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BY Mike Lacher
By now you’re probably wondering what this is all about, why FBI agents pulled you out of your barista job, threw you on a helicopter, and brought you to NASA headquarters. There’s no time, so I’ll shoot it to you straight. … There’s an asteroid the size of Montana heading toward Earth and if it hits us, the planet is over.
But we’ve got one last-ditch plan. We need a team to land on the surface of the asteroid, drill a nuclear warhead one mile into its core, and get out before it explodes. And you’re just the liberal arts major we need to lead that team.
Sure, we’ve got dozens of astronauts, physicists, and demolitions experts. … I don’t need some pencilneck with four Ph.D’s, one-thousand hours of simulator time, and the ability to operate a robot crane in low-Earth orbit. I need someone with four years of broad-but-humanities-focused studies, three subsequent years in temp jobs, and the ability to reason across multiple areas of study. I need someone who can read The Bell Jar and make strong observations about its representations of mental health and the repression of women. Sure, you’ve never even flown a plane before, but with only ten days until the asteroid hits, there’s no one better to nuke an asteroid.
I’ve seen your work and it’s damn impressive. Your midterm paper on the semiotics of Band of Outsiders turned a lot of heads at mission control. Your performance in Biology For Non-Science Majors was impressive, matched only by your mastery of second-year Portuguese. And a lot of the research we do here couldn’t have happened without your groundbreaking work on suburban malaise and its representation and repression in John Hughes’ films. …
Don’t think I don’t have my misgivings about sending some hotshot Asian Studies minor into space for the first time. This is NASA, not Grinnell. I don’t have the time or patience for your renegade attitude and macho bravado. I can’t believe the fate of mankind rests on some roughneck bachelor of the arts. I know your type. You feed off the thrill of inference and small, instructor-led discussion. You think you’re some kind of invincible God just because you have cursory understandings of Buddhism, classical literature, and introductory linguistics. Well listen up, cowboy. You make one false move up there, be it a clumsy thesis statement, poorly reasoned argument, or glib analysis, and your team is dead, along with this whole sorry planet.
I’ve wasted enough time with chatter. Let’s get you over to mission control. Our avionics team needs your help getting their paper on gender politics in The Matrix properly cited in MLA format.
wu-tang clan @ the congress
not to be confused with =w= sign
fans’ hand sign execution: mixed.
i know this is all very confusing, but if there is one takeaway, know that you should never do this:
The doors to the Crazy Church of Gay Fish swung wide opened last night on Twitter when Kanye West clogged up all of his followers’ feeds for over two hours with his dreams for a brighter tomorrow, or some shit. Kanye’s brain switched to thoughts on using iPhones in schools to starting a visionary company called DONDA (named after his late mom) to opening a summer school with Spike Jonze to interning for [Karl Lagerfeld] to continuing Steve Jobs’ legacy to I don’t even know. It’s like he was crying out for somebody to tell him that he needs less GOOP in his life, because you know you’re on another level of lack of awareness when even Fishsticks Paltrow is buying you a one-way ticket back to earth.
If Kanye’s CAPS-LOCK OMGLETMEBREAKMYMACBOOKAIR rants read like they were written by a Red Bull can on the wrong kind of crack, Kanye’s latest Twitterologue reads like it was written by a seasoned weed bong on a generic kind of Valium. I don’t know how to feel about this. Reading one of Kanye’s Twitterrhea sessions just isn’t the same when my eyeballs aren’t backing up into my head to escape him overdosing on CAPS and !!!!!s.
…That being said, Josh Groban, you know what to do.
When I wake up in the morning and brush my teeth and look in the mirror it’s like I see Michael [Jackson, presumably] and my mom and Malcolm [X, presumably] … Who’s that African in the background Mom? Oh, he created the original layouts for the pyramids, but he was written out of the history books and his MTV award was given to ‘Aliens.’
“‘South Park’ murdered me last night, and it’s pretty funny. It hurts my feelings, but what can you expect from ‘South Park?’” he wrote. “I actually have been working on my ego. … Having the crazy ego is played out at this point in my life and career. I used to use it to build up my esteem when nobody believed in me. Now that people do believe and support my music, the best response is ‘Thank you’ instead of ‘I told you so!’ I just wanna be a doper person, which starts with me not always telling people how dope I think I am.”