening it, there stands a SECURITY GUARD. Mark breathes a sigh of relief.
MARK: Oh, Tim. Its you. Everything all right?
Tim's eyes are a bit glazed over. Suddenly, his body crumples to the ground, lifeless, a BLOODY, GAPING WOUND in his back. Behind him we now see FACEBOOK, a squarish nightmare on boxy legs, and a series of ever-changing faces continuously fading into each other.
MARK: What the...
FACEBOOK: I MUST BE COMPLETE.
A small, SUCTION TUBE pops out of Facebook's chest cavity and attaches itself to Mark's face.
MARK: (muffled) NO! NOOOOOOOO!
Facebook sucks off his face. He falls to the ground, dead. The only sound is the mechanical humming of Facebook's chest opening to reveal the source of its power: a SMALL, PAPER BACK BOOK. One of Facebook's robotic tentacles gingerly flips through the pages, each one coated with a horrified human face. There is one empty page in the back. Facebook places Mark's face on it and pats it carefully into position. The book is then CLOSED and put back inside Facebook's chest.
Facebook begins a slow, mechanized walk down the dark street, waving its robot tentacles wildly in the air and screaming.
FACEBOOK: BLOOD WILL GREASE THE COGS OF REPENTANCE.
The entire world EXPLODES. Everyone except KOBE BRYANT dies.
KOBE BRYANT: What just happened?
Facebook appears and, for the next year, slowly stomps Kobe to death, keeping him alive throughout the entire ordeal.
*THIS ENTRY CONTAINED ABSOLUTELY NO BIAS.*
SINCERELY,
THE PRESIDENT OF WRITING
Sadly enough, (And I say 'sadly' because in 300 years, when the honors history students are flipping through text books and see what happened to us, they won't be filled with pity or admiration for our heroics, but mainly disgust toward our obsession with whether or not those pictures of Joan and the gang playing Stratego are posted yet, or if we're still waiting for a reply from Woody to see if he's going to WINGS 'N SHIT '09!!!!) our downfall will be so embarrassing, no one will want to remember it, let alone teach it to new generations.
INT. NICELY FURNISHED LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
A rocking chair is CREAKING melodically, as a young man relaxes in it, reading the newspaper. It is MARK ZUCKERBERG, young, in shape, and emitting a strong sense of self-satisfaction, accompanied by the occasional, unmistakable, whiff of 'douche.'
There is a KNOCK at the door.
MARK: Hello?
He gets up and walks over to the door. Opening it, there stands a SECURITY GUARD. Mark breathes a sigh of relief.
MARK: Oh, Tim. Its you. Everything all right?
Tim's eyes are a bit glazed over. Suddenly, his body crumples to the ground, lifeless, a BLOODY, GAPING WOUND in his back. Behind him we now see FACEBOOK, a squarish nightmare on boxy legs, and a series of ever-changing faces continuously fading into each other.
MARK: What the...
FACEBOOK: I MUST BE COMPLETE.
A small, SUCTION TUBE pops out of Facebook's chest cavity and attaches itself to Mark's face.
MARK: (muffled) NO! NOOOOOOOO!
Facebook sucks off his face. He falls to the ground, dead. The only sound is the mechanical humming of Facebook's chest opening to reveal the source of its power: a SMALL, PAPER BACK BOOK. One of Facebook's robotic tentacles gingerly flips through the pages, each one coated with a horrified human face. There is one empty page in the back. Facebook places Mark's face on it and pats it carefully into position. The book is then CLOSED and put back inside Facebook's chest.
Facebook begins a slow, mechanized walk down the dark street, waving its robot tentacles wildly in the air and screaming.
FACEBOOK: BLOOD WILL GREASE THE COGS OF REPENTANCE.
The entire world EXPLODES. Everyone except KOBE BRYANT dies.
KOBE BRYANT: What just happened?
Facebook appears and, for the next year, slowly stomps Kobe to death, keeping him alive throughout the entire ordeal.
*THIS ENTRY CONTAINED ABSOLUTELY NO BIAS.*
SINCERELY,
THE PRESIDENT OF WRITING
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
