(You mean dictionary. –Ed) [I MEAN FUCK YOU, ED! -Robert]

This was also a top-ranking google image search result. Because nothing says Prince like "factual inaccuracies!"

I think the editorial staff should just be grateful that I’m even writing this, dictating it, as I am, to the terrified pedestrians that I am speeding past, and just trusting in my irresistible personal charisma to implore them to record it for me. Here’s one proposal that was rejected for a few slight inaccuracies: Pitch: Wesley snipes was recently quoted as stating that he “wants to de-virginize” himself on the Nintendo Wii. I propose an in-depth look into the sordid sex lives of other black action stars, and the depraved acts they want to commit with video games.

"More like 'Wii gonna get raped,' know what I'm sayin?"

Sample Entries #4: Mario Van Peebles wants to rub one out on a Gameboy, but has thus far been rejected. #3: Ice T once had a threesome with a Jaguar and a 3D0 in 1996, when they were both still totally hot. #2: Tyrese Gibson went down on an XBOX in a public bathroom. #1: Ice cube fucked a Genesis (up the ass).

"See this, Nintendo? This is called praying. You should start. Soon, baby."

Editorial Feedback: This is a funny concept, Robert, but I couldn’t find any mention of these things actually happening... anywhere. I don’t mean to impugn your research. I’m sure you have some credible sources that you’ve pulled these entries from, what are they? -Ed My Response: Noble and Gentle Ed, I’m sure you’re well aware that a professional’s journalistic sources enjoy full confidentiality, and I am a professional, sir. I would not reveal my sources to you any more readily than I would reveal my balls to your mother at your annual family reunion. If you would not like to see the latter carried out, I suggest you desist in the requesting that I do the former. Do you understand what I’m saying here, Ed? I’m saying I will molest your family if you ask literally anything from me ever again. I AM A MAN. Furiously yours, -Robert

Slander: When whispered things shock sexy girls in glasses.

I’d love to go a little more in-depth as to what, exactly, constitutes slander and libel, but it seems the sexy thief I'm chasing has run into a dead end, and is turning to engage me in a fist-fight. The distant static of crashing waves tells me we are near the harbor. A single gull cries out, and is silent. We await each other’s next move in tense stillness. I take this opportunity to scribble down the following example on a 1000 Lira note which I hand to a frightened boy. “RUN TO CRACKED!” I yell at the quickly fading figure. “ADDIO! ADDIO!” He replies. Man, just like an Italian to talk about shoes when there’s fighting to be done. (Two things, Robert: “Addio,” means farewell in Italian; you’re thinking of “Adidas.” Second, the Italians have actually converted to the Euro now. I’m enjoying the narrative, but perhaps you should change these things to better preserve the realism? – Ed) [“Oooh! My name is Ed, and I’m super gay for italics.” Suck it sideways. – Robert] Pitch: Title: Eight Reasons Why the Republican Party Invented Syphilis

#7. Sample Entry: Everybody knows that Republicans eat babies, but what you might not know is that they flavor these infantile delicacies with the sweet, tangy taste of Syphilis, a horrible disease which they had invented solely to season their mewling toddler meals. In 1476, the fledgling Republican Party had just dispelled the kindly god Paladine, and found they needed a new way to contaminate the world with evil to please their dark and immortal master, The Goddess of Tears Takhisis….

Listen, if Magic: The Gathering says that Republicans are vampires, then Republicans are fucking vampires, okay?

Editorial Feedback: Look, we all appreciate what you’re trying do here, Robert, and as much as we here at Cracked support and advance the socialist agenda, I just don’t think you actually understand what a Republican is. I believe you are somehow confusing American politics with the plot of the

Dragonlance series, and this could upset some people. Maybe if we framed it better, something like “Eight Reasons Why Republicans are Black Robes?” – Ed. My Response: To The Most Royal of Fuckwads Sir Ed, As much as I appreciate the feeble, awkward words you feel constantly compelled to scrawl over the staggering greatness of my work – your trembling verbs shaky and knock-kneed like a newborn deer – if you continue to insist on doing so, I will be forced to cut you. Cut you in your face. You will not be pretty anymore. Slashingly Yours, -Robert P.S. I was assuming you were pretty, like a snotty little rich girl, but now that I think about it, I bet you are actually ugly, like an ugly…poor…girl. I bet you are also stupid, and smell like Preparation H and farts. I will still cut you, however; your inherent deformity does not earn you a free pass for literary vandalism.

...Somewhat?

My Response: To Whom It May Concern Which Is Ed Whom Is a Prick and Whom Has Regular Intercourse with His Mother, While I’m sure you fancy yourself incredibly clever for “catching” me in the reviled act of plagiarism, I do believe you’ve missed my point. I was suggesting that, considering the surprising quality and humor of Mr. O’Brien’s piece, Cracked should consider re-running it with my name in place of his. This, I feel, would draw more readers to what is surely a tragically overlooked piece, worthy of more attention than Mr. O’Brien’s unimpressive name can draw. I believe Mr. O’Brien would be honored merely by being near me, and so would gladly acquiesce. May I also add: If I ever find out who you are, Ed, and why you keep imprinting your child-like retard scrawl on my beautiful, angelic prose, I will certainly destroy you with my penis like I did that Mexican magazine, a concept which I have entirely invented just now. Yours in a Way I Assure You That You Do Not Want, -Robert Now, if you’ll forgive me, modest readers, I have bested my scarlet vixen in combat and stand to reap the sexy spoils of this womanly war. Her leather-clad breasts glint in the setting sunlight like round, fleshy stars...if stars had nipples. I scream these final words into the face of one of the three unconscious marines that have fallen as collateral damage in our epic battle, trusting his subconscious will impel him to transcribe them later, and now take my leave of you to embrace the savage beauty of my mysterious Valkyrie, the explosions in the background echoing the voracity of our love-making. I do not know why there are explosions; I assume they are unrelated.

Pretty much just like every other day in my life.

(Robert, “Ed” is actually short for “editor,” as in “the editorial staff,” as in “your bosses.” Also, I feel pressed to inform you that I know for a fact you were not engaged in some sort of high speed motorcycle chase that I am almost certain was from the hit television show Alias, because I peeked into your office earlier today while you were writing this, and found you sitting in the dark, attempting to devour what I believe was an entire Meatball Sub flavored Hot Pocket in a single bite. You were having some difficulty at the time, as the molten cheese had spilled onto your bare thighs – your Batman Underoos offering little to no protection against the scalding liquid – so I chose not to interrupt your girlish screaming. Please come see me in my office this afternoon to discuss the specifics of our company dress code. Also, please at least change the Underoos beforehand; Batman is all but unrecognizable at this point, and his soiled, mangled face has been frightening the younger interns immensely. Perhaps your diet should expand beyond the “heated pocket of government cheese and sub-standard Mexican beef” stratum? – Ed.)

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Read more from Robert at his own site, I Fight Robots, where you can leave such thrilling comments as "tl;dr." Because people need to know exactly how long you can pay attention for.