Captivating Yet Straightforward

I have found my bible.

No, not a King James or Living Bible that I had misplaced. I'm not entertained by those books anymore, so I don't keep them around.

I have found my own personal bible!

And whooaa man, is it chock full of fun stuff.

You see, lately I've been brainstorming ways to promote Rinderpest.com. Now that we have a great group of humorists donating their time and talent, I thought it a good idea to try to grow our readership. So I've been doing a lot of research (translated as web surfing) about humor sites and how to get word out about them.

In my search, I came across this gem from an old edition of Opium Magazine.

The article, How to Create Winning Submissions for Witty Humor Websites, is now my bible. It contains all the secrets any self-respecting humorist needs to appear a genius in the eyes of the reading public.

For example, my new bible tells us writers:

Your title should be captivating yet straightforward. Witty humor websites are supposed to be a guilty pleasure, not a guessing game. Don't screw around.

Were truer words ever written? Were they?

I don't know how many titles I've formulated in my life that were dull and meandering. It never occurred to me to make them captivating and straightforward.

I was blown away by other brilliant insights in my bible as well.

Like this nugget:

In regards to content, zaniness matters! And not just the tired gag of adding "in bed" to the end of every sentence. Think cross-dressing dogs, mutated whales, underwater cocktail parties.

Wow! Without this text, I would never have known the enormous value of zaniness. Zaniness seemed such a hazy concept before. I'm not sure I even contemplated whether or not it mattered. But I certainly have lately. And you know what?

Zaniness matters!!

It does. And oh my god . . . . Cross-dressing dogs? Mutated whales? Underwater cocktail parties? Are you kidding me?!?!

Truly these comedy devices were handed down from on high. There can be no other explanation. This is divine humor. It fairly glows on the page.

Also, without my bible, I would never have known that adding "in bed" to the end of every sentence was a tired gag. Who would ever have imagined? I thought the Pyramids would crumble before that joke ever got old.

I know, faithful reader, that you could not possibly know that adding "in bed" to the end of every sentence was a tired gag. It's only because I am in the business that I now know.

But from here on out, I vow to let you in on all the industry secrets.

Like this tidbit:

. . . humor website readers love the obscure. Little known public officials, washed-up movie stars, backwards social movements, these and other seemingly hard-to-find nuggets of information give the readers the feeling they've been invited into an exclusive club of knowledge . . .

It may be shocking to some that I'm throwing back the curtain like this, that I'm revealing the highly-guarded secrets of humor writing. But I don't think it will harm readers to know that we have you in our cross-hairs. We understand your mindset.

As my new bible says, all of you want to feel that you've been included in an exclusive club. And as long as we make you feel that way, you will see us for the artists we are.

For the bible tells us that humor readers are easily won over:

If you don't feel like researching something obscure, make it up. . . . [M]any readers will be highly entertained by your fake information-the history of the Ethiopian Union of Sandwichmakers, for example-and, their curiosity piqued, may go so far as to enter the term into an online search engine before realizing they've been duped. Nonetheless, they will enjoy the duping.

Hey, who likes to be tricked more than a loyal humor reader? Nobody, that's who.

You folks just can't be duped enough. And that bodes well for the future of humor. It does nothing if not ensure an "Aww shucks. Well you got me again." reaction to being tricked for many years to come.

Again, I can't believe my good fortune at having discovered this manuscript. I feel I've unearthed some weird form of the Rosetta Stone. I have discovered the key, the insights to perfect humor writing.

And here's one item I will definitely take to heart:

Keep your submission short. Readers of witty humor websites need to get their jollies fast so they can easily click off the page and pretend to be working if the boss happens by . . . With this in mind, consider tossing a vulgar but funny jump-out word like "flatulence" in your article to grab the reader's attention and, hopefully, coax out a smile before he or she abandons your submission for Buttmaster.com.

Well, Assface, did you get that?

We now know that you only read us at work, and we now know that you can't resist a well placed vulgar but funny jump-out word, like "Assface" or "flatulence"!!

My god. The knowledge I've gleaned from my discovery is flowing over me like a hilarious waterfall.

Ohh, it's too much. It's too much. If I'm not careful, I might just break down in rousing refrains of hallelujah!!

Hallelujah!! . . . Hallelujah!! . . . Hallelujah!! Hallelujah!! Hal-lee-lujah!! . . . Hallelujah!!

Ahem . . . Anyway . . .

My career, dear reader, nay my life, will never be the same now that I've found my bible. I only hope that later generations, when reading my body of work will understand the source, the bedrock of my brilliance. I can only hope that they will know that in my life I found an obscure document containing a system for great humor writing; an infallable system.

One that includes this immortal advice:

Try to close with something snappy! . . . However, if you just can't come up with something captivating, don't sweat it. Simply stop writing.

Wild She Was and Wild She Be

In recent years, there's been a lot of attention paid to the growing number of girls going wild.

And well there should be.

Girls going wild are quite difficult to ignore (not that any healthy male would want to). It's only natural for many eyes to be on them.

Who doesn't love to see a bunch of college girls getting tipsy, letting loose, and lifting up or taking off pieces of their clothing? Who in their right mind could find any fault in that?

Well, apparently some people do find it alarming.

There is a group of people who've seen the latest girls going wild studies, and they're not happy with the findings. These people are called parents.

Some of the statistics detailed in the Time.com article, The Myth About Girls Going Wild, do seem a bit shocking . . . if you are a parent.

If you're not a parent, the statistics are not shocking. They are encouraging.

Of the female spring breakers surveyed, 30% said that sun and alcohol were an "essential part of life," 74% said that spring break meant increased sexual activity, 40% said that they passed out, and 13% reported having sex with more than one partner.

Very encouraging.

But there are yet more people involved in trying to keep girls from going wild.

The Concerned Women for America, a family-values group, took it upon themselves to warn the women who fall into Jell-O-shot-induced exhibitionism and public sexuality that they'll regret it later.

Well, you can't argue with that.

Has anyone in the history of the world when contemplating any questionable or possibly subversive activity ever paid any attention whatsoever to anyone who ever said anything remotely like "you'll regret it later"?

Come on. We recall the words of adults as the years go by, and only then do we see the wisdom in them. For teenagers, adult advice might as well be a Perry Como LP. They don't know what the strange vinyl thing is, and even if they did, they wouldn't want to listen to it anyway.

Now, it obviously can't be easy for any parent to imagine their little girl doing things that make others declare that she has gone wild. So to the parents, I can only offer the following advice: Don't watch.

Don't get into that part of your daughter's life. Don't sneak around trying to see how wild she's going. Because she is going wild. She's doing wild things. And if she's not doing them yet, she will be soon enough. She's going to drink. She's going to party. And she's going to have sex.

You simply cannot escape it.

As harsh as it is, I'm reminded of an exchange between two friends of mine. One friend was going on about how special his daughter was when the other friend leaned over and said, "All girls are special, but they all end up with a dick in their mouth just the same."

Again, that sentiment is a little harsh, but it illustrates precisely why parents should not be overly concerned with their girls going wild. It's going to happen, and the only thing you can do as a parent is put a little money aside in case she needs to make bail or get tested for STDs.

You have to let them live their lives and make mistakes at their own pace.

But there is yet another problem in regard to the going wild of girls.

In addition to people actually trying to stop it (god help us all), there seems to be a growing number of girls who have gone wild, or who still go wild, using alcohol as an excuse for their wildness.

A less widely cited statistic among the AMA's shockers was that women on Spring Break "use alcohol as an excuse to engage in outrageous behavior," which implies that the problem with engaging in public sex on vacation is that they'd be getting more of it at home if only they were brave enough.

Indeed.

Girls of the going wild age, you must know that we see through the alcohol excuse. Yes, it's handy to have in your arsenal. You'll need it for people like your professors and the parish priest. But we like you, we like what you do. You don't have to lie to us.

The truth is we all do stupid things when we're drunk -- but we all want to do stupid things. Boys get into bar fights, girls mud wrestle. And of course, aggressive sexuality is a form of aggression. In See Jane Hit, a new book about girls and violence, psychologist James Garbarino links unprecedented violence among girls -- the rate of aggravated assault among girls younger than 18 increased 57% between 1990 and 1998 -- directly to equally unprecedented hypersexuality. He sees such trends as the less savory outcome of freeing girls to excel beyond gender stereotypes.

The alcohol is not the cause of your behavior. You were feral to begin with, and don't ever be ashamed of that. Embrace your wildness. Celebrate it. Rub scented oils on it. Anoint it. Let it sleep next to you at night, and call it "Baby".

Don't cheapen it by blaming it on alcohol.

As Homer Simpson says, "Alcohol is the cause of and solution to all of life's problems." But you should never, under any circumstances, view your wildness as a problem.

Anyway . . .

Parents, just suck it up until your girls are out of college. We feel for you. We really do. But you have to understand that the joy your daughters bring the world far overshadows your neurosis about their virtue.

You see, the needs of the many really do outweigh the needs of the few.

And girls, accept responsibility for your wildness. Be proud of it. And let's use alcohol as an excuse for something worthy of it . . . like global warming.

A Quick Slice of My Life

Forgive me my self-indulgence of late, dear reader. I will eventually stop boring you with the minor details of my everyday life and write brilliant pieces on the hot topics of the day, but . . . . hahahahaha . . . Oh, I almost got through it that time. Hot topics of the day? Me? Yeah, right.

Anyway, last night I was out late running around, and on my way home grabbed a couple tacos along with some chips and salsa from a local taqueria. (For those across the pond, "chips" refers to "crisps" in this context.)

As I was leaving, the guy who sold me the tacos said something to me in Spanish.

Now, I speak enough Spanish to get by. I mean, I can order beers and ask where the restroom is, but in my haste to get home, my attention was divided and I wasn't quite sure what he had said. It was either, "Have a good evening" or "Your turtle has developed a fungus".

I didn't beg the man's pardon, however, since I thought either sentiment was appropriate for the situation and the time of night. And besides, I was hungry and wanted to get at those tacos.

When I got home, I set the food on the table, flipped on the tube, checked my turtle for fungus, and then taco-ed like a starving man. (By the way, I love using nouns as verbs. The other day, someone told me to "text" him. "Text" is a verb now, as is the venerable "Tea bag".)

Anyway, so there I was, face deep in a pile of tacos when all of a sudden I heard a helicopter flying low right over my house. I sprang up to see what was going on, and in my alarm, I knocked all my chips on the floor.

Ignoring the chips on the floor, I went outside to find a police helicopter circling my neighborhood, shining its light down on the streets and houses. (You know, they have that really bright search light on them. That's how you know it's a police helicopter and not just a regular helicopter, or a bird.)

I watched the helicopter circle for a while, until I realized that there was probably a dangerous criminal in the vicinity, and I was standing out in the middle of the street. So I hurried back inside, locked the door, and finished my tacos and floor chips.

The floor chips were delicious, but I wonder if they ever caught the guy.