Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monday, March 31, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
I’m working on the roof of my house and my hands are aching. What gloves would you recommend for roof repair? There is a huge blister on the inside of my thumb from using a hammer all day. Also, are you supposed to pop blisters?
-Achin’ in Macon
Monday, March 24, 2008
Our first question comes from a lonely bachelor all the way from the lonely bachelor capital of the universe, Austin, TX:
I’m a lonely 38 year old man who is balding, and slightly obese. It’s been 4 years since I’ve had the company of a female. I feel like my only chance of getting a girl at this point is to become famous. Since you’ve helped MJ come from obscurity, I need your help. What can I be famous for? I’m not very good at sports, and I can’t play music. Please help.
-Out of Ideas in Austin
Dear Out of Ideas,
Since you're 38, balding, live with your mother, smell like ham, are fat and have a myspace page full of lies, I think one can safely assume that you are a Circuit City employee - in which case, I have the same singular piece of advice for you that I gave your co-worker who called to ask if I wished to extend my premium warranty: You should kill everybody that you work with.
Seriously - on top of the $1200 I laid out for an Onkyo receiver and a sweet set of JBL Surrounds, you con me out of $150 for a guarantee that I will never have to live a day without my premium sound system, but, four months later, when my receiver gets struck by lightning - only then am I told that Circuit City is entitled to three attempts and an unlimited amount of time with which they are allowed to repair my receiver before they are required to offer a replacement. In the six music-free months of near silence that followed, I felt my insides crumble as the reality of what a sucker I am took root and spread through my guts like kudzu.
Then, at the end of our two-year contract, you call to to see if I want to extend the deal for an additional two years for another $150? Fuck that Circuit City! Seriously, you and your corporate trickery are what's killing America. Personally, I can't wait until your storefronts are boarded up or converted into a chain of Mexican grocery stores because Amazon.com has put your miserable asses out of business.
So thanks Out of Ideas. Thanks for killing America.
Bless you. Bless you for taking that first step toward achieving greatness. Bless you for reaching into the great unknown and asking, "Am I good enough?". Bless you for trusting a semi-anonymous online source for life-guidance; because let's face it: You're not doing such a hot job, are you?
I'm Michael Jackson's Glove and I know what you need. My qualifications? I made the whole of humanity embrace a little album called Thriller. I took themes considered controversial in any era - but especially in the era of Reagan's America - themes such as child illegitimacy, gang violence and werewolf aggression - and turned them into piping hot apple-pie vignettes that mothers and grandmothers around the world were proud to feed their young.
All too often, people point to Michael Jackson or Quincy Jones to explain the cultural phenomenon that was Thriller, and actually doubt my impact on the project. To my detractors, I only make one small request: Please examine Bad. While considered a commercial success, Bad is hardly the zeitgeist that was/is/will always be Thriller. What's the difference you ask? The difference is me or rather, the absence of me.
Think about it. With the glove: Michael takes Emanuel Lewis to the Grammies - America giggles. Without the glove: Curiosity turns to concern when rumors arise that Michael sleeps in a hyperbaric chamber while in a 3-way with the Elephant Man's remains and Macaulay Caulken.
I know to leave a party while it's still fun and toward the end of my time with Jackson, things started to get a little creepy. I won't get into details because whoever you are - when you work with The Glove, you get two things: Discretion and Sparkle! But let's just say that I saw some shit that changed me.
After I left, I thought that I could use my talents to help the poor and starving, but most of those people couldn't give a shit about being famous. They just want parasite-free water and the least oppressive ruling regime they can get.
I understand this, but it's not what I do. I was talking with my good friend Hamburger Helper about this and he gave me some excellent advice. "Michael Jackson's Glove," he said, "Your purpose in life is to help the fame-obsessed get over the bubble and plant themselves squarely at the intersection of Stardom Street and Awesomeness Avenue." He continued, "Look at me - I help hamburger reach its fullest potential. Sometimes I can help tuna or chicken, but I know that hamburger is where I really shine. Could I help spaghetti? Probably, but shit man - I'm Hamburger fucking Helper and that's all I ever need to be!"
I thought about those words for a long time people and that's why I'm here today. Do you have a hole in your soul that can only be filled with the approval and acknowledgement of strangers? Do you have a yearning to feel what it's like to suffocate against a wall of applause? Let me help you, you poor huddled mass. You miserable piece of shit.
Talk to me. Tell me why you're failing or better yet - let me tell you why you're failing. I can fix you. Why? Because I'm Michael Jackson's fucking Glove and I'm listening America (and English speaking Canadians and Europeans).