This week, we will investigate our minds. I want to see exactly what you’re all made of. I’m insanely funny, yada, yada, yada. Keep going. Are you not entertained? Well, I guess this is the time for you to stop reading then. I hate you. Wonder Bread tacos. I think I might have dueling ear infections. Gonorrhea, Burger King, termites, Angry Beavers, porn, bratwurst. This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever read in your entire life.
Well, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to business. I assume about 95 percent of people have already been weeded out of reading this based on that horribly boring first paragraph—so congrats, you’ve passed the test. The real purpose of this week’s column is to do a little social experimentation. See, you should be glad if you’ve made it this far because I’m about to make your life a whole hell of a lot better.
Here’s the deal: I’m going to give away a bunch of free stuff to the people who respond to this column first. Seriously, no strings attached; I’m going to do something really nice for you, and then you’ll never have to see or hear from me again. You can even be a huge asshole afterward if you want; that’s totally fine. All you have to do is read the following directions (see following).
First, you aren’t allowed to partake in my gift-giving ceremony if you’re one of my friends or imaginary friends (nope, not even you, Mr. Yonkeyhoo). Also, if I have reason to believe that you just told all of your own imaginary friends, “Hey, some dipshit from the Cardinal is giving out free stuff if you just email him. Do it bro; it’s free stuff,” you shall be disqualified for cheating and banished to a life of eternal suffering because, as stated in paragraph three, sentence three of this legally binding document, in order to receive my blessings, you must actually read the directions. If you do tell your cohort, “Hey stupid, just read this column and we can get some free stuff,” and said individual does in fact read this (I’ll be able to tell because I have psychic abilities so strong that I’ve been known to intentionally make taxidermies of all breeds spontaneously sob), then that’s OK. Oh, in case you were getting slightly scared, all gifts will be distributed at neutral, well-lit locations. Put down the mace.
Now it’s time for the exciting part where I tell you what the prizes are. The first prize, of course, has to be a surprise bag. For anyone who doesn’t know about surprise bags, they’re just brown-paper bags filled with various objects that I find interesting, entertaining, exotic or useful (nothing illegal, incriminating or dangerous), duct-taped shut (so it stays a surprise, of course). The first person who emails me a synopsis of their favorite food of all time (including who makes it best—please don’t say your mom or grandma unless they’ll make me some) will receive this hodgepodge of goodies. If there’s a specific retailer that distributes paper bags you have a particular affinity for, I’ll try to accommodate all requests, but I really can’t guarantee anything on that front.
Next up is something a bit more certain. This one’s for all those cigar aficionados out there. Whoever emails me first with a detailed description of the most beautiful place they’ve ever been to will get a free cigar. Not a Swisher or anything like that. We’ll meet up and head to one of the local smoke shops, where you’ll be able to pick out whichever one looks best.
Final thing: I will fork over three candy bars to the first person who emails me an in-depth portrayal of their most terrifying experience (this will make you feel a lot better, trust me). You will get to choose two of the bars and the third will be decided by me. I’d prefer not to do this at one of those specialty candy shops because I want us both to have maximal options.
OK, that’s all. Just remember to follow my directions. More fun stuff to come soon.
Make the subject of all emails “I LOVE STUFF” and direct them to Andy at holsteen@wisc.edu
