EDITOR'S NOTE: Hey guys. Jack O'Brien, Cracked's Editor-in-Chief here, writing to you in italics, which I'm pretty sure Michael is unable to read for some reason. To clarify, Michael isn't leaving for the Onion. Only Cracked's industrial-strength holding cells are fit for his containment. Please just humor him so he'll stop eating asparagus and pissing on my stuff.
Hey everyone. Michael here. I figured it's been long enough since I posted a column that most of the Cracked bigwigs wouldn't be paying attention.
To be frank, from the inside, this site is looking more and more like a sinking ship. Captain making his final dick joke to a tearful crew, dutiful Cracked staffers farting in unison as the water envelops them, the whole bit. I give it 10, 11 decades, tops, and I'm getting while the getting's good (and before Jack realizes how many of his effects I've covered in my trademark "secret scent"*).
Onion readers, please forward this sample video on to their editorial board, or possibly the Conan staff dudes or the cats that make Daily Show episodes and air them daily. I couldn't let anyone on staff know, seeing as how I won't be taking any of them with me and I hope they all rot in the mire they've created, so I only had my phone to shoot on. Hope that's cool. Onion guys, give me money!
If you need to find me, Jack knows my phone number. Follow the scent trail I left at the door to your offices before the security guy booted me.
*Available for purchase in the lobby.
Businesses still have no idea how to market themselves to women.
We're moving toward an entirely delivery-based economy ... but there may be some people you WON'T want knowing your address.
How exactly do you get gigs like these?