Essays

Let's be honest. Michelle Bachmann is wildly unqualified for any kind of public office. But more importantly, the vast amount of entertainment available to us is pretty awesome. And you know what makes good entertainment? Besides dick jokes? Good actors. I specify actors because print media is dead. Having the right actors makes or breaks a series. Of course, this means good actors are in high demand, resulting in the most talented actors being recycled. Which is where things get a little incestuous. Yes, right now the actor on screen may be playing a struggling suburban father. But just last week he was a Thai hooker. It gets confusing. That's why I endorse wholly embracing this phenomenon. Here are my suggestions: 

Well, after over six weeks, I have finally returned from my sabbatical in the wilderness that we know as Maine. After wandering through this desolate land of wannabe Stephen King terrors and small-town people with indefinable accents, I managed to reach the final stage of enlightenment. Yes, enlightenment. I have finally realized what my life's work should be, and have come to terms with the meaning of my existence.

But until Joss Whedon's Firefly returns to television and My Little Pony disappears from the internet altogether, said work cannot take place. Therefore, I have decided to resume my web writing for the Gargoyle to pass the time. And, since I am a generous higher power, I have decided to impart some of the ancient wisdom that I have gained from the wild after the jump. Be grateful, lesser beings. Be grateful.

I live in Germany. Cue the Nazi jokes. I'm not joking though, that's actually what happens.. Faster than the Catholic Church blaming the gays for everything, (two penises + no vagina = the reason for abortion) they trot out the same old stereotype: Germans are Nazis. Which is stupid. The vast majority of the German population was born after or during the second World War. Now I'm no historian, but I don't think any of the concentration camps were being run by babies and sperm. So I think we can safely absolve them of any blame. Anyone who might have been even remotely involved with Nazi movement would be practically 90. As I am a.) 19 years old and b.) American, it makes little sense to call me a Nazi.

The world is a very different place now then it was back then, and the same stereotypes no longer apply. To flll the void, I've developed new ones based on my experiences and a very limited unverified data set:

I must admit, my latest entry makes me question the purpose of this blog. From the outset, we're competing against pretty difficult field. There are established giants of the online comedy world, like CollegeHumor and Cracked. There are countless aspiring comedians sitting in front of their webcams desperately trying to be seen and heard. Everyone and their grandmother has a tumblr and twitter account. I know our magazine has its merits. I think we're damn funny. I'm ready to compete with all of those people. But how could we ever hope to top this?

http://7chan.org/fl/src/hey.swf

A video like this, so perfect, so brilliant, is a rare find. I have doubts that anything I ever create will fill people with such mirth. So what can I bring to the table.  Why should I continue this blog? Oh, right. Resume building. See y'all next week!

Let's face it. At one point or another, you're going to be trapped by a talkative stranger or chatty relative. This is a terrible and dreadful situation. But before you activate that cyanide tooth the Bulgarian secret service gave you before your final mission, here are a few other tactics you might try.   

Option 1: The "Hendricks" Maneuver.

This is one of the most simple tactics. Just imagine the lovely, talented (and suffice it to say, voluptuous) actress as your conversation partner. Everything is better when Christina Hendricks is involved. Visualize her gently brushing away a few strands of her crimson hair as she elaborates on her mother's foot bunions. Her elegant fingers resting on up her curvy hips as she mentions her cat's recent bowel issues. Her, shall we say, assets displayed prominently as she informs you of Mary J. Blige's deep involvement with the Hussein regime.

By and large, I like to maintain certain illusions about the world I live in. My parents are always right, Nicholas Cage will eventually stop getting work as an actor, and people are nice. But like a wine glass at a Jewish wedding full of opera singers, bulls, and Pete Townsend, my illusions have been shattered. My father was wrong about how to catch a football, which I painfully discovered when I learned that "face-first" is not the standard method of gridiron practice. Nicholas Cage remains a block-buster movie star, and will be starring in the titular role in "Whore 3: The Rewhoring". And most importantly, people are increasingly becoming assholes.

Take the other day. I was walking down Hill Street during one of my typical squirrel hunts. As I was nearing the squirrel (or as I like to call it: Future Hamburger  #3) when a car drove passed me and screamed "Fag!" I was confused. Why was a British gang asking me for a cigarette? Much less in their native slang? Fortunately, my time in Europe had allowed me to become familiar with their slang. Otherwise, I might have been offended and confus-

              

Disclaimer: Though I'm posting it, this article was written by another staff member with much more impeccable taste (and aquatic knowledge) than mine. He prefers to remain anonymous.

The Gargoyle community is one of discerning tastes - we like our publications quarterly, our gin milk-laden, and our dick jokes interpreted as ironic (they're not). This week, the Gargoyle was privileged to discover that even the animal kingdom has paid homage to us. We caught wind that "The Gargoyle Fish" (Caelorinchus Mirus) was catalogued back in 1926, only a few years after the release of our first issue! We, of course, rushed to the nearest Bing image search to meet our namesake Chordata face to face.
We want a better fish.

Baggy, Short Jean Shorts: While acceptable in certain occasions, they should never cut off before the knee and be as loose as parachute pants.

by Peter Eldred, Age 14:

So, the other day Stu and I got high with Jacob and were walking down South U toward State, because we'd been to Panchero's. I had a steak quesadilla. It could have been better, to be honest. On South U, though, we watched a raccoon baby and a raccoon mother (I assume they were related) poke their heads out of the sewer grate on the side of the street. They live in the sewer. That's not even sad for a raccoon. That's a fucking nice pad. Lots of trash to eat, I'll bet. Anyway, we saw these raccoons. It was pretty fucking cute. I would like to see that again, I think. Except in the rain. God, that would be cinematic. That's getting close to baby seal proportions. Yeah. Really cute. That's all.

I'm a girl of simple desires and aspirations. I don't want much, but one of the things I've always wanted to do is see popular '90s multi-hit wonder Smash Mouth perform live. I can only imagine how fun it would be, singing enthusiastically along with such songs as "Walking On the Sun," "All Star," and that cover of "I'm A Believer" they did for Shrek and then listening with mild curiosity to whatever other songs Smash Mouth has written.

But it seems the fates are conspiring against me.