It's been an interesting week here at the Cracked blog; my fellow writer Gladstone took some hits after posting a joke about the resemblance of a police sketch of a murder victim to the mascot of a certain humor magazine (which coincidentally was the inspiration for a knock-off franchise which would, years later, give birth to this very site).
Criticism was somewhat intense; phrases such as "maggot snot," "pathetic excuse for comedic writing," and "Ill make you paint a sketch in your own blood" were thrown around. Which is fine---I believe it was Ben Franklin who said that the tree of great comedy websites must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of tasteless bloggers and commenters with poor spelling. Or words to that effect.
I felt somewhat guilty, however, since I believe I've done much worse in the past. You see, before we came to the happy pastures of Cracked, Mr. Gladstone and I used to ply our trade for a (sadly departed) site where the police sketch/Alfred E. Neuman joke would have rated fairly low on the offensiveness scale. To share just a few examples of the depths of comic depravity I was willing to plumb in those crazy days of my squandered youth, I'll have you know that I...
- Suggested that the President's tears for fallen soldiers were really due to the cancellation of "The O.C."
- Asked whether Anne Frank was "Hot or Not"
- Reminded readers that even amidst the sadness of the Virginia Tech shootings, there were still hotties to be found
- Wrote a post on a woman accused of placing her child in the microwave titled "Baby, Baby, Don't Get Cooked on Me"
- Created a cut-out sign for teenage fans inviting R. Kelly to pee on them
- Cured readers of the desire to look at celebrity crotch-shots by surprising them with pictures of national tragedies
- Used a story about corpse mutilation in Somalia to make a joke about "I Love the 80s"
... and last but not least:
- Went out of my way to declare my dislike of Sinbad when he was rumored to be dead, then mourned said rumors when they were sadly laid to rest.
However, lest you believe that the space where my heart should be contains only an icy, desperate void, I'll have you know that I am not completely without compassion. For example, I waited for three entire hours after Anna Nicole Smith's tragic demise to create this graphic: