Speech To The Graduating Class

There is nothing to be had

In following a fad

So do what is cool

Using emptiness as tool

Inspired by self

Take shelter in wealth

Find a cure for what ails

Eat bread that is stale

‘Cause that’s all there is.

M.S.F.

MSF

Hey gals, I’m a single white male, 5’9”, 189 and ½ Lbs and I dress really lovely. Some people say I look like George Clooney but I don’t know I think I look more like Dan Fielding from Night Court but maybe I do look like Georgey, who knows, it’s all subjective, right? Anyways I’m lonely and looking for a nice girl (preferably half white half Filipino about 5’2” – 5’4” with size c breasts and a disproportionately large posterior) to settle down with. I have a full-time job and a beautiful apartment I share with my dog, Kim Jong Il (he’s a Shar Pei). I like to stay in and drink wine and watch Glee but I can also go out and drink whiskey and get into fights and f*#@ in the alley if that’s what you’re into. I got straight A’s in high school and received my AA from my local community college. I work a lot but I sleep very little so don’t worry, I’ll spend a LOT of time with you. I am in pretty good physical condition and although I haven’t had sexual relations in over six years I’ve practiced consistently with a blow-up doll – no complaints so far (just a little joke). I will of course throw away the doll once we’re in a committed relationship. So that’s about it, I guess. I hope some nice young girl is reading this ad right now and thinking about calling. Ttyl!

- Ryan

p.s. Oh yeah I forgot to mention that I stand to inherit a small fortune (in the area of $5 mil) when my comatose uncle finally passes and also I have a criminal record. No big deal but if we ever go on a vacation I have to notify a few people and fill out some paperwork and…let’s not think about vacations for a while.

More From the Pages of the San Jocose Times!

US to fund $20m remake of Sesame Street for Pakistan

The United States is funding a Pakistani remake of the popular TV children's show Sesame Street. In a new effort to win hearts and minds in Pakistan, USAID - the development arm of the US government - is donating $20m (£12m) to the country to create a local Urdu version of the show featuring new and more culturally recognizable characters such as Drively the Cab Driving rodent and Boomerlin the Dynamite-Strapped Jackal.

The project aims to boost education in Pakistan, where many children have no access to regular schooling or working televisions or footwear other than sandals.

The show consisting of twelve 22 minute episodes is to be filmed in Lahore and aired later in the year in a severely edited format consisting of twelve 10 minute episodes designed to coincide with government mandated electricity rationing.

The pilot episode is a charming story of a boy’s first crush. The synopsis (translated from Urdu) reads:

The tale of a young man who is overcome with evil feelings towards a wicked woman. The young man is visited by three wise creatures wearing many colored tunics and speaking in humorous tongues. The four then journey to the Imam who reminds the boy that his feelings are inappropriate and he is danger of death and he warns him never to speak of this again until he is 16 and paired up with a submissive woman. The boy does as he is told and all is well.

A DVD collection of the series is currently available in pirated format and can be found at participating blankets spread out in front of boarded up stores in any Little Pakistan regions in Los Angeles and New York.

Children build 'world's tallest' Lego tower in Brazil

Thousands of children in Brazil have built what organizers say is the world's tallest Lego tower - with a bit of help from parents and a crane. Organizers say the tower, which was made with 500,000 pieces and measured over 102ft, and caused rape crimes to cease for a full three minutes in the vicinity of the tower.

Brazil is proud to have beat a previous record held in Chile – that of Chile’s famed Erector Set sculpture that measured 98ft in height and brought about two minutes twenty-three seconds in which no muggings took place in the Pedro de Valdivia Park.

Eight prostitutes found in search for Shannan Gilbert

The search for a missing prostitute in New Jersey has led police to find the bodies of eight sex workers.

Shannan Gilbert, 24, went missing in May 2010 but police says she is not one of the victims they've found. Four bodies were uncovered in December last year and a further four were found within the last week.

New Jersey police captain Lou Bungelli commented saying “It’s not uncommon that we find a few dead hookers a year – usually one or two at the mayor’s around Christmas and one or two are usually found in the evidence room due to a clerical error but eight?! This is crazy even for New Jersey! Hey you aint gonna print any of this right?”

Structure of stars revealed by 'music' they emit

The sounds emitted by stars light years away from Earth have been captured by British astronomers using Nasa's Kepler space telescope.

Writing in the journal Science, the team says the "music" created by the stars gives a much more accurate picture of their size and structure than was available previously.

Not surprisingly within seconds of the official release the “webosphere” responded and the response has been overwhelmingly negative.

“Diz iz da whack shit.” Says darknhung69

“The stars are BULLSHIT! I’ve heard better music from my BUTT!” from aaronthegreat1

“Hipster crap.” Said joedumpster99

“I hate black people!” from reaalbadazz666

Poland divided by air crash ceremony

Poland has marked the first anniversary of the plane crash in western Russia that killed president Lech Kaczynski, and 95 others but the occasion is marked by deep divisions. Official ceremonies are being boycotted by the late president's brother, Jaroslaw, a former prime minister who says Moscow bears responsibility for the accident.

Jaroslaw’s idea was to have six Poles pilot the plane – one to steer and five men on the top of the aircraft to flap their arms up and down.

The former prime minister blames Russia and their “westernized” thinking for having infected his brother’s flight crew with their more traditional two-man piloting operation.

Resignation Letter to NASA

April 4, 2011 Mr. Charles F. Bolden Jr. NASA Headquarters 300 E Street S.W. Suite 5K39 Washington, DC 20546-0001

Dear Mr. Bolden,

Please accept this letter as resignation of my position as Human Relations Liaison, Event Planner and Yoga Instructor, effective April 28th 2011. I am offering the requisite two weeks’ notice – I believe that should provide you ample time to find a suitable pair ‘o feet to fill my old shoes but of course I am more than willing to stay on for up to six weeks in the event that you find it a trifle more taxing than you previously thought to rustle up a candidate with even half of my energy and brainage to boot! I realize I’m getting a little off track here and my emotions may be bleeding through my pen now – and for that I am sorry. Anyways, I am willing to stay and train the new employee(s) as needed. Just let me know, I’ll probably be by a couple of times a week anyways just to ease the rest of the staff during this time of change. You know, to assuage the fear and resentment that may run rampant throughout our – sorry – your fine halls. I wouldn’t want morale to plummet because of little old me now would I?

As to my decision to resign I assure you that I wish it hadn’t have had to come to this. I hate to leave so many friends and the comfort of a familiar work environment. It is my contention that had I been treated with even a modicum of respect and perhaps a soupcon professional decency you wouldn’t be reading this letter, your window would still be intact and your car wouldn’t smell vaguely of urine. Now I know my particular position was rather new and a bit experimental. And I know that my methods were unorthodox as was my dress (my body needs to breath – it’s a glandular disorder!) but had you been just a little more open-minded I think you would’ve warmed up to my approach and appearance as did so many others there. I remember how on the days I did manage to slip past security (another area in which I felt disrespected – I mean you couldn’t find the time to laminate an ID card for me?) the staff would just laugh and laugh for what seemed like five or six minutes straight before the guards and I would do our little Keystone Kops routine to the delighted squeals and gentle ribbing of the viewing audience. In fact it is just those smiles and that laughter that echo in my head and sing me to sleep as I drift away in the back seat of my home parked conveniently outside of my…well what was my workplace.

Trust me - this was a big decision for me. I don’t like the idea of being financially unstable but I think my mental and spiritual health is much more important. That brings up another issue and certainly one that figured into my decision – I have yet to receive payment from anyone there and taken this up repeatedly with the good folks in payroll only to hear that I’m “not in the computer” over and over. Will this ever be cleared up? It being tax season and all I would very much appreciate a retroactive payment and a W2 form as soon as possible. I realize there’s may be some bad blood because of the “lab fire incident” and I’m sure there may even be some legal responsibility on my part to reimburse NASA for the damages. To that I would like to firstly attempt to absolve myself of responsibility by once again reminding you that I was under the influence of a new court-ordered prescription medicine and therefore am not entirely responsible for what happened during the subsequent three day black-out (what a long, dark night of the soul that was, eh?!) and secondly to any attempt to garnishee my wages will be met with both litigation (I will be representing myself of course) and tears, lots of tears. I’m real emotional when confronted. I think because my mother was verbally abusive unless I brought her drugs or money and certainly because my uncle-father was physically abusive especially when I called him uncle-father…but I digress. The decision has been made and now, as the black people say, the ball is in your court.

In closing I’d like to say that my experience with NASA has been nothing short of life-changing. I leave with no ill-will not even towards that fat fuck Ronald in accounting and I wish you all the best with your endeavors. I trust that your little company will do big things in the future what with all the egg-heads walking around that joint and all that technology stuff I saw in the big room where I set off the fire alarm (kinda fun actually – it was like it was raining inside!). I’d say if nothing else it was a learning experience for all of us but mostly for me. I leave on good terms but with my eyes wide open and my movements a little more cautious. I won’t be as trusting in the future and I probably won’t be as pale – I’m going to start a tanning regimen in 2012 (George Hamilton never had any trouble getting laid now did he?). Goodbye my friends.

Sincerely,

Ryan Travis Darrow esq.

Film Reviews In 25 Words or Less

Mesrine Part I: Killer Instinct

The French Scarface.

Win Win

The Indie Blindside.

Source Code

Groundhog Day as Sci Fi Thriller.

Tron 3D

Tron Remix by DJ Boring.

Best Worst Movie

The Best Worst Documentary.

Monsters*

I don't know what's scarier, those giant, slimy Octopus things or those small, slimy Mexicans.

*Fun Fact: Syncs up perfectly with Insane Clown Posse's The Great Milenko!

Love & Other Drugs

Sorry, Michael J but I don't think the world's ready for a Parkinson's themed porno just yet - maybe next year.

RIPPED FROM THE PAGES OF THE SAN JOCOSE TIMES

ANGRY MOB TURNS UNRULY WHEN "UNFAIRLY" LABELLED AS ANGRY.

"We like to think of ourselves as mildly discontented" said mob participant Joseph Santwich "and to be so unfairly mislabeled as angry...well that's just un-American." Shortly after Santwiches statement was taken, the then calmed mob thinned out into a “throng” and settled on a more neutral disposition: “uneasy.” Uneasy throng member Stanley Polowitz claimed the new formation “more accommodating and less intimidating.” As dusk began to fall so did emotions which previously ran high. Those who had prior engagements left as did those who just plain lost interest along with those who found solace in other neighboring and more volatile groupings of humans – groupings that were teetering on the precipice of “riotous.” The uneasy throng further devolved into simply a small-but-talkative-crowd. “We may be small but we have big hearts and we tackle big issues” said small-but-talkative-crowd member Sandy Kaufman, “and this is just a start” she continued “we plan on being heard.”

Fear of a Black Brother Part I

The hat was kind of big and blocky to begin with. It didn’t quite fit the way I wanted it to. One of life’s many sad truths: nothing ever really fits the way you want it to. Freshly dyed black with a strange rope-like thing across the top of the rim just at the base of where the rim and the head part meet. If memory serves it was fastened in the back with the typical plastic hole-and-peg fastening system. That satisfying snap that would occur after just the right amount of resistance was fought with. Over the years I would find myself repeating that little action to no lesser or greater gratification. No fitted cap was this. In fact I’m almost certain I’ve never owned a fitted baseball cap at any time in my life. A silhouette of a person, arms folded, with what appears to be a hat on their head, and two intersecting lines crossing the silhouette was emblazoned upon the front of this particular hat. Underneath this design were the words Public Enemy.

I knew even then how important Public Enemy was to African-American culture. I felt I was in on the ground floor of something huge that white America couldn’t understand yet. I understood it. I “got” it. I was certain that in ten years time I would have moved to some big urban center and be right in the midst of “it.” This music not only spoke to me it prophesied my future. It saw right inside of me and tapped into something I didn’t know was there. I “got it” even if I didn’t fully know what I “got.” I could walk with a swagger befitting someone much more confident than I and I could shrug off the naysayers with a simple head-nod.

My very own brother was one of those naysayers. Four years older than my-self and not a little embarrassed that his baby brother was pretending to “be black,” he was visibly bothered about my wearing this hat in public. If only my twelve year-old mind could’ve summoned the right combination of words to explain to him how wrong he was to be concerned. This thing I was doing was so much more important than getting good grades or going to church or, finally, looking like a fucking surfer! I was to stand in defiance to all of that. I’d walk around that multi-million dollar mall in stark contrast to the un-cool, racist, rich white assholes who have no fucking clue which way is up! I was going to wear my Public Enemy hat and that was that.

“YO! TAKE OFF THAT HAT!” The words came echoing across that obscenely bright and clean shopping mall and were sharp in my head yet muffled and distant to my ears. My immediate instinct was to do what that ever so demanding voice told me to, but I had to stand my ground. My brother was both pleased and further embarrassed for obvious reasons. I shot a glance in the direction of the voice; not in an attempt to defend my-self with a defiant look but more to confirm my suspicions that I really didn’t want confirmed. I recognized the familiar “yo” and the deep tone and the rhythmic cadence. I was right. The voice belonged to an African-American. “Fuck. What now? Experiment over? I can’t support black music in public anymore? And worse – does this mean my appreciation of said music is itself not only unappreciated but rather unwanted?” I asked myself.

I pushed the question out of my mind no sooner than it took shape. I was confident that the event was an anomaly and borne of ignorance. “If only they knew I had not just Fear of a Black Planet but both It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and Yo! Bum Rush the Show.” I realized I needed to prove myself through at least one of the five elements of hip-hop in order to be taken seriously. I started with Graffiti Art.

Swirling, interlocking, and bulbous letters that cast a painted shadow behind them. Filled in with abstract shapes and bright colors. Names like PHASE and ZEPHYR and SKEME burned into my retina. It was all I could see everywhere. I would have to come up with a cool name and a style all my own. RANX 1 is what I came up with.

While you’re laughing let me explain the etymology of that name. Around 1990 or so, already falling deep into the cult of hip-hop, I was exposed one Sunday afternoon to “dancehall” reggae. I was well aware of Bob Marley and Peter Tosh and even Steel Pulse but I had no idea what was about to fall on my impressionable ears. A local radio station was apparently, unbeknownst to me, airing nearly three hours worth of modern and vintage reggae every Sunday afternoon. This particular Sunday I happen to not be at church. Instead of shifting in uncomfortable brown and green pews with my head swathed in the droning prose of a familiar pastor whose voice I had learned to tune out lest I be riddled with guilt I was shifting in the uncomfortable white and off-white pew of a friend’s father’s boat. Speeding along the Newport coast somewhere this large and imposing man’s oldest son tuned the radio to 103.1 FM. The alien sounds of Eek-A-Mouse came warbling over the air waves. This was followed by a steady stream of unfamiliar yet immediately recognizable music. Recognizable as the thing I had been waiting all my life to hear. The next few years I would become slightly obsessed with “dancehall” reggae. I would find that among some of the most famous dancehall “toasters” of that time was an artist who went by the name Shabba Ranks. I would find later that this was a popular surname of dancehall reggae artists. There was a Nardo Ranks, a Mackie Ranks, a Junior Ranks (I think), a Louie Rankin, a Cutty Ranks, and so on. I took it upon myself to be the hopefully first stateside graffiti artist to ply his trade under the nom de plume Ranx One.

...to be continued