To Whom I May Concern:

After an unprecedented showing of collaboration and crowd sourcing, the Internet came together after the Boston Marathon bombings to help identify and lead police to the two suspects. “It was truly a beautiful example of how technology and social media are changing our society,” says bill sponsor Rep. Dutch Ruppersberger, “we’re very excited to announce that we’re going limiting people’s privacy on the Internet with CISPA.”

The Cyber Intelligence Sharing and Protection Act (CISPA) is well on its way to allowing the federal government warrantless searching abilities to your private files, as a way of saying “thank you” for the indispensible help Internet users provided in the detaining of a suspect of a terrorist act.

“The Internet did a great job pooling their resources together and helping the FBI locate and identify the Boston Bombers in mere hours using personal photos and videos;” explains FBI special agent Russel DeLacourd, “We’re thrilled that we will be making this type of thing easier by having access to these files without their knowledge.”

In the face of an unclaimed bombing, and as the news networks bumbled leads and created misinformation, the Internet collectively rose to the challenge of scanning through personal photos and videos looking for any clues that might help lead law enforcement in the right direction. “We’re just happy we were able to help,” shares Reddit user Rumplebum, “and, hey, if they want to reward us with some kind of accolade or personally invasive law that limits our liberties, that’s cool too.”

“We’re very grateful,” imparts DeLacourd, “I wish we knew the best way to show our gratitude to the Internet. And thanks to CISPA, we’re about to spend plenty of man hours going through their personal files and documents to find it out.”**

**Note: This is satirical. It is not a real news article. I mean, this is what is happening on the Internet right now, and the events did take place. But the names and quotations are fake. Except for the name of the guy who sponsored CISPA. That’s his real name. Some things you can’t make up.

The History channel took a break from being a 24/7 Pawn Stars marathon to bring you something awesome.

I was watching Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” music video today when it occurred to me that he bares a striking resemblence to Brienne of Tarth from Game of Thrones. You know the one I’m talking about (I didn’t know her name either). This one:

Here’s what it’d look like if they switched places and Macklemore was in the service of Lady Stark and Brienne bought a knee board:

And to drive the point home, here’s the halfway point between the two:

Now this exists on the Internet

What do we do when life as we know it changes? Do we sit, wishing for the world to revert? Hoping that maybe the power of our desire for things to be easier will some how generate enough wish juice to change them back. It won’t. Or, at least, it hasn’t yet.

My views on YouTube as of late have been very low. I could go on and on about my glory days when my videos would reach that 301 mark (or 303 or 305, but let’s not argue semantics) in hours. I was by no means a “big” YouTuber. I never solely made my living making these videos, but I felt like I had an audience. I felt like there were people who cared what I had to say. It gave me confidence in real life. An ability to say “It doesn’t matter if you don’t like me. About 4,000 people care about me enough and like me enough to tune in to what I have to say every week.”

Then I took a break. And the medium changed. And people grew up. And some of them probably died (I can’t prove this). Either way, things changed. My videos no longer reached those it once did. And while some faces (usernames) remained the same, it forced me to look at why I make these videos.

I like to make people laugh. I like to entertain. I like to inform. I like to challenge people’s perspectives on life, and have mine challenged in return (granted the truths you’re trying to feed me are easy enough to swallow). I like to create. I like to refer to what I do as Societal Satire. There are aspects of our society I find ridiculous and hilarious and enjoy laughing at them. There are other aspects I find infuriating and repulsive, and I would like to laugh at those too. Laughing drops the blood pressure raised by grinding your teeth.

In a way, it feels like I’m starting over. YouTube is so oversaturated by people with more money than me, people who can buy your eyes, or are better with influential people than I am. I’m not at square one, but I’m at square two. I think it’s possible to climb back to where I was, and in a way it kind of excites me. They say good businessmen are the ones who can take a million dollars, go broke, and then climb their way back up time after time. I feel the same should be said about creatives.

I’ve never been worried that people will steal my ideas because they can’t execute them the way I can. If someone takes my idea for their own and tries to do it, they’re missing the most crucial part of the idea and that’s the vision behind it; something I hold onto exclusively and can’t transfer through words. Besides, as a creative I should be able to come up with a million other ideas, so the concept of “the one” is false.

My channel and ideas have gone through many transformations. From sketches, to man on the street videos, to Your Commercial Sucks, to this news thing I’m doing now, it’s been hard to settle on one thing; mostly because they get stale to me (or in the case of my man on the street videos, lack of inspiration). I would love to do them all, but YouTube videos are not a lucrative enough business at my level to hire the personnel needed to make that a reality. This is not complaining. This is explaining. Yes, they rhyme.

People ask me how to get big on YouTube and while the specifics have changed with the site, one core component remains the same: you have to love it. I do. I really do. And through loving it, you’re able to put the required man-hours into keeping up with consistent content and tweeting, and Facebooking and yes, even Google Plus-ing.

I was told back in 2008 when I was interning on The Colbert Report (name drop) that if I could see myself doing anything else I should do it. I should ditch this fever dream because it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. Well I gave up sugar for a week, so I think I can handle this. I can’t see myself doing anything else. I’ve tried. Those words that scared other people into politics, and law, and probably retail, didn’t work on me. They just let me know that I’m doing it right.

So what do we do when the world as we know it changes? We keep going. Comfort is temporary, but we found it in the first place. And just like the businessman who lost his millions, we’ve got to get it back. And if we sit and wish for our money back we’ll be broke forever, it’s only when we go after a new comfort, a new million dollars, that we find ourselves a new comfort.

It will take work (which is our generation’s four-letter word), it will take perseverance, and it will require some humbling. But if one semester of Greek Tragedy taught me anything (which there’s a good chance it didn’t) it’s that hubris has never been anything but the cause of someone’s downfall.

So, are we afraid of a little hard work? Yes. Terrified. But we’ve got to do it anyway.

The reference was dropped about two-thirds of the way through the sermon when during the pastor’s exploration of the importance of the resurrection, recounts a stunned but elated member of the congregation, he mentioned, “some things are worth waiting for, like tonight’s Game of Thrones”.

The remark was initially met with a confused silence followed by bellows of laughter and head nods amongst the congregants as they gradually processed what they had heard. “One second he was going on about Jesus, and then BAM! Game of Thrones. I totally felt related to,” gushes 26-year-old financial analyst Tim Scott. “Usually when you think of church, you think of Jesus and religion,” explains long time church member Danielle Christianson, “but the reference that Father Ben made was just so on point and relevant to today that it was impossible to be upset by it.”

Feeling good about how well his first reference landed, he even threw in another at the end with “now go enjoy your Easter egg hunts; just make sure you aren’t grabbing any dragon eggs,” which didn’t do as well as his first reference but still pulled a few smiles.

A younger pastor, Father Ben has always been seen as hip, but now he’s being referred to as anything from “cool” to “in the know”. “I’ve been invited to a few viewing parties,” shares Father Ben, “but I don’t really watch the show, I’m more into the books.” For now, he says, he’s got to get to work on his Breaking Bad reference that he’ll be working into his Sunday sermon come mid July.

“This is it,” he thought, “this is death. Smells better than I thought it would.” But then he realized it was just his senses failing. It probably smelled terrible. Your bowels voided themselves, he had heard; and while he had never shit himself while he was alive, he had boldly smelled the toilet paper after he had wiped as many are guilty of but few care to admit to. But he was dying, so what pride was there to be saved? None. Virtually. Some secrets he took with him to the grave. Some secrets even he himself had forgotten. Like where he had put his Space Jam soundtrack or the name of the kid who he accused of stealing his Charizard pokemon card in the sixth grade. However, these were not secrets worth having. What was important is that his life was coming to an end, and in front of all these cheering people.

He wondered what act specifically it was that brought on the cacophony of delight from the masses. Which egregious act had he committed that united these souls against him? He grinned. At least he thought he was grinning. Not sure whether his brain still had the capacity to produce the desired effect of curling the corners of his mouth towards his ears. These people would never know the benefit of his sins. Few things can bring a group so close together and striving for the same result. Well, he was giving it to them. Sure he was hated, but look at how those who hated him helped each other.

Whoop. Sight was going now. It looks like a video filter that darkens the surroundings. “Tunnel vision” he believed they called it. It didn’t look like a tunnel at all. It looked much more like a vignette filter, indeed. If only he were to live through this long enough that he would be able to correct that. Although maybe it’s for the best that he didn’t, as trying to correct things is what got him dead in the first place. How much time has passed? Minutes? No, seconds. No, milliseconds. The speed at which the brain can contrive thoughts is miraculous, he pondered. It’s no surprise people are said to see their entire life flash before their eyes even in the quickest of deaths. His wasn’t. There wasn’t much to flash, anyway. Maybe his life could flash before someone else’s eyes; certainly maybe one of the people in this angry mob. Wouldn’t it be cool if a couple met and fell in love here today. “It would all be because of me. Love birthed from hatred. How poetic.” He would’ve written that down if his hands were still something he had control over. But, alas, he had control over nothing any more. His entire body limp and bare; making his erection that much more embarrassing. But, again, what did he care? He was dead. There was no light there to greet him, just darkness fading in. And a soft music started to play. It sounded like… Bach? Behtoven? Who was the guy who cut of his ear? One of those. But it couldn’t have been. Because his ears were no longer passing sound to his brain. It was just the phantom tones of a music that he didn’t particularly enjoy. And it proceeded to last for eternity. Just darkness and a song he couldn’t identify and felt indifferent towards. And that was hell.

But I didn’t. So here’s this:

Today was a waste of a day.

Today was a day that if it were a child it would be that child that was born with so much promise but through terrible parenting and a bad diet found its way into torrenting movies and playing video games until his toes fell asleep.

Today was the CNN of all days in that if two rapists were convicted, it would probably focus on the loss of a promising future rather than the importance of being held responsible for their actions.

Today was the Twilight of all days filled with poor writing and bad special effects. Ruining the Dakota Fanning we once loved and the Kristen Stewart we never did.

Today ran for Vice President in 2008.

Today showed so much promise and love but was then revealed to be a fat island man ruining the heart warming story of a Heisman runner up.

Today tried too hard to seem like something it wasn’t but didn’t want to put forth the effort to actually become the object it desired.

Today was that girl in high school you secretly hoped would get her shit together but instead got alcoholism and pregnant.

Today was dumb. Tonight will be better. And Tomorrow better pick up the slack.

In another unfortunate revelation for Manti Te’o, the Heisman runner up has just discovered that his best friend, a 14-foot tall talking dragon, also isn’t real. In what can only be described as a rough series of discoveries, the Notre Dame defender is perplexed as to how he didn’t realize this earlier. “We would go places together, the mall, parties, double dates,” recounts Te’o “I must have really looked a fool.”

According to Te’o the dragon had been a good friend ever since early childhood when as an unpopular, unibrowed boy he would hide underneath the playground slide. “One day I looked up and there was his outstretched, scaly hand inviting me to come play ball,” explains Manti, “it was his encouragement that got me into football in the first place.”

Heartbroken and alone, the probable first round pick in next year’s NFL draft ponders what other signs he might have missed. “There were a few times that I wondered if he was a figment of my imagination, you know, because no one really asked about my talking dragon or stared, but he assured me he was real.” It is clear the news is still being digested by the star defender as he spoke on the many times that the dragon breathed fire on people and how it all makes sense now that they didn’t react to the flames or die.

Rallying forward, Manti Te’o says he knows he has a bright future ahead of him and is going to do his best to put these setbacks behind him. “Even though it’s tough right now, I’m working with some talented people to put this all behind me and ensure that it never happens again.” Te’o says of the therapist he’s been seeing to overcome these events. “Dr. Bunnykins, my cartoon rabbit Psychiatrist, has really been helping,” Manti explained as he gestured to an empty seat behind him.

When Kevin Rottenstein and his roommate’s buddy Jamal Washington sat down Sunday evening to unwind, they turned on the TV to enjoy a stand up special from caucasionally well-liked comedian Dave Chapelle. It wasn’t until fifteen minutes into the racially neutral set when a joke about the differences between black people and white people elicited a guffaw from Kevin.

“I realized what I had done almost immediately,” explains the self-proclaimed freelance social media consultant of his milieu altering actions. “I’m so used to watching Chappelle with my friends from high school,” justified Kevin, “had I realized the company I was in, I would have been much more guarded with my laughter.”

Rottenstein continued on that after he realized what show he was watching he found it hard to enjoy, not sure what he was allowed to laugh at or if he had laughed at something he shouldn’t have previously.

“I kept looking over to Jamal to see if he was angry,” says Kevin, “but I didn’t want him to know I was looking at him, in case he thought I was being racist.” To ease the tension, Kevin kept quiet until he excused himself for bed at around 9:30 pm claiming he had an early morning and then played video games on mute in his room until he fell asleep hours later.

Kevin is just an example of many white millennials that find themselves falling victim to not knowing how to react to African American targeted humor when in mixed company. “I wanted to laugh, I really did,” shares Rottenstein of his conflicted experience with the remaining 15 minutes of the animated comedy, “but I didn’t know if I was allowed to laugh at the jokes that were clearly written for a black audience. Erm- African American audience… right? Or is ‘black’ okay?”

Incidents such as Kevin’s shed light on the nationwide epidemic of comedic segregation; wherein racially mixed groups of people have been known to laugh uncomfortably and scan the room for signs of consent from whichever ethnic group a joke was at the expense of.

When Jamal made no mention of the incident the next day, Kevin visibly unclenched but is expected to get uncomfortable and awkward again when trying to figure out what kind of handshake to give Jamal when he leaves.

- Flowers?
- An apology?
- To tell you that you look thin?
- Food?
- A Puppy?
- Cake?
- Some space?
- Me to know when you want the opposite of what you say?
- Romance?
- Me to say back to you what you just said?
- Fro-yo?
- Me to be as upset as you are?
- Ryan Gosling.

He grabbed the radio and flipped it on with an urgency he had not felt since he first got the phone call that his son had entered into this world. That was a different day. A day when traffic lights were the enemy, and other drivers didn’t deserve to breathe the air it took to bring in the limited amount of oxygen their brains seemed to be receiving. As his finger and thumb navigated the tuner through stations, he paused whenever he heard what might have been the call of a game. Spanish music. Nope. Radio jockeys pretending to be excited about the latest hit song from Nicki Minaj, as if it was something other than the recycled garbage they have to listen to year after year. Nope.

“Why do people still use radios these days?” he pondered. “It’s such an antiquated technology.” Yet at this moment it was the only method he had of receiving the information he was so desperate to obtain. “NHL talks are-“ That was it! He passed it and desperately scrambled to regain his footing amongst the frequencies. “Over!” the sentence ended.

As he held his breath to hear the fate of his beloved sports season, he reflected on the many hockeyless months he had been forced to endure. He had tried to find a love for many things to fill the hole hockey had left in his heart: football (too slow), soccer (too Spanish), his daughter (also too slow), but nothing compared the fast paced hard hitting action of Canadian on Ukranian last names that hockey provides.

He realized he hadn’t been paying attention to the words now expelling themselves from the talking box. Everything felt still; almost like the air itself was trying to stay quiet to hear the results of the now going on four month negotiations. When the announcement came that there would need to be more days of negotiations, he sighed. “All this hope for nothing,” he thought. If he could choose to not care, he would. Unfortunately the heart wants what the heart wants, and will accept no replacements.

He put his fire helmet back on and turned his attention back to the flames that were consuming this once welcoming family room; the toys from the toddlers who lived here still strewn across the floor. “Kids are so messy,” he thought to himself as he pointed his hose at the roaring flames. At this point in his career, putting out fires was of a second nature. Start at the top and zig-zag your way to the bottom.

He couldn’t help picturing the hose as a hockey stick in his hands. He deked back and forth as he made his way across the ice (living room) and set his sights on the net (television), but the Goalie (dog) wasn’t going to let him have this one that easily. They never did. He pulled back his stick (hose), and with his hardest shot, watched as the net seemed break apart as it was slammed into by the puck (toddler). Goal!

In honor of the end of the world (whether happening tomorrow or eventually) I thought it relevant to compile a list of last words that will no doubt put mine of “Are you sure there is no cheese in this?” to shame.

“I’m tired of being the funniest person in the room”
– Del Close, Father of Modern Day Improv. Died of emphysema.

“I should have never switched from Scotch to Martinis”
– Humphrey Bogart, Actor/Alchoholic. Died of throat cancer.

“More Weight.”
- Giles Corey, Accused witch/Badass. Crushed by stones.

“Now comes the mystery.”
- Henry Ward Beecher, Evangelist/Exposition enthusiast. Died of cerebral hemorrhage.

“That was the best ice-cream soda I ever tasted”
– Lou Costello, Comedian/Ice cream aficionado. Died of Myocardial infarction

“Either the wallpaper goes, or I do”
- Oscar Wilde, Writer/Stubborn interior designer. Died of Meningitis

When the temperature drops and the houses light up
The reindeer come out and egg nog fills your cup
And while Christian boys and girls exchange presents galore
Little Jewish boys await what’s in store.

We don’t get to decorate trees, or roast nuts on a fire
We skip sleigh bells and Santa and merry attire
For the best secret kept amongst all the diaspara
Is that once a year we get handjobs for hannukah

One candle, two candles, three candles, four
A Jewish girl’s hand leaves a mess on the floor
And that Driedel, Driedel, Driedel, we made out of clay
Is not the only dry and ready thing with which will get played
As every mensch boy awaits from New York to Santa Monica
Is that time after candles when we get Handjobs for Hannukah

We don’t get figgy pudding or sing Christmas Carols of Yuletide
We get dry low fives at temple from Carol Mendelstein
Gentiles watching old TV look outside as it’s snowing
While your friend Shmuli’s getting knuckle from his neighbor Tali Cohen

So I hate to spill our secret that will downright astonish ‘ya
But you can keep your stinkin’ Christmas we’ll keep our Handjobs for Hannukah

Popular video site YouTube has started rolling out their newest layout in a move most users are hailing as “why?” and “okay, I guess.”

In an attempt to encourage people on YouTube to increase their time on the site, engineers concluded the best way to accomplish this was to “move everything around so no one knows where it is.”

“Some users are even spending up to 45 minutes trying to find the latest video in their subscription feed. It’s a great success,” shares Elliott Nubcheck, one of the site’s lead designers. “Much of the design relies on disorientation, making it seem as if every page you visit looks exactly the same, yet completely different.”

In a world where online video now finds itself competing with television as an entertainment medium, time spent on-site is very important. YouTube’s new layout aims to rope in more casual viewers. “Before, people would just watch a video and leave,” explains Darren Kross, head of the viewer behavior research team, “but now, in the new layout, we’ve rearranged the entire video page and added different font sizes - upping the eye adjustment time alone to minutes.”

Though the site has raised some voices within the online community, there haven’t been many reported cases of user recoil. When asked if there has been any backlash against the new redesign, Nubcheck shared, “There have been a few mental breakdowns amongst our beta testers, but we have since changed the play button that dodges your mouse so legally we’re allowed to say ‘None.’”

Some of the bigger changes have yet to be widely unveiled, but there are accounts from beta testers who report “half speed video playback” which doubles the length of any video and “video in video” which embeds a desired video inside a larger, different “related” video.

YouTube is still in the process of rolling out their new look, but they’re already pleased with the early results they’re seeing. “The amount of time people are spending lost on the site is truly incredible,” relays Nubcheck. “Just this morning, even I got lost trying to watch my latest subscriptions. It took three people from our development team five minutes to get me to where I wanted to go!”

But don’t get too comfortable, they warn, as the development team is already getting started on the next layout that is expected to be unveiled just as soon as you get used to this one.

An area meter maid is being hailed as a hero in an unprecedented incident of comeuppance after giving a parking ticket to NBA commissioner David Stern. Dale Breckinridge, has been a meter maid for 15 years and for the first time in his life, he feels he has a purpose. “Meter maids never make people happy,” shares Breckinridge, a 42 year-old bachelor, “you kind of accept this when you take the job.” But things are looking up for the government employee after delivering a fine that many are hailing as “absolutely delicious.”

“I had a hunch it might have been his car,” tells the former communications major of his encounter with Stern’s ’11 BMW whose license plate reads “NBA CMSH”. Dale explains that he came across the car with 2 minutes left on the meter. “I knew if I had the opportunity, I had to take it,” exclaimed Dale. “I mean, it’s my job. I literally had no choice.”

“I didn’t expect my life to turn out this way, I don’t think any one really dreams of becoming a meter maid,” confesses the woefully single ticket writer, “but sometimes life gives you a break.” Dale explains that his life has now changed dramatically, “ever since writing the ticket, I can’t go into a bar without someone trying to buy me a beer in exchange for describing the look on his face.”

It is reported that Stern came back to his car and tried to bargain with Breckenridge, starting with frantically feeding quarters into the meter and even offering him as much as the Toronto Raptors, but it was of no use as Dale had already started writing the ticket.