A Revitalization

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Many, many, many insincere apologies, my friends. The 1970s-era wireless router in my apartment has been dead for the better part of the past 3 weeks, effectively limiting my access to the interwebs to only my phone. Sure, I could've gone to coffee shops or the like to keep this up, but we all know I don't do any internetting between 7 AM and 10 PM, so I didn't. And I refuse to post from my phone. I deserve better than that.

So you'd expect that with so much time to myself away from this awesometastic page that I'd develop a post to trump all posts. To that expectation I say, "Ha!" followed by a resounding, "No!" I prefer to defy expectations in all forms. .sdrawkcab nettirw si ecnetnes siht oS

Am I excusing laziness with claims of originality and unexpectedness? That's for me to know and for you to SHUT THE HELL UP.

To get to the point: I still need $$$. My pipe dream of a podcast is a ways off so long as potential employers continue to fail to see how overqualified I am for just about every job ever.

My resumé.

So, continue to support me here. Don't resist your urge to view this divine pinnacle of all that is good in the world over and over again, day after excited day. If you feel so inclined, don't hesitate to check out the generous folks who advertise on this pure-glory-in-written-form of a page. That is, unless they are certifiable scum.

Barenaked Ladies

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Confused about the title? Don't be, because, "It's been... One week since" I've posted. Also, I've outsourced to that starving poet, Damon, once more, and he's got a batch of sexiness for your eyes' balls. Really. Am I just being lazy? Probably.

Let's get on with the sharing of the poems, then:"Here's an older work to get y'all acclimated to all the sexy. It's an exercise in flarf." A decent one, at that. Curious how dated FML is already.

"In keeping with the vaguely incestuous elements..." O Ed, I pus.

Great. I ask for sexy, you give me this. This makes me need a drink for all the wrong reasons. "Drink away, buddy. DRINK IT UP."

"There, is that better? Scintillating enough?" Still kind of a downer, though. But I do like it. "There's no pleasing you then. I'll wrap this up with my latest, sexless work."

"I challenge your commenters to analyze and critique the shit out of this one." Sexy. And watch your language, buddy.

Enjoy, folks. I know I did.

Damon Talks with a Mysterious Man(?) on Omegle

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As I've mentioned before, I'm fairly close with a certain poet named Damon. We've known each other really well for quite some time. So, it's not so unusual for him to have called me at 7 AM (way too freaking early for me to put up with just about anybody else), stammering about something that I absolutely MUST see/hear. This morning, that went a little something like this:

The Loudest Fan: Nnnnn. . . Ullo?

Damon: DUDE.

TLF: . . . Damon? Why now? I should murder you for interrupting yet another amazingly intricate dream I won't ever remember.

D: Sorry, but dude. You. Have. To. See. This.

TLF: See what?

D: I'm e-mailing it to you now. It's pretty self-explanatory.

TLF: What's pretty self-

-CLICK-

TLF: Goddamnit, Damon.


So he sends me this Word document, and it's a transcript of an Omegle conversation he had apparently just had after not sleeping all night. For those not in the know, Omegle.com is a chat site that connects you anonymously with Strangers from anywhere in the world. Much like Chatroulette, if you're on the video portion of the site, or much like Chatroulette in text form if you're on the other half of it (same amount of penises looking for sex either way). I've used it once or twice to cure boredom, and Damon has managed to make a lasting friendship once or twice with how frequently he used to use it. Apparently, he has since gotten back in the habit of visiting it during some of his bouts of insomnia, and the following transcript (which, by the way, was totally worth the 7 AM call, as you'll soon see) documents one such episode during this past sleepless night, completely uncut and unfiltered. Be aware, the time taken between individual lines could be anywhere from nearly immediate to a couple of minutes, so try not to read it too quickly and straight through, as I incorrectly did the first time I looked through it. Enjoy:

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

Official messages from Omegle will not be sent with the label 'Stranger:' Strangers claiming to represent Omegle are lying.

You: howdy

Stranger: hi

Stranger: m or f?

You: how are you, Stranger?

You: ah

You: do you mind if we let that arise more naturally in conversation?

You: if you're looking for sex, press onward and skip me

You: or be silent

You: I guess that works too

You: it's as if I'm writing a blog now, with how one-sided this is

You: I feel like I should be starting a rant of some kind. "what's the deal with... ?" type stuff

You: what do you think?

You: should I continue to tolerate your choice to ignore me completely?

You: or should I press that mighty-fine Disconnect button about now?

You: or will you do that for me?

You: I never was much good at finishing anything

You: I did need an extra quarter or two of school to finish my degree

You: now this is starting to feel like a Confessional

You: taking me back to my more Catholic days

You: I am sorry, Father, for I have sinned

You: it has been over 4 years since my last confession

You: actually, I'm not much sorry

You: my attitude towards the Church and towards the idea of 'sin' have both changed dramatically

You: so... yeah...

You: not sure where you wanna go from here, seeing as you won't find much penitence in this ol' heart

You: Father?

You: were you even listening!?

You: what kind of priest are you!?!?!?

You: do you not care for this prodigal sheep, intent on never returning to the fold???

You: apparently not

You: I failed the Church, and now the Church fails me

You: such is this dreary existence

You: "So it goes," as good Mr. V would say

You: (that was the sound of Faith dying)

You: not some person by the name of Faith, mind you

You: that would be tragic

You: especially since that's the name of my baby cousin

You: she's fine, I hope

You: I really do

You: I'm not so pessimistic and brooding and morbid

You: I do have that lighter side to me

You: I swears it

You: please believe me

You: PLEASE

You: that was your chance to Save me, Father

You: long gone and historical, by now

You: that was redundant

You: long gone vs historical

You: they're the same thing

You: silly me

You: just end it already

You: say something, anything, or disconnect

You: you can't be enjoying this spectacle of mine

You: if you are, you're genuinely quite sick, Father

You: I hate that you know I'm too neurotic to let things pass by silently

You: you win in this verbal staring-contest

You: you're judging me, aren't you?

You: getting ready to cast that first stone

You: cast away, then!

You: Mr. Hanks

You: with your bloody volleyball, Wilson

You: and your gross self-extracted tooth

You: that scene gets me every goddamn time

You: blasphemy intended

You: FATHER

You: is it time I start hitting below the proverbial belt?

You: did that talk of blood and pain get you riled up?

You: thinking about them boys you've 'touched'?

You: never me, though

You: was i not... bad enough?

You: but then I'd think the prudishness would have been a draw for you

You: even more innocence for you to corrupt under the guise of Salvation

You: you just thought I was an ugly child, didn't you?

You: too short

You: with a silly-big head

You: goofy ears

You: and an overbite to rival the most racist of anti-japanese propaganda films of the 40s

You: have the japanese not suffered enough?

You: they bomb one naval base and pillage and rape a few Asian countries

You: and we intern innocent Japanese-Americans

You: drop not one, but two atomic bombs

You: only after months of devastating fire bombing

You: just to have you get hit by a devastating tsunami and for us to label it "payback for Pearl Harbor"?

You: disgusting

You: i dunno why i all-of-a-sudden cast you in the role of Japan at the end of that

You: kind of a weird shift

You: that literally changed from 'them' to 'you'

You: Freudian slip of some sort?

You: do I see you as having something in common with the plight of the Japanese?

You: are you really just a victim too, Father?

You: is that how you get me to champion the cause of allowing priests to marry?

You: what an incredibly roundabout way of doing so, man

You: the levels of implausibility involved are completely absurd

You: you'd have to be, well, God for that to have worked out

You: wait a minute...

You: is it You?

You: I guess it must be

You: kind of characteristic of You, after all

You: what with the lack of verbal reciprocation

You: spare me a moment whilst I pee, please

You: I'm sure you've got plenty of time, being omnicient and present throughout all eternity and all

You: back again

You: but you already know that, don't you?

You: so what happens if I disconnect, knowing what I know now?

You: do I perish?

You: even if this isn't You who I'm literally talking to on omegle

You: theoretically (and I'm sure You hate that qualifier), You see this anyway

You: and will understand the implications of my actions

You: will Thou smiteth me?

You: I mean, I was blasphemous just a short time ago, so I didn't really start on too good a foot

Your conversational partner has disconnected.
Start a new conversation or switch to video or send us feedback
Was this conversation great? Download the log!

DAMON'S NOTE: I cannot stress enough that this all really happened and appears exactly as it was typed. Whoever I was talking to definitely saw all of this and consciously disconnected when they did.


Great stuff, Damon. The timing of the disconnect couldn't have been more perfect. As I've said before, I actually do talk regularly with the Big Man, and He confirms that it was indeed Him that you were talking to (talking at, really). I guess He entertains himself on Omegle every once in a while, too, just to mess with people. He said that in your case, eventually, He just got bored. Go figure. Now let me get back to sleep, jerk.

Adventures in Hypnotica

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Lookout, folks. This post is a dreams post.

I know what you're thinking. I've read the Cracked article that argues that nobody cares about your dreams. And Dan O'Brien is absolutely right: nobody cares about your dreams. My dreams, however, are a different beast entirely, and this post will prove that right in your little face.

Usually, I don't remember my dreams, since my day-to-day life is plenty exciting enough. However, on the few occasions where I do remember them, I bask in how well my brain can entertain and/or mess with itself. It's really quite masterful. Let me show you how via my most recently-remembered of dreams:

NOTE: I will not bog you down in specific details of plot, character or imagery- this is gonna be more about how my dreams raise the stakes intellectually over all of your inferior dreams.

First off, my dream(s) took a page out of Inception's book last night. That's right: I had a dream within a dream within a dream. Unlike the Nolan film, I started out in the deepest layer of Hypnotica (that's the continent where dreams happen. Duh.). I don't remember a whole lot from this layer, except that it involved the usual trope of losing teeth and that an ex-girlfriend from a few years back made an appearance. Christ, those are always the worst.

"Really? Her?" (credit.)

So far, this is pretty usual fare for Dreamlandia (a sovereign nation within Hypnotica). The losing teeth bit is a common trope that supposedly indicates anxiety. Sure, your Loudest Fan has his share of anxieties. He is mostly human, after all (the touch of divinity has yet to be scientifically proven. It's only a matter of time, though). They're just better and more awesome than your puny anxieties.

You see, my next layer of Dreamwood Forest (that one should be pretty straightforward) involved me waking up in my parent's house, with most of a mouthful of teeth falling out. Realistically so, with blood and parents freaking out and all. What makes this scene particularly novel is my conscious realization of, "Hey, this is a pretty clichéd scene for a dream. That must mean I'm dreaming." I was able to calm-down myself as well as my family just with that; my mouth was going to be fine in real life, this was just a self-aware dream. So I figured, "Why don't I just wake myself up and get this over with?"

So I did. Into the final realm of Hallucinatopia. The funny thing about this one was that it was the exact same setting and involved the same set of characters as the previous one. This time, another significant quantity of teeth were falling out in the same fashion, but they were different individual teeth, and this time felt even more real. I went to a mirror and slapped myself in the face to see if I was still dreaming (still self-aware, I was), and I totally felt it. When I told my parents that I was certain I was not dreaming this time, they became as worried as I was. Of course, I somehow didn't pick up on the strangeness that they would remember the events from the previous dream-layer. I guess my dreaming only gets selectively self-aware. The remainder of the dream was occupied by arguments and discussions over what the dental bills were gonna be like. Finally, I awoke in an apartment with a complete set of teeth and began writing a draft of a blog post about the whole experience [insert spinning top joke here].

In summation: my dreams are better than yours, since they involved an amped-up brain that takes pleasure only in screwing with itself in the most complicated ways imaginable.

The List of Lists for the Listless

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This post is an attempt to get more awesome things to show up in my ads, rather than banners for certain religions and political causes and such. So, the following is a list dripping with worthwhileness, approved by me.

Me
Dexter
Scott Pilgrim
Mario Kart Wii
Matt Besser
Sailor Jerry's Rum
Lawson Fusao Inada
Zooey Deschanel
Certain other women
Freaks & Geeks
David Fincher
Me
Comedy Death Ray Radio
Kevin Love
NCAA Div-I Athletics
Rob Huebel
Italian food
Jonathan Swift
Cracked.com
Streetlight Manifesto
Form over Content
Cherry Fanta
The West Coast
Federico Fellini
Me
LOST
The number 42
How the number '42' looks in this font
WTF with Marc Maron
twitter.com/theloudestfan
Charlie Kaufman
The Pipes of the Internet
Arrested Development
Robert Browning
Most Apple products
Lucille's Smokehouse BBQ
Showtime & HBO original programming
Cats, as opposed to dogs
Paul F. Tompkins
Drifter Pale Ale
Brevity
Doug Loves Movies
Adult Swim
Stanley Kubrick
Me
The Who
theloudestfan.blogspot.com
The Truman Show
Oscar Wilde
Mint ice cream with most any chocolate topping
Bob Ducca
AC/DC, as fronted by Bon Scott
BJ's Brewhouse
And last, but certainly nowhere even close to least, Me.

Liking the items on this list is a great start to succeeding at life, forever. You're welcome.

Supporting local artists since 2011

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I'm back. No more intrusions from my Swiftian alter-alter ego (for now...).

In this post, your Loudest Fan gets altruistic. Hard. That's right, folks. This post is all about supporting the local arts, and I have managed to find one worthy artist to promote on this beast of a blog.

His name: Damon Sellers. He considers himself some kind of poet. In fact, he once helped your humbly-awesome author to write a poem of his own for this very blog. He is devoted to form, sometimes shows a flash of misogyny (think about our collaboration), and he often demonstrates a certain playfulness that I've always admired. He makes it onto my list of "People Allowed to Continue Living" (also populated by the likes of myself, Rob Huebel, and, paradoxically, Bon Scott). In my desperation to fill this blog with more and more content, I will take the time in certain posts here and there from now until the bitter end to highlight certain works of his, in the hopes of increasing his artistic exposure, and in the hopes of making this awesometastic rag all the more worthwhile.

So, get yourself some good, old-fashioned culture, and bask in its glory:"That one," Damon says, "is probably the best I'll ever do."

"Dunno if I'll ever try my hand at concrete stuff again, but I like how this one turned out." So do I.
"My tribute to one of my favorites, Robert Browning.""My newest work. I'd love to hear what your readers think." Well, I dig it.

Good stuff, Damon, and best of luck to you.

The Mask Slips

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^^^ Not true, from here on out (yet another double-preposition phrase for that Dr. Boring fellow...). For this post, I'm just gonna be me. I want everyone to be clear that The Loudest Fan is a persona, and does not accurately reflect my personal views and beliefs. Nothing in this blog is true. This entire persona is meant to be a satire of all I find wrong in this world, and it draws upon gross exaggerations of personality defects I happen to detest. It saddens me to no end how many people seem to be completely missing the point. So now, let's take a moment to get to know the real, much more decent me.

Name: Daemin Cellars

Age: 21

Height: 5' 7"

Hometown: Temecula, CA

Religion: LDS

Political views: Conservative (Tea Party, whoop whoop!)

School: 4th year at the University of Southern Californa

Major: Political Science

This whole blogging adventure has been a fun exercise, but I have to admit, I've had some strong qualms about some of my own blaspheming. Most glaring, I once actually tried to defend the moral vacuum that is gay marriage. I wish people would pick up on the elements of satire in that post, but it seems like I really just managed to defend it outright, and that that's the impression that was left upon my readers (many of which are newfound followers, who won't have known the real me until now), which is NOT OK. The last thing I want is for a gay to start hitting on me or touching me because I seemed sympathetic to its plight. And plight it is. It struggles against the Will of God and against Human Decency to live through its hedonistic life choices. Its practices of sodomy and of premature cohabitation and of idolatry (fashion = new god?) have overrun our media and have even managed to help bring about what very well could prove to be the Antichrist--666 emblazoned on his skull and all--Mr. "President"... but I'll save THAT debate for another post (it just makes sense, what with all the violence inherent to Muslimism and all the Godlessness and inhumanity at the base of Socialism).

So, with the proverbial nail driven firmly into the coffin of that debate, let's move on further to newer, more exciting territory.

I want to use my new position as Preacher to the World of the Internet (a.k.a. Blogger) to get the murmurs going on a new potential for real social change. I have a really original and great idea that will help use the mighty force of American Capitalism to end poverty and feed the hungry, as God wishes us to do. Let me show you what I can humbly say will make me a national hero:

Out of all industries dedicated to triviality and waste, which is the worst? Is it entertainment, with all its tendencies towards brainwashing and misinformation? Or how about the seedy sex industry, which does nothing but promote blasphemy and destroy families? No. By far, the most wasteful industry is one almost every one of us has in some way supported needlessly. I'm speaking, of course, about the pet industry.

Let's get to the point. Each year, billions of pounds of food are rationed for pets, only to be consumed by organisms that do absolutely nothing to contribute to the betterment of Church and society. God created man to be the master of all beasts, and yet so many of our brothers and sisters in the world allow simple creatures to exercise control, demanding food and care in exchange for a farce of a relationship greatly outperformed by children and spouses and friends. Just imagine how much more time and money can be spent for and with your fellow man if little Whiskers didn't need more food & litter to come straight from your wallet.

Next, imagine the surplus of supply that would be created by the loss of the pet food industry! We'd be swimming in even more beef and pork and fish and corn than ever before! These lower-grade foodstuffs could then be diverted into the human food industry, supplying the cheapest outlets, allowing the better-grade foods a chance to reach a cheaper equilibrium. More people will be fed for much less money, and higher-quality food will inevitably be more accessible by virtue of none of it going towards lower-standard food, like fast food and school lunches, which the newly-diverted supply would more than fill, and then some.

On top of that, no money will be spent on pet care per family. That, coupled with the lower cost of food, will encourage spending in other industries, bringing about an economic surge that will be advantageous to all. Jobs will be created as consumers save, and then spend, so much. Children's toys and other manufactured industries will also see an increase in supply of cheap plastic and rubber without any waste going towards pet toys. Space for new frontier businesses will open up from all the vacated pet stores and animal shelters. Health supply will increase from the closing of most veterinary practices, with only small portions of it going towards what little animal care remains with zoos and such (though, do we even need those?).

On top of that, we will have introduced a new potential resource: a surplus of cats and dogs and rodents and birds and fish to be used by the whims of Capitalism. More available animal research! An even greater food source with the introduction of dogmeat (most all pets exist as delicacies in other cultures throughout the world as we speak, so a greater sense of global community, too!)! More fabric supply due to the greater availability of furs! More easily-renewable menial labor potential that comes without wasteful needs for wages nor workplace regulations! The opportunities are literally limitless! The free market will lead the way!

I feel I'm rambling too much at this point. I just get really excited by such boundless horizons, and I get so eager to share them with my brethren. I'm anxious to see how many people can bring themselves to see the Light and can help me bring about real, promise-ridden Change.

At the very least, you all now know the true origins of The Loudest Fan, and can see him in the light in which I always intended him to be viewed. He'll still be the primary voice of this space after all this, but I've let you see the voicebox tonight. And with that, a humbled Daemin bows out.

A Breadwinner of a Post

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It seems my self-promotion is already paying-off. Thanks to all of my new followers. YOU'VE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE.

Now, to get angry.

I want to continue talking about both human entitlement and "selling out." SO I WILL. Tough titties to all those hoping for me to change the subject up a bit. I'm writing more frequently now. Isn't that enough for you people? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED? [cue Joaquin Phoenix's pouty-face]


Art (all creative content, for that matter) absolutely should and must be free. By free, I mean openly available to all. At least, to me. No question about it. Creative content that is not openly available to all/me lacks accountability, for which I am the ultimate judge, above all others. For creative content to have any value, it must be accountable for whatever it accomplishes, which in itself is entirely dependent upon its audiences and their ability to access it. I'm saying nothing new here.

In a perfect universe, creators create and... that's it. Creators create. Unfortunately, this universe is drastically imperfect, solely because it contains life besides mine. Life is imperfection, imperfection is life. Once again, nothing new (BE PATIENT). So, creators create, but must also live. For them, life is not only an imperfect process of providing for themselves, but providing for their creations as well, be they paintings, movies, books, blogs, children, etc. No creation is free in the sense of being uninhibited in its development and nurture. Life stands in the way, most every step of said way, unless you know how to kick it in its stupid face. Where creation transcends into art is in the artist's mastery of manipulation (i.e. face-kicking), turning that inhibition of life (be it a monetary limit, a cultural pressure, a time constraint, what have you) against itself to ensure the creation's nourishment even further. Lemons into lemonade. More accurately, water into lemonade, once the lemons drop from the tree and hit you on the head. Limeade is better, though.

So, why do we as a culture hold so much against a creator who embraces commodification (patent pending on that word), be it via sales or with advertising? Artistic integrity? That's only compromised if it's compromised. Even something as invasive as product placement can be manipulated by a skilled artist to contribute artistically to the work- satire is usually the easiest way to do so ("The Colbert Report" and Talladega Nights come to mind), but that's hardly appropriate outside of comedy (BECAUSE I SAID SO, DAMNIT), and I'd kill to see someone effectively pull it off straight. Does that mean I'll end up murdering someone when I finally get around to watching "Mad Men" (from what I hear, I'm gonna end up loving that Don Draper)? Possibly.

So, who has the right to decry a band that charges for a song download? To bemoan internet videos for having commercials (especially when more and more advertisers are finding value in using genuinely creative talent, as Old Spice did with Tim & Eric!)? And if your complaint is that those come from broken institutions ("the band doesn't see that money, it goes right to the record company"), then who the Hell are you to place the responsibility on the creators to develop and run the alternative, rhetorical reader? It's not enough that they have to be the ones creating in spite of everything, but now they have to set up and maintain an infrastructure to get voluntary (read: not guaranteed) support from you?

Let's start wrapping this up. Now, I'm not saying that the "download now, pay later" method championed in that one Minecraft article (you know the one- one of YOU is bound to post it in the comments field) is a bad one. I am saying that if that's the mode we want, which makes us the patrons, and which contributes to the creators consistently and fairly, then we need to be the ones to set it up and get it working, not the people who already work so hard for us. Record companies weren't started by bands (the good, non-exploitative labels are now, but that shouldn't have been their responsibility). Publishing houses weren't started by authors. SO QUIT BEING SO DAMN LAZY IF YOU DESERVE TO BE ENTERTAINED SO MUCH. You get it started, or you fix what's here (mandated salary caps for all artistic distribution execs/higher minimum contract rates for talent? Hooray socialism! Yay unions!). If not, then buy the freaking song and watch the damn commercial, jerk.

This is me... GETTING REAL

Here begins the newest, most amazing musing from The Loudest Fan. Bow appropriately:

That's it. I'm selling out.

Yes, I am going to try monetizing this mother. I am starving. Deal with it. With that, I now have an incentive to keep this thing running, SO I WILL KEEP THIS BIOTCH RUNNING. At least, I think I will. Who knows? Anywho, I will certainly be more proactive in promoting, splitting whichever infinitives I feel like splitting along the way. So make room for the new folks, my two or three current followers.

In addition to pledging to make this pile more worthwhile and more frequently-updated, I'll give you a juicy update to compensate for all my whoring:

I am making a podcast. It won't happen until this poor punk has the means to do so, but it will happen. More on that later, when that time comes closer. I will say it has little to do with this space, though (not the same persona, etc), so there's that.

Goodbye for now, and hello newbie(s).

How can I help you help me feel great?

Here begins the newest, most amazing musing from The Loudest Fan. Bow appropriately:

I'm baaaaaaack! I refuse to apologize for my extended absence. Deal with it.

Recently, I was perusing what I believe to be the most entertainingly intelligent content on the web: cracked.com. In their recent article entitled "5 Reasons It's Still Not Cool to Admit You're a Gamer," reason #1 discusses general issues of entitlement that prevent the gaming industry from respecting its clientele, thus preventing gamers and gaming from ascending beyond their social stigmas. The article as a whole is precise in its analysis of what plagues the media form of gaming, and reason #1 is absolutely the most insightful of the 5, clearly demonstrating the human tendency for short-sighted selfishness.

It is this tendency that I want to evaluate further. We are selfish pricks, to the point of hurting our chance of survival on this planet. That's nothing new, and neither myself nor Cracked are original in pointing this out. I just aim to illustrate how deep this tendency goes, and detail how it factors in making customer service the Hell that it is (more on why I chose that later).

First, I want to point out something that was pointed out to me over a decade ago, but has always factored into my perspective on selfish idiots (read: people) ever since. One of the founding principles of moral attitude in Western thought is the Golden Rule: Do unto others that which you would have done unto yourself. Granted, it is specifically a Christian principle, but you'd be hard-pressed to argue that it doesn't inform Western culture as a whole. I bring it up because it is an altruistic teaching, yet it founds itself upon an assumption of selfishness. It is not "Do unto others that which is only good." Rather, it uses self-interest as a motivation for altruism; altruism is communicated in terms of the selfish.

I love working in customer service. I really, really do. I even have a knack for it. Working to help strangers and creating a peaceful, pleasing environment for the customer are things I actually enjoy. Do not let this fool you, though: nobody, including myself, does it to help people. At least, "helping others" simply for the sake of just that is never our motivation.

Customer service is a competition. Unlike sales, which has quantifiable outcomes (e.g. commissions) that justify the competition, customer service pits employee against the customer in a war in which the only reward is entitlement. The best customer service employee never loses. He will often tie, but only because the customer failed to challenge the employee. Thus, tying, for the customer service employee, is only another form of winning.

Losing is yet another form of winning to the employee, and the degree to which the loss is a win is proportional only to the skill of the employee. If a customer proves to be so difficult that the customer service employee cannot help them, the employee leaves the confrontation knowing that the customer was stupid and at fault for everything, considering that everything the employee does is literally designed to make the experience as enjoyable as possible for the customer. If a customer is too difficult, it is usually because he is ignorant to that which is best for himself. The more difficult he is, the more clearly ignorant and stupid he must be. The only exception to this is the customer who is difficult only to entertain himself, but they usually tend to only be other people with experience in customer service. Those cases are as close to "sport" as customer service gets. Everything else is war.

Winning outright is easily the crown jewel of customer service achievement. An employee yearns for a customer so difficult that he can walk away feeling superior in every way, and to have that difficult customer yield to the will of the employee by the end. The most altruistic customer service employee is the most sadistic. Patience has nothing to do with it. Nobody hurries through that which they enjoy.

Customer service employees like me help others in order to feel superior to the general population. Writers like me write in order to feel superior to the general reader. Commenters like you write in order to feel superior to me. You will fail entirely.

Arguing about morons

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Recently, I have taken up the habit of perusing bulletin boards of awesome similar to my own. Most recently, Rachel of culture.spawn has caught my ever-brilliant eye with this post: READ THIS.

While her other posts are devoted to the archaic (read: useless) medium of literature, this one touches on my area of expertise: morons of the interwebs (read: you). Her rant essentially suggests that otherwise decent human beings abuse the gift of anonymity provided by the interwebs, thus dis-entitling them on a moral level to the privileges of privacy and protection from retaliation.

To this, I have a rebuttal: we are not dealing with otherwise decent human beings, and this is nothing new or specific to the internet. Who hasn't experienced bathroom-stall graffiti? Even better, how many of us have never contributed? My point is that those who have a proclivity for abusing anonymity are the ones who do so. I don't imagine that everyone who visits a bathroom is a closet white-supremacist, itching to scrawl swastikas and "Fuk the Joos and Blax" everywhere, but any space surveyed would certainly suggest so. The internet is simply the flame that such moths are drawn to (just insert "lolz" in front of the messages you'd find in a restroom, and you'd be surprised how similar it is to any given comment thread), and it also happens to have other redeeming qualities that draw the rest of us, allowing a different kind of interaction than the bathroom stall example (in that people largely ignore bathroom stall communication).

The only solution (one which I support 100%) to the abuse of anonymity is a plutocratic exclusion of access to the internet of everybody whom I choose is unworthy.

P.S. Rachel specifically mentions the abuse of gossiping anonymously: "If I'm out with my friends, they will not tease me in front of strangers about scandalous things." I think I'll turn the tables on that one. For some juicy scoop on the sordid life of Rachel, click here: JUICY GOSSIP.

I tell you what to think, Volume I

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Every once in a while, people find me on the street and approach me, saying, "Hey, The Loudest Fan, I am a giant ignoramus, and thus need you to give me an opinion on [insert social issue here]. Could you help me out, O Wise One?" To queries like these, my usual response is something to the effect of, "Get your hands off of me, you cretin!" That being said, I think it time to define the correct social views of our time.

Today's topic:
Gay marriage

For starters, let me point out that this debate will be pointless in a matter of years. By that time, gay marriage will be fully legal across the country, and recognized on a federal level. How do I know that? It's a simple matter of social evolution.

To put things in perspective, interracial marriage has gone through the same process as gay marriage is now. The very same arguments (the sanctity of marriage, God's law, state's rights in governing marriage, etc) were levied against your now-legal ability to purchase a mail-order bride from China, just as they are currently used against preventing two human beings from participating in the ultimate expression of genuine, mutual love for each other in this progressive day and age.

OK, there are some camps that shun gay rights due to the "ookiness" factor. They feel discomfort in seeing homosexual physical contact, and they believe we all feel that with them. These are the people who make commercials asking if you'd be OK with YOUR KIDS being exposed to such "icky" behavior, and taught its acceptability in school. First off, I just want to say that I want every child of mine to be taught from a very early age that lesbianism is the most beautiful thing on the planet. But that's just me. Secondly, heterosexual physicality is just as icky. Who among us hasn't ever wished those two sacks of hormones in the corner would stop sucking face and would either get a room or commit dual suicide? Do the names Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag mean anything to you? If your issue with homosexuality comes down to simple discomfort, why don't you petition for federal bans on all PDA, you fascist hypocrite?

Now, we come to the camps who throw the Bible around, saying that God forbids these people He has lovingly made homosexual to join each other in the sacrament of companionship He developed. Considering that the Big Man and I communicate on a daily basis (given how important I am, He visits me in person, often asking for advice and the like. I usually oblige him), I can just tell you that He says you've got it all wrong, and leave it at that. My status as veritable Prophet should be enough. If you want more rhetorical proof instead, I can provide that as well. Actually, the argument is worded best by Sam Greenspan over at www.11points.com: [someone else being almost as brilliant as me]
Well done, Sam. Me and the Big Man dig your style. In a non-gay way.

Beyond these, arguments against gay marriage come down to legal, constitutional semantics, and will ultimately be decided by a voting public or the supreme court in favor of protecting same-sex marriage via the process of social evolution I mentioned before. There are many blogs and articles (like this one: another person whose existence I permit) out in the tubes of the internet that demonstrate a statistical trend of the youth of America becoming more and more acceptable of homosexuality and LGBT rights. It's only a matter of time before the crotchety, old conservatives die out. In fact, in my talks with the Big Man, I've voiced my impatience in wanting these people out of the picture. His response: "I'll see what I can do..."

Dr. Boring: A Discourse on Language

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Dr. Boring here!

Recently, I have become enamored with the intricacies and miracles inherent within the modern English language, especially in regards to modern colloquialisms. In order to demonstrate this fascination, I have selected one amazing phrase that never ceases to amaze me: "Head on over."

Alright. My thesis here is that this is the most inherently understood colloquialism that is also absolutely impossible to understand on any semantic level.

To begin, I need to point out that this phrase is clearly understood by virtually everyone who can rightfully claim fluency in English in this day and age. The words, "Head on over," communicate nothing other than a command for one to immediately travel to a specific location. No other interpretation is afforded, period.

Now, we must look at this phrase from a new perspective in order to fully appreciate its mind-blowing complexities. The perspective necessary here is one of complete ignorance of any and all colloquialisms, which views the English language purely by the strict semantics that govern it.

Let's start with the first word, "head." Already, we are hit by a huge dose of ambiguity. "Head" not only means two entirely unrelated things, but each falls into one of the two most important parts of speech: noun and verb. As the top of something, or as the brain-housing part of the body, "head" operates as a noun. As traveling from one place to another, "head" operates as a verb. The only way to know which this "head" could be is to infer from the context.

This brings us to our next roadblock: no context. None of the rest of the phrase contains either subject or predicate. In fact, the other words are both prepositions, and prepositional phrases can exist freely in either the subject or the predicate. If this was a complete sentence, one could infer the rule of "You (understood)," but this is in no way a complete sentence. For as much as a semantic-driven interpreter is concerned, this sentence is already pure gibberish.

Finally, we are hit by a double-dose of syntactical impossibility. The sentence ends in a preposition, something unforgivable in the rules of grammar. No preposition can exist without an object following it. Not only does the sentence end with this abject failure, but it is preceded by exactly the same offense. The incompleteness, when placed in front of an otherwise complete sentence, is comparable to saying, "He went to a the."

Thus, we have an ambiguous word operating as either subject or predicate (but not both), with two empty prepositions that fail to provide any context to clue in the unfortunately ignorant interpreter.

Somehow, the human mind learns language differently from the logical "from the ground on up" (catch the impossibilities of that one?) approach to learning. Otherwise, a phrase like this could not possibly exist. Instead, we somehow manage to communicate succinctly and definitively to each other after learning through what is essentially an immersive clusterfuck. That, my friends, is nothing short of miraculous.

This is Dr. Boring, reminding you to eat your veggies, and signing out.

An introduction: Dr. Boring

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Often times I find myself searching for new ways to entertain and exercise my unmatched mental capacities. The latest has been the creation of an alter-ego who is bound to occasionally post on this infallible bulletin board of pure, unadulterated glory. This alter-ego's name is Dr. Boring.

Dr. Boring is a man who is fascinated by the mundane, but appropriately and brilliantly so. Essentially, he discusses things only a raging pothead would muse on that also happen to be genuinely brilliant. Only he does it sober. Never before has Boring been so Fucking Awesome.

In reality, this is just me performing mental masturbation by showing you all how amazing I am at noticing everything around me with profound brilliance. Prepare yourself for the most mundane causes of shitting one's own pants. Guiness, give me world records NOW.

Call yourself, "Emo" and get it over with, already

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"Replaced Spittle"

You could never hope to understand me
Despite this work's existence as plea
I'll write about you to my wit's end
I'm the first girl to ever have a tough crush.

Oh, identify my awesome craft
Consistent rhythm would be too daft
I choose not to rhyme right here and now
I'm the first girl to ever have a tough crush.

My imagery is fine and the vocab ain't bad
But my use of device and convention is sad;
I don't understand what it takes to express
I'm the first girl to ever have a tough crush.

Words like "bereft" and "fecundity"
I can reproduce prolifically,
In the hopes you'll think I'm smart
I'm the first girl to ever have a tough crush.

Being direct would make too much sense
And what I feel is unprecedentedly immense
So I hope you read this translucent verse
I'm the first girl to ever have a tough crush.

Now it's time for me to end in despair
Making you want to writhe and tear
Your own flesh into complete oblivion
I'm the first girl to ever have a tough crush.

-Whine E. Bitch

I don't care if you don't care. Thus, I win.

Here begins the newest, most amazing musing from The Loudest Fan. Bow appropriately:

It has come to my attention that several among my vast multitude of friends (being the rightfully popular man I am) have taken issue with a certain practice of mine: facebook updating.

Apparently, I update more frequently than most. One facebook friend claims to have gone so far as to bake himself a cake called a "status-cake," which he will only eat from when his page is not cluttered by updates from yours truly. I've been told he's had to consistently cheat. I relish in the fact that the enjoyment of some pansy-ass cake is utterly dependent upon a pathetic attention to my daily life.

Some would argue that my frequent updating is an indication of a lack of life. I retort with a triumphant flip of the ol' bird. I honestly don't have to prove how much more gratifying my life is than those of my detractors, because the enjoyment I receive from it is the only standard by which to judge my own life.

Should I post less frequently? Absolutely not! Why is that idea even considerable?

In agreeing to be my friend on any social networking site, one enters a contract to suffer through every little thing I feel so possessed to post, and entirely at one's own risk. The site even offers filters for my inferiors to soften the awesome which I spew from my fingers throughout the tubes of the internet! Even without the filters, are they required to read anything I write? NO! I'm not even spamming them with messages, nor notifications!

Social networking sites, especially those of the same ilk as facebook, are set up specifically as tools of exhibition and voyeurism. I expose my infinite wisdom to a world of passive listeners freely and without hesitation. I utilize facebook to its full potential. It is of no consequence to me if nobody reads what I have to say. If somebody chooses to ignore me, it is his own folly to which he answers. When I do care for a specific audience, I use the site's many more direct means, including commenting, messaging and tagging. I have yet to receive any complaint as to my activities in this direct realm of the site.

Conclusion? If you don't want to read what I have to say, DON'T. Filter me out, for all I care. Hell, if I really bother you so much, delete me! Exercise your right to control your own goddamned home screen, because you absolutely have said right. Don't make me the scapegoat for your inability to stifle your innate desire to feed off every tidbit I throw out. I realize most people don't possess the strength of will power of a man like me, but come on! Get that sand out of your vagina and grow a pair!

The More You Know...

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Yes, this is one of THOSE kinds of posts... This is probably a topic better suited for a discussion board, except for the fact that my opinions are absolute, universal fact. Ok, here goes:

If you don't like Lost, YOU ARE WRONG.

Islands? Awesome. Plane crash? Intense. Death and destruction? Sweet. Polar bears? Badassss. Smoke monster? Socially aware (don't smoke, kiddies!). Time Travel? Recipe for great success. People named after super-sweet philosophers? Offer your womb unconditionally to them. "Racer X" from the greatest visual experience known to man? Sweet nectar of the entertainment gods!

Pure essence of manhood (no artificial ingredients)
Photo Credit: fasthack.com

If you can't bring yourself to appreciate one of the most impressively woven and compelling narratives ever conceived, as well as the cleverest, most ambitious approach to time travel ever, then kindly remove yourself from society with a quick, double-barreled blow to the face.

Great against polar bears, uppity newcomers to the island and your own, ignorant face!
Photo Credit: americandigest.org

Finally, my favorite aspect: Lost offers one of the greatest supervillains of all time. Benjamin Linus is the scariest, coldest nerd ever (certainly gives that pussy in Die Hard 4 a run for his money), everybody knows it, and he STILL manages to get the good guys to do whatever the hell he wants. The dude sat next to and, amused, watched his own father dying! That's some hardcore, cold and heartless shit!

Benjamin Linus makes this guy piss his wussy-pants

Photo Credit: thehive.modbee.com

On top of being the coldest villain in the history of narrative, the show manages to give Ben pounds of sympathetic backstory. From being shot as a naive kid to mourning his beloved (albeit kidnapped into adoption) daughter, we get to care about this sicko's feelings. Only a show greater than life itself could produce such an extreme evil that also manages to get you to care deeply about it.

Conclusion: I am better than you, so I watch Lost.

He sees you when you're sleeping... then he shoots your family until you do what he wants
Photo Credit: assumecrashpositions.files.wordpress.com

Get over your prepubescent self

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I am a university student with an age befitting such a place in life. While I have not experienced even half of half of my expected life (173 years of pure awesome), I believe it's safe to say that I am an unerring authority on life itself.

Thus, meet one of my many annoyances: people who hype their middle school years. Now, I'm not talking about people who are proud of one or two accomplishments during these few years of life. What I am talking about are those who share more life stories from that time than any other. It simply makes no sense.

Middle school is childhood's middle child (the least-appreciated, though not under-appreciated, child of every family). It replaces the cuteness of elementary school ignorance with wannabe high school awkwardness, and it replaces high school's journey of social- and self-discovery with even more youthful meaninglessness. The worst of both worlds.

What must possess somebody to hype this insignificant period of schooling more than any other? Answer: lack of brain and/or personality. Every personal statement involving an event or accomplishment from that time must be succeeded by, "Oh, but that was back in middle school, so we all know that it therefore doesn't count for shit, really."

So, next time you think about telling some anecdote from your bitch-years, consider spacing it out at least a year or two from telling some other story from that time. Mentioning middle school two or more separate times in the same day, let alone in the same conversation, is unacceptable, and should be punishable by time (minimum 60 years) spent in some new, groundbreaking prison for the incurably pathetic.

Now, if you have the genuine misfortune of being such an individual who consistently perpetrates this kind of speaking, follow these 3 simple steps:

1. Every morning when you wake up, and every night before you go to sleep, spend 20 minutes looking yourself in the eye in the mirror, chanting, "NOBODY CARES" repeatedly the entire time.

2. Don't talk to people. Trust me, the awkwardness of being "The Quiet, Uncontributing One" is much better than being clinically pathetic.

3. Pretend as if the other parts of your life, especially WHERE AND WHEN YOU ARE NOW, are interesting. MAKE UP new backstory! Watch various movies and television programs dealing with these other times as research.

Isn't it odd that there are no series or movies devoted to middle school years that aren't solely marketed to the unfortunate kids who are currently experiencing that time? NO, IT'S NOT ODD. Programming for everyone else has run the gamut of subject matter from high school life to geriatric life, as well as younger childhood, and justifiably so. Every time in every person's life is better than middle school. Without exception.

You're welcome.

A new, FUN game!

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Yesterday (as in two hours ago) was Easter. You can thank me for this revelation later. Now, as a less-than-practicing Catholic, I attended mass Easter morning with my family. My brother and I sat next to each other (perfect recipe for immature shenanigans), so we naturally began to entertain each other.

A few rows ahead of our pew contained a mother with a baby. My brother leaned over to me and suggested, "Stare at that baby." I thought it brilliant! I finally had the opportunity to stare at a human being, and without feeling any of the awkwardness!

So, realizing the immense potential for shenaniganny fun-times, I shot the baby a glance oozing with suspicion and disappointment.

The baby must have felt nothing but shame.

I found it refreshingly easy to maintain a straight-as-an-arrow face, given that the baby clearly had an inability to communicate, "You make me feel awkward."

Ok, that comes close.
Photo Credit: flickr.com

I refused to break my gaze and wore that baby down!

I see you, baby.

Soon enough, my efforts paid off. The child began to weep.

Pure terror.
Photo Credit: superstock.com

As the mother took her bawling bundle of joy out of the church, I made a quick estimation. "One down, 16 to go," I told my brother, scouting out the rest of the packed church.

Will I go to Hell for psychologically torturing the innocent in God's very own house? Probably. Was it sadistically entertaining? Absolutely.

My kind of Santa
Photo Credit: vgpop.com