The Onion Presents Chronicles Of The Area Man Page 3

  "If my girlfriend wrote 'limp dick' in permanent marker on all my work shirts because I said Kate Winslet was hot, I'd probably leave her," Shearer's longtime friend James Pennette said. "But Craig? Man, does he have it bad for that crazy bitch."

  Pennette could not be reached for further comment, as he is currently recovering in West Hills Hospital for talking shit about the love of Shearer's life.

  Area Boy Enters Jumping-And-Touching-Tops-Of-Doorways Phase

  BROOKINGS, SD—Local 11-year-old Dylan Adams entered the stage in childhood development Wednesday in which a boy feels the uncontrollable desire to run, jump, and touch the top of every doorframe he encounters. "It is perfectly natural for young males to start exhibiting a tendency to touch things that are slightly higher than they can reach from a normal standing position," child psychologist Gerald Bakerfield said. "In many cases, the child is experimenting with his newfound ability to make his own choices, whether that means jumping to touch ceilings, street signs, or low-hanging tree branches." Bakerfield added that Adams would soon progress from the jumping-and-touching-doorways phase to the crossing-your-arms-over-your-chest-turning-around-and-pawing-at-the-back-of-your-own-shoulders-to-make-it-seem-like-you're-making-out-with-someone phase.

  Area Man Makes It Through Day

  SCHAUMBURG, IL—Despite an overwhelming, seemingly endless barrage of frustrations, area systems analyst Adam Blume made it through the entire day Tuesday, overcoming the odds against him in a Herculean display of courage, perseverance, and the indomitable human spirit.

  According to witnesses, though it seemed on more than one occasion throughout the day that his life would come to an end, Blume valiantly found the wherewithal to carry on. Not only did the 37-year-old successfully get out of bed and leave his apartment, but he somehow found the strength to navigate through the day's many challenges and, once victorious, made his way back home again. Hit from every side with such formidable opponents as suburban conformity, mind-numbing coworkers, and the celebrity "infotainment" magazine he paged through on his lunch break, Blume nonetheless trudged along—permitting nothing, no matter how soul-deadening, to break his will.

  "Man, what a day," Blume said regarding his 16-hour battle with everything from public transportation to profound spiritual alienation.

  Experts estimate that, by 10 p.m. Tuesday night, Blume had survived exposure to approximately 1,700 advertising images of epic banality, at least 35 emotionless interactions with complete strangers without making any real human contact, and more than 25,000 moments of soul-crushing inner emptiness throughout the almost day-long struggle. In addition, he also surmounted the onslaught of more than 150 separate anxiety-producing forces, including credit card debt, weight gain, hair loss, sexual inferiority, loneliness, a dead-end job, geographical isolation from extended family, virus-laden spam, the need to keep his cell phone charged, in-store Muzak, mortality, mounting laundry and dishes, his cable bill, indefinable longing, fear of terrorism, online gossip, the unavoidable certainty of his own unimportance, nostalgia for a past that never was, severe lower-back pain, and general ennui.

  "I only wish I had gotten a chance to pick up those replacement filters for the vacuum cleaner," Blume said only moments after valiantly suppressing the urge to set fire to his carefully cataloged file cabinet of insurance information and old appliance manuals. "The last ones I got were for the wrong model, but I can't take them back because I didn't save the receipt and now I need new ones."

  How Blume made it out of his kitchen—let alone his apartment and suffocating cubicle—may never be known. "And for some reason, I had the song 'Hobo Humpin' Slobo Babe' stuck in my head all day," he added.

  Blume's epic odyssey of survival reportedly began at 6:15 a.m., the moment he awoke. After enduring the sudden, unrelenting attack of his bedside alarm clock, Blume resisted the near-overpowering compulsion to press the snooze button a second time. Courageously hurling himself from bed and dragging his almost unconscious body the 15 feet to his bathroom, Blume was almost defeated before even making it to work when, as he was putting toothpaste on his toothbrush, it fell on the floor.

  "I thought I was going to lose it right there," Blume later told reporters. "It was lying in that space between the sink and the bathtub, covered in dust, so I had to bend over, grab it, rinse it off under some hot water, and put some more toothpaste on it. I hate when that happens."

  According to roommate Joe Tesch, with whom Blume shares an apartment despite already having reached middle age, the physically, financially, and spiritually exhausted man then stared at his hollow face in the mirror for approximately three minutes before showering, shaving, and moving his bowels in time to catch the 7:04 bus.

  After arriving at work, Blume's trials and tribulations only continued. Over the next 10 hours, Blume weathered an onslaught against his very humanity, from automated menus on telephones and cash machines, to shrill homeless men yelling in the street, to a coffee stain on his workplace-mandated tie.

  This was not Blume's first exposure to adversity. When pressed, he was able to recall several such incidents, including the time in May 1993 when he walked on crutches all the way from the bus stop at the bottom of a large hill in Madison, WI to the unemployment office located at the top, the 72 hours he spent stranded in Chicago's O'Hare Airport during the 2004 Christmas season, and the thousands of other battles before, between, and since.

  "Another day, another dollar," said Blume, modestly downplaying the impressive scope of his accomplishments. "I suppose I just did what anybody would have done."

  Blume's inspiring battle against the dehumanizing forces of modernity continues tomorrow.

  Area Man Has Sad Little Routine For When He Needs Cheering Up

  TIPTON, IN—Wes Mendic, a grown man who works at a pool-supply store and lives all by himself, finds solace in a series of sad, piddling little activities when he is feeling down, he reported from his tiny one- bedroom apartment Tuesday.

  Mendic added that, if his cheer-up routine fails to cheer him up by 8 p.m., he vigorously masturbates to Internet pornography and falls asleep."Whenever I'm down in the dumps, rather than wallow in my troubles, I try to do things that will get my mind off them," Mendic, 28, said. "Like, the first thing I always do is turn on all the lights in my apartment, even during the day. It just makes everything brighter."

  "It's amazing what something as small as lifting up your kitchen window, leaning your head out, and looking outside for a few minutes can do for your spirits," Mendic added.

  Mendic also indulges in a succession of "fun" tasks, including putting fresh, clean sheets and pillowcases on his bed; using his Dustbuster to thoroughly vacuum his two-by-three-foot welcome mat, the only section of carpeting he owns; and dumping out the contents of his coin bank, stacking the coins into small piles by denomination, and then placing them one by one back into the coin bank.

  "Something that always gives me a chuckle is going to my computer and loading up Bobby McFerrin's 'Don't Worry, Be Happy,'" said Mendic, who often watches the four-minute music-video clip several times in a row, staring intently at the screen and silently mouthing the lyrics in one of the saddest displays you will ever see. "It's funny, it's catchy, and it really helps remind you not to take this crazy business called life too seriously. I remember it used to cheer me up back when I was in college too. Good times."

  Mendic seriously claims chores like sock-folding make him feel better because he's "accomplishing something."If his spirits are still low by lunchtime, Mendic said that he can always count on the simple task of preparing himself a tasty meal to help shake off the blues. His self-proclaimed "house specialty" is nachos.

  "I only make them a couple times a month as a treat, so they'll still seem special," said Mendic, arranging a layer of tortilla chips on a paper plate, then taking a Kraft single, carefully tearing it into sad little strips, and sprinkling it onto the chips as if it were shredded cheddar and not an individually wrapped slice of America
n cheese. "They taste real good, and only use up like one or two singles, so there's always enough for the next nacho time."

  When Mendic feels low, "comfort food" takes on new, asinine meaning, as virtually any kind of two-dimensional food, including toast, pancakes, or hamburgers, will inevitably find itself embossed with a jam, syrup, or mustard smiley face.

  Mendic also started a tradition called "mini-Thanksgiving," which he holds approximately once a month, and which consists of microwaved turkey medallions, canned cranberry sauce, and a paper plate.

  "It's great because it reminds me of spending time with friends and family," Mendic said.

  The pathetic rituals don't end there. During his afternoon shower—a second daily shower he takes to "relax and not have to focus on getting clean, like the morning shower"—Mendic reads the labels of his shampoo and conditioner out loud in a Don Pardo-esque voice, and even plays a pitiful little game in which he scans the bottle's instructions and ingredient write-ups for all 26 letters of the alphabet. And as he towels off and dresses, he dances around to the Paul Simon song "You Can Call Me Al," flailing his arms and shaking his legs with a mixture of genuine enthusiasm and lack of coordination that would make you want to cry.

  Despite his passion for bizarre little rituals that apparently keep him from tumbling into complete despair, over time Mendic has been forced to retire some of his habits, such as, for the love of Christ, playing Minesweeper.

  "While I played it, I'd pretend I was on a secret mission from the CIA," said Mendic, who would bob his head while clicking away on his mouse in a ridiculously intense manner. "It would always pump me up. Until one day, I beat Expert [level] in 108 seconds, and I knew I would never top that record, so it stopped being fun."

  Other heartbreakingly tragic routines Mendic cheers himself up with include fake- laughing, done in the hopes that it will trigger real, spontaneous laughter; throwing himself a "solo party"; poring over his high school yearbooks and rereading old e-mail exchanges from several years ago; calling his mother; sitting on his bed in front of the mirror and pretending he's interviewing himself about his life story; and checking his iPod's "date last played" column on iTunes and trying to remember where he would have been when he last heard each song.

  Amazon.com Recommendations Understand Area Woman Better Than Husband

  SANDUSKY, OH—Area resident Pamela Meyers was delighted to receive yet another thoughtful CD recommendation from Amazon.com Friday, confirming that the online retail giant has a more thorough, individualized, and nuanced understanding of Meyers' taste than the man who occasionally claims to love her, husband Dean Meyers.

  Meyers said she was pleasantly surprised to receive three e-mails from Amazon today alone."To come home from a long day at work and see the message about the new Norah Jones album waiting for me, it just made my week," said Meyers, 36, who claimed she was touched that the company paid such attention to her. "It feels nice to be noticed once in a while, you know?"

  Amazon, which has been tracking Meyers' purchases since she first used the site to order Football For Dummies in preparation for attending the 2004 Citrus Bowl as part of her husband's 10th wedding anniversary plans, has shown impressive accuracy at recommending books, movies, music, and even clothing that perfectly match Meyers' tastes. While the powerful algorithms that power Amazon's recommendations generator do not have the advantage of being able to observe Meyers' body language, verbal intonation, or current personal possessions, they have nonetheless proven more effective than Dean, who bases his gift-giving choices primarily on what is needed around the house, what he would like to own, and, most notably, what objects are nearby.

  "I don't know how Amazon picked up on my growing interest in world music so quickly, but I absolutely love this traditional Celtic CD," Meyers said. "I like it so much more than that Keith Urban thing Dean got me. I'm really not sure what made him think I like country music."

  Meyers said she was especially moved that the online merchant remembered that she had once purchased an Ian McEwan book, and immediately reminded when the author released a new novel. Moreover, despite only having had 37 hours of direct interaction with Meyers, Amazon was still able to detect her strong interest in actor Paul Giamatti, unlike husband Dean who often teases Meyers about her nonexistent crush on Tom Cruise.

  Meyers said that her husband, whose gift choices have never reflected any outward recognition of her desire to learn Spanish, nor of the fact that she looks terrible in orange, rarely, if ever, communicates with Meyers while away on any of his frequent business trips.

  "I was having some tea from that Nebraska Cornhuskers mug Dean got me for Valentine's Day, when a little e-mail from Amazon popped up out of the blue," Meyers said. "Just completely out of the blue."

  "It was nice to know that on my birthday, someone or something was out there thinking about me, and what boxed sets I wanted," she added.

  Though "it could only be a coincidence," Meyers admitted that she became emotional during a recent "bad day" when the site recommended the DVD The Umbrellas Of Cherbourg. "Dean and I saw it on one of our first dates, and I remember it being such a great night not just for the movie, but how everything felt so natural, how we seemed to be on the same wavelength," Meyers said. "It was the first time I thought, 'Yes. This is the one.'"

  While Amazon is almost always accurate, the company does occasionally make a gift recommendation that does not suit her tastes, such as a recent suggestion of camping gear and an all-weather backpack. Still, Meyers lauded Amazon's attempts at spontaneity.

  "At least it's trying," said Meyers, whose husband will once again surprise her with their fourth romantic getaway to his hometown of Kenton, DE sometime in March. "And maybe I would like camping if I ever tried it. Amazon's usually right about these things."

  Meyers, who has spent the past 15 years with a man who still believes she enjoys attending car shows, said she has kept her Amazon recommendation e-mails a secret from her husband so as not to corrupt the "deep and unstated understanding" between her and the popular website.

  "Sure, I could send him the link to my Wish List, but that really defeats the purpose of gifts, as far as I'm concerned," Meyers said.

  For his part, Dean has promised to make a concerted effort to pay closer attention to his wife's habits in order to choose more appropriate and tasteful gifts. He said that she will be "pleasantly surprised" with his new strategy, enrolling her for the next three years in the Oprah Book Club.

  "I know she's really into The View, so I just figured this would be perfect," Meyers said. "And I know she'll love taking moonlight drives on our new riding mower together, too."

  Area Senior Suspects Grandchild's Visit Just Some Sort Of Class Assignment

  UNIONVILLE, MO—Eugenia Stollis' delight over an unannounced visit from grandson Toby Rourke soon soured Monday when the 76-year-old grandmother began to suspect that he was only there to complete a class assignment.

  Stollis' grandson, Toby, almost certainly milks her for information about Pearl Harbor."At first we talked about baseball and his new cousin Cody, but when he started asking me about my childhood and what my parents were like, I knew something was going on," Stollis said. "He wasn’t coming over for gingersnaps and quality time with his grandma. The boy’s got some homework thing. I just know it."

  According to Stollis, before she could even set a can of orange soda on the kitchen table, the 10-year-old began asking her detailed questions about life on the farm where she grew up, whether she spoke any Norwegian, how her family fared without indoor plumbing, and her favorite childhood radio programs.

  "I'm as sure as gum that he's got some kind of history or social studies paper to write," Stollis said.

  Stollis then recalled that her daughter, Carolyn Rourke, had told her in June that her son was taking summer classes to make up for a poor second-semester academic performance.

  "Does he think I was born yesterday?" Stollis said.

  Stollis said that Rourke ra
rely visits her except during family gatherings, and that the only thing he'd previously shown interest in was "that skateboard of his," and certainly not her life story.

  "I've been through this with the other grandchildren," said Stollis. "They all wanted to know about my older brother Ken, who died in World War II. Some of them were more interested in my mother who had polio. I guess it depends on what class they were taking at the time. But if Toby thinks he can sneak all the information out of me, he's got another thing coming."

  Added Stollis, "And if Toby expects I'll tell him which beach Ken died storming, he's got a lot to learn about his old grandma. I don't mind telling stories, but I'm not going to do the research for him, too."

  Stollis also cited Rourke's "smiling and eager" attitude and backpack full of library books as further evidence of his true motives.

  "Why does he need to know what my husband did for a living before he died in 1983?" Stollis said. "What kind of classes are these?"

  Over the course of the nearly two-hour visit, Stollis grew increasingly upset at the prospect of being used by her fourth grandchild.

  "I finally made up a story about how I was tired and needed to lie down," Stollis said. "I didn't even give him a jar of my homemade raspberry preserves that he likes so much. Even so, he seemed very pleased with himself, and I'll tell you, I didn't care for that that one bit."

  Stollis also turned down Rourke's repeated attempts to pose with him for a photo, assuming it would only be used as a visual aid or poster as part of the report.