PAY IT FORWARD: You Make A Difference!
Happy Friday, Internet! It’s time yet again for another installment of PAY IT FORWARD! Today’s forward makes the classic mistake of pairing what would be a genuinely positive and meaningful message with pictures so fucking lame and cheesy even Thomas Kinkade would roll his eyes.
OK, have you guys ever heard the PRICELESS accounts of Thomas Kinkade’s not-very-bucolic-and-glowy behavior? Allow me:
“The Times further reported that he openly groped a woman’s breasts at a South Bend, Indiana sales event, and mentioned his proclivity for ritual territory marking through urination, once relieving himself on a Winnie the Pooh figure at a Disney site while saying ‘This one’s for you, Walt.’
Aaaaand, you’re welcome.
This forward comes to us courtesy of lovely CFoST, who – among other things – has an ass that won’t quit. The worst (or best?) part of this whole thing is that somewhere along the line, someone organized a dramatic re-enactment of the story and took pictures. Let’s begin.
Subject: Fw: WOW! WHAT AN EMAIL
And by gently suggesting that maybe – just maybe – Manic Panic does not always reap the most attractive results.
How very different from my own senior year, when my art teacher found a book of humorous top ten lists I had written (a la David Letterman), and sent me to the guidance counselor because she thought I was “sexually deviant.” Ah, memories.
Because there’s nothing 18-year-olds like more than to parade around school with self-affirming ribbons on their shirts.
I’m not naming names, but it appears SOMEONE went to Fantastic Sam’s with a picture of Moe Howard.
Real life outcome: Everyone in class rolls their eyes and gives the ribbons to their friends within 5 minutes, except the over-achieving dork who takes it seriously and gives the ribbons to community leaders and the elderly, which impresses the teacher and TOTALLY ruins the grading curve for everyone else. Stupid over-achieving dork! Always screwing it up for the rest of us.
“Yeah, that’s right. Right there. Right on top of the nipple. My, you have strong hands! Sure could use someone with big, strong hands to rub my shoulders. You want a glass of Chardonnay?”
OMG, look who it is! Don’t do it, kid! It’s just a bad haircut! It’ll grow out! YOU DON’T NEED A FURIOUSLY-GIVEN HAND JOB FROM A JUNIOR EXECUTIVE IN A DARKENED OFFICE SUPPLY CLOSET TO MAKE YOU FEEL BEAUTIFUL!
(In other news, I think you’re all beginning to see where those “sexual deviant” concerns might have come from.)
HAAA! Oh, shit. First of all, CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE going to your “grouchy” boss, pinning a ribbon on his shirt, and telling him he is a creative genius? The boss in the photo above looks like he is seconds away from slapping what I’m sure is a goofy grin off the junior exec’s face and spitting, “Don’t you DARE patronize me, you miserable little pissant.”
Also? I think they might have done a better job of casting the boss had they chosen someone who, I don’t know, has had a haircut in the past seven years? And whose image doesn’t scream “I JUST PLAYED KING ARTHUR IN THE SCHUSTER COUNTY COMMUNITY THEATRE’S PRODUCTION OF ‘SPAMALOT’!”
“MMM. Permission granted, sailor.”
Also, are we aboard a ship on the high seas? What’s with the fucking angle? Anyone have some Dramamine? Blurgh.
Um. I was just joking about the sexual tension up until this point, but I feel like maybe we should all look away now.
If you’ve ever wondered what a shit-eating grin looks like, wonder no more.
Is that a FINGER PISTOL I see back there? Really, forward? A FINGER PISTOL?!
“I got cast as an executive with this haircut! THIS HAIRCUT! I look like a fucking band teacher from 1982! Can you believe it?”
“And then he started crying and asked if he could touch my lips. It was really weird.”
Pretty sure we’ve all learned everything we ever wanted to know about the back of this guy’s head, which I imagine smells like an old wool sweater that’s been crammed underneath the backseat of a station wagon for eight years.
I just…ugh…something about this guy is seriously giving me the creeps. The look on his face is not “concerned father,” it’s “hey, wanna see the inside of my van?”
Yeah, fine, whatever, Creepy Dad. Can I go back to playing Call of Duty now?
Hear that, kid? You’ll always be Number Two. Just thought I’d remind you of that. I mean – so we’re clear – if we were all trapped in a burning building and I could only rescue you OR Mom, it would totally be Mom. Sorry, son, but your mother does this thing with her…well, nevermind about that. Just as long as you understand that you’ll never come first. LOVE YOU!
“I also left you a check to reimburse you for my tuition to the Joey Tribbiani School of Smell-the-Fart Acting.”
So…A PIECE OF RIBBON CURED YOUR SUICIDAL TENDENCIES? Fuck therapy. Take your suicidal ass to Jo-Ann Fabrics and be done with it.
I smell a scrapbooking project!
…delicious, delicious pain.
Whoa, WHAT? Where’d that gun come from? I suppose Creepy Dad read the letter and was all, “You know what? He’s kind of right. I don’t really care, and he’s kind of a loser. Well, let’s get this over with.”
Ironically, after a week of his rah-rah bullshit, everyone longed for the days before he went around slapping fucking ribbons on everyone.
Oh yeah,”career planning.” And look! The bowl cut is catching! RUN!
OH MY GOD is this thing not over yet?!
Holy sweet Jesus, WE’RE DONE.
Actually, there are, like, five more paragraphs about how CARING makes a DIFFERENCE and now you have to FORWARD THIS and SHARE and RIBBONS and CREEPY DADS and…hey, anyone seen that gun laying around?
Well, that’s all for today, Internet. Enjoy your weekend, and for the love of ass, if you have the urge to tell someone they make a difference, just keep your mouth shut and leave it unspoken like normal people.
Entry filed under: PAY IT FORWARD!.