Understanding Internet Humor and the Introduction of Lol-agrams

Hey All,

"May I please have a cheeseburger?"

I am new to these strange worlds called the internets. I have made my best effort to understand it's customs and I think I have finally made some improvements. I have come to understand lolcats.

LOLcats are funny pictures of cats with captions attributed to them. The captions, meant to represent the cat talking... with improper punctuation and strange syntax...

...LOLcats appeared years ago on an Internet image board called 4chan, when Saturdays were designated as "Caturdays" - a special day to post photos of cats.

4Chan, the place where a kid can be a kid (or whatever the young of puss-dripping trolls are called), bred the adorably cute lolcats, proving once and for all that even in the deepest swamp of human filth an ugly duckling can transform into a diamond in the rough. A very stupid, easily reproducable, and often parodied diamond.

There have been several different versions of the lolcat, most recently with roflrazzi, celebrity take on the format. Upon seeing the new site, I realized how simple it is to assimilate to this internet culture. You simply need to take an already humorous picture, and needlessly caption it with something either redundant or legally retarded. It is with this new knowledge, and the humblest of aspirations, that I present you with the craziest new internet fad sweeping the tubes; lol-agrams. Grandmas with captions.




You're welcome, internet.

Your Loyal Leader,
Gonzalo "I CAN HAS INTERNET FENOMENA" Cordova

Bygone Days About Bygone Days

Hello All,

Today, I want to talk about something a bit more serious.  I’ve been trying to reach out of the blogger ghetto recently, and taking dead aim at the stars.  I’ve decided to write a serious article about a serious topic.  Seriously, guys.

The Bygone Days of Celebrating Bygone Days

Our current decade is defined by a single early incident.  Many split the decade into pre-event, and post-event worlds.  This is the story that changed the lives of numerous Americans forever.  The date was January 13, 2000, the night the first 90’s party was held.

Mark Heralds woke up that morning knowing his life would change forever.  In the days before facebook and myspace, a successful party required careful maintenance.  Mark made a lot of calls during that chill January Friday afternoon.   Since he had not purchased a cell phone, he would buy one in early March, a non-cellular phone, or “telephone” as they were called, was his tool of choice.  He started by calling Rhonda Jones, his then girlfriend.  They had recently argued over Mark’s inability to stabilize his life.  Also, Mark farted in bed, which angered Rhonda, yet amused Mark.  But they still loved each other.  Though the term was not invented yet, psychologists retrospectively concur, “It [Was] Complicated.”

Rhonda recalls the conversation fondly, “I remember being upset at Mark for whatever reason, but he called and sincerely apologized.”

Rhonda and Mark had maintained a relationship throughout the late 90’s, while attending New York University.  “The party theme was like getting back to an earlier time, of innocence and love.  It was sweet,” Rhonda remembers,   “Foolishly sweet.”

Mark had first moved into his Brooklyn apartment a scant four months prior, and his first party, a non-themed affair, was heralded a success.  Thom, Mark’s friend, left a message on Mark’s analog answering machine the following morning.  Although the mini-cassette survived intact, time has been less kind to the technology required to play the recording, but Thom remembers the message well.

“I think I said something like, ‘Let’s do it again!  That was a deck party, dude.’  Ha ha!  ‘Deck’ was something hipsters used to say ironically, you know.  I guess we thought it was cool,” Thom states, “It didn’t age well as this ‘Ithaca is Gorges’ shirt I’m wearing will, that’s for damn sure.”

Mark wanted his new party to surpass all expectations.  That morning he decided, the time was nigh for a 90’s themed event.

He explains in an email to Wall of Shame, “A few weeks prior, I went to this 80’s party.  You know, leggings, old school hip hop, faux punk rock jackets.  It was like everything that ever happened ever in the 80’s was condensed to one amazing night.  Now, everyone throws 80’s parties and thinks they are being real original and ironic. There’s one every week.  But back then, it was a revelation.  I decided I wanted to take it one step further.”

When asked over AIM if he faced any resistance, Mark answered, “yes lol”

That fateful afternoon, Mark ate a late 3:00 PM breakfast and ventured into the outside world.  He looked up, seeing the glorious New York skyline, the Twin Towers standing tall, as if peering into the distance, into the past, into the century that birthed them, and into their last decade of life.  Mark remembers feeling a surge of emotion.  He knew his life would change forever, but did he had no idea how his party would soon transform his beloved city, and by extension, all existence ever forever and ever. 

To Be Continued…

Cheese Like the Sun

Hello all,

I had to take a second job in order to pay the bills.  When I started my new job at the Cheese The One Pizza Parlor, I was asked to check the messages, which had been largely ignored for weeks.  The following is the transcript following a series of messages left by a man named Rodriguez.  Enjoy.

Although answering machines are sentient, they do not feel love

Messages Left On the Cheese The One Pizza Parlor Answering Machine

First Message – May 12, 2008 10:34 PM

Hello, Maggie.  This is Rodriguez.  You remember me.  I am the sexy Spaniard who asked for your number on the subway.  I am positive you remember me, for I am known to have that effect on women.  But do not worry, Maggie.  I do not play the field, even if I do get picked first for kickball every time.  That is a metaphor.  For sex.

I noticed the answering machine mentioned this was a pizza parlor.  I assume you own it.  If you are but a lowly employee, Maggie, please, do not fret.  For if we were [ahem] intertwined, I could easily support you.  I do not mind if you are a delivery person, for you are pretty enough to compensate for the most demeaning of positions.  This also was a metaphor.  For sex.

What was the name of the pizza parlor?  Cheese an Angel Pizza Parlor.  I think you are an angel, Maggie.  My subway angel.  Was the cheesy?  Ha!  Cheesy!  That is rich.  I shall save this dialogue for my screenplay.

Did I mention I am writing a screenplay.  We should discuss it over a romantic dinner.  Red Lobster?  They serve oysters.  You know what oysters are a metaphor for, right?  For sex.

Please call me.  You have my business card, but just in case, my number is 236 926 4357.  Only, please call during business hours, for I am very busy working for an important and famous lawyer firm.  Ciao, my subway angel.

Second Message – May 17, 2008 11:27 PM

Hello, Maggie, my subway angel.  Rodriguez calling back.  I don’t usually do this.  I do not play games, for women throw themselves at my feet, like ticker tape at an astronaut, but I am giving you a second chance.  I know you are interested in me, so you must be too scared to call back.  Do not be!  I like aggressive women.  Of all the different flavors of female, aggression berry is my favorite.  Ha!  That is another good dialogue for my screenplay.

I have begun tailoring a role for you.  It is of a damsel, but she is not in distress.  She is strong and sexy, especially in the scene when the hero saves her from falling to her death.  She counters by saying, “What a trip.  See you next fall.”  The only small concession is you’d have to dye your hair blonde.  Oh, and there is a little bit of nudity, but I am sure that is not a problem for someone as free-spirited as yourself. 

Regardless, my phone number, in case you forgot it, and lost my business card, and accidently deleted the last message whilst trying to save it, is 236 926 4357.  Please call me and we can go out to dinner.  The Olive Garden?  Or does working at The Cheese Louise Pizza Parlor have you sick of Italians?  If you are sick of Italians, I could whisk you away, since I am a rich entertainment lawyer.  After eating our non-Italian meal, we might have some dessert.  That was a metaphor.  For crumb cake.  Ciao, my subway angel.

Third Message – May 20^th, 2008 3:07 AM

I see you play hard to get, Maggie, my subway angel.  I am certain you know who this is.  You have familiarized yourself with my voice, No?  Yes.  Would you not like to become familiarized with different parts of me as well?  That was also a metaphor.  For my penis.

Since you have not returned me calls, I assume there is some tragedy.  Is your mother dead?  Was it breast cancer that took her?  If so, my condolences, but it is time to move on, Maggie.  The best way to overcome life is to embrace life.  And the best life is nightlife.  Applebees?  I assure you, it is as delightful as the name suggests.

I researched which words my phone number could spell for you.  After a few hours, I realized my number spells Be-My-Angel–7.  I could not figure out what to do with the number 7, until I realized 7 is the most angelic number of them all.  I think this will be easier for you to remember and that you will soon call me, begging for our date.  Ciao, my subway angel.

Fourth Message – May 20^th, 2008 3:45 AM

I am calling back because I realized that it is possible that you are also facing financial ruin.  The economy is in tough times, and to be frank, The Birds and the Cheese does not sound like a good pizza parlor.  Could this be the reason my pretty flower has kept from her king bee?  I wanted to assure that I could pay for everything you might need?  Jewelry?  Exercise machines?  Pretty dresses?  I can cover it all.

If you need a shoulder to cry on, please, use mine.  But not literally, as my suits are very expensive.  You need expensive suits when you are a movie agent to the stars.  We can discuss your imminent foreclosure as well as your dead mother’s breast tumors, right, after, of course, talking about my screenplay.  A very famous director is interested.  Have you ever heard the name Chris Columbus?  Not the explorer.  The director.  Please call me at Be-My-Angel-7. 

Fifth Message – June 1^st, 2008 10:34 PM

Hello, this is Rodriguez.  I just realized the number I have been calling does not employ anyone named Maggie.  Apparently, my lover accidently gave me a false number.  I apologize for all the messages.  If there is any women working at the That’s What Cheese Said Pizza Palace listening to this, you have heard how romantic I can be.  Now experience it.  Please feel free to call me at Be-My-Angel-7. 

I can be your host to the land of pleasure.  We can make love in the most thrilling of places.  That was a metaphor.  For your butt.  I will call again soon to confirm the inquiries of any love-mates.  Ciao, my possible pizza angels.

End of Messages.

At this point, the answering machine was full, and so I never found out what happened to Rodriguez, but I hope, wherever he is, his screenplay is successful, he has found true love, and his story has come to a happy end.  That was a metaphor.  For the end of this post.

Your Loyal Leader,

Gonzalo "When the Moon Hits Your Eye, Like a Big Pizza Pie, That's Amore" Cordova

Sandra, an English Grad, Needs Your Help

Hello All,

I recently got an email from my friend Sandra asking me to read over her cover letter.  She is desperate for a job and wanted to run this cover letter by me first.  Since I am too lazy to read it and tell her what i think, I'll just open it up to you guys.  If you have any critiques on her cover letter, please let me know in the comments section and I'll pass it along as my own thoughts and ideas.

Sandra typed her cover letter on a Macbook, depicted above.

Dear Prospective Employer,

I am an English graduate from Suffolk University.  For four years, I mastered the wordsmithing craft, becoming adept at critical reading, literary analysis, and creative writing.  I hope to bring these qualities to use in the craft of waiting tables for your esteemed eatery, Bistro Bertolini.

Though I am fully aware this position requires no cover letter, my writing proves my capacity to trespass the mundanity of banal expression, soaring into the transcendent.  You must ask yourself, can these skills, these consonant collisions, these verbocious vowels, translate into the world of waiting?  Yes.  Yes, this is.  Additionally, I lack a robust resume, and I desperately hope this cover letter will overcompensate for my lack of experience.

I understand the irony inherit in a trade called waiting, a trade involving anything but it's namesake.  Over the past few months, I've done enough of the other kind of waiting. The hustle and bustle, the cacophony of silverware, echoing the dimly lit wooden beams, this is the true meaning of the word waiting.  For this reason, I feel I am equipped for the prestigious position of lady garçon.  Quite frankly, as modern literature becomes increasingly obtuse, my precisely plotted prose grows too cerebral for the teevee jet set.  I would be a much more accessible waiter.  I could be the Michael Crichton of the food service industry. 

Thank you for reading this.  I look forward to hearing back from you.  It usually requires a few months for the literary journals to respond with a rejection letter, but I am positive you will be much more expedient with yours.

Your Hopeful Employee,

Sandra "Please Hire Me" Kneelingsworth

Thanks for reading this guys.  Sandra really appreciates my help you are giving her.

Your Loyal Leader,

Gonzalo "Verbosity is Key" Cordova

And Now, For Something Mildly Different

Hello All,

Today, I present something a little different.  It's a bit long, but bear with it.  Get it?  Bears!

This photograph will distract you from the fact that I basically wrote a novel for a post today.

Anyway, read, and enjoy.

You're Loyal Leader,

Gonzalo "Bear-ly Tolerable" Cordova

What P.T.A. Means to Me:  A Point of View

God, I hate the P.T.A.  What does P.T.A. even stand for?  People Taking Action?  Parents Talking Aloud?  Puppets Torque Association?  No, that one’s just way off.  I can’t put my finger on it, but this cafeteria assembly gives me the creeps.  It’s like some weird déjà voodoo thing.  I pissed a minute ago, but I’m tempted to go again just to stand and stretch my legs.  I have no idea what this fat mom is talking about.  I’m not sure if she’s fat cause she’s pregnant or if she ate a baby, but either way, she’s got a kid inside her.  Why did Sheila drag me here?  Does Sky really need us coming to this shit?  Ugh.  Sky.  That name.  Sheila just had to pick the gayest possible name for him.  Next kid, I’m naming Steven Seagal Part Two.  He’ll be like a sequel to Steven Seagal, the person.  Who am I kidding?  Sheilla’ll name him something queer-eye like Summer or River.  Nature Names.  Ugh.  Is she trying to raise a 60’s folk band or something?

            People are clapping.  I’ll clap too.  It’s weird, but I really enjoy clapping.  What are they clapping about anyway?  Oh, fuck.  I think I just clapped in support of art’s funding.  That’s exactly what I need in my life right now.  Another shitty drawing of a rainbow holding hands with a bunny.  Sky’s artwork is like an Easter-themed gay pride parade.  On top of everything, his technique is pedestrian at best.

            So bored. I’m just gonna shut my eyes for one little second.  Think about something nice… anything but this… stupid… middle school… but… I won’t… go… to… sleep…

            Oh, hey… I’m back in middle school…  All my friends are here…  We’re all kids again!  Holy Shit!  John, what are you doing here?!  Oh, that’s right, your family doesn’t move away until sophomore year of high school.  God, I missed you old pal.  No, we can’t play doctor anymore!  For one thing, John, we’re in the middle of the cafeteria for our morning assembly.  Plus, remember, when my Dad caught us?  Oh, and I’m like 40 now and married.  Why are you staring at me like that?  Oh, crap!  I’m naked!  I’m in the middle of morning assembly, in the middle of middle school, in the middle of an embarrassing boner I was trying to hide, and I’m naked!  Please, everyone, stop staring at my boner!

            Ah!  People are clapping!  I must have nodded off.  Sheila didn’t notice.  Thank God.  Just start clapping like you agree with whatever the hell they’re clapping about.  Community service?  Really?  Ugh.  I wonder if that student-run drink stand serves beer?  I mean, it's a middle school, but I heard you can bartend even if you’re under twenty-one.  It couldn’t hurt to ask.  They should at least carry a Mike’s Hard Lemonade.  I’m gonna stand up and check—

            Goddammit, Sheila, why aren’t you letting me stand up?  Let go of my arm, I’m not a child.  I’ve been sitting here so fucking long.  Can we go home yet?  Sheila should at least schtup me tonight.  We haven’t done it in six months!  Do you know how long that is?  In dog years, that’s like ten dogs!  I swear to Jesus W. Christ, if she doesn’t do it with me tonight, I will schtup my pillow.  Last time I schtupped my pillow, Sheila freaked.  I told her I sneezed in my sleep, but she knows what’s what.  For one thing, the pillow smelled like bleach mixed with bacon fat, which is what my semen smells like.  I really just wish I could stand up and stretch my legs. The only way to do that is to give a boring ass lecture about the liberal bent on our kid’s textbooks.  God, if you’re listening to me, please let me stand and stretch my legs. 

            I can’t keep my eyes open anymore.  I can’t fall asleep.  Sheila’ll eat me alive. I’ll count the parents here.  That’ll keep me concentrated on a task so I won’t doze off.  One parent.  Two parents.  Three parents… Four sheep… Five sheep… Six shee… Seve…

            Where am I?  I’m in my parent’s old basement.  Oh, hey, Josh.  What?  You’re moving away?!  No, don’t!  I don’t care about your Dad’s stupid real estate job!  Just stay and play colecovision with me forever!  I’ll follow you!  Follow you wherever you may go!  I’ll follow you when you go… hunting?

            I’m hunting with my Dad.  What’s that, Dad?  We’re hunting bears with antlers because they are terrorizing the peasants?  Okay, sure.  Hey!  Look, Dad, in the distance.  It’s Josh.  He’s naked and on all fours, like a majestic antelope.  No, don’t shoot him, Dad!  I love him!

            Huh, what?  Damn, I feel asleep again.  Sheila looks pissed.  Was I snoring?  Oh, crap…  I’ve got a boner.  I must have had a sex dream, about a very sexy lady (i.e. not Sheila).  At least we’re gonna be sitting here for awhile, so no one should notice.

            Oh, people are clapping again.  Good, I’ll clap and wake myself up a bit.  Oh, no.  Why is everyone standing?  A standing ovation, really?  For this lard-ass, third-trimester, baby-eating, soccer bitch!  Who is she, JFK?  Stop tugging at my arm, Sheila.  I don’t want to stand!  Leave me alone!  Stop it!

            FINE!  FINE!  I’ll stand!  I’m standing now, are you happy?!

            Holy fuck.  My fly is open.  I forgot to zip after pissing!  Everyone’s staring at me.  Staring at it.  Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer?!  No, don’t take a picture!  Shit, that’s going straight into the school newsletter.  Wait… this feels like that déjà voodoo again.  Did something like this happen… in middle school… and I repressed the memory?

            Shows over, folks.  I tucked it back in.  Let’s just all sit down and ignore the fact the little fuehrer was poking his head out, heiling his people.  Ha!  That’s funny!  I’ll say that joke out loud and everyone will laugh and forget about this whole fucking thing.

            Uh-oh, I forgot the Samuel Goldstein’s grandfather died in Auschwitz.  They look really mad.  Sheila’s fuming.  Now she won’t schtup me for sure.  It’s the pillow for me tonight.  Maybe I’ll microwave it this time. 

I think I just realized what the P.T.A. stands for.  Prison Torture Ass-rape.  God, I hate the P.T.A.

Comcast Sux and Stuff or Whatever

Hello All,

I was reading The New York Times, as I often do before going out on my morning jog and eating my balanced oatmeal breakfast, when I ran across this article:

Griping Online? Comcast Hears and Talks Back

Comcast apparently reads the most obscure blogs making references to their multi-gillion dollar company and creepily responds to writer's complaints.  Not only is this odd friendliness unsettling, it's also unexpected and a bit intrusive.  But, I mean, TV is good so I really can't be bothered caring too much as long as I can numb my mind with an all-day marathon of America's Next Top Model.  On the other hand, this could be a good opportunity for my blog.

Typically, I am not someone who likes to degrade my writing with lame stunts (If you are thinking of the Tito posts a while back, they were indeed part of a large stunt, but they were not lame).  But I'm also not one to miss an opportunity.  Let's face it, if you're reading this blog, you are in a minority of about five people.  Unlike being latino or black, being in this minority is actually a good thing.  For one thing, no one eyes you suspiciously at the ATM for reading my blog.  For another thing, you get to spend your day reading trivial articles, rather than working multiple jobs just to keep your head above water in a racially skewed society.  Regardless of your stance on affirmative action, I think we can all agree that my blog is the funniest thing ever written by a Hispanic person in the history of everything.  But now, I want to branch out and try to reach out to a possible sixth reader by giving Comcast something to respond to, a semi-coherent ramble:

I AM INCENSED by whatever COMCAST does to FUCK US OVER or something!  They have what I call a FUCKOPOLY!  I call it a fuckopoly because, first of all, it Comcast sucking fucks!  And second of all, Comcast plays it's customers like Monopoly.

Little known fact, monopoly isn't just a game.  It's also a business theory which posits that the more little plastic houses you have, the better you are doing at life.

Why is everyone so blind and apathetic to this bullshit and stuff?  Thinking about how people don't care that they are being constantly swindled, MAKES MY ASSHOLE BURN IN ANGER OR SOMETHING!!  If you hate Comcast, join me in doing whatever it is we blogging activists do (flash mob anyone?) and bring those BASTARDS DOWN AND WHATEVER!

Okay, now that that's done, I'm going to relax, watch some TV, and completely ignore the fact that I am over-paying for internet and cable service.  I'll also ignore the fact that with a little creative tinkering, I could easily acquire both services for free, but fuck it, I'm too lazy for that.  After all, The Twilight Zone is on and I can barely get up to grab for my remote.

Your Loyal Leader,

Gonzalo "Mike TV" Cordova  

I Must Apologize...

I feel as sorry as this asshole here.

Hello All,

I am just posting to say I will have to take a sorta two week hiatus.  It is mostly due to the fact that for these next two weeks I will change departments at work and the shifts are a bit longer.  I don't have a computer during down time, so I will only be able to post on those nights that I get home early enough or feel up for it.  I really hope I don't lose my readership of five people, because I love you all.  I will be back to full posting speed in two weeks though, and since I will be jobless, I'll definitely make up for my slack.

Please, check up this weekend though, when I promise to have some new material, including a new pet personal, which I am still working on.

Sorry again.

Your Lazy Leader,

Gonzalo "So Mexican" Cordova

Email to the Editor- Nigerian Edition

Hello All,

Another week, another weekend, all gone, fleeting into that cold dark knight.  Oh, that reminds me, there is a great superhero movie out I think you all should see.  It's really great and ambitious and it's called Hancock.  It stars Will Smith as the reluctant son of Satan attempting to "hulk" out, Robert Downy Jr. style, and save the world from the ultimate superhero movie villain, untimely suicide.

Will El Chapulin Colorado be able to overcome his dreaded nemesis, Sabado Gigante?  Will anyone not raised on Spanish television understand this reference?  The answer to both questions is undoubtedly no.

Enough of that dumb shit!  Let's move onto letters!  

This week we have a man who really understands how royal, princely, and nigerian-y my writing style truly is:

NIGERIAN PRINCE NEEDS YOUR HELP!

REQUEST YOU FOR BUSINESS DEALINGS OF MONEY

FIRSTLY THUS, TO SOLICIT TRUST FROM YOU FOR TRANSACTIONS.  I REPRESENTING NIGERIAN PRINCE IN SEARCHES FOR GOOD UPSTANDING CHRISTIAN FOR MAKING MONEYS TRANSIDE TO NEW ACCOUNT....

(ED NOTE:  This emails really long, so I'm cutting the chase.  I reserve the right to edit all emails I get)

I... CONSIDER... YOU... WORTH MILLIONS... IN [awesomeness]

YOU... AM... ROYAL... PRINCE.

G...O...NZ...A...LO...

 (there was some more bullshit here about becoming a fifteen-millionaire and all I have to do is send a series of $300 money transfers, once a week, for three to seventy-weeks, or until my millions roll in.  Honestly, I was too lazy to read it all, but I've already asked my work to directly deposit all paychecks into the "NIGERIAN FUND OF LAW AND LAWYERS" and I'm confident I won't have to toil like you mothersuckers do all day)

PLEASE TO BE, I HOPE BUSINESS AND FRIENDSHIP FLOURISH INTO SUN LIKE NIGERIAN MIDGET ELEPHANT.

YOURS FAITHFULLY,

DR. CLEM MUGABE

Why thank you, Dr. Clem Mugabe.  Your kind words meant a lot to me and I will be sending you that Western Union money-order for $300 bucks by the end of this next week.  I am really looking forward to being filthy fucking rich, as my hookers are demanding I pay them for all those blowies, and my doctors are also demanding I pay them for the treatment required after receiving those blowies.  Also, the doctors demand I pay them for the blowies they gave me as well, so I've got blowie debts coming out of my ding dong, which is not yet tired of receiving blowies.

Your Loyal Leader,

Gonzalo "David Blowie" Cordova

Drunk Post Failed

Hello All,

A few minutes ago I tried to make a drunk post, but I failed.  It was really dirty and so unfunny, I shit my cunt.

I'm still drunk.  this is dirt and unfunny too!

YAY!

Your Loyal Leader,

Gonzalo "Too Drunk to Comment" Cordova

Autism: The New Faggotry

Hello All,

I apologize for taking so long between posts this go around.  I promise an Email to the Editor over the weekend, but right now, I want to direct your attention to the greatest thinker of our times.

Michael Savage, conservative radio pundit, not to be confused with Dan Savage of Savage Love, discovered the cure to autism on his very popular radio show, The Savage Nation.

Michael Savage learned about autism while studying at 

The Medical Institute for Quit Being a Faggot.

That's right.  The cure to autism is telling the "brat... to cut the act out."  I know, that personally, whenever I see a kid with a propensity to count shit really really fast, or paint exact representations of cathedrals, I tell them to cut out the act.  We all know those little runts are normal.  Social difficulty with kids their own age?  Bah!  That's just kids being kids.  Stop drooling on Timmy and act like a man, you autistic faggot! 

I would like to point out that Savage states, "that's why we have the politicians we have!"  Is he implying George Bush is autistic?  Hmm, that doesn't seem right...  Something seems a bit off about Michael Savage.  Let's look up his other clips on youtube:

If Michael Savage is so conservative, why is he always photographed in front of the Golden Gay Bridge?

Hmm... an unwillingness to learn, screaming fits of rage, an oddly shaped head... I think Michael Savage is autistic!  Holy Shit!  This just proves he knows what's he's talking about.  He must be part of that 1% of autism cases that are real.  Or maybe he just needed his father to tell him to cut the act out and stop being such a fucking douchebag.

Your Loyal Leader,

Gonzalo "Asthma Faker" Cordova

Here's My Idea

Hello All,

I have been trying for a while to break into the industry. For those of you out of the loop (people from Kansas, etc.), the industry refers to the entertainment industry. Still not quite following me, Billy Joe Bopkin? The entertainment industry is dat der shiny viewin' box you guys flip dat der switch to see dem city folk act all kooky and queer like.

Anyway, I have been swishing around a few ideas in my search for the next big hit. I had an idea about a radio talk show host psychiatrist and his closet gay brother but I found out that was made by Fox this last year as Back To You. Recently, I was reading a new screenwriting book called Sell It To 'Em: Expert Advice from a Guru who Almost Sold a Script in the 70's, which told me that people are looking for edgy material.

Well, if anyone can out-edgy people, I can out-edgy people. So here is my treatment. Please let me know what you think:

The 6 Year Old Pregnant Hooker With AIDS

Dakota Fanning will do anything for money.

Dakota Fanning plays Cookie Malloy, a pregnant six-year old with AIDS. She is a quick-witted prostitute working the mean streets of Montana. She is joined by her eccentric father, who is also her pimp, named Joey Two-Shoes (He wears two shoes!) played by Stiffler from American Pie. He has AIDS, but not because he had sex with his daughter (although that would be edgy) but because he is also half African (now that's edgy!).

Her dog, Sparky McCunt, who she occasionally sucks off, is a hippie who will defecate on the American flag every episode. He will also die every episode (killing characters every episode is so edgy), and will curse like he is constantly in heat. Additionally, he will also constantly be in heat.

Rounding out the cast is Dr. Frasier Krane, a psychiatrist and radio show host, who likes to fuck his closet gay brother, Dr. Niles Krane. They will both be played by Dane Cook in blackface.

This show's demographic will be the late tweens to early tw-adults.

So what do you guy's think?

Your Loyal Leader,
Gonzalo "Edgy as Heck" Cordova

Tito Dissappointed Me Today

Tito, not pictured above, is no longer welcome on this blog.

Hello All (Except Tito),

I saw that Tito posted, and I have to say, it offends me. Now, I don't read Spanish. In fact, I don't even read anything that has to do with Spanish speaking people. I don't like mixing with those ruffians, so I couldn't read what he actually wrote. But I saw it was in that gobbledygook, and you know what? I'm not pleased, Tito. You know I hate it when people associate me with some dirty banana-cropping "bastardos." Why don't you just go play some soccer, or as you call it "futbol."

That's right. I went there. "Gooooaaaaal" for me I guess.

You are hereby banned from this blog. Please hand in your password back to me as soon as possible, in email form if you can do so.

Your Real Loyal Leader,
Gonzalo "Completely Assimilated" Cordova

Lo Que Pienso de mi Primo Gonzalo

Esta es la cara de un Americano estupido

Hola Todos,

Yo soy Tito “Jackson” Cordova. Hoy dia yo quero hablar sobre halgo super importante. La manera que Gonzalo se ha hecho gringo. Me hace vomitar cuando leo su “blog” en ingles. Se ha olvidida sus origines? Probablemente. El es un trasonero a la “cause” Hispana. El quizas no va poder leyer esto, y por esa rason, yo puedo decir lo que me de le regalada gana.

Como mi abuelito dice, el que no come en le mesa de su familia, come con los peros en la casa de los estrangos. Los Estados Unidos nos da a nosotros la comida de los peros, y me disgusta como Gonzalo se como todo lo que le servin. Se come los programos de la TV y el MTV. Se come la musica Britney Spears. Se come de todo, como un animal hambriente.

Si algien in este “blog” lee Espanol, por favor, ayuden a Gonzalo.

Tu Leader Loyal-o,
Tito “Jackson” Cordova