I sat in my new office and smiled when Cracked.com's Head editor, Jack O'Brien, walked in.
"Well," I said. "If it isn't 'Don't Step on the Jack Or You'll Break Your Mamma's Jack.'"
"I know. Long one, right?"
"Yeah. Hardly seems worth it to me. Also, don't call me that."
"Whatever you say, Boss."
Today, it was important for me to be polite, to call him 'boss' and to generally not do the kinds of things I usually did to Jack, (the name-calling, the spitting, the robbing. I threatened him with a fork once.). Today, I needed to get on Jack's good side. Today, I needed a favor. A big favor. But how would I subtly and slyly let him know?
"I need a big favor," I yelled slyly.
"I'm gonna go right ahead and say 'no' before you even ask me for whatever it is you need." I reached for my fork.
"Don't you think you're being a little hasty, Jack?" He reconsidered. The one's who fear forks often do.
"We have a problem, Boss. Cracked has a problem. I think we've made some enemies. Some enemies who want us gone. Out of the way." To get more comfortable, I started loosening my tie. "Now, I'm not totally surprised at the recent enemy surge; we're a super huge website and I guess a few enemies come with the cost of fame. Hey, no one said this would be easy, right?" To get more comfortable, I started unbuckling my belt. "'Easy,' now there's a tricky word for you. Let's think about what that word means for a second. Let's break it down, shall we? See, the Romans believed that 'Easy' was a-"
"Dan, what the hell are you talking about," he said, interrupting me like a big, stupid jackass. He was getting impatient, (more jackass-like behavior), so I decided to cut right to the point.
"There's this doofy, little website that's trying to intimidate us, Boss. They want us gone. They want to muscle us off the internet. They think they're
better than us, Boss."
"What's the site?"
"Some Mom-and-Pop piece of shit called 'Google.' I'd never even heard of them before, I had to Lycos the name just to find out. It seems they're a search module of some kind." Jack just kept staring at me, probably shocked at the audacity of this lameass, dipshit website for jerks. I continued. "Now, Boss, it's important to let these dicks know that Cracked will not be bullied. We need to send a message that sends these dicks right back home to Dicksburg, Dickslyvania, crying to their dick-Mommies with their dicks hangin' outta their dicks." I don't really know anything about human anatomy.
"Google, Dan? What exactly is Google doing to bully us?"
"I'm glad you asked. I have here with me a series of pictures that prove Google thinks they're better than us. You see, Jumpin' Jack Flash, the Cracked offices are located in this big building, right? This building happens to be the exact same building that these Google fools, ("foogles") decided to move into. Here, take a look at these pictures." I handed him a stack of photographs.
"Well, already I hate this. The first picture is a naked one of you."
"Oh, yeah, you can go ahead and keep that; I've got, like, a million. I'm using them as business cards."
"There's no contact number or email," Jack said.
cocktact number, am I right?" And email-genitalia, right gang? "But seriously, Boss, keep checking out the pictures."
"See, now here's what the Cracked headquarters looks like:"
This is seriously my office.
"And here's what the fucking Google headquarters looks like:"
What's a matter, Dicks? You couldn't just write 'Google' once? Dicks!?!
Google has two floors.So did the Nazi's.
"I'm not sure I see what the problem is," Jack said. Poor, simple Jack.
"I think it's pretty clear. They think they're better than us. They've got all their flash and flair, and they think that it makes them a superior website. Let me ask you something, when was the last time Google hit the front page of Digg?
Fucking never. So what gives them the right? They think they can come into our building with their fancy logos and their stupid displays with stupid multi-colored balls? They think they can
get away with that?"
Google: Balls on the outside, Dicks on the inside.
"Well, I'm gonna let them know that they're not the only ones with giant, multi-colored balls." I showed Jack my business card again. He cringed.
"Dan... It seems to me like they're not really doing anything. It kind of sounds like you're just mad that they've got nicer stuff than we do."
"It's the flaunting, Secret World of Alex Jack. That's my problem. Sure, they've got money, but they don't have to be such dicks about it. We get it. You're Google. Fuck off."
"Dan, as if this whole situation wasn't ridiculous enough already, what are you asking for?"
"Good question. $160,000. My original budget was a billion, but I managed to whittle it down to 160K, which, I think you'll agree, is fair. And while I'm still willing to go as high as a billion, $160K is really all I'll need to launch a full-scale attack on Google.whatever to let them know that we won't be bullied." He paused. Presumably, because $160,000 was such a fair and reasonable number.
"What are you planning on doing with this money?"
"Another good question. No clue. I haven't really figured out the nature of this attack just yet, but I'm pretty sure it'll cost around $160,000. I'm thinking about challenging them to a Death Race, like in that documentary I saw. Or maybe a debate, like in debate clubs. Or maybe just a
caged debate, like in Bloodsport. It all makes perfect sense if you see my charts. I have charts at home that explain everything."
I hope he won't ask to see them, because I really don't have any charts.
"So, let me get this straight, Dan. You're asking me for $160,000 to launch a mysterious campaign against Google? Google?"
"Yes! I'm glad you understand. I only take cash. Come on, I'll follow you to the bank." Jack put his head down.
"I can't believe I thought this
wasn't going to be something retarded." He was massaging his temples at this point.
"Is that a vague way of saying you'll give me the money? Come on, I'll follow you to the bank."
"I'm not going to give you this money, Dan." I'm still gonna follow him to the bank.
"I don't understand, Boss. I'm slapping you right in the face with the idea of the century, and all you can say is 'stop slapping me?'" I slapped him a couple of times to drive the metaphor home.
"You're a real piece of work, Burt Jackarach. You come all the way out to my office and waste my time just to tell me you won't be supporting me on this? On this, the most important battle in Cracked history? Horseshit."
"First of all, this isn't your office, it's a strip club." I was wondering why my secretary took such terrible dictation. And kept charging me for lapdances. "And second of all, I only met with you in the first place because you promised you'd return my cat, the one you stole two weeks ago. Do you have my cat with you, Dan?"
"Don't be selfish, Apple Jacks. There are bigger things at work here than you and me."
"Where is my cat?" I shook my head.
"You just don't get it, do you?" I think I sold his cat and used the money to buy Cheez-its.
When it became clear that he wasn't going to get his stupid, nerdy cat back, Jack politely thanked the strippers and left, walking out not just on me, not just on the strippers, not just on the bill, (that I was totally banking on him paying), but on Cracked and, hell, on America.
And so it's down to me. The burden of honor falls on my shoulders. It is up to me to take down the apparent internet juggernaut that is Google.net, (or is it .com? I don't have time to check.). I may not have the necessary funds or the support of my suit-wearing Cracked superiors, or even a formal plan, but mark my words, Internet: Google is going down. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. A fucking long shot.
Google is probably going to push back, to counter my attacks in some way. I've gotta tell you, that wouldn't be wise.
Sure, I know what you're thinking, Google. You're thinking 'Did he get fired from Cracked, or not?' Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But seeing as Cracked does have the power to blow your site clean off the internet, you gotta ask yourself one question: 'Am I feeling lucky?' Well? Are ya?