I thought of "2 Girls 1 Cup" Second

2 August 2009

Mr. Marco Villanova, creator of “2 Girls 1 Cup”:

I apologize upfront. When I made a nearly exact copy of "2 Girls 1 Cup," I had no idea your film existed.

I think I ought to blame my friends. They must have known about “2 Girls 1 Cup.” It seems like everyone in America was aware of it but me. Why didn't they warn me when I said, "Wouldn't it be hilarious if I got someone else and shit in a cup and had the other person eat that shit and then have both of us puke that shit into each other's mouths?” They just looked at each other knowingly. Like they wanted me to be humiliated, to be found out as a fraud, a Johnny-come-lately in the shit/cup/vomit game.

Never once did they say, “Oh, Tony, I think that's been done before,” or “Oh, like in '2 Girls 1 Cup,'” or “That idea borders on the insane.”

Perhaps, understandably, they thought I was joking. How could they have known I was serious enough about amusing my fellow man to shit into a cup, have another person eat that shit and then have both of us puke that shit into each other's mouths?

But no one even tried to stop me. Not once in the dozens and dozens of times I mentioned the fact that I was planning on doing it. Not when I said I was renting camera equipment to do it. Not when I asked anybody with a garage if I could film there on a Saturday. Not when I called and asked everybody I knew for some bleach, explaining “I'm going to be covered in shit for that video I've been telling you about for a few weeks now.”

It's like they were conspiring against me.

Imagine, Mr. Villanova, if I had gone through with an idea for a film revolving around the antics of secret-agent guinea pigs. Imagine I had acquired the technology to computer animate guinea pigs, written a hilarious script about their antics, totally financed the production, and then filmed it, all while my closest friends were well-aware of the existence of the recent box-office sensation “G-Force.”

Now, imagine that the guinea pigs are not guinea pigs but, rather, human waste. And imagine no computer graphics whatsoever. Just lots of very real human waste. That's the point I'm at now.

Or if I had had the idea to put Brendan Fraser in a 3-D joy ride into the depths of the earth, all while they knew about “Journey to the Center of the Earth 3-D.” Same deal, but instead of Brendan Fraser, it's me and someone else, and instead of going into the center of the earth, we do horrible, horrible things to one another with human waste.

I think you get the idea.

How can I ever be respected again as true humorist now that I've been made a fool of? Now that I'm second-fiddle in the shitting-into-a-cup-then-having-another-person-eat-that-shit-then-both-people-puke-that-shit-into-each-other's-mouths world?

Mr. Villanova, can you offer me any comfort at all? A kind word from a genius such as yourself could do much to warm my heart at such a dark time.


Sincerely,
Tony


P.S. It's not impossible to think that my version of the film could still have true cultural merit. A sequel of sorts. A Godfather II to your Godfather. But with far more shit, of course. Keep in touch.

I was interviewed by the police.

Good Cop/ Bad Cop
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: Bullshit! We all know you did it!

Good Cop/ Bad (Incompetent) Cop
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: ...
Cop 1: Anything to say, Al?
Cop 2: Huh? Oh, I wasn't paying attention.

Good Cop/ Good Cop
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: Okay.

Good Cop/ Nonsensically Racist Cop
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: Oh, you quarter-Italian, quarter-Irish, quarter-German, quarter-Welsh pieces of shit are all the same!

Good Cop/ Chinese Cop
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: 我讲中文

Good Cop/ Self-loathing Cop Who Covers Up His Low Self-Esteem By Talking About All the Girls He Gets
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: I got so much goddamn pussy this weekend.
Cop 1: Al, come on, man. Focus! Is everything alright?
Cop 2: Yes.

Good Cop/ "Bad" (Michael Jackon song) Cop
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: Cha'mone!

Good Cop/ Cop Who I Have Incriminating Photos Of
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: ...Let him go.

Good Cop/ Self-loathing Cop Who Tries and Fails to Cover Up His Low Self-Esteem By Talking About All the Girls He Gets
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: I got so much goddamn pussy this weekend.
Cop 1: Al, come on, man. Focus! Is everything alright?
Cop 2: ...No.

Good Cop/ Coked-up Cop Who Is Working on a Screenplay
Cop 1: We wanna make this easy on you. If you didn't do it, just tell us who did.
Me: I have no idea!
Cop 2: And then. And then! And then you realize that the dad, the dad, is the one who's been stealing the money from the business the whole time! It's a twist, man. It fucking ends with a twist! It's gonna be huge, man! I got lots of good shit bouncing around in my head, dude. I'm going to LA! I'm gonna do it.

I think my boss is the devil.

Me: *Knocking*

Boss: Who is it?

Me: Hi, boss. It's me.

Boss: Oh, hey, Tony. Yeah, yeah. Come in, bro.

Me: You wanted to talk to me?

Boss: Yeah, Tony, yeah. Wanted to talk to you about your career.

Me: Oh, okay. What about?

Boss: Well, to be honest, Tony, your numbers really leave something to be desired.

Me: What? What numbers? I'm selling well, getting corporate account leads. I'm bringing in a lot of money here.

Boss: Tony, sometimes it's not about the money, dude. *Pause* Sometimes it's about the virgin sacrifices.

Me: Yeah, been meaning to talk to you about those...

Boss: This isn't the first time we've had this conversation, Tony.

Me: I know, I know. It's just... I'm still not really sure how I feel about sacrificing virgins.

Boss: Okay, well, how many have you got under your belt now?

Me: Um, zero, I think.

Boss: And how many did we agree you should be sacrificing each month?

Me: I think you said the corporate minimum was seven.

Boss: So... that leaves a... shortfall of... seven. Thus far.

Me: Yeah. Good math. But I was talking to some other managers and they were saying there's no company policy on virgin sacrifices.

Boss: *Booming, gravelly voice* WHO DARES DEFY ME?

Me: Brendan. From accounting.

Boss: That d-bag.

Me: But I'm doing great at my goat's-blood-drinking.

Boss: Great. How many pints a day?

Me: Four or five. At the very least.

Boss: Good, good. And the snatching-babies-from-open-windows?

Me: Two so far this month.

Boss: Excellent. Quite excellent. The dark lord is pleased.

Me: *Blushing* Thanks...

Boss: You know, Tony, if you just threw a few more bricks through church window, I see no reason why you couldn't be doing my same job in a thousand years.

Me: You really think so?

Boss: No. I'm leading you on. I am pure lies and confusion.

Me: Oh. So you didn't really like my tie last week?

Boss: That tie made you look fat.

Me: How can a tie make someone look fat?

Boss: I don't know. But you found a way with that tie last week. And gay. It made you look gay, too. Tony, all I'm saying is that you've got to really want it.

Me: Want what?

Boss: The destruction of all that is good and holy and decent.

Me: I'm beginning to think maybe this job's not for me.

Boss: You can't ever leave, Tony. Ever. EVER! Mua ha ha! Ha ha ha! *More maniacal laughter*

Me: Really? Ever?

Boss: Well, two weeks. We'd need two weeks notice.

Me: Oh, that's not so bad. Okay, so here's my two weeks notice.

Boss: And there will be exit interviews! *Self-consciously spooky voice* Exit interviews! And paperwork! Mountains and mountains of paperwork! Mua ha ha! Ha ha ha! *Still more maniacal laughter, but this time it's obvious he feels anxious that I'm undaunted* Scared yet?

Me: Um, gosh. No. No, I'm not.

Boss: And you'll have to meet with Cheryl. FROM THE FIERY DEPTHS OF HUMAN RESOURCES!

Me: I like Cheryl. Cheryl's nice. What's wrong with Cheryl?

Boss: No reason. *It's clear that he's really hiding some pain behind his coal-black eyes* No reason.

Me: It's okay. You can tell me.

Boss: The... The bitch turned me down for a date.

Me: What? You? Why? You're suave. You're a good talker. You possess mind-control.

Boss: She said I reek of sulfur.

Me: *Pause* Noooooo...

Boss: Really? You don't think I reek of sulfur?

Me: You... I hardly ever noticed.

Boss: I tried covering it up with some Old Spice. Does it work?

Me: Well, you're not using too little Old Spice. I will say that much.

Boss: Shoot, man! I can't do anything right! I drive such a nice car, I go to such hip dance clubs, I am the creator of famines and plagues. And still, I can't get a nice girl. *Wipes what appears to be a tear from the corner of his eye*

Me: Hey, listen. It's been great. I'm gonna go back to work now, alright. But my two weeks notice is in, okay? Do you want me to be the one to e-mail Cheryl?

Boss: Sure. You know what? You wanna grab a drink tonight after work?

Me: Oh. Me? I'm... I'm real busy. I've got to walk my dog and do some grocery stuff.

Boss: No prob, no prob. Just some time before you quit, alright? The two of us. Out on the town. Chasing skirts! Eat some souls? I know this great place to steal some souls.

Me: Definitely. Definitely. For sure. Chasing skirts. *Backing out the door*

Boss: Alright! You're not just leading me on, are you? We're gonna get drinks? *Really desperate, sad, and pathetic looking*

Me: Yeah, man. For sure. It's gonna be fun. *Inching closer and closer to the exit, one foot actually out the door*

Boss: You're the best! The best! Oh, this is gonna be awesome!

Me: Awesome, for sure. Hundred percent.

Boss: We're bros! Bros for life!

Me: Bye. *Out the door, closing it behind me*

Boss: It's good having a bro. *Presses play on his computer. “Birthday Sex” comes on* This my jam!

I love wine coolers.

I LOVE WINECOOLERS!!!1!

i Don't eevn care who konws about it because they are sooooooo good. Im a bad adult or whatever ths stupid blog says so i can like win e coolers and pass it off like its funny and not effemnate.

kI dont wanna go to work anymore i just wanna drink wine coolers all the time.

I just had a red one& it tasted like a Juice squeeze and bfeore that i had a blue one and it tsted like a melted otter pop. Generic otter pops wer bad but the real ones were real good and the blue wine cooler tasted like teh real blue otter pop.

I went to some stupid praty today and ths girl was drnking a YELLOW wine cooler and i drank one to be funny aND NOW ICANT STOP DRINKING THEM.

aFter my 9th or 11rd this girl said 'tony stop drinking tho wine coolers and get out of m y house." broken bartles &jaymes bttles are good weapons and i cut her real good with it because she cant talk like that about wine coolers.

My shirt's all stianed yellow blue and green and purple cuz i 've been dirnking wne coolers all day and red with bloodcuz i think just killed someone for telling me t o stop.

If you try to go to a bar adn order a wine cooler theyl'l tel you they don't sreve wine coolers and theyll tell you "oh my god is that blood on your shirt? & whydo you have a broken bottle? someone call the cops!" and when he wont quiet down whn you tell him to quiet down youll have to cut him with yoyur broken bottle.

a good way to get more wine coolers without piaying for them at a liqor store is to be coveredin blood cuz the guy behind the counter wll know how much you love win ecoolers and he'll know its not worth it trying to stop you

a g]ood way to get a free cab ride is oFfEer the cabby a wine cooler for a ride and promising not to hurt him with a broken bottle if he drives you home.

I just added tonic water and paint thinner to windex and ti doesnt taste like a wine cooler or otter pop but it's ok and i'lll probbly drink more. i'm good at making Wnecoolers.

i wanna be a Professional winecooler taste tester but i dont no how much they get payed but that's ok because i think i have a good idea about how to not have to pay rent. it invloves a broken bottle.

I planned poorly for being stranded on this desert island.

1. Okay. I really wish I didn't put Rumours on my list of five things I'd bring if I were stranded on a desert island. Granted, it's one of the greatest albums of all time. Definitely Fleetwood Mac's best effort. But, man, there are dozens and dozens of things I would have rather brought. And, dude, if I wanted to bring along a CD, I should have put a CD player on the list too. Then there's the issue of electricity. Or at least batteries. That's another thing I'd need to put on the list just for a Fleetwood Mac album. That would have been 60% of my list just to hear “Go Your Own Way.” “Rhiannon” and “Landslide” aren't even on Rumours, for God's sake.
God, it is hot on this desert island. It is really a desert island.
I would gladly, happily, trade out the CD for a bucket of cool, fresh water. Or the ability to purify the spring water that's been giving me debilitating diarrhea since I washed up on this god forsaken island's shores.
Or even just one of those dinky fan/mister things. You know what I'm talking about? The spray bottle with the fan? I am blistering in the daytime heat. Blistering. Some balm would be a good thing for the list. Because I am literally blistering.

2. I admit, yes, I was initially glad to have brought along For Whom the Bell Tolls. It's my favorite book. It gets my heart beating every time. The action. The drama. The romance. The fact that the paper makes excellent kindling. Sure I was only able to use it for one night of fire and sure I've been quivering and shaking in a fetal position as I try to fall asleep ever since, but how was I to have known that the temperature would drop so radically at night?

3. And at first I was happy to have brought along a lifetime supply of ChocoTacos. Yes, they're delicious. Yes, they were refreshingly cool under the hot tropical sun. Yes, I am glad to have had any sustenance on this barren sandbar 2,000 miles from land. But, again, ChocoTacos are one of those things that require other things to be of any actual use. Mainly refrigeration. Because now I have a lifetime supply of melted-ice-cream-filled mylar bags. And now they are attracting ferocious fire ants, which are very scary in light of my aforementioned blisters.
Maybe if I store the ChocoTacos on the other side of the island, the ants won't find me. Oh no, they see me. Oh, God, it's too late! They're coming right for me and they smell fear!

4. Flares? Nah. A radio set? Nope. Anything to construct some rudimentary shelter? Thanks, but no thanks. I'm just great with this Whoopee Cushion I asked for.
Oh, I am so glad to have brought along some comic relief. Just listen to it. PFFFST! Oh, the hilarity. I would laugh if my throat weren't so painfully, painfully parched.
Good news, though, everybody. At the rate I'm losing weight here, I'll be able to use the Whoopee Cushion as a flotation device in about three days.
Are there sharks out there?

5. But I am glad to have brought along Roscoe, my family dog. Sorry, Roscoe. You were delicious.

I would like to thank my low self-esteem.

They say it's good to set tangible goals for yourself; if you want to be successful in life, you have to know what you're striving for.

Well, I know I like entertaining people, so I've decided to write an acceptance speech for some big award that recognizes what a great entertainer I am. I don't know exactly which award I'll be winning, but I do know who I'd like to thank. So here goes...

Wow, this is such an honor! I've won an award! This is total validation of my worth as a human being! Whoo-hoo!

Man, when I was in kindergarten and peed myself because I couldn't undo the clasps on my overalls, I never thought this was going to be happening! And I bet my classmates who were laughing at me then weren't expecting this either. But I've been trying to make people laugh ever since.

Well... wow! So many people to thank... ummm... First and foremost, I'd like to my low self-esteem! Without you, low self-esteem, I would never have the drive, the spirit, the borderline-neurotic desire to please people. I mean, if I were well-adjusted, would I have the desire to debase myself in front of complete strangers? Not at all.

God! Who else? I'd like to thank all the girls in high-school who never talked to me. It was you that made me find new ways to get attention (cuz God knows I wasn't gonna get it for my looks!).

And Mrs. Giacometti! I can't forget you! Even after all the therapy! When we had a parent-teacher conference in sixth-grade, you told my parents I would never amount to anything. I guess I proved you wrong, which has been my driving motivation since I was twelve.

I also have to thank my utter lack of sports skills. You've been a constant presence in my life, utter lack of sports skills.

And how can I even begin to talk about sports without thanking the girl I lost to in a wrestling match freshman year of high school. And all the girls teams my CYO baskteball team regularly lost to in third-grade. Man, what memories.

Okay, okay. They're telling me to wrap it up, so I just have a list of people...

All the guys at bars who girls would rather talk to than me. All the job interviewers who never called me back. All the really, really, really awkward, embarrassing things I've done that I feel I have to make up for. Gosh, the list goes on and on.

Thanks to all the people who were funnier than me in college. I've now accomplished my one goal! In your face! Proof that people like me more than you! Yay!

And last but certainly not least, I have to thank drugs and alcohol. You guys were there for me when no one else was. And I know you'll be there for me again.

Thanks everybody! And keep loving me! Please! Please?

I was in law school for two months.

I've withdrawn from my law school after being a student there for two months.
To put things in perspective, here's a list of things I did longer than two months.

Thought it was cool to shave my stomach/chest.
Considered "Last Resort" by Papa Roach to be the pinnacle of musical achievement.
Ate a Philly Cheese Steak every night at my dining hall.
Enjoyed the comedy of Wayne Brady.
Was convinced "naive" was pronounced the same as "knave."
Dated a girl with the same first name as my sister.
Was angry they killed Liam Neeson in the first Star Wars prequel.
Used "I'm in law school!" as a pickup line.
Had a red beard.

Coming soon...

The return of Bad Adult...

I shaved my beard.

Yes, I shaved my beard.

BUT

at least I still have a sweet mustache, right?


And awesome monocle.

I got some bad news today.

I got some rather unfortunate news today. I found out that one of my former high school teachers has been charged with molesting some male students. It's weird, but I never noticed anything creepy about the guy at all. And here he is, seven years later accused of taking advantage of some of his students who were in the same position I once was. That's a mind-fuck, right? It really makes you wonder... what's so bad about me?

I mean, why did this guy never once make a pass at me?

Now, don't get me wrong; I'm fully aware that it's no fun to be robbed of your innocence by someone in whom you've placed your trust. Someone who should be guiding you through already-difficult years of adolescence. But still, I can't help but wonder what it was about me that was such a turnoff for him.

And let me just say, I'm not into guys or anything. Not in the least. But would it have killed him to just once have made an inappropriate comment about, say, how he was pleased to see me growing into my body?

While I'm sure that had I been fondled by this man back in the day, I would be negatively impacted for a long, long time, at least it would cure my lingering suspicion that I'm a disgusting fatty.

It's things like this that can really scar a person. It's almost enough to make you lose faith in our education system. How can things like this happen? Of course, I'm speaking now of the abominable sexual abuse perpetrated by the teacher.

I am not speaking about his rudely having neglected to "accidentally" graze my package with an errant hand while I stayed after class. Didn't he even care about what I may have been packing? Didn't he even care about my feelings?