Iâm not going to lie to you. After shutting down my wildly successful Hate By Numbers tm series, I wasnât coming back. My self-imposed indefinite sabbatical was going really well, and I thought Cracked was humming along just fine without me. But last week I got a call that changed everything. I knew it was my former editor Jack OâBrien before even answering; Iâd assigned Madonnaâs Vogue as his ring tone. No song better captured Jackâs fluid sexual identity and processed faux chic posturing.âHey,â I answered with all the ease of a free man. After all, Jack was no longer my boss â just some dude who loved Cracked.com and the sexy pop disco beats of a certain middle aged Diva from Detroit. I settled into my rich leather couch and poured myself two fingers of scotch, enjoying my newfound status. But just then something broke the mood. Something functionally illiterate: âCall him âJack-o-roni & Cheese,ââ shouted Dan OâBrien from my opposing love seat. Dan was back on the East coast for Christmas, and crashing at my place after his parents kicked him out for doing something âunholyâ to his family Priest with the churchâs nativity baby Jesus. Apparently, no one was impressed with Danâs defense that he was just trying to figure out what Jesus would âdo.â (And yes, Dan made the little quote fingers on âdoâ when he explained the story to me.) âCall him âJack-o-roni & Cheese,ââ Dan repeated. âBecause, yâknow, it rhymes with macaroni & cheese, and his name is Jack.â âYeah, I get it,â I replied. âNow finish your bag of ketamine and go to sleep like a good boy.â âG-Stone, you there?â Jack asked. I hadnât heard him so anxious since he lost all his glow sticks and pacifiers in one night. âI need you to come back, G-Stone. Please. Iâll do anything.â âWill you pay me market rates for my freelancing?â âOooh, no can do,â Jack said, âbut I will totally let you have my first edition, autographed cassette single of Madonnaâs
HOW G-STONE IS SPENDING HIS SABBATICAL (or Suggestions For A Great 2009) As all the papers have reported, I recently underwent a significant life-changing event by imposing a sabbatical on HBN. My silly little three minute videos, lampooning pop culture news, TV, and music did more for my comedy career in a few months than all my preceding years of comedy writing combined. Strong proof that either my dreamy bedroom eyes are simply irresistible or that people canât actually read anymore. Iâm going with the latter. And as shocking and significant as my decision was, it occurs to me that, perhaps, important stuff has happened to other people in the last couple of months too. Maybe YOU are also at a transition. Perhaps, youâre preparing to enter high school or college. (School starts in January, right? I forget.) Or maybe youâre about to graduate high school or college. (Thatâs slightly less likely if youâre a Cracked reader). Or maybe youâre one of the record number of people whoâve just been laid off as a result of the increasingly bad global economy? In any event, Iâm sure I wasnât the only one doing some reflecting and soul-searching during this Holiday season. What will 2009 bring? And more importantly, what should you do now to make sure 2009 brings what you want? Well, for oneâ¦ 1. Do What Youâre Supposed to Do. I went on sabbatical to write comedy screenplays. Howâs that going? Itâs going, but Iâm behind schedule. Iâm halfway done with the first screenplay, but I wanted to be all done by now and on to the second. And I still have to make some dicey Act III decisions. In my defense, Iâve suffered certain setbacks in my personal life recently that may have had a subtle affect on my writing as indicated by this excerpt from a scene I was working on last week:
Bambi (sexy flight attendant)
Excuse me, sir, but are you Layne Wadstone? I love your hilarious video series and your dreamy bedroom eyes.
Why hello. Yes. Yes I am.
Do you think you could help me with something in the airplane bathroom? (giggles and points to her lady parts)
Iâm sorry, Miss, but no. You see, Iâve recently contracted chlamydia.In any event, you donât want to be like me. I donât care what it is. Getting a new job; curing your acne in time for prom; studying for your finals now so that C- you just got on your mid-terms doesnât sink your whole GPA; youâve got stuff that needs doing. Do it. And so will I. Promise. And take comfort knowing that while youâre studying in your dorm room at 3 am, I am fast asleep having rewarded myself with a nap after coming up with a knee-slapping sight gag for my screenplay. (Spoiler alert: The vicious dog bit WHAT part of the bad guyâs anatomy? Oh, thatâs rich.)
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.