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Thursday, 17 April
Help Me With My Insane Plans

Trying to decide who on earth is the world's worst person is a matter necessarily of some arbitrariness; after all, there are a lot of candidates. There are awful world leaders, horrid serial murderers, etc. etc., which after a while can lead to a kind of overload paralysis. So at some point, we each have to choose, based as I said partly on pure arbitrariness combined with our own irrational preferences and predilections. Personally, I've decided that it's Shaquille O'Neal.

And I don't even care about basketball. In fact, I'm one of those perverse people who so aggressively doesn't care about basketball that I get a sort of twisted pleasure out of when the Sonics do terribly (it's been a good few years). So it may seem odd to pick on some galoot who plays a sport I neither watch nor care about as World's Worst Person, but Shaq is so clearly a person of such distinctive putridness, I had little choice. He barely edged out Donald Rumsfeld, but if Rumsfeld starts pimping for cheeseburgers, I could go the other way too. (Can I confess something weird? You know what creeps me way the fuck out about Rumsfeld? His gums. I'm not kidding. He wields those creepy pink horrors like weapons at news conferences. Those gums aren't human.)

Anyway, I've decided that Shaq is so impossibly unpleasant that measures should be taken by our government. I've decided that Shaq should have his own government agent who accompanies him at all times, and periodically--specifically, whenever Shaq does something crappy, like talk or move--this agent would do something crappy to Shaq. For instance, when Shaq makes a comment in which he mocks another player's foreign accent, the agent would jab Shaq sharply in the asshole with his thumb. We'll see how long that keeps up. Or if Shaq made some insulting reference to the "Queens," say, the agent would pipe right up. "Let's go, Shaq. I'm taking you to look at some Chihuly art." "What's that?" Shaq might respond. "It's hard to explain, but trust me, it's an unbearable experience."

We're talking operant conditioning here, I know, and it sounds a little cold and clinical and, uh, unconstitutional probably, but remember, we're talking about the worst person on earth! He made Kazaam! for Christ's sake! Just for that little heartstopping stunt, he should be sentenced to one month of listening to Mary Louise Parker speak. Let's see the fucker make a movie after that. He probably wouldn't be able to speak after that kind of earfuck.

I know he this seems draconian and pretty narrow in the scope of the law. I know he has his fans and supporters too, but they are clearly deluded pyschopaths. Maybe we can get them some help too, but for now, we have to address the root cause. Shaq. Stand with me, people; united, we can make this a better world.

For me. And isn't that what's important?

Wednesday, 04 December
Today I Think of Death

Don't ask me how this happened, but I just caught myself spacing out. I was fantasizing about how great it would be if the film director Kevin Smith was walking down the street, just maybe eating a hot dog or perhaps talking to someone else I hate, and then, without warning, a huge moving carpet of earwigs would swiftly consume him. He'd have only time to scream, "Oh my god, earwigs!" before succumbing, and one of his arms would weakly wave above the carnage, Hollywood-style, before it went down into the roil. Then the earwigs would vanish suddenly, and there would only be a pile of gleaming, untalented bones.

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