Letter: I Refuse to Place My Faith in Your Penis Messiah

Published on Funny or Die

Dear Matthew Hunter,

Thank you for your email. We at Christian Injury Services, LTD, love getting inquiries from potential customers. As our motto says, we care for your physical and spiritual ailments. With that said, we cannot help with your penis’s stigmata. Or, as you have called it, “dickmata”.

We have never heard of this condition before, and lack the experience and insight with which to effectively treat it. Though, for what it’s worth, we don’t think dressing your penis in a beard and robe and calling it “Pejus” (or “Jenis”) will help. To us, and we hope this doesn’t come as a shock, this sounds like more of a venereal disease.

At Christian Injury Services, LTD, we help Christians who have been injured. We are not a treatment center, nor do we treat specifically Christian injuries, as you have implied. Such as: you “fell in a pool of holy water and [your] penis floated to the top and walked across it with [you] in tow”. How is this any different than falling in a pool of normal water? Also: where are you finding pools of holy water that big? Are you in Europe? Just know that we don’t have a European branch.

As Christians, we believe in miracles, but we don’t think that waving your fully erect genitals over the prophylactic aisle in Kroger will make those items multiply in number. That’s blasphemy and public indecency. And we would guess that the men who detained you were not “Pharipeens” but police officers.

Mr. Hunter, I don’t usually do this, but I feel led to offer my advice. I think it’s great that you are a man of faith and are so steadfast in your beliefs. In most cases, I believe that if God gives a person an earthly mission then that person should carry it out to the very end. But in this case I don’t think that at all. The people whose penises are following your penis around in the streets crying “Hosannah! Hosannah!” shouldn’t be trusted, nor should your penis be riding a miniature donkey bareback–that sounds unhealthy–and I just flat out don’t believe that your penis can heal penis leprosy–a condition that, according to my sources, doesn’t exist.

It’s wonderful that your penis is interested in public speaking, but it’s hard for me to believe that it can preach. And although I’m impressed that your penis typed that one paragraph of your email, I have issues with it. “Blessed are the weiners in spirit, for theirs is the dongdom of penis.” That’s not even clever. Your penis obviously just replaced certain words from the Sermon on the Mount with profanity. The real penis messiah–and I’m not saying that there is one or will be one–wouldn’t plagiarize.

In your email, you said you wrote this in your garden at night and that your penis began to “cry blood”. Listen to me when I tell you this: that is not okay. You need to see a medical professional as soon as possible. Cancel all your plans tomorrow for your penis to be betrayed by a disciple’s penis and crucified–gross–on a miniature cross and go see a doctor. Why would you agree to all that anyways?

My advice, Mr. Hunter: just keep it in your pants.


Karen Westerberg

P.S. Tell your penis that I’m sorry, but I cannot accept him or his message into my heart.

The Cast of a Syfy Movie go to the DMV

Published on The Higgs-Weldon

Intercom: Number 56, next available window please. 56, next available window.

Commander: This is taking forever. Scientist, update us.

Scientist: Let’s see: we’ve been here approximately forty-five minutes; I predict we’ll be here for another hour. At least.

Disposable Character: Oh, no. No, no, no.

Commander: Disposable Character, get a hold of yourself. What’s wrong with you?

Disposable Character:  It’s nothing, Sir. I just… I have to pee.

Arrogant Marine: (Incredulous) Oh my god.

Commander: No. It’s too risky. They could call your number at any second.

Scientist: I’m afraid he’s right.

Disposable Character: But they’re on number 56. I’m number 112!

Attractive Female Engineer: Come on, Charles. He’s got to pee.

Arrogant Marine: Whoa-ho-ho! Since when do you go by Charles, Commander?

Commander: Cool it, Arrogant Marine. Fine. Have it your way, Disposable Character. We’ve got your six.

Disposable Character drops his alien rocket launcher and runs to the bathroom.

Arrogant Marine: (laughs) He’s a goner.

Attractive Female Engineer shoots Arrogant Marine a dirty look.

Intercom: Due to a malfunction with our number generator, the next number is 112. Number 112, next available window.

Attractive Female Engineer: 112 was Disposable Character’s number

Commander: My god.

Attractive Female Engineer: Someone’s got to go get him.

Arrogant Marine: No way, honey. As soon as one of us leaves, they’ll call their number, and that’s two of us who won’t get their alien rocket launcher license renewed. Nuh-uh. I’m staying right here.

Attractive Female Engineer: What are you suggesting? That we just leave him in there? That we just let them skip his number?

Scientist: There’s nothing we can do for him now.

Attractive Female Engineer: Bullshit. I took a vow to never leave another man behind. I’m going after him.

Commander: But you’re a girl! Girls can’t go running into the boys’ bathroom! Someone’s bound to get embarrassed!

Attractive Female Engineer: (loading her alien rocket launcher) I know the risks.

Commander: Jennifer, please. You’re number 113. You’re next. Don’t do this.

Attractive Female Engineer: I’m sorry, Charles. This is something I’ve got to do.

Attractive Female Engineer and Commander lock eyes.

Arrogant Marine: Geez! Get a room you two!

Arrogant Marine and Scientist high-five. Scientist nervously adjusts his glasses, unaccustomed to spanking digits with cool marines.

Commander: Fine. Just go.

Arrogant Marine watches Attractive Female Engineer walk to the bathroom. He whistles and looks at Commander.

Arrogant Marine: Nice.

Commander: Watch yourself, son.

Intercom: Number 113, next available window, please. 113, next available window.

Commander: Jennifer! Jennifer, that’s you!

Scientist: When will it end?

Arrogant Marine: Don’t worry, sir. She got herself into this bag of dicks, she can get herself out.

Commander: What am I doing? I’ve got to go after her.

Scientist: I wouldn’t advise that, sir. According to my readings—

Commander: To hell with reading! I’m going, and that’s an order.

Commander makes his way to the bathroom, alternately crawling and ducking behind chairs, aiming his alien rocket launcher at possible threats, mostly harmless civilians.

Arrogant Marine: Looks like it’s just you and me, four eyes.

Intercom: Number 114, next available window, please. 114, next available window.

Scientist: That’s me.

Arrogant Marine: Well, at least one of us is getting their license renewed today.

A pipe bursts in the bathroom. Water leaks from underneath the door. Arrogant Marine and Scientist aim their launchers at the bathroom. Seconds pass.

Intercom: Last call, 114. 114, last call.

Arrogant Marine: Go. I’ve got this.

Scientist walks to the counter a few feet away.

Attractive Female Engineer and Commander return from the bathroom. The commander is limping and supported by Attractive Female Engineer. Commander is covered in toilet water.

Arrogant Marine: My god, Sir! What the hell happened? Where’s Disposable Character?

The Commander speaks with great difficulty.

Commander: Still pooping. Says he’ll come back. Tuesday. After work.

Arrogant Marine: But why are you so wet?

Commander: Alien fixing the toilet. Pipe busted.

Arrogant Marine cocks his alien rocket launcher. Scientist returns.

Scientist: Did you say alien?

Attractive Female Engineer: He means a foreigner. He’s just old-fashioned.

They all laugh and spank digits.

Arrogant Marine: I’m glad you’re alright, Sir.

Intercom: 115, next available window please. 115, next window.

Arrogant Marine: Well, that’s me.

Commander: Go. I’ll be alright.

Commander gives Arrogant Marine a wry smile, because even though he’s arrogant, the Commander sees something of himself in him.

Arrogant Marine: Is that an order?

Commander: Aw, get outta here.

Arrogant Marine has learned something about respect. He salutes and leaves. Commander gives Attractive Female Engineer a deep kiss.

Scientist: Get a room, you two!

This time, it’s Scientist who offers Arrogant Marine, standing at the counter a few feet away, his digits for the spanking. They high-five.

Arrogant Marine: Atta boy, four eyes.

How the Kama Sutra Was Actually Written

Published on College Humor

Vatsyayana, the writer of the Kama Sutra, approaches two trusted friends, Raja and Prateek.

Vatsyayana: I have been commissioned by the king to write a book on human sexuality.

Raja: This is important work. I will help you.

Prateek: Indeed, human sexuality deserves study. I, too, will help you.

Vatsyayana: I will write it in seven parts, with parts devoted to courtship, virtue, sexual congress, and other topics. Let us start with sexual congress. You both have had sex, right?

Raja and Prateek become uncomfortable.

Raja and Prateek: Oh, yeah. Yeah yeah.

Vatsyayana (also uncomfortable): Great. We are all so experienced. I, for one, am very experienced, but I don’t want this book to be only about my experiences—of which there are so many—so first tell me some of your favorite positions.

Raja: Well, uh—

Prateek: Um. Well we might begin with the easiest one. The one we all know.

Vatsyayana: Yes, the first one we all did when we had sex the very first time. Which is the…

Raja: First. Position?

Vatsyayana and Prateek: Yes!

Vatsyayana (writing): First…position. Got it. Now, one thing this volume needs is illustrations. Raja, you are truly a great illustrator. Would you mind sketching out the first position for us?

Raja (reluctantly taking the parchment): It would be my honor. (Drawing) So, there is the man, obviously, and the man is—

Prateek: On—top?

All: Top! Yes.

Vatsyayana: Yes, that makes sense.

Raja: Which would make the woman on bottom. Okay. So their legs are like so, and their arms are like so, and their expressions suggest sublime pleasure. And the penis goes…

Prateek (laughing uncomfortably): Well we all know where the penis goes.

Vatsyayana: Heh, yawn, that is boring.

Raja draws quickly, avoiding eye contact.

Vatsyayana: We are making tremendous progress. Prateek, tell us one of your favorites next.

Prateek: My favorite? Oh, well, there are so many.

Vatsyayana: Then pick one.

Prateek: I like—I like—(glancing at a nearby park)—a position called The Tree and—

Vatsyayana: And?

Prateek: —and the Other Tree.

Raja (squinting): I don’t think I know that one.

Prateek: It’s obscure.

Vatsyayana: Tell it.

Prateek (loosening his collar, coughing): Sure. So, with the Tree and the Other Tree, the woman stands up straight.

Vatsyayana: Like a tree?

Prateek: Like a tree. And the man also stands—um—like a tree. And then they stand there. Sexing each other. Until they are done with that.

Raja, who has been drawing, stops.

Raja: By just standing there?

Vatsyayana: Prateek, are you sure you have had sex before?

Prateek (sputtering): Well, yeah! Yes. So much of it! More than he has (indicating Raja)!

Raja: Let me tell you one that I like called the Beetle and the Grass Blade. (Whispering) So the man and woman meet at a well, and the man’s like, wow, this woman! And he talks to her for a while. And he asks where she lives. And she lives nearby. And he asks about her family first, buttering her up…for the sex.

Vatsyayana: Is all this necessary?

The king’s female servant approaches them from behind.

Servant: The king—

Raja screams and drops the drawings.

Servant: The king wishes to know the progress of the book. (The servant sees the drawings on the ground) The Tree and the Other Tree? What is this? These positions…seem….? You all have had sex before right?

Vatsyayana, Prateek, and Raja: Oh, absolutely. Absolutely.

Prateek: I just had some a minute ago.

Servant: Good, because the king expects this book to guide sexual union between lovers for all time. Are you three capable of handling this responsibility?

Vatsyayana: We’ve had lots of sex. Please.

Servant (stepping closer, whispering): Then you know the position the Jealous Scorpion?

Vatsyayana: Of course.

Servant (bringing her face close to Vatsyayana’s, whispering even quieter): And you know the Ascending Mollusk?

Vatsyayana (whispering intensely): We love the Ascending Mollusk.

Servant (inches from Vatsyayana’s face): Then do tell. Because I just made it up.

The Servant walks away.

Vatsyayana (turning to the others): Want to come back to sexual congress?

Prateek and Raja: Yes.

Vatsyayana: Okay, Courtship. Raja, go.

Raja: A man and a woman meet at a well, and the man asks about her family…

Flash Fiction: Princess

Published on The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature

“Am I a commoner?”


“Why am I a commoner?”

“The difference between princesses and commoners is the way you look and the way you feel.”

“You don’t know how I feel.”

“I’m a princess because of how I look and how I feel.”

“You’re naked. Are all princesses naked?”


I checked the timer: seven minutes left. There was an 11×17 framed photograph of Princess in the bathroom. It was high above the toilet. The eyes looked straight ahead, judging everything. All over the house there were photos of her.

A little saline leaked out of Princess’s butt hole. I checked the instructions her mom had written. It said to add air to the enema
using the syringe, so I did.

“Does that not hurt?” I said.



“Could you get me another snack?”

“As soon as you’re on the toilet I can.” To drain, the instructions said.

“How do my parents know you?”

“Through Mrs. Cantner.”

“Did you babysit for her?”


“Are you the babysitter that let the twins draw all over their painting?”

“I didn’t let them.” I was in the other room for five minutes. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t like it was a Picasso. It was just a pre-framed Hobby Lobby one. Some guys fishing. Big deal.

“Why did you let them?”

More saline leaked out and formed a dark pool on the beach towel beneath her. I added air. “I didn’t let them. I had to take out the trash and when I came back they had done it. I wouldn’t have let them. Does this thing always leak like this?”

“Was it your first time babysitting?”

“No. I’ve babysat for over a hundred years. I’m the best in the world.”

“So that’s why my mom got you to babysit for me!”

Mrs. Cantner had tried to blacklist me from the St. Michael’s league of bitchy moms at the worst possible time, but my mom, one of St. Michael’s bitchiest, begged Princess’s mom on my behalf for a second chance. Plus, Princess’s mom was desperate. No one else wants to give a kid an enema.


Five minutes left, then I would put Princess on the toilet to drain, her mom would be home in an hour, and I’d have all my money. I repeated the mantra I’d been saying all week: Panama City; hotel; Kevin; Panama City; hotel; Kevin.

Saline streamed down her butt cheek. I added air.

A sound like bubble gum popping inside a mouth emitted from inside her butt. Saline and the rest rushed down her butt cheek onto the towel. My first thought was to check the instructions, but then I was scooping her up, dodging the streaming enema, the streaming butt hole, setting her on the toilet seat. She inspected herself, her mouth tight and serious, like a car mechanic would his own car.

“Are you okay?”

“How much time was left?” she said. She was so calm about it.

“Five minutes,” I said.

“Ugh. That means we have to do it again.”

“Wait, let me check. It might have been less.”

I balled up the beach towel–the saline had formed a dark circle on the yoga mat beneath it–and took it to the laundry room.

“You should call my mom,” she called. “We might have to do it again.”

I checked myself in the laundry room. My clothes were wrecked.

Panama City; hotel; Kevin; Panama City; hotel; Kevin.

Screw it. I dialed the number.

“Hey, Mrs. Shotley. So, I was doing Catherine’s enema and the bubble–popped? There was just a couple minutes left. Um. Let me check my phone. Two minutes and two seconds left. Okay. The cabinet.”

I opened the cabinet to look for the spare enema tube, but instead I found a hundred dollar bill.

“Found it. Yeah. I can do it. I know you went out on a limb for me. I can do it. K. Bye.”

“Do we have to do it again?” Princess called.

I put the money under my foot in my shoe. I don’t know why, but that seemed safest.

“No,” I said. “She said it’s fine.”

Then I walked straight out of the front door and left Princess to drain. I shouldn’t have left, but I did, and I walked the three miles straight to Kevin’s house.

Letter: How to Close the Achievement Gap

Published on The Big Jewel

Dear teachers, administrators and faculty of Tennessee public schools,

I am your new Secretary of Education, Mark Jessler, and I was elected to accomplish one thing: to close the achievement gap between the underprivileged and the privileged schools. As you know, every time the underprivileged schools raise their test scores, the privileged schools raise theirs even more, so that year after year the achievement gap is wider. How are we to fix this?

Easy. We unteach the privileged students.

Unteaching the privileged students will be easy. The state is working hard on rewriting the textbooks incorrectly, but until those are ready, the teachers at the privileged schools should stop using the current “correct” textbooks and start utilizing a little technique I like to call Uplifting Misinformation (UM). UM is the process of transforming the hard facts of life into fun-filled lies. From now on, the Holocaust was a summer camp and the Trail of Tears was a prog band. UM achieves two purposes: it makes our privileged children happy to believe that history is as pleasant as a puppy’s yawn and it ensures that they fail all of their state history tests.

But UM is not enough. That’s why there’s stage two: Evasive Reinforcement by Motivation (ERM). ERM is the technique of praising a student instead of providing them an education. If a student asks who the president of the United States is, tell them that they are if they choose to believe! If a student asks what’s two plus two, tell them nice shoes! If a student says of their shoes, “Thanks,” you say, “George Washington! 5! Your eyes are baby stars!”

Pretty soon our dumb kids will be as smart as our smart kids, and our smart kids will be as dumb as our dumb kids, and then who’s the smarter? Me, Secretary of Education Mark Jessler, that’s who. Or is it whom? Who cares? Now for both cases it’s “whum.”

There are some of you whum may be wondering: “Mr. Jessler, are UM and ERM enough? What should we do about our privileged students whum are about to graduate? Those whum have spent ten or eleven years in our state’s finest, most privileged schools?” In that case we move to the most extreme stage, stage three: Willful Utilization of Ze Actual Truth (WUZAT). It was created by an Austrian colleague of mine. WUZAT may come as a surprise to you, because it is the undoing of everything we have taught our students in public schools. WUZAT means to reverse the traditional teachings of the public schools and divert our students through honesty. If we tell high caliber students the dismal truths about public school and its curriculum, they will inevitably question everything they have ever been taught in our school system, and their fragile psyches will crumble. It is our final stand when UM and ERM have failed. You will all receive the WUZAT pdf that contains the WUZAT truths, but it should only be used in extreme cases. Some sample WUZAT truths:

• Truth #5: We made up Sine, Cosine, and Tangent to mess with you.
• Truth #9: If you suspect that your teacher hates you, you’re right. In fact, all of your teachers hate you.
• Truth #102: Years ago we were supposed to revise the mandatory sixth grade reading list you all received (which includes LolitaAmerican Psycho (Illustrated), and just the baby-on-a-spit scene from The Road). That’s on us.
• Truth #20: Diagram this sentence: The unemployment rate for young high school graduates is 29.9%.
• Truth #58: You think you choose the prom king and queen? Grow up. This is bigger than you and me.

By using UM, ERM and, in extreme cases, WUZAT, we can save Tennessee. Just think, if the underprivileged schools increase their pass rate by 10% and the privileged schools decrease theirs by 15%, then we can eliminate the achievement gap in two or six or some number of years — I don’t know. Don’t ask me to do math. I was homeschooled.

Mark Jessler

Secretary of Education

Letter: The Reigning Jigsaw Puzzle Champion of the World Apologizes

Published on The Big Jewel

Dear Residents of Providence, Rhode Island,

My name is Matt “Jigsaw” Sawyer, reigning jigsaw puzzle champion of the world. I take full responsibility for what happened over the weekend in Providence. I now clearly see my mistake. I do not expect for you to forgive me so easily, but please allow me to explain myself.

First, let me just say that I am no stranger to solving jigsaw puzzles in extreme conditions. In 2000, I solved “Kittens in a Basket” while on a roller coaster. In 2002, I solved “Colorful Tulip Field, Keukenhow Park, Netherlands” while at the bottom of the Atlantic. In 2005, I solved “Uh oh! Puppy Trouble!” while solving “Neuschwanstein Castle” while in zero gravity. And in 2007, I trained a robotic arm to complete “Apple Harvest!” so that I could get back to completing the double-sided “Apples For Sale!/ Mmm! Apples!” So at least when a person decided to complete a life-scale jigsaw puzzle of Providence on top of Providence, it’s obvious that person was a professional.

Second, my intention was not to start any sort of puzzle-enthusiast crime wave. Have I started puzzle movements in the past? Sure I have. I spearheaded the Edgeless Movement back in ‘98 when I discarded all the edge pieces during the world championship in Toronto. I knew that if I was going to stand out among the giants of puzzle history I’d have to rock the boat a bit. And at the 2010 Berlin Open, I accidentally pioneered the Kein Foto Movement. You see, when I dumped the pieces out of the box during the final round they all just happened to be upside down. I mistakenly thought there was no picture, that they were blank — which I just figured was a German thing. But believe me, I had no intention of inspiring puzzle enthusiasts to print busy urban intersections from Google Earth at life scale and then paste them onto puzzle pieces. I also had no intention of inspiring them to then painstakingly match those pieces onto the actual corresponding urban intersections in midday traffic. It was not at all my intention to inspire this to happen all over the world, in the busiest of intersections, during the holiday season.

I won’t deny that puzzling is my life. I solved my first puzzle when I was too young to even remember it. I’m told that when I was 10 months old I pulled some boxes off a shelf, that I was crushed by a 36-piecer, and that I had to solve my way out from under the bastard piece by piece. You see, I have moved through life by solving puzzles, but every puzzle I have ever solved has now been disassembled and boxed up or digested by sharks. Last weekend it struck me how ephemeral puzzling, as a lifestyle, is (which I realized was a mental puzzle in and of itself — puzzle humor!). I realized that I needed to do something permanent in order to leave my mark. With that said, I now see how actually supergluing puzzle pieces onto real objects was a bad move. For instance, the homeless man I glued his own face to. I’m told that he should only suffer minor permanent damage from the adhesive, but hey, that guy has been sitting there since Google Earth photographed that street corner in 2009! Providence is a major city. You can’t sit on the same street corner for four years and not expect someone to glue something to your face.

Once again, I take responsibility not only for my actions, but for the actions of those I inspired. For example, I apologize to the sleeping Alabama schoolchild who was mis-solved as another similar-looking schoolchild, and to her parents who were subsequently confused but later ecstatic when TLC agreed to make a show out of it. I apologize for all of the puzzlers abroad who defaced cherished monuments. As an aside, the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem was not solved! Everyone who took a piece of the wall took a real piece of it!

I take responsibility for the bad outcomes, but for the good outcomes, too. Archaeologists in Niger would have lost the crumbling cranium of the recently unearthed Ardipithecus africanus — an early hominid many are claiming as the missing link — if puzzlers wouldn’t have come by at that moment and solved it into place. And as North and South Korean puzzlers put together all the pieces of their shared border on top of their already existing shared border, they stood in silence as an innocent child put the last puzzle piece in place, thus symbolizing their shared humanity and how they’re all just solving the puzzle of life together. Even Congress decided to solve their own puzzle as a gesture of solidarity but promptly fell into arguing over whether they should solve the budget crisis or “Aww! Penguins!” — I never claimed to be a miracle worker.

I realize that this letter in no way redresses the full extent of the damage done, but I stand by all of the consequences of my actions, good and bad, because I am, and always will be, a proud puzzler.

Yours truly,

Matt “Jigsaw” Sawyer

P.S. Tune in to TLC this Tuesday at 9 p.m. for “Picking up the Pieces: The Alabama Girl Who is a Puzzle of Her Cousin,” because I make an appearance!

Article: Classroom Seating Charts of the World

Published on the Higgs Weldon

“The Classic,” Plymouth, Massachusetts, 1713

“The Runway,” Paris, France

“The Snap and Pass,” Tuscaloosa, Alabama

“The Mosh Pit,” San Diego, California

“The Master Class,” Germany, 1941

“The Summoning of Nirgoth the All-Seeing Wraith,” Norway, 3AM

“Normal Day,” Detroit, Michigan

“Snake,” Nokia 3310, 2001

“The Contemporary,” Plymouth, Massachusetts, 2014

Listicle: 13 Tips for New Ghosts

Published on College Humor

(co-written with Matt Hunter)

If you are reading this then congratulations: you’re a ghost! The following is a selection of tips and tricks compiled from centuries of experience on how to properly and efficiently “ghost.” On most things we know as little about humans as they know about us, but of these following thirteen things we’re totally sure.

  1. Move only small, insignificant objects to have a subtle but psychologically crushing effect on your subject.

  1. Humans universally fear mirrored medicine cabinets. Get up right behind them to see their crazy faces when it closes.

  1. The first time a ghost knocked into a human carrying a stack of plates, it was an accident. Now it’s a tradition. Crash! Crash! Ha ha ha!

  1. If a human man in a black robe tries to sprinkle you with liquid from a vial, DO NOT let him. We’re not sure what it is but they take it very seriously so it could be something gross like boogers.

  1. When a subject uses an audio recording device, speak very low and slow, and only use a handful of words at a time. We suggest “henhouse” or “turtle chesting”. It doesn’t have to be scary or make sense as long as you say it slow enough.

  1. Humans do not use cabins like we use cabins (as community theaters).

  1. Ghosts pride themselves on perfect attendance. If you’re sick and absolutely must skip work the next day, let your subject family know by pulling one of them from their bed and giving them a good toss.

  1. Until recently, it was believed that VHS tapes were the most advanced hauntable technology, but the humans have made major advances with their latest invention, the Walkman.

  1. Be sure to have many techniques in your haunting tool kit. Consider manifesting in the physical realm as a bright light or planting a sleeper demon in the brain of the subject that lies dormant for years before emerging violently at an already awkward birthday party.

  1. Remember: before receiving your Ghosting Certificate, you must complete two Student Ghosting placements, one at a rural farmhouse and one at de-funded college theater.

  1. Old record players: yes! Old houses: yes! Old septic tanks: no.

  1. Allow your subjects to think that outside the house, or daytime, is a safe zone, just so you can eventually take that away from them too.

  1. Due to some strange law of human psychology, humans seem to only be aware of us after seeing a horror movie or after watching a Travel Channel Haunted America special. Check your subject’s local listings and be there. Heck, sit on the couch next to them and say things just low enough for them to think they heard something. We’re not the type to dish out bonus points, but, damn, that’d be creepy.

Article: HGTV’s All-new Fall Lineup

Published on College Humor

Most Embarrassing Dust Ruffles
Host Sabrina Soto transforms dust ruffle don’ts into dust ruffle damns!

Man Cave Crashers
Host Matt Blashaw follows one lucky couple home from a home improvement store, falls in love with the man’s wife, but somehow holds it together long enough to deliver on a monstrous man cave.

Sims Property Virgins
Watch first-time homebuyers turn their simulated house into a simulated home.

Love It or Lust It
As real estate agent David seeks to win homeowners over with a new home, home designer Hillary redesigns everyday objects in their current home into reprehensible sex toys.
House Hunters Intergalactic
Will they choose the comfy Mars One Pod A or the equally identical Mars One Pod B?
Vacay Crashers
Host Matt Blashaw waits outside one lucky couple’s hotel room window and imagines how much happier he’d make the man’s wife in that canopy bed.
Extreme Homes of the Homeless
Get the inside scoop on the most astonishing shacks, huts, and shanties of the 99% from Detroit to Denver.
DIY Sex Dungeons
Host Scott McGillivray helps swingers, bangers, and sex addicts transform their damp basements into chain-n-bang juice palaces.
Crash Crashers
Host Matt Blashaw renovates a humdrum intersection with glass and entrails after he broadsides one lucky couple in his pickup truck—because if he can’t have her no one can.

Listicle: 5 Children’s Books that Should Be Optioned as Movies Immediately

Published on College Humor

With the decline of the superhero movie era upon us, Hollywood will probably start relying more heavily on its other cash cow: children’s books. It’s obvious why children’s books are lucrative: they capture a wide audience with their friendly G and PG ratings and are already universally beloved because of their book counterparts. Plenty of directors have already gone this route (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Lorax, The Hobbit) and reaped the benefits, so the question is, why haven’t more directors caught on? Here’s a list of the best director-book pairings imaginable.


1. Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? as adapted by Tyler Perry

Who better to direct a film about characters with never more than one distinguishing personality trait than Tyler Perry? In his version, Brown Bear (the zany Madea character) will mispronounce things and do hilarious impressions of Stuck Up Whitey. By act two, Black Dog will confess to domestic violence and all the matriarchs will wear floppy hats. And at the end, we’ll see the children, and they’ll see us, and the abused Yellow Duck will stand up for herself, and most of the characters will get married.





Yellow Duck, Yellow Duck, I see that you have two black eyes.



It’s nothing. I was just cooking. And I flew into a branch. With both eyes.



She’s always doing that.


Whitey be like. [She walks on her back two legs and pantomimes a cane and top hat.]



Ha ha ha!


2. The Runaway Bunny as adapted by David Lynch


The Runaway Bunny the story of an overbearing mother bunny who promises to follow her baby bunny to the ends of the earth if he ever leaves her. The domestic violence subtext is obtuse, and if there’s one thing David Lynch is great at directing it’s terrifyingly abusive relationships.



The room is lit by a lamp with a pink lamp shade, making the room both warm and ominous. Momma Bunny sits at a wooden table where she is taking sheets from one stack of paper and transferring them to another stack, staring straight ahead at the wall. She wears a tattered bathrobe. Baby Bunny enters from his bedroom. He’s wearing a baseball cap, is holding a packed bag.

Baby Bunny

I’m running away. I’m sick of all the weird stuff that’s happening all the time.


Ominous synth music starts up.


Momma Bunny

How was work today, Phil?


Baby Bunny

(pinches the bridge of his nose, as if stressed)

Who is Phil?


An unseen studio audience chuckles as if a joke was told.


Baby Bunny

See! See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’m done with this.


Momma Bunny continues transferring papers. Baby Bunny walks across the thick carpet to the front door.


Momma Bunny

(stops transferring paper, but doesn’t turn)

Wherever you go, I’ll find you. Because you are my Baby Bunny.


Baby Bunny shivers. He exits through the front door.




Same scene as before. Baby Bunny enters from his bedroom as before. His mother is now a pile of meat. Baby Bunny is horrified. The pile of meat catches fire. The unseen studio audience explodes into laughter. Baby Bunny hangs his head.


3. Goodnight Moon as adapted by Terrence Malick

Goodnight Moon, published in 1947, took decades to catch on, but was eventually proclaimed as a key work in the “naming all the shit in your bedroom” genre. Like Brown Bear, there’s no plot, and who knows plotless movies better than Terrence Malick, director of To the Wonder, a film that’s synopsis can practically be boiled down to the words “Oklahoma” and “It’s”.





(Southern accent that stretches out the is)

Goodnight, chair.


Fifteen seconds pass uneventfully.




A beautiful mother, backlit by the setting sun, plays with her child on the rug. Inaudible laughter.




Goodnight, rug

4. Are You My Mother? as adapted by Charlie Kaufman


Are You My Mother? is abouta baby bird who hatches from its egg while its mother is gone to find food. In Charlie Kaufman's version, the baby bird would be born in a junkyard in the shadow of an American city where everything is tinted blue.After travelling the city and his MIND, he’d eventually find his way back to the nest to find out his mother wasn’t even looking for him. (SPOILER: His mom’s addicted to mescaline and the nest is full of holes.)




The junkyard is cluttered, dusty. The wind whistles. Baby Bird approaches the Automobile.




Are you my mother?


The Automobile doesn’t react.



(with more volume)

Are you my mother?


The Automobile sighs, and turns away.



Please. I’m scared.


The Automobile limps away. The size of the junkyard seems to swallow Baby Bird. NOTE: THE DIRECTOR’S CUT WILL END HERE.  


5. Green Eggs and Ham as adapted by Spike Lee


Green Eggs and Ham is about an insufferable little shit named Sam-I-Am who incessantly asks an unnamed character to try green eggs and ham until the character tries them. The moral of the story being: kids, if a stranger asks you to ingest something that may or may not be food, the best thing is to just give in. In Lee's version, Sam-I-Am is a drug dealer who has 24 hours to sell off a kilo of a new drug called Eggs and Ham before his irascible supplier murders him. There's just one problem: Sam's nephew dropped that shit in some Nickelodeon Gak.





Hey, man, you want to get high?



(Checks to see if the coast is clear)

Whatchu got?



You heard of Eggs and Ham?



That new drug that’s only distinguishable from crack by its specifically yellow color? My boy Jaylen told me about that shit the other day. Said it messed him up. Said it was so yellow. You got some?



Yeah, but, hey, it doesn’t always have to be yellow, you know? It comes in green and blue sometimes.



Yo, is that shit green?



Yeah, but, like I said, there’s lots of different types.



No way, Sam. I wouldn’t try that in my own house. Not even in my friends’ house if he was spotting me or in his car if he was driving. Not on a boat or in this dude’s plane I know who’s a pilot. Not even then. Not even on a train.