Posts by CLaud:
Love is all around you, dipshit. Yeah, you, you limp-dicked son of a bitch. Stop your chicken shit rat race for once in your goddamn life to recognize it. Love is a truly beautiful, all-encompassing thing, you rat fuck.
Ain’t you ever had a dog? Ain’t you ever pet your fucking dog, lookit in the eyes and feel a sense of intrinsic beauty, awe, and wonder, you fucking moron? Fucking idiot. Fucking piece of shit, you ever just look at a flower? Just look at it, don’t even have to smell it. Just look at the fucking thing and marvel at the intricacy and organized complexity inherent in everything around you, shit kicker.
What, you think all this shit just happened? You think the universe just popped into existence without some guiding benevolent force of good? Motherfuckers like you. Motherfuckers like you can’t even see that consciousness itself is just love manifest in the form of the human experience. I hope you choke to death on your own fucking balls you lowlife you nobody.
You ass-rag, like you’ve never paused in grateful silence during a family get-together and remarked upon how despite your stark differences how jovial, nurturing and placid it is to be with family. Tell gam gam to bring some extra borscht next time so I can burn your fucking face off you ignorant dumbass.
Read a fucking passage from Pride and Prejudice you prick. Go ahead. Pick one. Any fucking one and tell me that the words don’t fly directly from the page to deepest unlit recesses of your world weary heart. You jackass. You COMPANY MAN. You’re telling me you’ve never been inspired by the delicate organization of delicate prose? Fucking Christ.
Ain’t you ever find yourself swapping a knowing gaze with some kind-eyed stranger you take the bus with?! You look at them, they look at you, and you’ve never spoken a word, but in that moment a spark emerges and your chest feels light and bubbly and you know no matter what kind of grievances you must endure that day, your mind will come back to this moment and you’ll feel a sensation of levity that cannot be described with words or thought you dickless chicken shit son of a whore I oughta stab your eyes out with a rusty fork and feed ‘em to my parrot.
What I’m trying to say is I’m glad you’re my husband. I love you, Steve.
- CL ’14
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Day 1: Just got Tinder. All my friends have been telling me to get it. Seems sort of dumb, but I guess it could be fun.
Day 2: Got my first match! I take back what I said earlier, this is actually sort of neat.
Day 4: I got a bunch more matches today after lowering my standards just a little. I figure, who am I to judge other people, right? Still, nobody’s responded to my chats yet.
Day 5: I might as well just say “yes” to everyone. Then I can see all the people who like me. I don’t have to respond if I don’t like them.
Day 6: Why aren’t they liking me back? It’s fine. I’ll wait. I can wait.
Day 8: I have officially exhausted all users in a 50 mile radius. But I can’t stop. No, not now. 100 mile radius it is.
Day 9: Haven’t left my apartment in who knows how long… But there’s so many matches left to find… Pretty pretty girls! I’m coming for you!
Day 10: No. This can’t be right, it says I’ve gone through everybody in a 100 mile radius. A glitch. Yes. A glitch. I will press forth. Reload… Reload… Reload… I’m sure it’s just warming up.
Day 11: I made a new Tinder of myself as a girl, I will find myself and like myself and we will have a wonderful conversation, yes I’m so lovely. Lovely, yes yes yes.
Day 12: like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like like.
Day 16: Light of the tableau, be no more, what do the the fates have in store. Round and round, we weave our path, where-be love, whence be wrath. Matches… I must find more matches…
Day 18: Woke up in the hospital today. Doctors said my roommate found me passed out on the toilet. They say I was malnourished and dehydrated. I think I’m going to be okay now.
Day 19: Made small talk with a nurse. She’s cute and very funny. We connected really well after some deeper talk. I like her.
I wonder if she’s on Tinder…
-Charlie Laud ’14
Planning a family vacation soon? Why not head to West Orange, NJ to visit the famed American Bus Museum? Come reacquaint yourself with history via one of our many thrilling exhibits!
The Last In-Service Segregated Bus in America
Step back, Rosa Parks! The civil rights movement is still alive and well here in West Orange with our prized, fully functional, segregated Greyhound. The upholstery may be new but the ingrained cultural racism is timeless!
The World’s Only Quadruple Decker Bus
That’s right, we managed to get our hands on the world’s only quadruple decker bus, and it’s in pristine condition! And by that I mean we technically “own” it and have plenty of great pictures of it. The bus itself is still stuck in a low-ceiling factory in England, but the experience is in full force here in New Jersey! Come see pictures of the bus that started it all!
The Bus From Speed
Driving around our parking lot at a consistent 55 miles per hour! Come experience the excitement of a Hollywood blockbuster with a 24/7 real-life Keanu Reeves look-alike. We’ve even got real C4 plastic explosives strapped to the bottom! Don’t drive under the limit!
The World’s Highest Capacity Bus
It’s technically a normal sized bus – but don’t tell that to the 167 inhabitants stuck inside! Hang off the sides or try to squeeze in! Come see what it means to be part of a community, or technically a symbiotic self-sustaining part-bus organism! Rumor has it that there’s five goats somewhere in there!
The First and Only “Diego’s Royalty Transit” Liner
An 18-wheeler full of lawn chairs! Free pizza on Tuesdays!
Act 5, Scene 2, Line 317:
Queen: No, no, the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet! The drink, the drink! I am poison’d [Dies.]
Hamlet: Here, thou incestuous, murd’rous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion. Is thy union here? Follow my mother. [King dies.]
Laertes: Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet. Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee, Nor thine on me. [Dies.]
Hamlet: O, I die, Horatio. The potent poison quite o’ercrows my spirit. [Dies.]
Milk maid: I heard a clammor, from my chamber. What’s all this noise? [Removes decorative blindfold.] Heavens! O, my frail heart! [Dies.]
Fertrand the Baker: A racket! A racket! At once, explain this rack-JESUS! WHAT!? HAMLET DID YOU KILL ALL THESE- WHAT THE FUCK – NO. NO. – THIS IS – MY PAROLE OFFICER IS GONNA – YOU KILLED YOUR OWN MOM – MAN, I TOLD YOU, I CAN’T BE AROUND THIS KINDA – Awww, this is baaaaad- [Unsheathes mobile phone.] Hey, yeah, Lorenzo? It’s Ferty. You know that cousin of yours? Yeah, with the weird hands – I need his number reaaaal bad right now, yea- What? C’mon Lorenzo, it’s me! Your boy! You know I wouldn’t do you like that- Lorenzo? LORENZO? Wait this isn’t my phone. FU-[Dies.]
Babysitter: For the last time, there’s no monsters in your clos- what the fuck. [Hit atop skull with baseball.]
Protagonist of Disney Chanel Sports Movie: Hey mister! Sorry about the window, but it really means a lot to me to get that ba – say, is that wine up for grabs? [Dies.]
Reluctant side-kick: But I don’t wanna go to fat camp. [Sighs.]
Howard the stoner: Checkout this white shirt. Hey now… [Dyes]
Native American atop garbage pile: [cries]
Wentworth the wayward ribbeldy-badger: Oy there! Hamlet’s done got his chops up in a whole mess-around, yes ‘e does! But, oy! No time for rosey-dozing, I’ve got to g’t back to me chimbley, yes I do! Hip’ip! [Pork'n'Barrels.]
Bill Cosby: Hippety-Flippety! [Fribbety-Frazzles.]
Backwards-Hamlet: [Is born.] Horatio. We must leave this place at once. Right? Horatio? Guys? Seriously. [Guys.]
I like to sell my old textbooks on Amazon. I like to keep my prices low to entice new customers. I like to stick a post-it note on the inside cover of each book, wishing its new owner the best of luck in their studies. But my most favorite thing to do is to take two book shipments and swap their addresses.
Howard Cahill of Detroit, Michigan? My deepest sympathies, but you won’t be receiving your University Physics 11th Edition text book from me. You’ll be receiving a collection of various works from William Shakespeare, Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde. An outrage- I know.
Julia McClure of Ocala, Florida? You might be wondering where on earth this cumbersome physics text book has come from, and why your English Lit 302 novels haven’t arrived yet. Didn’t you specify your post box number? Weren’t you explicit in your request for instant delivery?
This is just another example of the backwater communities of the internet taking advantage of honest simplefolk! One must get in touch with the proper administrative powers forthwith to sort this mess out!
The warehouse will be phoned up, this problem will be dealt with, and that’s where it ends.
If, however, you care enough, both of you will notice the “misplaced” address slip in each of your respective packages, containing the contact formation of the intended recipient.
You will contact each other at the same time, Julia by e-mail, and Howard by phone. What a funny coincidence! Serendipitous, wouldn’t you say? You will discover that Howard can’t send the books back immediately because he’s in New York for the weekend. But what’s this!? Julia too is in New York for the weekend! How luck you two are!
On his train to New York, perhaps Howard flips through The Importance of Being Ernest, captivated by a wit and understanding of the human condition he has never experienced in his engineering studies.
On her plane to New York, maybe Julia thumbs through a chapter or two of the textbook, astounded by the beautiful complexities and delicate symmetries revealed by the equations of physics.
It is possible that they arrive in New York. Maybe they meet at a small coffee shop recommended by their respective parents. Hours of conversation fly by before they even remember the initial purpose for their meeting. Oh, the books? Of course. Yes. I didn’t forget. Me neither. Say… this is going to sound a bit forward but… I have an extra ticket to this really great band playing downtown tonight. Say no more, I’d love to.
Just maybe they go. A taxi fare here, an ice cream cone there, and to top it all off, a live concert like neither of them have ever experienced before. Inspiring music, dazzling lights, lyrics that seem to resonate with everyone in the arena. But sooner or later, the concert ends, and the crowd disperses. Julia and Howard, again, just maybe, have to figure out the next move.
It’s getting kind of late. Yeah, maybe we should- Grab a room somewhere? Yeah. I mean, it’ll save on travel costs if we split something, right? You read my mind.
And then it’s possible, they check in to the nearest hotel. Maybe Howard offers to take the couch. Julia accepts, perhaps, and they smile and bid each other goodnight. Conceivably, Howard tries to fall asleep, but something keeps him awake. It could be that Julia is unable to reach a point of slumber. For all one knows, maybe Julia gets out of bed to turn on the light, only to be met with a firm hand at the light switch. And so it would be that this is the moment that the bough breaks, and they thrust themselves upon one another. Perchance, they spend the next three nights lost in each others embrace. Each is unclear where one ends and the other begins. A steady flow of room service keeps sustains them with all they need. They are at the axial hub of the universe and all that is life and love. Fate has brought them together. At last a meaningful connection with another human.
Which is funny because I set it up so that I only send books to people who are first cousins that don’t know about each other. Ha. Sucks.
- George Robinson, C.E.O./Director – The North American Coalition for Love at the Expense of Funny Looking Kids.
Modern day ME walks outside a McDonald’s. I catch a glimpse of a poster that seems to be advertising the return of the McRib. A brief spark of nostalgia. But, no! I care about my body now. I hang my head and continue walking. Ronald McDonald stops me. He points to the window of the McDonald’s.
Me: What are you…
Ronald McDonald: SHH… look in there…
I look back into the window at the poster. I see my reflection.
Me:That’s not a healthy alternative to the McRib…That’s just my reflection…
Ronald puts his index finger on my lips.
Ronald McDonald: NO… look haaaarder…
I look harder.
Ronald McDonald: You see… it lives in YOU.
I press my face up against the glass. A ten-year old me with a double chin and barbecue sauce on my face comes into focus. He’s holding a McRib.
Young Fat Charlie: CHARLIE!
Me: Fat Charlie?
Young Fat Charlie: Charlie, you have forgotten me…
Me: No! How could I!? I just filled out is all!
Young Fat Charlie: You have forgotten who you are, and so have forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Charlie, you are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the circle of life! What is this “Low Carb” bullshit?
Me: How can I go back! I’m not who I used to be…
Young Fat Charlie: Remember who you are! You used to throw up on purpose so you could eat more before you even knew what Bulimia was! You switched to just using laxatives so you wouldn’t feel like you had an eating disorder! You thought girls were scary! Remember who you are!
Young Fat Charlie begins to fade into the distance.
Me: No! Please don’t leave me! I still think girls are kind of scary!
Young Fat Charlie: Remember…
Me: FAT CHARLIE, NOOOOO!!!
Young Fat Charlie: …remember…
Me: Don’t leave me! I still own all my Heroclix!
Young Fat Charlie: ……………remember…
Young Fat Charlie finally vanishes.
Ronald McDonald: What was that!? Those grease stains on the window, very peculiar, don’t you think?
Me: Yeah, it could use a good washing.
Ronald McDonald: Ah, change is good!
Me: Yeah but it’s not easy… I know what I have to do. But having a Mcrib means I’ll have to face my past. I’ve been running from it for so long… I started playing lacrosse in high school… What’s the deal with the outfit, by the way? Do you work here? Is this a promotional thing?
Ronald McDonald hits me with a baseball bat.
Me: Ow! What was that for!?
Ronald McDonald: It doesn’t matter, it’s in the past!
Me: No! Wait, what the fuck!?
I notice that Ronald McDonald’s clown suit is covered in vomit and fluid-stains. He’s missing most of his teeth. A stray heroine needle falls out of his pocket. He jabs me in the ribs with the baseball bat.
Ronald McDonald: Ah yes the past can hurt, but the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it!
Ronald McDonald tries to hit me again and fractures my shin. I fall to the ground.
Ronald McDonald: AHH YOU SEE!!! So what are you going to do!?
Me: Help! Somebody call the police! I don’t know this man!
I am loosing blood.
Ronald McDonald: Ah! Where are you going!
Me: What… nowhere… so much blood…
Ronald McDonald: Good! Get out of here!
Ronald McDonald raises his bat high above his head, and drives it into the back of my skull. Darkness.
I wake up four months later in the hospital. I no longer have control of the lower half of my body and will have to poop through a hole in the side of my abdomen for the rest of my life. The baseball bat also damaged my frontal lobe, and I will have to re-learn English over the next several years. I do not remember my friends, or my family members or even my pets. The doctors have been working with me to help jog my memories. There is but one artifact of my past that I still hold on to. Every now and then I muster the wherewithal to mutter it’s name: McRib. All I’ll ever want. All I’ll ever need. McRib.
by Charlie Laud ’14