Have you heard of this thing? It's the Wikipedia for people who would otherwise never make it into Wikipedia, (that's you!). The object of the Biographicon is to give regular, everyday users the chance to edit and create their own biographies with the end goal of getting a bio for everyone on the planet.
The set up of the site is such that, at this point, anyone can edit anyone else's biographies. Now, is this good news or bad news? That all depends on how you look at it. On the one hand, it removes some of the elitism that's been plaguing Wikipedia lately, (an elitism, it should be noted, similar to the elitism that made Wikipedia necessary in the first place). On the other hand, by opening the doors to everyone, it's difficult to stop people from viciously attacking the bios of other users for no discernible reason.
Granted, Biographicon has an editor or two that regularly checks to make sure no one is writing anything too awful or inaccurate, and generally these editors have a good eye for spotting false information and, usually, the offending information is soundly deleted.
But not always.
Me personally? I'm kind of into this Biographicon. I mean, I'm famous enough that Tina Fey will drastically change her mind in order to have sex with me, but not quite famous enough to end up in Wikipedia just yet. Until those Wikipedia fat cats realize that I do belong on their stupid site for jerks, Biographicon will have to do. Finally, I'll have a page that details my whole life history.
I couldn't create a page myself, though, (I'm far too busy and important, of course). So, I enlisted the help of Cracked.com's Head Editor, Jack O'Brien.
"Jaquille O'Neil, I think we need to create a Biographicon entry for me. The sexiest fucking entry that stupid site has ever seen." I told him when I entered his office this morning.
"Don't call me that." I was going to call him that again, I could just feel it. I paced around his office, shouting out ideas as they came to me.
"It's got to be great, I told him." I tossed a pen to him. Or at him. Whatever. "Start writing. Write 'Daniel Joseph O'Brien was born in the Eighties in a little place just East of None-Of-Your-Fucking-Business. His mother was a Saint and his father is Optimus Prime. Nicknamed The Archbishop of Hip Hop, Daniel is a full-time blogger and a full-time Porking-Enthusiast.'…Actually, 'Porking Enthusiast' sounds a little sleazy. How about 'The Jesus Christ of Boning'? Is 'The Jesus Christ of Boning' taken, as a title, or can that be mine? Yeah. Write that down. 'Daniel O'Brien is The Jesus Christ of Boning. When not boning or blogging, (which is rare), Daniel can be found playing racquetball, at which he is adequate.' Are you getting this, Jack Morris?"
"First of all, don't call me that. Second of all, no, I haven't been writing anything. You didn't even throw me a pen, this is a pretzel log." He held out the pen which was, indeed, a pretzel log. I took a bite. Jack started going through some papers on his stupid desk. "Actually, Dan, while we're on the subject, Ethan Herdrick, the founder of the site, has been sending us emails. I think he'd really prefer it if you stayed away from Biographicon for a while. He says you've been posting some false and negative information on someone's Biographicon profile." I widened my eyes and shrugged my shoulders, as people often do when they are innocent of things.
"What do you mean? What profile?" Jack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. That's no way to treat the Jesus Christ of Boning.
"Don't do this, Dan, you know which profile he's talking about."
"It's sick, Dan, really, and it needs to stop. The Mabisms, the threatening letters you've been sending her, everything. Did you seriously get someone to record an anti-Hannah-Montana Heavy Metal song?" I remained silent on the matter, though, if I had spoken up, I'd have pointed out that it's definitely a progressive metal song. There's a difference. An awesome difference.
"Look, Jack-a-Mole, I don't know anything about anyone's profile other than my own. Which, by the by, you still haven't written. Now, where was I? 'Daniel O'Brien, a former costumed street-vigilante from Rhode Island has aspirations of either being President of America or sleeping with Danica McKellar. His likes include Chili's, his abs, and vagina, and his dislikes include cats, Michael Swaim, and nuclear war. As the Archbishop of Hip Hop-"
"Dan I'm gonna cut you off right there because, again, I'm not writing any of this down. Also I'm pretty sure you're violating your parole by being here. Before I have you escorted off the premises, I'm going to have to ask you to stay away from the Biographicon for a while. Also, stop calling Miley Cyrus from the Cracked Office Building and leaving disturbing messages. They can trace the calls, you know." Oh, so suddenly breathing heavily and hanging up is a 'disturbing message' now? What's this country coming to? I finished the rest of the pretzel log and started to leave. I know when I'm not wanted.
"I'll leave, Jackson Browne, but only because I respect you." Also, because two police officers were carrying me out of what I thought was Jack's office but, upon second look, was apparently his bathroom. "But when I get back, we're gonna straighten out this bio of mine, right?"
"Please don't try to contact me again," his mouth said. "Of course we are," his eyes said. "Of course we are."