Passion of the Christ II: Vengeance of the Christ

"The Passion of the Christ", released in 2004, took the film industry by storm, showing the world that even non-English speaking films can blow up and become among the highest grossing films of all time.  Since the film's unprecedented success, Icon Productions has long been eager to film the sequel, which would focus largely on the resurrection of Jesus, rather than his torture and demise.  Because of the controversy surrounding the film's writer and director, Mel Gibson in recent years, Icon decided they would re-imagine the sequel's creative team.  They came up with noted director Frank Darabont and acclaimed creator of "The Shawshank Redemption."  And as for the screenwriter, well... it's yours truly; the God-fearing Bard of Babel himself, Grady Richards.

When Icon Studios commissioned me to write this film, I was ecstatic.  Not only did I receive a hefty advance on the script, but I was being awarded an opportunity to exhibit my work on a global canvas, viewable by untold millions of movie-goers and religious zealots worldwide.  But unfortunately, the story of Jesus's resurrection is pretty bland.  He waited three days in a cave, rolled back a stone blocking the door, and disappeared from evidence for two thousand years.  If I'm going to be breaking into the Hollywood scene with this one film, you can bet your ass I'm going to spice it up a bit.

The following is a synopsis of my first featured screenplay "The Passion of the Christ II: Vengeance of the Christ".

Our film opens with a brief explanation regarding Jesus's nearly dead state.  Due to a peculiar atmospheric anomaly, he has laid in death not for three days, but for more than two thousand years.  Because of a shift in the space-time continuum, he is no longer in Israel, but in a cave far to the west.  As the credits role, Jesus is resurrected and re-emerges from the dark to find himself in present-day New York.

Jesus, stark naked, walks through central park while suspenseful, percussive music bangs in the background.  He is looking from one group of people to the next: bums, performance artists, hipsters, and then finally settling on a group of yuppies surrounding a bench.  Here is an excerpt of the scene in my script.

EXT: CENTRAL PARK, DAYTIME
JESUS walks slowly up to the YUPPIES who are laughing and pointing fingers at his naked body.  Jesus's face is an expressionless mask and his eyes never waver from the clan's leader.

YUPPIE LEADER

Hey, man you looking for a good time, or what?

JESUS

Give me your clothes.

YUPPIE LEADER

Screw you, buddy.  I think you'd better check yourself into Belleview.

JESUS (monotonous) 

Give me your clothes.

YUPPIE LEADER laughs sardonically, then gives JESUS a light shove.  JESUS erupts in a gout of violence, stripping the CROWN OF THORNS from his head and using it to slice YUPPIE LEADER'S throat.  THE OTHER YUPPIES gather around him in a circle, drawing chains and baseball bats from behind their backs.  JESUS breaks one man's neck with his bare hands, then chews through another's face.  ONE YUPPIE swings his chain and it whips around JESUS'S waist.  He grabs hold of it, slowly draws the YUPPIE in close, then jams his thumbs into the man's eye sockets.  THE YUPPIE goes into a fatal convulsion and drops from frame.  THE LAST YUPPIE takes a look at the carnage, then drops his wooden bat, backing away.

LAST YUPPIE (turning to run)

Hey, s-sorry man!  We was just foolin'!

As he runs away, JESUS picks up the discarded baseball bat and snaps it in half, producing a wickedly sharp wooden stake.  He hurls it into the air and it whistles down into THE LAST YUPPIE'S spine, cutting him nearly in half.  As THE LAST YUPPIE gurgles his final breath, we close in on JESUS'S wrathful face.

JESUS

This time... it's personal.

In the following scenes, Jesus goes on to meet Isabella, a down-on-her-luck Hispanic single-mother working as a stripper so she can raise her young son.  Jesus and Isabella fall madly in love, but Isabella is reluctant to let Jesus continue on his quest to find all the descendants of Pontius Pilate, the Roman who had ordered Jesus's execution.

Over the next ninety minutes, Jesus- armed with a shocking arsenal of ballistic weapons acquired from "Homey" (played by 50 Cent) hunts down each of the heirs of Pilate.  Most of them are Italian mobsters, of course, because everyone likes to see mobsters eat a chain of bullets and Pilate was Roman, so why the fuck not?

In the final scene, Don Rigatoni- the last descendant of Pilate and head of the Rigatoni crime syndicate- has kidnapped Isabelle and her son Lucian.  He is holding them hostage in a dark and rust-ridden industrial warehouse full of hydrolic presses and vats of glowing, molten steel.  Isabella is chained to a mechanism over the lava and is slowly descending to her own doom, while Don Rigatoni is climbing a scaffold with the infant Lucian pressed to his chest, a gun at his little temple.  Here is another excerpt from my script.

INT. INDUSTRIAL WAREHOUSE, NIGHT
As ISABELLA struggles against her chains, looking down in dread at the molten steel which will be her death, JESUS runs into frame and fidgets with the chains.  His forehead is bleeding and his clothes are filthy from his last action sequence. 

JESUS (exasperated)

I can't break the chains!  The Strength of Divinity is leaving me!

ISABELLA

Just go!  Go on and leave me.  Don Rigatoni has Lucian up on that scaffold.

JESUS

I won't leave you.  I... I can't.  I love you, Isabella.

ISABELLA

But you have to save Lucian...

JESUS

I won't leave you.

ISABELLA

You don't understand, Jesus.  Lucian is...

JESUS

Is what?  Izzy, Lucian is what?

ISABELLA

He's your son!

At the climax, Jesus dispatches Don Rigatoni from the world in a most grisly manner.  He and Isabella, along with their son Lucian return to her Manhattan apartment to begin a happy life together.  His vengeance sated, Jesus is no longer the killing machine he had once been, he is happy and gentle and kind once more.

But just before the final credits roll, it is hinted that Don Rigatoni is still alive.  Because Rigatoni and all the other children of Pilate were aliens from outer space.  A race of murder-scout aliens who had been probing the planet for centuries, sending back intelligence to their own intergalactic army.  And that army has now arrived.

You see, it is important to plant sequel seeds in the end-body of a work, because Hollywood eats that shit up- and it will ensure that I have a job after this script is over.

However, an unfortunate and unexpected happenstance occurred and Icon Productions refused my script.  Also, they asked that I return every penny of that hefty advance, which I have already spent on building a helicopter that goes under water.  

If I hadn't already sent the script to Lion's Gate, I guess I'd be pretty well screwed.  But Lion's Gate will film anything.

STAY TUNED for my Disney Channel Exclusive mini-series "Cross to Bear", a story about the life and death of Jesus, with all characters being replaced by cutesy cartoon bears!

Everything Grady Says Offends Me

Hi, I'm Chris Lueders and everything Grady says offends me.  Grady talks a lot about how the Bible is wrong, but I'm a Christian so I know the Bible is right.  For instance, the Bible says that God created the Earth in seven days and I know this is true... why else is there exactly seven days in a week?  Coincidence?  What do you have to say to that, smart guy?

Grady said something about there being seven days because of something about the Julian Calendar coming from Julius Caesar and that offends me.  What does Caesar have to do with the calendar?  And besides, Caesar wasn't even a Christian. 

Also, Grady is always talking about how Jesus was a Jew and that offends me.  Jesus was A CHRISTIAN!  Duh!  The Jews don't even believe in Jesus, which is why they're all going to Hell and why they don't get to celebrate Christmas. 

Also, Grady says that dinosaurs went extinct millions of years before man walked the Earth and that offends me.  Everyone knows that Noah reserved a spot for dinosaurs on the Ark and that man and dinosaurs lived together in harmony.  And all that "millions of years" business offends me.  The Earth is only 6,000 years old and I know that because the Bible says so.

I believe everything the Bible says and I'm the most perfect, holiest Christian ever because I judge people constantly based on the standards laid down by God on the mountain.  If I didn't judge people, I wouldn't be a good Christian and I know that because all good Christians are constantly judging other people.

Also, I like to claim that the Muslims are to blame for everything, cuz... Well, just look at them.  They're all terrorists.

Grady says that most people are sheep because they mindlessly follow others and can't make decisions for themselves and that offends me.  Maybe the sheep aren't all followers!  Maybe they all just had the same idea at the exact same moment because of Magic or because God spoke to them.  Just because I change my Facebook profile pic to a cartoon character the same day that all of my friends did doesn't make me a sheep.  God just spoke to us all, and we obeyed.

Besides, Silverhawks is the best.

Grady says that when I say "Silverhawks is the best" that I'm worshipping a false idol and that offends me.  Also, he says that changing my picture to a picture of Silverhawk is vain and, therefore, a sin and that offends me.  And he said something about graven images being a sin and that offends me because I don't understand it.

When I tried to catch Grady up by saying "Now I'm talking about the Chicago Bears, I must be a sheep because I'm watching entertainment for the masses," and Grady just said he was watching the Bears, too, and that offends me because I couldn't make him slip up and say something contradictory. 

Grady criticizes everything and that offends me.  I once asked him why he has to ask all these stupid rhetorical questions about everything and he said, "A wise man questions everything," and that offends me because I'm not sure what it means.  And one day I told him that he should look in the mirror and judge himself (I said 'thyself' because I'm a good Christian) and he said, 

 

"I look in the mirror every day and what I see is a man who doesn't make decisions based on what others are doing. I make up my own mind and I don't bother with what the flock is up to. Because I'm independent and individual, I sleep very well at night, knowing that when it's all said and done, I was true to myself every moment. And I'm not going to feel guilty about that. Why do I laugh at people changing their pictures to photos of cartoon characters? Because cartoon characters have no depth, and neither do their followers."

 

He said that and that offends me.  Because I have delicate sensibilities and asinine platitudes that aren't comforted by individualist-thinking and virtuous attitudes.  So I'm going to pray to God that he catches amoebic dysentery and dies a horrible death, then burns in Hell for all eternity because that's clearly the good Christian thing to do.

 

Grady laughed at that and that offends me.

I'm Rick and I'm an Atheist

Hi, I'm Rick.  You may remember me from the photo of me jockeying a dolphin.  But I'm not here to talk about that.  I'm here to discuss atheism, and why I don't believe in God.

The term atheism comes from the Greek god Atheos, who never believed in himself.  He isn't to be confused with Agnostius, who- despite support from his parents- claimed to be indecisive on whether or not he was real.  Atheos, however, was much more convincing; even being known to preach to the pious about how he wasn't real and how any rumors of his existence could be nullified by using scientific facts and logic.  Atheos was unfortunately ridiculed throughout most of his tenure as a Greek god, finally deciding he would prove the reality of evolution by inventing the duck-billed platypus and freaky fish that walked in the desert.

But everyone knows that.  What I want to bring to the table is the other aspects of atheism that people aren't so versed upon.  Atheists blend comfortably into society- that's right, we walk among you- and in many cases, you can't even tell us apart from real human beings.  Except in my case; I brandish my belief system over my heart in the form of a huge letter A which stands for Atheist, for any of you who haven't read The Scarlet Letter.  Also I tattooed a phrase about there being no gods to my wrist, in one of the ancient holy languages.

But aside from my inherent, disbelieving coolness, I live a pretty normal life, much the same as anyone else who isn't poor or without legs.  On Sunday mornings, I get out of bed early, put on nice clothes, and drive down to the local Atheist Temple to pray to science that all of the Christians will wake up and see the light of logic, and thusly be spared the atrocious horror of an afterlife.  This may sound like church to you, but I assure you there is no similarity.  For one, we drink wine; because wine is a hip and modern thing to do.  Also we eat crackers to keep us thirsty for more wine.  And we sit on benches, clutching Carl Sagan novels and listening to a man who knows more about atheism than we talk about things pertaining to existence and the universe.

The most important aspect of atheism is understanding evolution.  I hear creationists talking about evolution all the time and it makes me sick.  They don't know what they're talking about.  I don't want to preach here... but I will.  Evidence of evolution is all around us; from the slightly smaller pinkies on our hands, to Susan Boyle's ironically beautiful voice.  Every day, we see signs of evolution and the parochial-minded Christians ignore Evolution's many forms.  A man once told me that he planted tomato seeds and genuinely believed that if he prayed to God- trusting in His innate goodness- that the tomato seeds would evolve into watermelons.  The man- when faced with the reality of the tomatoes- claimed that he had proven that evolution was a myth.  But I could only shake my head at him.

Evolution doesn't work like that.  If you're taking a scientific approach, you can't pray to God that your hypothesis will be correct.  That's just silly.  You have to pray to Science.  I have prepared an example of such prayer, in the form of a haiku (my wife loves haiku's).

Evolution does
Not work how you think it does
You are a moron.

I also compose dirty limericks pertaining to Science and gross stuff.

Now aside from Sunday mornings at the Atheist Temple, and teaching my friends how to pray to Science, I spend a lot of time trying to convert the heathens that would dare to believe in religions other than atheism.  My facebook page is rife with links to learned men with beards talking about science and the stars and stuff.  Also, I enjoy amputee porn.  I enjoy this because I can't trust regular porn- which may involve Christians or Jews, and I can't be aroused by them- but amputee porn is a solid bet considering most people who have had one or more limbs removed from their bodies leaving only disturbing, wiggling stumps can't possibly believe in a god who would do this to them.

Also, I enjoy listening to Beck.  I do this because nobody can stand Beck and if I play it loud enough and repeat the same song over and over in my kitchen, I can get people to agree to anything.

And despite the Christians telling me that sin will render my wife's womb infertile- or fill it with the fetus of a pagan- we were recently graced with a son.  You can send your congratulations in the form of crisp, clean, non-sequential bills.  This thing poops a lot.  But we didn't have our baby (whom I have secretly named Darwin, despite what I tell everyone else) Baptised, against the wishes of many ignorant people.  Instead, I dipped him in a pond, whose cool, bacterial waters will expose him to many minor illnesses now, so that he may not suffer them later by accident.  While I did this, I prayed to Science while holding a book of Newton's theories that Jim Carrey and Jenny McCarthy would fall out of love, break up nationally, then die of some terrible flesh-eating bacteria which would- before killing them- render them both limbless nuggets, so that I may watch their final hobbling thrusts in the form of pornography.

All seems to be going well so far.  But that's what you get when you criticize vaccination.

Until we meet again,
May Science be with you
And may we all meet again in the Goldilocks Zone

Rick Myers

Stop Sending Me Someone Else's Emails

For several weeks, I have been receiving emails intended for some other Grady Richards existing in one dimension or another.  This is increasingly depressing because I haven't received my own emails- and because my other half is successful in either the field of medicine, insurance, or law.  I can't quite tell which, as they never outright say Hello, Dr/Attorney/Insurance Agent.  Anyway, I've been very patient with them, telling them in a mature manner that they should check their records because I am not their intended recipient.  Still, they spam me with important nonsense and I've decided to become less mature about the whole situation.

Examinations Ltd,inc./PMD branch #098

Sandra W. B. Eberhart, Pres/CEO

#8 Cabanne Town Home Drive..

St. Louis Mo.  63112

www.examinationsltd.net

(314) 445-1751 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting              (314) 445-1751      end_of_the_skype_highlighting   bus.

1(888)

Hello Grady Richards,

  

We wanted to offer our assistance if need regarding your recent completed insurance cases. If you have any questions and are in needed of our help for any reason.

Please feel free to call our office @ (314) 445-1751. M-F 09:00am-06:00pm, or visit us at:

www.examinationstld.net. Thank You for choosing Examinations Ltd,Inc.

Customer Care dept.

Whoever is the cause for my inconvenience,
Thank you for your offer of assistance, but I assure you it is unnecessary as this email was sent to me in error.  I don't know who you think I am, but despite contacting you several times in the past, you continue to mistake me for someone involved in insurance cases.  Is my doppelganger an attorney of sorts?  I suppose it doesn't matter.  As always, the person you intended this beautifully composed email message for is not me.  And I cannot accept your oaths of love and honor.  Please check your records and rectify this problem.  Because as long as I am receiving these important messages in error, someone in St. Louis is likely receiving my invitations to pyramid schemes, girl next door discount web sites, and applications to online police academies.  Thank you for your time and if you contact me in this manner again, I will purchase narcotics in an effort to keep the local black market crime syndicate prosperous.  You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?

Grady Richards, age 25
Elgin, IL
Unemployed Felon
(Not the person you're looking for)


Thank You. I delete you from our contacts.

My Email from Karl Grzeszczak

( I'm not certain what this is, but it is what it is and what it is is uncertain. )

Lemme tell ya somethin about trains...

Back before you kids had these fancy interwebbed telephones with your bookieface apps and tweetcall messages we had something called yelling. Let me tell you something: yelling fucking rocks. Try it sometime when its quiet. Library. Home. Gas station. In laws house. Train. You name it, it works.

And it works well. Want someone to pay attention to you? Yell. Want someone to get away? Yell helps there too! Its like the english swiss army knife or some shit. Kinda like auto tune without the auto or the tune...just the anger.

Anyway, so were on this train and this guy yells as loud as he can "HEY!!! FIRST ONE OFF GETS THE SURPRISE!!" So of course I make the mistake of asking "what surprise, fucko?" This guy then wins many awards.

He whips out his dong and starts beatin it...right in front of a pregnant albino lady wearing a green fedora in spring. I know, who the FUCK wears a fedora in spring? So this guys beattin it and the lady says "I've seen bigger."

SHE SAYS I've SEEN BIGGER!!! Hahhhahaha!!! This guys trying to be senile and clever and make a point and the lady says that. Oh man what a boob!

He was red in the face and the palm. I was bored so I turned around and laughed. Nobody heard but me. I didn't care. I knew I could out blast his wad if I wanted to. Fuck it...let him have his minute. I stole his pants when I got to my stop.

And that's why yard gnomes are cooler than us all.

How to Seduce a Woman (According to a Dungeon Master)

Hello, lesser primates.  My name is Thurston Willholm Beasley VII and I am a level five Dungeon Master.  You, of course, will call me by my professional name, Volkak.  Aside from my mastery of narrative prose, intergalactic languages, and nearly expert skill with a photopsionic laser bow-staff, I am also a quite accomplished seducer of those neurotic creatures colloquially referred to as "chicks."  I am probably the most womanizing person I know, as my friends have never spoken to a woman.  I saw one once at a gas station and I said, "Hey," then walked away quickly.  I know, I'm pretty awesome.  I'm here today to educate you as best I can, though I'm fairly certain that your underdeveloped, pathetic excuse for a mind could never comprehend what I am about to tell you.

The first step in seducing women is, of course, scoping out a likely target.  As any woman could tell you, chicks don't like spontaneity.  In fact, they hate it.  If there's one thing they can appreciate more than the right to vote as if equals to the greater gender, it's a man who knows how to live by a plan.  Don't surprise them with anything, that only confuses their parochial brains.  When choosing a woman to be your slave, you don't want to just approach one.  The thought is ludicrous.  All parties involved will appreciate method to your seduction.  Which means you shouldn't speak to- or even look at- your target.  Simply follow her and watch her for several weeks with some handy equipment you just happened to have on your person.

Next, after you have established an understanding of her primitive interests, i.e., the music or movies she enjoys, the activities she performs when she isn't straddling you in your fantasies, you must approach her in an environment which may at the time seem awkward to her- but later she will thank you for making conversation unavoidable.  I suggest in line at the grocery store or- my personal favorite- the hallway of her apartment building, with my body strategically placed between her and the door to her apartment.  Once a comfortable escape is unlikely, women want you to make some superficial compliment on their appearance.  I tend to stick with, "I like your face.  It reminds me of the moon."  Now this part is very important: No matter what they say, they are TOTALLY into it.  How could they not be?  I'm a Dungeon Master fluent in Klingon, Vulcan (and Romulan dialects), and Wookie and I'm a Certified Jedi Force Instructor for the Empire.  They may pretend to not be interested, but it's clearly because they are overwhelmed by my credentials.  This is why (IMPORTANT) I do not list these achievements orally, for that would make me seem boastful.  Instead, I whisper a poem of my own composition, translated into Wookie, into her ear.  Something like... "Grrrghr trrg owwwwgrgrgritir.  Lrlrlrlrlglglglrlr, owgrg og."  I know, it's beautiful, isn't it?

Once I have managed to convince her to go on a date with me in a way which, I assure you, has nothing to do with guilt or pity, I prepare myself for this sacred rite, donning my Ranger Aragorn boots, Batman utility belt (purchased from Ebay and an actual prop from Batman Forever), Authentic Dungeon Master vest complete with patches of my accomplishments and tokens from the beasts I've slain whilst on journeys, Darth Vader replica cape (in case it gets chilly), and the Helm of Rohan.  I know, I look pretty good.  When I arrive to pick her up, I am six hours early.  But not because I have nothing better to do.  I do this so she knows I am willing to sacrifice my World of Warcraft quests for her benefit.  I offer he a ride on my segue, then tell her surreptitiously not to touch the red button.  I glued it on with a little christmas light inside it, so it doesn't actually DO anything, but all night she will be wondering what it does.  It's genius.

DON'T touch the red button.

Then I would skip the restaurant she'd requested in lieu of something more interesting.  Women don't know what they want anyway.  We would go to a tournament for Magic: The Gathering and although she pretends to not be riveted, I know the truth.  She is helping me: when she yawns, it means my adversary is going to throw a reflector card.  When she looks at the time, it means I should increase attack, and when she pretends to send text messages, it means I need to stack my hand with place cards. While we're in public together, people will invariably shout mean things at me and call me a geek.  I'm not perturbed by this, however, because I know that once the Empire rewards my valiant service, I will need slaves on my plantation on T'urg'a'tog'atooktuk.

After I collect my fifth place Honorable Mention placard and assure her I'd have won if not for that pre-teen cheating his ass off, we return to my place in my mom's basement.  I know, my pad's pretty sweet.  My mom brings down little pies, and I yell at her for bringing pies with meringue icing and custard filling instead of meringue filling and custard icing.  Women love assertive men. I nod nonchalantly toward my comic book collection even though it's a pretty big deal.  I don't want to seem too impressed with myself.  Chicks love it when a man is aloof towards his comic collection.  I recite her another poem, this time an epic in Vulcan- but I use Germanic sentence structure to make the language more alluring.  Soon, she will be so insistent upon going home that I can't refuse.  She even offers to walk herself out so that my important time should not be further wasted.  She does this to seem unimpressed, but the truth of the matter is this: she can't wait for the good night kiss.  Even when I pucker up and lean in, she plays hard to get, but as I get near enough to smell her hair, I twitch twice, ejaculate, and faint on the basement floor.

Yes, yes, I am a veritable god of the dating scene.  It is my charitable nature which allows me to pass on my secrets to you young, pathetic nerds who wish to emalate my successes.  Someday, with my advice, perhaps you too can almost kiss a woman.

By the way, in the introduction of this article, I claimed to be a level five Dungeon Master.  And you bought it.  Dungeon Masters don't HAVE levels, dork!  Perhaps you should try a bit harder.

 And you thought you were ready for love.

My Text Conversation with Heather

Monday, I had an interesting conversation via text message with everyone’s favorite Heather.  It has taken me a couple of days to post this, as I have been sleeping in the woods and howling at the moon in an effort to get closer to my inner beast.  I would have posted sooner, but unfortunately the woods only have mid-speed DSL and I like to listen to Santana on Slacker while I write. 

Anyhow, to set you up for the conversation, I will tell you that Heather had lost her car the previous night in a borderline lesbian adventure which involved alcohol and more women than Tiger Woods has bedded.  Her car was located on the other side of town and she didn’t want to walk to get it.  I, on the other hand, was anxious to get to the woods for homoerotic loincloths, campfires of Freudian proportions, and all the poison ivy I could wipe with in a lifetime.  Thus, I needed a ride to the middle of nowhere and offered to bring her car to her in return.

Grady

7:07pm

Get your car back by any chance?

Heather

7:08pm

Not yet.  She’s still fucked up.

Heather

7:08pm

I’m working on finding a ride.

Grady

7:09pm

:( My feet are killing me.  Definitely not up for hitching.

Heather

7:11pm

Yeah.  I considered walking to get my car... but decided against it.  If it were a little warmer I would...

Grady

7:11pm

Wear a jacket?

Heather

7:11pm

Nah...

Grady

7:13pm

That makes sense.  What was I thinking?

Heather

7:13pm

It won’t be enough...

Grady

7:14pm

Not that cold.  I should have just taken your keys.  I was in that area an hour ago.

Heather

7:17pm

I thought about that... Oh well.  No one can give me a ride though...

Grady

7:18pm

Guess I’ll just have to go get your keys...

Heather

7:27pm

If you feel like walking...

Grady

7:29pm

I don’t, but if we can work out a deal... I bring you your car and you leave me in the middle of nowhere.  We’re both happy?

Heather

7:30pm

If you keep your phone on all night.

Grady

7:32pm

Of course.  Unless the wolves eat this one, too :(  I barely got away last time...

Heather

7:39pm

Well let’s hope that doesn’t happen.

Grady

7:40pm

Kidding, Heather.  I don’t believe in wolves.

Heather

7:41pm

Ok, well I do considering I have a dog.

Grady

7:42pm

There aren’t any wolves in northern Illinois...

Heather

7:43pm

Well I still believe in them.

Grady

7:44pm

You really don’t get my sense of humor, do you?  I blame Oprah.

Heather

7:44pm

I don’t watch her.

Grady

7:46pm

I knew there was something I’d like about you.  It certainly isn’t your personality, but whatever.

Heather

7:51pm

Haha... thanks.

Grady

7:53pm

This conversation is being monitored by Socialists...

Heather

7:54pm

Where are you?

Grady

7:54pm

The number 3 bus.  They made me put on pants.

Heather

7:56pm

Stop it.

Grady

7:56pm

Putting on pants?  Ok, but you’ll have to explain to them how this was your idea.

Heather

7:59pm

Haha...

Grady

8:00pm

Blame it on your misshapen head.  Cranial compression could lead to poor decisions.

Heather

8:02pm

Very funny.

Grady

8:03pm

Eh, what do you know?  You don’t even believe in wolves...

Heather

8:55pm

Just checking up on you...

Grady

8:57pm

Walking as fast as I can.  Few more blocks.

Heather

8:58pm

Carie just called me... and said she would come get me...

Grady

9:00pm

Almost there.  Didn’t walk this far for nothing.

Heather

9:00pm

I know...

Grady

9:01pm

Your doors WERE locked.  On my way back.

Heather

9:02pm

Well YAY!

Grady

9:03pm

Haha just kidding.  Your car isn’t here.

Grady

9:05pm

I’m assuming it WAS locked though because there’s broken glass.

Heather

9:06pm

Yes it is... don’t lie to me.

Heather

9:06pm

Stop with the jokes and be for real...

Attention, Employers (Part 2)

Due to the positive reactions from my first post and because I have, regrettably, gotten no job offers in the areas for which I requested, I have decided to broaden my job search by adding a few more possible careers in which I believe I am more than qualified.

1. Ice Cream Truck Driver
I understand that summer is approaching quickly and what better way to celebrate than an overpriced Cornetto and a creepy smile?  The need for ice cream truck drivers must be about as high as the need for nurses and such, considering that every day more and more men are barred from ice cream truck compatibility by court-ordered restrictions on proximity to children.  But, as I have pointed out on numerous occasions, I am great with kids and have a zero percent chance of touching one in inappropriate ways.  I would make a great ice cream truck driver because I have an impeccible driving record and I happen to love music which is scientifically designed to melt the average man's brain.  It is probably the ice cream truck song that drove all of those men to finger small boys and girls.  But I'm immune to it and I would probably come up with profound lyrics to compliment the song.  And I would sing it to the children in a fun voice (and to their mothers in a seductive voice).  The lyrics will probably be wrought with double entendres.  The only problem I have... Is it true that your drivers only get paid by commission on what they sell?  If so, you will have to make an exeption in my case as I don't particularly intend to sell any ice cream.  I will probably just give it away to the children who look the poorest.  Or to thin children who have a fat friend so that when the fat friend wants ice cream I can tell him he's too fat.  Then I can watch him cry as I start the ice cream truck song all over again and drive away.  Also, I will give free ice cream to attractive women in hopes that it triggers some sort of ice cream-related sexual fantasy in which I can partake.  And more likely than not, if there are no poor children, thin children, or attractive women around, I will park the ice cream truck at a bar and get drunk for the majority of the day.  So, naturally you will have to pay me hourly wage or, more conveniently, a weekly salary for my performance.

2. Forest Ranger
This entry goes not only for forest rangers, but also for forest preserve police because I understand there is a difference between the two, due to the spelling.  Again, the onset of spring and summer has undoubtedly spiked a rise in forest ranger necessity and I'm more than willing to fill those shoes.  As long as they are size 12, black, and with non-slip treads on the bottom in case I step in something slick.  Also, suction cups on the toes and heels would assist me in climbing smooth surfaces while making spiderman-web-noises.  Other than my excellent climbing skills, I believe a career in forest policing is more than ideal for me and I could perform a variety of tasks in this vein, certainly better than your current forest police.  When was the last time one of your current officers cited a tree for loitering?  Seriously, those trees stand around like homeless people at 711.  They don't even collect cans.  If you hire me to police your forest preserves, you can count on an immeasurable change in tree loitering.  As a matter of fact, you should probably start me off with two citation books rather than the customary one, as I will make an example of every loitering tree I find on the grounds.  Is there something ironic about passing out paper tickets to trees?  Would that be like issuing a jaywalker a citation printed on a dismembered finger?  Furthermore, I would be on constant lookout for illegal campers during the night time hours.  I wouldn't remove them from the premises immediately as that would only validate their rebellious actions, but I would instead terrify them to the point of utter humiliation by making eerie noises in the darkness and placing Blair Witch stickmen around the area for them to find.  Perhaps, if the campers were drunk or stoned, I could stumble into their campsite and convince them that we had all been transported to the past as a sound effect tape of dinosaur mating calls played in the distance.  Also, with the arrival of autumn and the usual cessation of forestry policing, my job could continue on as I would have my hands full issuing littering and public nakedness tickets to the leafless trees.  I will gratefully accept this position on the grounds that I am allowed to carry a standard-issued Colt 45 1911A handgun, as there will undoubtedly be sightings of squirells and such out past their curfews.

3.Door to Door Salesman
I recognize the fact that the mobile sales associate has nearly blinked out of existence since the arrival of the internet, but I assure you that I can single-handedly bring the market back.  I admittedly have no sales experience outside the "commodities" I used to sell to my hippie friends in high school, but I am superb in the scheme of "bullying."  While most salesmen beg their potential clients for a little clemency and a few bucks, I don't take the panhandling approach.  My technique is to strongarm stubborn people who don't know what's good for them and heckle them into making decisions that they wouldn't make unless under social distress.  Furthermore, I am a logical salesman, as I would approach the prospective clients while the men were at work, because women are generally not as smart as men and are more likely to make poor decisions with their husband's money.  Also, this would be a great relief to the women of the world because it would give them a break from vacuuming and cooking and also because I am a veritable god of cunnilingus.  In case I run into a stubborn client who is not willing to abide by my strongarm tactics, I can supply my own collection of sharp knives to deal with the situation appropriately.  Once word gets around, no one will resist buying whatever product it is that we sell.  Even if it is a Snuggie.  On top of all this, I plan to generate a lot of unrelated revenue which does not come from the sales of our product, as I will unfailingly steal a small item of moderate value from each residence I visit.  While these trinkets will not individually amount to much, the yearly profit from such acquisitions will widen our fiscall margin at literally no outlet cost.  Also, I will wear a tie, as long as it has a bright red incandescent arrow pointing to my genitals.

Again, I believe I'm being more than fair in my addressing the job market in this way and you will thank me later for not submitting a personal resume with this request, as it will save you a lot of time and effort in contacting previous employers who don't know anything about the world we live in.  Their assinine opinions and "photographic evidence" would only hinder your making the right decision.  Thank you for this opportunity, and tell your daughter I said to stop calling me.

-Grady Richards

To the Lesbian I was Making Out with Last Night

Dear Random, Anonymous Lesbian,

My name is Heather and apparently things got pretty hot and heavy between us last night.  I, of course, have no recollection of this, as I was wasted and it was my birthday (YAY, me!).  But I came into work today to find out from my rather amused co-workers that you and I made some sort of a connection.  With our tongues.  I don't know who you are and this makes things pretty awkward for me, as I don't know what you look like or where your mouth has been.

I'm not saying that I mind having met you last night, but if you could make yourself known to me that would be great.  I'm not a lesbian, nor am I bisexual, but since I can't seem to find a decent man made entirely out of penis, money, and chocolate, I'm interested in exploring my options with you.  I am particularly intrigued about the part where your hand was up my shirt as, from my experience, men don't know how to properly stimulate a nipple, or anything else for that matter.  Apparently, you and I disappeared for a little while and no one knows where we went.  I'm sure we were just talking about my dog and swapping stories about bargain-shopping at Target, but then again, I don't know for sure.  By the way, you probably thought that my bra was from Victoria's Secret, but I actually bought it at Target for eight dollars.  Please don't think less of me.

Like I said, I'm not sexually interested in females, but the first thing I remember when I woke up this morning is that I was wearing all my clothes and my coat, but not my pants.  I know it's incredibly unlikely, but there is a chance that maybe you decided to celebrate my birthday with a little cunnilingus, and then left before I woke up.  If that's the case, I would really like to know who you are so that I can find out when your birthday is and maybe return the favor.

But I'm not a lesbian.

Kisses!  Heather.

How to Spot a Criminal (According to a Suburban Housewife)

Hello Blog readers, my name is Emily Popavich and I'm a proud parent of four brilliant, beautiful children.  I became distressed today, when a man wearing all black clothing approached myself and my children in the park.  He was clearly a criminal (I have a sixth, or even a seventh, sense when it comes to detecting them) and I was terrified to see that he was trying to approach us as we played on the swings.  Before pepper-spraying him and running away with my puzzled children in tow, I managed to snap a single photograph.

BEWARE THIS MAN!

Because of my expert's eye on how to detect a criminal, I have decided to compile this list of traits which ALL criminals UNFAILINGLY possess.  There is no need to thank me, as I feel it is my civic duty and creating defensive awareness is, of course, its own reward.  The first thing to look for when trying to spot a criminal...

1. Criminals Wear Black

As I have pointed out in my introduction, black clothing is a vital clue in the true identity of the person you see in the office, on the street, and yes, even in our own neighborhood playgrounds.  Criminals wear black clothing not only because of the benefits of hiding their location when the sun goes down, but mostly because it reflects how they feel about themselves and how they feel about the world we live in.  I once ran into a gathering of some of the most dangerous criminals in the area and, once again, I managed to snap a single photograph.  

 The one in the skirt is clearly the syndicate boss.

I was shocked and enraged to find that some of the men and women in the above picture live descreetly in my own neighborhood.  Needless to say, I won't be inviting them to our next dozen barbeques.  

2.  Beware African Americans

Before I get a barrage of mail describing me as racist, I want to point out that I once knew an African American child in grammar school.  And her family relocated after her father was cited for littering a public park.  Not all African American's are criminals.  That thought is simply uneducated supposition.  But the fact (FACT) is that African American's are responsible for more than 98% of all crimes in the United States.  Another 1% of crimes are committed by white people with African American in their recent ancestry.  I seem to have misplaced my citation on this one, but once I re-find my source, I will update.  There was an African American going door to door in my community just last week, and I'm pretty sure he was casing our neighborhood for the likeliest houses to burglarize so he could purchase crack-cocaine and malt liquor.  I didn't have my camera on me as I cowered beneath the desk in my husband's office, but fortunately, Jen Hanscom of the Neighborhood Watch managed to take a picture.

 The bag is where he keeps his Glock.

3.  People with Pagers are Scum.

Everyone knows that the only people who use pagers nowadays are unforgivable drug dealers.  Drug dealers that push their nefarious products on innocent children in schoolyards.  If you see a man with a pager, call the police immediately, as they are most likely carrying large amounts of PCP and the reefer.  And you aren't safe anywhere.  Drug dealers, unlike the criminals I've mentioned already, are getting better and better at disguising themselves.  The man visiting your office with the briefcase?  That briefcase is a portable meth-lab.  The teenager walking home with the violin case?  That case is filled with psilocybin mushrooms.  The only thing that gives these pimps and drug-pushers away is their pager.  Be on the lookout.  I saw a drug dealer checking his pager just last week, at my own doctor's office!

That stethoscope converts to a cocaine-snorting apparatus.

Because these criminals have seemingly taken over every community in America, it is important- no, it is VITAL- that you memorize contact information to your Neighborhood Watch, local fire department, hospital, and police.  Furthermore, give YOUR contact information to neighborhood police officers.  I have even gone so far as to give my local cop the code to my burglar alarm and safe, so that he may check in on my home while my family is at the lake house this weekend.

The police are the only thing that makes me feel safe.

It's Heather's Birthday!

Hi, it's Heather again!  Today is my 25th birthday (I know, I'm getting so old!) and in the spirit of what is probably the most important holiday in the history of the world, I've decided to write about where I think I will be 25 years from today.

Well, as it will be my 54th birthday, I will probably be living in California (Go Packers!) and probably on an expensive beach-front property.  I will, naturally, have retired early from my extensive career in... whatever, I'm not going to worry about that for now, and I will probably be just returning from a long excursion to someplace overseas.  Probably Costa Rica.  I love to travel and I've never been to Costa Rica or anywhere else in Africa.  But I would really love to go.  If I went to Africa, I would probably bring my own toilet seat covers, so that I don't catch AIDS from African toilet seat covers. I would probably also bring an extra sandwich to give to the people starving in Estonia.

Because I'm most likely to be single on my 54th birthday, I'm probably going to borrow Grady's laptop for an hour while he's trying to write so that I can invite a few of my Facebook friends to meet me at the bar.  I borrow Grady's computer because calling my friends on my phone is less frustrating to Grady and is also an obsolete method of communication.  Especially in the future, when I'm 54.  When my friends meet me at the bar, I'm probably going to have a few drinks- but I don't want to get completely wasted.  After I pass out sitting backwards on the toilet in the ladies room, like that one time I took all that medication before going out, I'll probably slur a bunch of words that don't make sense even when spoken eloquently.  After that, when I get my second- or even my third- wind, I will stubbornly insist on having another shot, then sit at the bar telling the bartender repeatedly that he is gorgeous.  I will then convince my friends to ditch me at the bar so I can go home with the bartender, calling my friends an hour later to admit that I'm lost, alone, and frightened.  Once my friends have dragged themselves out of bed and started to look for me, I will tell them I'm fine and shut off my phone.

Being 54 is probably gonna be really gross.  I'm really into looking great and I just can't picture myself looking great when I'm that old.  Unless I'm far enough from senility when they put me in the nursing home that I can design new robes for the residents to wear.  Fashionable robes that conceal flab, wrinkles, and that white cream old people use that makes them smell like death.

But because I'm going to be wealthy from a life of success in... whatever field, I'm probably gonna be rich enough to buy lots of surgeries to keep me looking great.  Especially future surgeries that will probably be able to not only stop aging, but reverse it so that I can be 25 again.  But forever.  If I could live forever, I would probably buy a sword (from Target, for eight dollars) and stand on a hill in the rain, daring people to come sword-fight me.  Since I'm immortal, I won't have much to worry about, but I should probably get some of those chain mail gauntlets so I don't break any of my fingernails.  I wonder if Target sells chain mail gauntlets.  If not, I can probably talk the people at Maurice's down to eight dollars, so I guess it doesn't matter.

Also, if I was immortal, I'd have more time to visit places in the world (OMG, I love traveling!) but not Costa Rica, because I'm pretty sure one trip to Africa will be all I need.  Maybe while I'm there, I'll adopt a kid like Angelina Jolie, because I really like basketball (Go Packers!) and Africans are really good at basketball.

P.S. This is probably what I'll look like in 25 years, if technology doesn't create reverse aging techniques.

Oh!  And tomorrow is the second biggest holiday ever!  National Draw a Picture of a Bird Day!  So I drew a picture of a bird!

If you are what you eat, he must eat some really cool people.

The other day I had the privilege to meet someone who was, in my opinion, the coolest man this side of the Andromeda Galaxy. I am not one hundred percent sure what it was about him that made him on such a level that no one could even dream of touching him. Maybe it was his collection of leather jackets that matched the color of every crotch rocket he owned. On the other hand, it could very well have been his Tapout® t-shirts that were all two sizes too small. Then again, his amazing tan and charming resemblance to a moose could have been his selling point. I don't know if I could pick just one trait that describes 'moose' as a whole. What I can do is tell you about the amazing night he had in store for me, and that is just what I will do.

I think the appropriate way to start this story is to explain how little-old-me came to be so lucky. Every day when I was driving home from work I would pass this bar called the Toolbox. I had always wondered what type of people they let into a place like that. Then one day it happened, I got up the nerve to pull over and drop in. Little did I know, the makings of the most incredible day I will ever experience were beginning to brew. I think the flames on the front door were what had lured me in to begin with, not to mention how totally jacked the door man was. Once inside I immediately felt a tingling in my nether-regions. Just to be safe, the first thing I did was tuck my penis under my waistband, just in case these incredible excuses of men turned me on too much. After a few beers and a conversation about how 'I'm on a Boat' is the greatest song ever made, I decided it was time to go. On my way out I couldn't help but notice a fish bowl filled with business cards and a man chiseled from stone on the front. I felt like I was looking at the sculpture of David, if only Michelangelo had chiseled on a pair of sunglasses to be worn day and night. The bowl was a contest for a night out with this man who had just become famous on some reality T.V. show. I tossed in my business card and was on my way.

Later that day as I sat on my couch recovering from the Toolbox, my phone rang. I picked it up and was greeted with an exclamatory voice saying, "You are the lucky wiener." I immediately screamed like a man in his mid thirties at a Nickleback concert. I had won a night out with a celebrity, how lucky was I? After a few minutes of hyperventilation I gained enough composure to write down all the information needed. He was to pick me up the next day, and who knows what he had in store for me? I spent all night lying awake (like I used to the night before Christmas when I was so excited for the Jesus guy to break into my house and leave me presents).

T'was about a quarter after seven when the greasy, bulgy, hunk of a man came to pick me up. I heard him coming from a few blocks down the road. The ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ's become louder and louder until the annoying buzzing was stopped in my driveway. I walked out to greet him all fancied up in my pleated pants and Doc Martins I had bought a few days earlier just for this momentous occasion. He looked at me a little awkwardly when I threw one leg over the seat of his bike and held tightly around his waist. I was tempted to whisper 'I will never let go' into his ear, but for the fear that this might put a damper on the rest of a night with someone so much cooler than myself, I resisted. As I held on tightly he tossed down his sweet shades, even though the sun had just fallen below the horizon, and away we went.

As we drove down the street, I had never felt so cool- especially when he would put the bike in neutral and rev the engine so all the cars around us at the stop light could hear. After about fifteen minutes of this, the excitement died down as we pulled into the Toolbox. I was hoping this wasn't the night he had planned for me, but kept my spirits high. We walked in and were immediately met with a cheer and some guys barking. We sat at the bar and he order a drink for me, a vodka and cran. This made me feel special, a little like a girl, but special nonetheless. As the night drew later and the bar started to fill in, the excitement of hanging out with the coolest man in the world fell off. He had stopped buying me vodka crans and paid little attention to me. I didn't want to believe it was the girls with their ass cheeks hanging out the bottom of their dresses and a layer of what looked like Dijon mustard on their faces, but I know it was exactly that. After buying myself a few drinks I decided it was that time for me to head home. I found 'moose' at the bar and tried to get his attention, but I think he was distracted by his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I gave him a quick slap on his tight rear and took off as he tried to fight the other guy standing behind him.

    My night spent with the coolest man in the world had officially come to an end. I should have known I wasn't cool enough to keep up with him. I guess I have learned my lesson, and my days of sitting-in and building my model rockets are far from over. Time to do a few lines, cry, and use my tears to rub one out as I watch Girls Gone Wild commercials.

Attention, Potential Employers

Because I am borderline unemployed, I thought I would utilize my literary skills and social network to try and increase my yearly income via a new and improved profession.  Aside from being borderline unemployed, I am unfortunately borderline retarded and I have little-to-no applicable skills in the real world, though I feel there are areas in which I will excel beautifully if given a chance to blossom. The following is a list of positions I would be willing to work and why I believe I am qualified for each.


1.  School Teacher
I have stated that I have little understanding of the world- hell, I'm not even sure how to deposite money into my bank account, which explains why I am perpetually poor and drunk- but I believe this would be an incredible asset as a teacher in your educational establishment.  Because I don't know the square root of dick about the world, it makes perfect sense that I follow the curriculum to a tee.  No more worrying about overly ambitious faculty teaching outside-the-box material to the children.  In this sense- and this sense only- I am a perfect conformist.  I will teach only what you tell me to teach- as I will be learning it right along with them.  I'm incredibly good at reading from text books in a rehearsed manner which makes it seem that I already know everything.  Furthermore, I have my own business cards which say "Grady Richards: Freelance Baby Puncher," and becoming a teacher of children would be a perfect outlet for these cards to actually make sense.  I can hand them out to the parents during conferences and PTA meetings.  This will show the parents that not only am I professional, but I will discipline their unruly children sternly and that I don't take my role in society too seriously.  Plus, I have unfathomable experience in writing my own name on blackboards and this will come in handy when introducing myself to the unsuspecting students for the first time.

2.  Lumberjack
I know there aren't many logging areas in Northern Illinois, but I am willing to relocate on the grounds that there are some very upset and less than ethical organizations that are looking for me in relation to some of the scathing things I've written about their "Don."  I think lumberjacking somewhere in Canada or even in some of the larger forests on the moon would probably be suitable.  Other than my willingness to travel, I am pretty handy with an axe, as I once used one to open a gate that was locked.  I also have experience balancing one on top of my head, but I'd rather not exhibit that skill until I finish paying off the medical bills from the last time.  Also, I have a close relationship to trees as I once went on a date with a girl who claimed to be 1/8 Willow.  This kinship with trees will probably be traumatizing to me as I cut them down, imagining that I can hear their screams, but this will only encourage the other lumberjacks to be more sensitive in their deforestation efforts and will probably improve the image of lumberjacks considerably.  On a related note, I look remarkable in flannel and I can probably bring the trend back to the top of the fashion pyramid single-handedly.  I can provide my own beard, of course.  I understand that lumberjacks must utilize a number of tools other than the aforementioned axe and I believe I am more than experienced in each.  I have been using saws since an early age; a number of times I sawed the legs off of chairs for no discernable reason.  I also use them to make Hawaiian-sounding music in parks while people drop nickels and dimes into a hat for me.  I have a solid fanbase and they are more than willing to part with their spare change to further my career as a professional saw-player.  Lumberjacks also occasionally drive trucks.  I drove a truck (once) and you will find during my background check that my truck-driving record is impeccible, as I have only one insurance claim totalling less than 100,000 dollars.

3.  Rock Star
If you look into my interests, you will find that I am a mediocre musician with enough charisma to make up for my lack of talent.  I also thoroughly enjoy heavy metal and, therefore, I have an insight into what is expected from heavy metal musicians.  I am willing to grow my hair long and get more tattoos, if required.  Also, I am a big fan of reading because it makes people believe I have a personality and intellectual integrity.  Because I read things to mask my vapid and soulless void of a life, I'm quite knowledgable in occult writings and more obscure things, which is important in the heavy metal world.  I could make on-stage references to Dante's Inferno, as it is a story about Hell and heavy metal fans are into that sort of thing.  Also, I could write songs about Illuminati and construct a guitar solo with the sole purpose of brainwashing fans upon hearing it.  Another aspect of the heavy metal world is travelling and, as I stated in the Lumberjack Section, I am more than willing to relocate many times.  Also, I believe I am qualified to have unprotected sex with barely-legal fans, catch Hepatitis X, and sire more children than Elvis, providing that the record label pays for their upbringing and therapy.  I can also head bang in awkward situations which would make for great Youtube video opportunities.

4.  Birthday Clown
If you have read my article on Fun Games to Pay with Your Baby, you undoubtedly already know that I'm great with children.  However, my approach to my future position as a Birthday Clown is more original than that.  Thanks to Stephen King and John Wayne Gacey, people already despise and fear clowns, am I right?  It is my objective in my potential career as a clown to scare the utter bejesus out of children and parents alike- I can be rather creepy when the situation demands it.  Just ask the plethora of women with active restraining orders against me.  What is the purpose of this?  Simply to give foundation to the fear of clowns.  Everyone already loathes them, but it is almost entirely without merit.  Rather than trying to redeem clowns in the eyes of the world, I will simply give their abhorrance substance.  And I'm qualified for this position outside of innate creepiness.  I am also not in the least bit funny- though I amuse myself to no end while making things awkward, painful, or downright offensive to all others within earshot.  I know how to make balloon snakes, which is useful because if there's one thing people despise more than clowns, it is snakes.  Also, I would really like to squirt water in people's eyes through one of those flower-in-the-breast-pocket-things.

5. Podiatrist
This one is more of a Conglomerate Investment Opportunity, rather than a single position.  Let's say you own a respected foot clinic, but you just aren't generating enough revenue to pay for your car, house, and divorce all at once.  And remember that indoor, in-ground pool full of gold coins you've always wanted?  Grady's business plan can make it happen.  First, ally your business monetarily with a prosthetics company and a wheelchair company.  And if you have time, a pharmacuetical giant specializing in pain killers and antidepressants.  Second, hire me and give me an honorary PhD in podiatry.  Third, swim in your pool of coins like Uncle Scrooge in Duck Tales.  As I am a man with out a soul- save for the two soles on my feet (it's a podiatry joke, I have tons of them) I have no problem whatsoever "misdiagnosing" common foot-borne ailments as gangrene, instep cancer, or lower-sciatic parvo.  Each of these ailments require amputation, often times double amputation.  Now, I understand that people will research these things after the emergency-amputation and will likely sue you, but that's what malpractice insurance is for.  It wouldn't hurt to divert a fraction of your newfound income into the overseas bank accounts of several judges, either.  Because I have no morals, conscience, or understanding of feet, I will simply decide that every patient who hobbles into my office requires swift and inexpensive removal of their limbs.  Remember that conglomeration of your office with prosthetics and wheelchair manufacturers?  The profit sharing will make you richer than the Pope in an estimated six months.  And the pharmacuetical companies?  Each amputee will find themselves in a considerable amount of physical, emotional, and mental agony, requiring a veritable truckload of expensive drugs in order to accomplish even the most tedious of daily routines.  Stick with Grady and you will be in a Fortune 500 in no time.  Subsequently, you will also be condemned to Hell.  If you believe in that sort of thing.

I hope this reaches enough potential employers to ensure my success in locating an appropriate and preferably six-figure career for myself.  I think I have proven my ingenuity in fields which I have yet to know literally anything about.  And you can be certain that my ideas will only increase exponentially as I gain experience and enough money to continue drinking my inspiration.  Don't even worry about scheduling an interview.  I will start work tomorrow.  Thank you, and you will doubtlessly regret this.

Grady Richards