Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Rain, Sleet or something else stupid. It's Mail Time

We temporarily disabled the email icon from our main blog before shooting it into outer space where I can now report that it destroyed a North Korean satellite.  USA!
    In the meantime we glanced through a pile of stupid mail for recreational purposes-- Sort of like a sexual encounter with an ex, only without awkward feelings of regret the following day; enjoy...
     I'm, somehow, NEVER amazed by emails or blog site content that random readers feel strongly about sharing with us while we're doing important things, such as lying very still...and now, we share them with you...sort of like herpes.

From Susan, Louisville KY
    Hey, I learned Mandarin Chinese over the winter. Yaaaay for me Jim Patrick!
From: Jim Patrick
    Congrats!  I only know one Chinese phrase...
"I'll take the number 15 dinner."  Godzirrra!  Wait, that's Japanese.
Pretty impressive though, huh?
    Elsewhere, apparently, since Donald Trump was elected, a large segment of the American populace plan on moving to Canada.  Not me-- I'm much too lazy to take such a drastic stand about anything, especially where packing tape is involved.  Plus I'm scared of moose and Celine Dion.
    At any rate, I'll just change my Facebook "currently lives in" status to Ottawa. Problem solved.

From Jason, Decatur, IL
celebrating my one year anniversary with the bestest girlfriend ever at Coldstone Creamery.
From Jim Patrick
I'm happy for you both and I just threw up a little bit in my mouth-- That's very hipster of you.  I'm actually trying to develop a cool "hipster" bar concept, sort of a cool hang without having to admit that it's a cool hang.  Our signature drink will be called "My bad, you're dead."

The drink is a mixture of Rolling Rock and Tide Pods.

   By the way, please lose my email address.

    From Shauna, Ocracoke, NC
Dear Jim,
Do you feel the Bern???
    From Jim Patrick
Not since the amoxicillin kicked in.

    From Alex, Nashville, TN
Just took my kids to Chuck E. Cheese.  You should hang out there one afternoon.  You'd get tons of writing material.
    From Jim Patrick
Yes, I'd Love to look like a pedophile.  Actually, the founder of Chuck E. Cheese is brilliant for creating an environment where one might take their kids AND get a DUI on the way home.
   That's about it for the mail sack for now...
By the way, the name of my new "hipster" bar--  The Downtrodden Scampi."

copyright Flat Earth Media, 2018 All Rights Reserved

Satisfaction (somewhat) Guaranteed

The voices in my head are reminiscent of those presented in the spectacular viral video short: "Charlie the Unicorn."  For me, this winding stroll through life is boring at worst...delightfully weird at best and somewhere in the middle makes me want to jump into the rotor of a helicopter.  Where to begin?  Let's start with...
   I finally have all of my social media access codes after nine years so now I can take full responsibility for any social media activity which, it seems, many people take more to heart than losing a loved one.  At any rate, should I inadvertently offend anyone on social media, I will do the adult thing and passive aggressively blame Amanda Port, my colleague and human trainwreck/horrible guy magnet.
    The first experience upon my solo dip into the tepid social media pool was:
"James Patrick, 10,000 people have liked your posts. We hope you are enjoying Facebook."
   I only know 30 people...either the numbers are wrong or I have a stalker.

"James Patrick, you have memories with Kristi." (not her real name...her real name is Kristin. She lives at 436 South Cort ...)  *edit for privacy/ legal content*
   Thank you, Facebook, for digging up memories and slinging them toward my face this morning as that of an orangutan who hurls it's own shit at unsuspecting zoo visitors.  The woman who destroyed my human spirit and burned my house to the ground (with pets in it) seems to be doing splendid in rehab according to face fucking book...AND, it appears that we share 2 mutual friends online...splendid.
   My favorite question in the electronic shackled universe is:
"Hey, is it supposed to rain today?"
 This question typically spews from an individual holding $500-thousand dollars worth of communication devices, including an actual space satellite, a load of bandwidth which rival Chinese spies, a multi-lateral missile launch control and a Papa John's and "step counter" app.
   Speaking of our collective starving for information overload:
   Before the internet, each year, I was forced, without express written or verbal consent, to absorb numerous national employee satisfaction surveys (qualitative and quantitative) Then I was forced to conduct said surveys on my own staff of on-air talents (pronounced: highly paid crazy people) who never leave home without a fucking lawyer or agent.
    Because I'm a team player, I approached this directive with sincerity...feeling confident that I've angered God in some way.
   For employers on the never-ending quest to understand their employees, I'll save you some valuable time via spoiler alert on your "Indiana Jones and The Quest To Verify That Harrison Ford Has Finally Become Clinically Insane."
    The absolute number one virtue that employees crave isn't money...it's
Honesty and
A feeling of inclusion

Don't bother googling it...it's a fact.

   I am blessed and privileged to have worked with some of the most talented broadcasters and writers one could hope for. With that, as Mike, the editor, says, I've caused enough mischief on the blog platforms today.  But, in reality, I only point out the elephant in the room...so, keep up the good work out there.  You might just get a pay raise.

Copyright Flat Earth Media, 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Friday, February 23, 2018

The (next to) Last Samurai

I recently conducted research for an article that somehow required a quick visit to Craig's list. (for pending legal purposes surrounding a previous article I shall, painfully, avoid a Craig's list punch line here.)
   1989 Blue SUZUKI SAMURAI GREAT SHAPE!! $1200 obo. email or call 618-xxx-xxxx. Gerald. email anytime or call 5pm-10pm.

From: James Patrick
Greetings Gerald, I'm inquiring about the Samurai.
   I MUST have this truck for reasons which stretch far beyond Asian automobile manufacturers sending a strong message to Detroit by leading the way toward a sensible, fuel efficient, yet sporty, SUV which also didn't explode upon impact.
   My nostalgic memory of this vehicle stems from a whirlwind trip to America's paradise circa 1989...Hawaii.
   My buddy, Scott, rented one.  One evening during the visit he picked up a very attractive girl at our hotel bar and disappeared for a romantic visit to the North shore where he parked along the Waimea Cliffs on Oahu. Unaccustomed to driving a stick shift, he left it in neural and it rolled to the ledge-- plunging 150 feet onto giant boulders where it exploded in the Pacific ocean. While I wish that I were making this up, I'm not...but, I want your samurai!

From: Gerald
HOLY SHIT! THAT'S crazy! Is this seriously for real???
From: James Patrick
YES, seriously Gerald... Scott was actually with a GIRL...We all thought he was ambiguously gay. While WE were all fine with the possibility that he might not like girls, many people in society weren't as open minded as I or a handful of our coworkers. 1989 was a weird time.
   Anyway, we met up with this girl and her friend at the Outrigger hotel bar immediately after I brought about indescribable shame upon my family name by drinking a bunch of booze and singing a Black Crows song at karaoke night.
  Now that I think about it, I never saw his lady friend again after the Samurai incident...now I'm reeeeally concerned.  I've probably shared too much.
   Scott had to pay an exorbitant amount for the collision damage insurance via his Chase Visa card and the Japanese rental agents seemed quite unhappy with him, using what I believe to be curse words in their native language. We then flew back to the states (Hawaiians LOVE it when you say that btw.)
    Long story short, I'll give you $950 for the Samurai if it's still available.

copyright Flat Earth Media, 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Take Out The Trash Day

It's time for the annual exhibition in spectacular laziness where we empty the disjointed writer storyboard box full of garbage that couldn't be used. You'll find these jewels cleverly scattered throughout this piece. Example: My deviant sex safe word is--
 "don't stop."
   I'm not sure what it is about the change of seasons but it seems to stretch far beyond a meteorological event. The world seems to come unhinged a bit more at springtime.
Semi-related, I have a nest of clinically insane songbirds singing and squatting outside my back door. I suppose I should view it as a celebration of life and new beginnings which prevents any hope of sleeping but, because I want to go to hell for the right reasons, I can't topple their nest and stomp them to death...no matter how loud they are.
   In other seasonal behavioral updates, I've been unfriended-- IN PERSON-- Eat a dick Facebook...and Russian hackers! Proof positive that I don't need a keyboard to lose friends.
   Someone recently asked (And I wish to God that I were making this up) if I had "unfriended" her on my ridiculously, horrible Facebook page. (for those who know me, insert hysterical laughter here.)
I equate this line of questioning to:
a) Do these shoes look okay?

b) So, which one of my friends would you sleep with if you had the chance?

c) You want a shot of peppermint schnapps?

d) Does this Mustang GT make my dick look bigger? etc.
   Elsewhere, according to a commercial, there seems to be a serious problem with regard to an apparent dire global crisis.

  In the company founder's own, solemn words:

"...The best ideas come from solving common problems. My problem, as with a lot of men...finding a shirt that looks good untucked, that's why I invented Untuckit."

CORRECT! That is precisely the topic which keeps me awake at night.
   Award winning writer, former broadcast colleague and professional hoarder, Amanda Port, has penned a brand new book, and it's quite funny.
From: Amanda
What should I title the book???  HELP!

From: James Patrick
Do a fun little game that I play and title it after whatever is in your car. In Amanda's case:
"A bunch of trash and a pair of high heels."

   However seasonal affective disorder finds you this springtime, remember this inspiring passage which aptly personifies new beginnings with each passing life chapter...
(insert some stupid, inspirational passage here)

copyright Flat Earth Media, 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, January 29, 2018

...A Word From Our Sponsors

It's Super Bowl time and you know what that means? Correct! Carson Daly gets extra segment time dedicated to Super Bowl commercial previews on the Today Show.
   For years, after every show, I endured post-production which included about an hour and a half dedicated to doing sponsor commercial voice over work...Which was fine, except for the car dealer spots. I really dislike car dealerships.
   I once became so bored with voicing these commercials, which cleverly invited folks to become anal rape victims-- with zero down and $299 per month-- that I actually recorded a ridiculous, vulgar commercial stating as much. I played it for the auto dealer who not only laughed at my produced joke, but agreed! Buyer beware.
   Even though we tend to relegate commercials as a bathroom break, never underestimate the power of advertising-- Effective advertising-- specifically in our fast paced environment.
   "ba da dah dah dah."
McDonald's only requires 1.9 seconds to subliminally remind you to make deadly, but tasty, dietary decisions.
   Truths, or illusions, in advertising have long fascinated me. For instance, "dilly dilly" is brilliantly synonymous with liver disease...and an excuse to kill anyone who utters it at your backyard barbeque.
   Then, there's advertising vagueness.  I saw my 400,000,000,000,000th My Pillow.com testimonial on the inexplicable Fox/MsnbCNN Headline News Network where Mike Lindell asked a sleep deprived guy:

   "...What's better than a great night s sleep?"

If I'm gonna be honest? A decent blowjob?

Babel Tutorial is continuing God's work via self-help commercials which will teach you how to say:
"Please, don't kill me and leave me in this desert to be eaten by vultures (and) where is the restroom?" in 47 languages.
   As an important research item for the development department at Babel...it doesn't end very well for those folks in Babel as biblical history dictates.
   I had fun in the sponsorship enslavement on-air broadcast world and, seriously, wouldn't trade the experience for anything...except for zero down, zero percent financing, a date with the car dealer's daughter in the commercial and a shitty auto trade-in allowance.
   With that, I leave you with (and, I'm not making this up) a word from
Bell and Howell TAC sunglasses...
"...ordinary glasses only darken the view, putting you in a detrimental situation during a tactical situation."

What could possibly happen which involves the Taliban, ISIS or military operation while I'm mowing my front lawn???

copyright, Flat Earth Media, 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

The Eff-CC

I have an odd, intimate experience with the FCC-- one that afforded me to get drunk in D.C. on several occasions-- times that I will cherish eternally.
   Among many important issues that the FCC deals with in order to fight, terrorists, the zombie apocalypse and protect your life from dirty words is to require that FX, TBS or TNT overdub (I wish that I were making this up)
"Yippee Ki Yay Mr Falcon Shirt"

in the censored version of Die Hard.  Now, this...
   A Federal panel assembled for weeks of deliberation and ruled that (and I also wish that I were making this up) the FCC may no longer sling steep fines at broadcasters for a vulgar word "slip" by any of its on-air guests-- specifically, rules have been relaxed for live broadcasts only --sorry Goodfellas fans, you filthy motherfu...
   That's right, use of the 'f-word,' or as I like to call it: Fuck-- according to the FCC--meets only "vulgar" benchmarks but doesn't reach the crucifixion worthy designation of "obscene."
   Obscene content is defined as "material contrary to common, accepted prurient community standard"-- thus still garners steep fines.
   Since the word "prurient," apparently, didn't wash overboard on the Mayflower, Miles Standish and Jerry Falwell accept use of the f-word without FCC fines. Connotation of the "f-word" is now considered, by the expert panel, as "an expression of frustration," rather than sexual in nature-- thus no actionable fines. That must have been an extremely entertaining meeting.

Reporter: What's your reaction to the park being closed after the latest government shutdown?"
Random guy: Fuck me!
 *note: if the interviewee had replied with WTF, still no fine but I would fucking stab him for verbalizing w.t.f.
    Now, for an example of encroachment upon prurient standard:
   FCC abolishment of Net Neutrality will fuck you long an hard like Carlos did in your grandfather's boathouse on that steamy July afternoon in the summer of your aching, vulnerable youth while you wait forever to login from your shitty T-MOBILE data plan because it doesn't qualify for the internet fast lane.

   Because I'm an overachiever, I violated TWO prurient standards there. (three if you include T-MOBILE)
   When reached for comment, church leaders called the FCC ruling on loosening broadcast standards "Fucking Bullshit."
copyright, Flat Earth Media, 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, January 15, 2018

This Is Not A Drill...

One of my favorite culture designations is that we're a "microwave popcorn society." The term was coined to delineate a large segment of those who want everything right NOW. I use the microwave popcorn term to indicate that everyone in society is like that dick, Bradley, who burns microwave popcorn in the third floor break room after reheating his leftover fucking sea bass and Brussels sprouts.
   Nonetheless, we are a bit of a troublesome sort it seems-- right down to the Twitter account.
   Because there is a shortage of urgent items in the world to worry about, millions of Twitterverse folks (we'll just call them dildos) became distraught by being shackled within the horrifying confines of 140 characters. Because no one thought to send two tweets, the people have spoken...They demand 280 in one package!
   My first thought on this topic is that I personally wish to become a violent murder statistic. The bright side of lengthy tweets blowing in the wind presents a unique opportunity in using the additional 140 to retrospectively explain whatever you shitily attempted to express initially. I'm not even certain if shitily is a word because no one thought to ask Santa Claus for something more useful on Twitter, such as spellchecker (also not a real word.)
   It occurs to me that 140 characters seems to get people into enough trouble as it is--If you don't believe me, "follow" Miley Cyrus on Twitter.
   How can one cause more trouble armed with 280 characters you might wonder?  (Donald Trump doesn't count...too easy.) Since I'm a stable genius, let's take a look at 140 vs 280 and potential trouble therein...

"This is the emergency alert system serving Oahu and Honolulu county including surrounding islands, Kaua'i, Moloka'i, Maui niih'i and Hawai'i. Emergency updates and official instructions will follow on this feed via local radio, television and social media platforms. Incomi..." (begin Twitter character #141...here)
"...Incoming ballistic missile threat to Hawai'i IMMINENT. This is not a drill. A missile strike may impact land or sea in Hawai'i in minutes. Seek shelter immediately. This is NOT a drill. Repeat, this is not a dri..."

   I'd feel much more comfortable if the emergency alert system didn't run short on Twitter characters in order to confirm my imminent demise. I want to read about it as though it were a romantic comedy. But, then again, how many characters does one require within seconds before bursting into vaporized nuclear dust?

From: @James Patrick
" Hey @Amanda37: I'm at work, can you swing by my house? I think I left the oven on. thx."
   For those who counted the number of characters in these tweets...you clearly need to get laid.

Copyright Flat Earth Media, 2018. All Rights Reserved.