Dear McDonald's...

Billions and billions served! I doubt you folks are even counting anymore, and who can blame you? Here in America, we don’t talk about numbers any larger than a billion unless we’re referencing the deficit, and nobody likes that. Except for maybe the Chinese, who have bought up a few trillion of that in their own bid to replace us as the next supreme world superpower. You guys seem aware of that as anyone, having opened some 700 golden arches in communist China since 1990. On the topic of China, we’ve all been thoroughly enjoying the games this year in Beijing this week, seeing the greatest athletes on the planet meet in an international celebration of strength and athleticism.

So, should it come as any surprise that the official restaurant of these games is Mickey D’s? Well, yes and no. On one hand, you guys have more money than Starbucks and God, and I would expect you to be currently teaming with NASA in hopes of laser-tattooing the phrase “I’m loving it” to the surface of the moon, for all to enjoy. Now on the other hand, you guys generally crank out some of the greasiest, most offensively unhealthy fast food on the face of the earth, arguably the largest single contributor to our rapidly degrading state of health in this nation. SO, when the television cuts away from the emaciated, muscular synchronized divers to the bold announcement of your creation of “the perfect chicken sandwich” I only narrowly avoid an aneurysm.

After witnessing a few more of these ads, in which real-looking Olympians appear to tout this new sandwich from their roadbikes and on the balance beam in some fictional gymnasium, I felt compelled to pick up the typewriter and let you guys in on a unique marketing concept I came up with tonight. The only reason why it’s so amusing to see Olympians about to bite into a big, juicy chicken and pickle sandwich is because we know, deep down in our hearts, that no human being on earth is capable of accomplishing anything remotely athletic within 48 hours of consuming anything off your menu.

So picture this with me: What would it take to actually see these athletes, live at the Beijing games, at the scene of their events, gobbling down French fries and big macs, mcflurrys before and after every race! How much dough will it take for Michael Phelps to chow down on three double cheeseburgers before the 400m freestyle? It would add a whole new element to the competition, as we at home could take bets on whether he’d first puke or poop his wetsuit on the second lap. Estonia would finally stand a chance against our dream team if each member were forced to consume a 20 piece chicken mcnugget box before every match! You guys could be Johnny on the spot with a bag full of stuff for the athletes, ready to take your name and reputation to the next level, and dispel all perceptions of your product as being generally detrimental to human life.

Don’t tell me you don’t have the cash to make something like this happen. I think we’re looking at a new era of advertising here, and you boys can’t afford not to be on the cutting edge if you expect to keep selling those billions and billions. I don’t require monetary compensation for you to use my idea. Seeing our sprite little gymnasts hit the vault at top speed with a belly full of your Quarter Pounder with cheese would be more than enough.

Can you imagine the ratings, considering the sick state of reality-tv obsession in our culture in the 21st century? Here would be the greatest athletes our nation has ever cultivated, barfing their brains out the same way we at home feel like doing after suffering through your culinary abortions!

So, more than anything, thanks for the humor in this dark economic time, and defining the poverty lines in America with one definitive golden swoosh. Also, congratulations on the perfect chicken sandwich. While I might suggest you lay off raping the rainforests for a while having accomplished such a feat, I’m sure you’re off to the races on the next big conquest, and I wish you the best of luck.

God Bless America,


Will Weston
San Francisco, CA

Be Yourself

I'm headed out to find a new job in the illustrious service industry. Why? Because i'm a glutton for punishment. But to psych up for it, how about a little message from everybody's favorites- Cameo! I'm going to watch this every morning for a month, and i expect one of a few things might happen:

a) attain the power of flight/invisibility
b) grow barry bonds muscles overnight
c) not be heterosexual anymore



I encourage you to try it yourselves, in the safety of your own homes. Good luck.

From The Aloha State...

I think it's high time we check in with my home state for a little campaign information on the candidates this year. Hawaii is particularly excited to see its first resident ever on the ballot. To fill you in a little bit on that candidate and why he's right for the job, let's check in with this resident from Haiku, on the island of Maui!

Hawaiian obama


Convinced yet? I sure am. In all fairness, i'll try and find a little coverage from the islands on the other candidate, so long as somebody else lets me know who it is.
Just in case you aren't sold yet, let's see a quick followup:

Campaign With HaikuKing


There you have it, kids. And, for those of you feeling slightly left out on the "hawaiian humor" featured on this week's post, check out this final clip of Andy Bumatai, exemplifying proper administration of the ever-elusive "shaka" gesture around 1:10. That'll make a ton of sense.

This Is Getting Easier

In my quest to better understand the direction the media seems to be headed these days, i'm always rewarded with nuggets like these:



Which, in most cases, always leave me asking more questions than i had in the first place. Like, how is news prioritized so that this comes between stories about how nicer dressed employees are more prone to receive promotions (awww) and something about "Miley Cyrus" hanging up her "Hannah" wig, which makes me feel about a thousand years old for not getting whatsoever.

But here, this cat, i can understand this. This is big news, Jesus on the cat. I'm intrigued about the obvious black/white dichotomy we're dealing with here, as the other kitty is most definitely bound to be equally representative of the dark prince, Satan himself, sooner or later. I'm surprised they didn't hit the black one over the head with a shovel during the interview for that matter. Also, isn't this the first biblical sighting since the Virgin Mary appeared on that old woman's grilled cheese? Shouldn't we be assembling all those scientists out there working on the cure for cancer together in a conference to determine what the connection might be between the grilled cheese mary and the kitty named Sissy with the blurriest picture of Jesus i've ever seen on its tufty butt fur?
Here's what i want to know: When did we, as Americans, just give up entirely on those exciting visions we had for the future, when technology and invention were peaking, and nobody worried about gasoline or homos whatsoever? Those were the days we were hot on the trail of the American Dream, an antiquated and bygone concept that may never again rear its head, thanks to the guano of stations like CNN. I hope that cat poops a John Paul II and nobody even notices. I hope aliens come soon, also.

They're Going To Love This In Williamsburg

Billy's Back.

Friends and nemeses, lo how the miles have fallen off the map since the 1st of June. Something about not working for 7 weeks has made it considerably easier to neglect you, the faithful few, who continue to frequent these sites, and that's wronger than the clown porn they made me watch in that sexual sociology class i took back in "college".. No, wait. Nothing is so wrong as that. Well rest easy, for your Uncle Billy's back in California, though not precisely when he planned to be and thoroughly drained of cash-ola after a stupid few weeks in the center of universe, NYC. Yes indeedy, it's back to the golden state, where i intend to finish up the classwork, crank out the jams, and refill my wallet before the next big excuse to get back on your couches. Look out for more posting more often these days, as i hope to reward you/slowly win you back/fail out of school/shark sandwich. Let the tales begin.

Happy Birthday, Nation

Where better to celebrate the nation's 232nd b-day than real heartland, America? After nearly two weeks of meandering the Midwest post-Royals ride, i'm spending my last night in the middle, before a dastardly long and controversially stupid bus ride to the east coast. I fear for my sanity, but more for my body- I've committed to a nonrefundable, surely-packed full of hillbilly goblins, inexplicably snow-cold greyhound bus ride all the way from Indy to New York. I'm not going to say the number of hours it's going to take out loud, but the only way to go into a ride like this is to trick one's mind into thinking that life has always existed within the confines of the terrible bus, and to pretend that it might never end. That way, if i do ever survive, i might be pleasantly surprised by the time its morning and i'm stumbling out of Port Authority to be slammed by a rampant taxi. Goodbye east coast. Goodbye body. Happy birthday, nation.