So a couple years back, I mentioned in a column that due to one of my many personality defects, I had been accepting every single Facebook friend request -- including those from people I'd never met before. At the time, I was kind of tickled; it seemed like a real validation of all the time I'd sunk into this online asshattery. And, posted as it was on one of the Internet's leading comedy and animal husbandry tip websites, that column reached a fairly large audience, and over the next year or so, my friends list quickly bloomed. The loneliness and isolation which had filled my life started to ebb, and I found myself functioning better in society. "I am using the bus," I would say proudly, using the bus. "Yes you are," the bus driver would respond with a smile. And so it went. Until one dark night last year, when I defriended them all. I went through that friends list with a scythe, casting out anyone who I hadn't worked with, or gotten drunk with, or fantasized about getting drunk with. I was ruthless, just totally not caring what effect this might have on my suddenly Bucholz-less non-friends. So if there was a wave of really bad poetry sweeping the Internet last spring, I guess you have me to blame. I had reasons for this, although I didn't get in to any of them at the time. I guess I was worried about sounding like one of those paranoid delusional privacy freaks, ranting about corporations with aluminum foil wrapped around my cock.
Instead, I wanted to sound like this.
This guy's sowing his seed with a kind of sashaying motion, which will be the mandatory technique in the new Bucholz World Order.In fact, most of the time I don't have anything to say at all, and feel no reason to force it. If it was needed - here I'm imagining a phone call from the president - I could come up with something funny to say about your new haircut ("It looks like your mom's mustache") but that kind of thing takes a few seconds of my time. And even when I do have the time, those little voices in my head usually talk me out of sharing my gems. "Ha ha ha ha ha! That's so funny Chris!" they say. "But let's just keep that between you and us.
It didn't work is what I'm saying.This was a really, really unsettling feeling, having all this information about me online, widely visible, often compromising, with no control over it. The problem was eventually resolved when I simply
Never gonna get tired of this joke, so don't even bother complaining.
This is the opposite of what I've got.
Like this, but instead of a cute frog standing nearby, there's a thousand vultures blotting out the sun.Because my brain is severely damaged, enabling me to write comedy when most people would simply just give up, I was able to both decipher this plan, AND wire a shotgun to blow the knees off anyone foolhardy enough to deliver mail to my house. And now I bring this message to you, here, the safest place I know. The OWG can not read Cracked, because it makes them physically uncomfortable, like a horrible, high pitched wailing in their ears, the sound of hilarious freedom bleaching their souls. Now that you know the Truth, please send me a video of you saluting the one true flag, the earth's moon, so that I know you're loyal. Anyone who does not send me such a video MUST immediately click the Facebook Like button just below this sentence, for unexplainable reasons.
For more on Facebooking (and other sites), check out 6 Things Social Networking Sites Need to Stop Doing. And get some more from Bucholz in The 25 Most Baffling Toys From Around the World.
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.