I'm Not Qualified to Write This Post

Well folks, Spring is here which, for most people means love is in the air. For the nerdy, pasty, internet obsessed tech crowd, however, (that's you, Cracked.com readers!), it means one thing: South by Southwest. That's right, the 22nd Annual South by Southwest Festival, a celebration of music, movies, technology and the internet, is going on all this week. Bloggers, pseudo-celebrities and nerds everywhere are flocking to Texas for a week of boner-inducing inter-news, and as an incredibly important and influential Cracked Blogger, it's only natural that I should be in attendance. I don't mean to brag, but as an experienced journalist, I have somewhat of a knack for sensing when something huge is about to happen and, let me tell you, I had one hell of a hunch that this particular SXSW festival was going to be different. Something big was going to go down, and I wanted to be there when it happened. If my hunch was accurate, (and they always are), this story could almost guarantee me a Pulitzer. Alternately, I heard Jenna Fischer was going to be there, and I’ve always kind of wanted to ask her if she’s ever seriously considered taking a shower with me.

I went to visit Cracked’s Head Editor Jack O’Brien last week to see about getting a plane ticket to the event… “Let me ask you something, Jack Rabbit-” I began “Don’t call me that” he interrupted. “What if I was to tell you that I’m planning an article so controversial, so inspirational, so

fucking life-changing that, after you read it, your head will literally spit your eyes right off your god damn face because your brain would realize that there’s no point in reading anything else ever. Got that? Your brain says you don’t even need eyes anymore because you already read the most important article ever conceived. That’s how fucking Ninja Turtles this article is.” I paused to let my words sink in, and because I accidentally spit all over myself in my excitement. “If I told you I could write that article and get it up on Cracked by the end of the week, would you just shit your pants, or what?” I could tell I had him. “Probably not, no,” he answered. “But I’ll admit it, you’ve got my attention.” I also had his wallet, but he didn’t need to know that. “You can have that article, Jack to the Future-” “Don’t call me that.” “-and all it would take on your part is a plane ticket to Austin. One little plane ticket, and you’ll have the article that’ll change the world. One plane ticket … and a few other incidental expenses,” I mumbled as I pulled out my expense proposal. “Incidental expenses?” Jack looked skeptical. I was worried, but then I reminded myself that Jesus’s editor probably looked skeptical when Jesus handed over his expense proposal that may or may not have also included a beanbag chair full of corndogs. “I know what you’re thinking, Boss, and trust me, it’s just the essentials.” I handed over the proposal and he started skimming through it. “Well,” he started, “already it looks like we’re gonna have some problems.” “Problems,” I asked. “Yeah. The first item on the list: You’re asking for a stretch limo? And

two rooms in a five-star hotel, for some reason, a diamond-studded top hat, a sandwich gun, which isn’t a thing, by the way, you made that up. Uhh … it looks like you’re asking for $900 for ‘miscellaneous pimping,’ two grand for heroin, and this last item … I mean, it looks like you’ve just drawn a picture of yourself on a jet pack, I don’t … I don’t know what that means.”

I smiled, lost in the brilliance and eloquence of my proposal. “Dan, I gotta be honest … I can’t give you any of this.” “Why the hell not?” If I hadn’t already swiped his wallet, you can bet your ass I’d have been swipin’ it then. Swipin’ it like a motherfucker. “Well, gosh, Dan, so many reasons. We don’t have this kind of budget, for one thing. A good portion of the items on this list aren’t real, and uhh, some of these things, I just wouldn’t feel right signing off on, morally, you understand. I might actually have to fire you, you know that, right?” “No, no I don’t know that, Jack Fu. All I know is that this SXSW nerd bullshit is gonna be huge. All I know is that I’m sitting on the article of the century over here and all you can do is piss on my face.” “Well, I don’t really think that’s what I’m doing, but alright. I’m not going to sign off on this. Can you please get out of my house now?” “Biggest mistake of your life, pal,” I said as I headed for his refrigerator. “All you do is piss. Piss, piss piss. You are a coward.” “I’m calling the police.” *** Had

A-Jack of the Clones not been such a raging coward, I’d be sitting pretty in Texas right now, soaring over a bunch of understandably impressed bloggers in my Cracked.com Jet Pack. But that isn’t the case. I wasn’t there and, surprise surprise, something huge happened. Had I been there, I’d be able to give you fine readers first-hand accounts of one of the most talked about Facebook-related controversies of the new millennium. Apparently, Sarah Lacy, the woman who, for no discernible reason, was tasked with interviewing youngest billionaire on the planet and Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg, did such an awful job as an interviewer that audience members were booing, shouting out insults, and doing whatever else it is that nerds do when they get cranky. Lacy was reportedly too giggly and flirty, seldom asked any actual worthwhile questions and often interrupted Zuckerberg as he was in mid-sentence. The article, (that I didn’t write because I didn’t fucking see the interview), goes on to say that Lacy implied she might pour water on Zuckerberg, made up a story about Zuckerberg burning a series of his personal journals, and one blogger you’ve never heard of said “"It sounds like the Zuckerberg keynote was one of the worst things in Internet history.” Got that, everyone? One of the worst things in Internet history. This is the same Internet that brought us 2girls1cup, goatse, that bitch who plays Hannah Montana’s webshow, and stale jokes that never made sense to begin with: You don’t just throw around “one of the worst things in Internet history” lightly. This event, described by Wired as total “chaos,” will be talked about for years and years to come. And where was Cracked.com’s Senior Stupid Internet Shit Correspondent while all this was going on? Where was he, you ask? He was sitting alone in his apartment in his underwear, spilling nachos on his stomach and missing the story of the century because someone was too cheap to shill out the necessary $86,000. Maybe when he learns to recognize a gifted journalist when he sees one, he'll get his wallet back. Probably not though.

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Some more of Daniel's stuff can be found here and sometimes here. But not here.