BrokenJPG

A Copywriter’s Blog
I have a theory Ben Levy 31, May

The theory is that my dog believes all squirrels are filled with crack.

My dog was adopted from a shelter in Miami. This means two things. First, that we don’t know her early history. And second, that she lived in a city with a fair bit of drug traffic.

She’s crazy for squirrels. Absolutely flat-out, bat-shit, lose-her-damn-mind-and-attempt-to-climb-trees-which-she-can’t-do-cause-she’s-a-dog-not-a-cat crazy. The vocal and gymnastic displays she performs could get an unlicensed animal put down. And I have developed a theory that perfectly explains this behavior.

At some point, a desperate drug trafficker with more creativity than sense decided that he would evade detection by using squirrels as couriers. I don’t pretend to know whether he had a herd of the damn things, or just tried stitching a few grams into a single test subject, but somewhere a squirrel got loose. We can all agree that once that squirrel rode it’s stolen hamster wheel out the window and across a telephone wire to safety, it was too tired to climb a tree and just sank gratefully into the grass in a nearby park.

I think my dog found it. I think she ate it. And I think she’s been looking for her next hit ever since.

Is this canon? Ben Levy 29, May

“Holy size-2 utility belt, Batman! Batgirl found her Batballs!”

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Small-Screen Famous Ben Levy 25, May

“You know that guy”
“I assure you, I do not.”
“Yes you do, you went to high school with him or something.”

The guy in question was wearing a suit and standing nearby at a wedding The Wife and I were attending. The Wife knew the Bride and all the bridesmaids, but she didn’t know this guy. She swore I knew him, because she recognized him. This is the sort of circuitous logic that baffles single men. Married men everywhere are just nodding in sympathy.

As fate would have it, the gentleman in question wound up sitting at the same table as us during the reception. He introduced himself as “Adam”.

“See?” I told The Wife, “I told you I didn’t know him.”
She pushed me aside and asked “Do you know [the Bride] or [the Groom]?”
“Oh [the Bride]” he declared “I’m dating one of the bridesmaids.”
“Oh!” cried The Wife, with sudden understanding “I recognized you from her Facebook pictures.”

Then, a half second later she added, “I’m not a stalker, I swear.”

And that’s how The Wife became re-acquainted with the man she’d never met.

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Cat Yodeling Ben Levy 22, May

I can tell you with complete authority that this also works on small dogs.

I’m Alive! Ben Levy 21, May

Sorry for the lack of updates. I’ve just moved to New York. In very short order I’ll have oodles of things to talk about.

That’s right. Oodles.

In the meantime, I’ll be playing car tetris and building furniture.

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Finally. Ben Levy 14, May

You see Hollywood, this is what I’m talking about. If you can’t make a good movie, make the worst movie you can possibly think of.

Brilliant.

Q: What’s the worst joke you can tell someone, only it’s not a joke and when they realize you’re serious the laughter dies in their throat almost as quickly as their will to live?
A: Will Smith is re-making the Karate Kid.

karate_kid

This is not the first time the entertainment industry has tried to murder me via coronary by retroactively destroying my childhood. There was that Shite Rider crap. And the GI Joe movie (more on that in a few days). But this may be their master stroke.

This time they’re not content to simply exhume and anally violate one of the cornerstones of my childhood. No, this time they’ve conned one of the few actors I respect(ed) into doing it. They’ve discovered how to sodomize both my past and present simultaneously. If we’re lucky the resulting black hole from bending the space/time continuum this way will destroy us all before their plans are complete. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just smother myself in honey and hit bears with a baseball bat. Anything to lessen the pain.

I’m going to be honest here. This was not a bad idea because Jackie Chan is on board, and he’s old. It’s not a bad idea because supposedly the kid travels to China and learns Kung Fu, which isn’t fucking Karate you damned ignorant fucktards. It’s a horrible, flawed, embarrassingly bad idea because the entire premise behind Karate Kid is simply retarded.

newkaratekid

I loved the Karate Kid. We all did. We all really, really wanted to believe that we could learn martial arts from some diminutive foreigner who was probably in the country illegally and start kicking bully’s asses left and right. I don’t know about you, but when I was ten, that was the American Dream.

And back then, it worked. It was a good movie. But -and I’m serious here- it only worked because we were idiots.

Listen to me Will Smith, or whoever is controlling the Will Smith robot suit that’s giving the orders- that was a simpler time. We all believed that painting fences and sanding floors might actually turn us into deadly fighting machines. It’s because we were stupid.

We’ve got the internet now. We’ve got the UFC. We know what real fighting looks like. And we know the truth is that if Daniel-son had gone into a real tournament, he would have been choking down his own excrement inside of 30 seconds. If repetitive motion automatically granted martial prowess, every right-handed male from the age of 11 and up would be kicking ass like Bruce Lee. (The lefties would be doing it mirrored) But that’s just not the way it works.

karatekid

At the time, it was great. But we’re talking about a generation of kids who- and I’m including myself in this- honestly went home after seeing the movie and practiced the Crane Kick in the mirror. I mean we really fucking considered it for a minute. I have a tiny bit of experience in the martial arts, and I can promise if you tried to pull that shit in a fight the only reason it would work is because your opponent might laugh so hard that they rupture something. My point is that the film was great for it’s time. Leave it as a warm, fuzzy memory of a simpler time in our lives. You really can’t make this one cool again.

And as for you, Will Smith- No. NO. Bad, Will Smith. Very bad Will Smith. You go sit in the corner and think about what you’re potentially going to have done.

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Hate. Packing. Ben Levy 10, May

I spent half my day packing all my belongings into a single car. Because I’m moving to NYC. Not this weekend. Next weekend. This weekend was just a test-pack.

So I crammed, rearranged, loaded, unloaded, reloaded, and generally preloaded everything The Wife and I own into the car just so I could reverse the process about an hour and a half later.

I can’t tell you all how pleased I am to report that not everything fits. I mean at least this exercise served a purpose. How miserable would it have been if the entire process had gone smoothly? At least that miserable, car-shaped, real-world-tetris torture served to inform us that we’ll spend the next week assembling boxes and shipping all our clothes via mail. I’m so glad we found that out. It would have sucked if the whole thing had just been a contained exercise that allayed our fears and enabled us to relax for the next few days.

Editor’ Note: Henceforth, I declare that packing shall always be referred to as “miserable-car-shaped-real-world-tetris-torture”. That will be all. Thank you.

Ponies, bitches.

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Last Saturday, the wife and I had a garage sale in preparation for our New York move. This fact alone doesn’t mean much except that we sold our TVs.

I like to think of myself as an adaptable creature. I’ve got hobbies. I’ve got a gameboy. I’ve got stuff (packing) to do. The trouble is, packing is a pain in the ass. And I’ve found that when you’re done doing pain in the ass things you really just want to sit on the couch (which we haven’t sold yet and is the last place in the house to sit) and watch TV. It should be noted that by “watch TV” I now mean “stare at the six foot high entertainment center that dominates the room so you can’t help but gaze into the empty, dusty, void where your TV used to be“. It’s like I can’t look away.

I’ve begun to develop phantom remote syndrome. I find myself reaching for a channel changer that isn’t there. I mentally prepare for arguments with The Wife about what show we’ll watch during dinner. Then I realize there won’t be any show at all. We’ll have to talk.

She has it worse than me, of course. The lunchroom at work has a TV in it. I can at least get a hit there. She’s home all day packing. On the average day I’d say she used to watch at least 5 hours of TV before this. I have no idea what happens when you go cold turkey from a talking box binge. I think there was a special about it on the Discovery Channel yesterday, but of course I didn’t see it.

I’ll try to keep you all updated as to how we’re faring. If there’s no report tomorrow, I think you can safely assume the worst- that we’ve resorted to acting out half-remembered episodes of I Love Lucy.

May Matt Lauer have mercy on our souls.