I'm writing over at my new blog now--Just Joge--check it out!
http://justjoge.blogspot.com/
More letters (and other fun stuff) to come on the new blog...
Sincerely,
Joge
Monday, October 14, 2013
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Dear Water for Elephants,
Watching you during finals week was a big mistake. Let me elaborate.
For those of you who haven't seen the movie or read the book and are still planning to, I'm not giving anything away here, but basically the premise of the story is that Jacob Jankowski/Edward from Twilight abandons his studies in his senior year of college during the week of final exams and joins a traveling circus. Do you see the problem?
I woke up last Wednesday at 9:30 in the morning (dawn, compared to my usual standards) with all intentions of studying my heart out for my UCC final that night. I made my oatmeal, flopped on the couch, and thought to myself just a few minutes of Divorce Court or 90210 reruns til I finish my oatmeal, and then it's Studytown, USA, population:me. However, whilst flipping through the channels with the admitted dexterity of someone who has enjoyed a light course load and a lot of free time this semester, I happened across Water for Elephants. Just a few minutes of juggling and fire dancers, and then it's back to negotiable instruments and holders in due course I thought naively to myself.
Flash forward an hour and a half, and I am tearing up, third bowl of oatmeal in hand, as Reese Witherspoon and Edward Cullen ride off into the sunset on an elephant.
After that, I settled down to my books and earnestly attempted to drum some law-related facts into my circus-filled brain. But, try as I might, my mind kept wandering from risk of loss and breach of contract, to how cool I would look astride an elephant in a sequin covered costume, and how dreamy Robert Pattinson is when he doesn't have white face makeup and red lipstick on.
In conclusion, to all fellow college seniors in the midst of finals: do not watch Water for Elephants until exams are over. While the idea of performing atop majestic animals while wearing elaborate costumes is undoubtedly tempting, take your exams before pursuing this. The reality is, in 5 years you could very well end up shoveling elephant shit for a living, and you'll be thankful you have your degree to fall back on.
Sincerely,
Joge
P.S. Be on the lookout for a Joey Fatone related post coming soon, as a shoutout to one of my viewers who is in love with him, and whose name starts with an N and rhymes with Shmoelle!
For those of you who haven't seen the movie or read the book and are still planning to, I'm not giving anything away here, but basically the premise of the story is that Jacob Jankowski/Edward from Twilight abandons his studies in his senior year of college during the week of final exams and joins a traveling circus. Do you see the problem?
I woke up last Wednesday at 9:30 in the morning (dawn, compared to my usual standards) with all intentions of studying my heart out for my UCC final that night. I made my oatmeal, flopped on the couch, and thought to myself just a few minutes of Divorce Court or 90210 reruns til I finish my oatmeal, and then it's Studytown, USA, population:me. However, whilst flipping through the channels with the admitted dexterity of someone who has enjoyed a light course load and a lot of free time this semester, I happened across Water for Elephants. Just a few minutes of juggling and fire dancers, and then it's back to negotiable instruments and holders in due course I thought naively to myself.
Flash forward an hour and a half, and I am tearing up, third bowl of oatmeal in hand, as Reese Witherspoon and Edward Cullen ride off into the sunset on an elephant.
After that, I settled down to my books and earnestly attempted to drum some law-related facts into my circus-filled brain. But, try as I might, my mind kept wandering from risk of loss and breach of contract, to how cool I would look astride an elephant in a sequin covered costume, and how dreamy Robert Pattinson is when he doesn't have white face makeup and red lipstick on.
In conclusion, to all fellow college seniors in the midst of finals: do not watch Water for Elephants until exams are over. While the idea of performing atop majestic animals while wearing elaborate costumes is undoubtedly tempting, take your exams before pursuing this. The reality is, in 5 years you could very well end up shoveling elephant shit for a living, and you'll be thankful you have your degree to fall back on.
Sincerely,
Joge
P.S. Be on the lookout for a Joey Fatone related post coming soon, as a shoutout to one of my viewers who is in love with him, and whose name starts with an N and rhymes with Shmoelle!
Monday, April 30, 2012
Dear Prince Harry,
As I'm sure you know, yesterday was Will and Kate's one year anniversary. The past year has flown, and after many recent one-year anniversary specials, the royal wedding "hooplah" seems to have finally died down. Now, not to put any pressure on you Harry but...tick tock. You're not exactly getting any younger.
Don't get me wrong, 27 is by no means old. It's just that with your older brother married and out of the house (palace?) you run the risk of turning into a...how to put this delicately...a spinster. Sure, you still have 2 years of your twenties left, so by all means, enjoy them. Just know that waiting at the end of those years is a Bridget Jones-like existence, full of ice cream, ciggies, and Chaka Khan.
Of course, this dismal future could easily be avoided, if you were to meet your "Princess" Charming...Hi, I'm Joge.
I know what you're thinking--"I don't want to be one of those people who meet their spouse online, like some sort of mail-order bride!" But Harry, the fact of the matter is, 83% of relationships now start online, and the benefits are numerous. Aren't you tired of meeting girls the old fashioned-way, at garden parties and knighting ceremonies? Tolerating hours of idle chitchat about polo matches and Rimmel London eye makeup, just to realize that a girl "doesn't want the obligations that come along with royal life." Why don't you save yourself the heartache and rejection, by wedding someone who you know upfront is compatible--me.
Top 5 Reasons You, Prince Harry, Should Wife Me
5. You have red hair--I am tolerant of gingers.
4. You are British--I am a big fan of Elton John, Russel Brand, Harry Potter, and the Spice Girls.
3. You enjoy attending polo matches--I saw a really cute white dress on Asos.com, and I need a place to wear it.
2. You look good in a uniform--I look good in a uniform! (Granted yours was a military uniform and mine was a Catholic girls school uniform, but let's not split hairs.)
1. You have a lavish, royal lifestyle--I do not, but I would readily and selflessly learn to adapt to yours in order to allow our love to grow (also, I've seen Princess Diaries 1 and 2, so I basically have the royal thing down)
BONUS: You have a history with South African native Chelsy Davy--one time last summer, someone told me that my accent sounded vaguely South African--if that doesn't point towards us being meant to be, I don't know what does!
So Harry, let's put our qualms aside, and give the world what they want--The Royal Wedding Part II, most heavily anticipated sequel since D2:The Mighty Ducks.
Cheerio!
Sincerely,
Joge
Don't get me wrong, 27 is by no means old. It's just that with your older brother married and out of the house (palace?) you run the risk of turning into a...how to put this delicately...a spinster. Sure, you still have 2 years of your twenties left, so by all means, enjoy them. Just know that waiting at the end of those years is a Bridget Jones-like existence, full of ice cream, ciggies, and Chaka Khan.
Of course, this dismal future could easily be avoided, if you were to meet your "Princess" Charming...Hi, I'm Joge.
I know what you're thinking--"I don't want to be one of those people who meet their spouse online, like some sort of mail-order bride!" But Harry, the fact of the matter is, 83% of relationships now start online, and the benefits are numerous. Aren't you tired of meeting girls the old fashioned-way, at garden parties and knighting ceremonies? Tolerating hours of idle chitchat about polo matches and Rimmel London eye makeup, just to realize that a girl "doesn't want the obligations that come along with royal life." Why don't you save yourself the heartache and rejection, by wedding someone who you know upfront is compatible--me.
Top 5 Reasons You, Prince Harry, Should Wife Me
5. You have red hair--I am tolerant of gingers.
4. You are British--I am a big fan of Elton John, Russel Brand, Harry Potter, and the Spice Girls.
3. You enjoy attending polo matches--I saw a really cute white dress on Asos.com, and I need a place to wear it.
2. You look good in a uniform--I look good in a uniform! (Granted yours was a military uniform and mine was a Catholic girls school uniform, but let's not split hairs.)
1. You have a lavish, royal lifestyle--I do not, but I would readily and selflessly learn to adapt to yours in order to allow our love to grow (also, I've seen Princess Diaries 1 and 2, so I basically have the royal thing down)
BONUS: You have a history with South African native Chelsy Davy--one time last summer, someone told me that my accent sounded vaguely South African--if that doesn't point towards us being meant to be, I don't know what does!
So Harry, let's put our qualms aside, and give the world what they want--The Royal Wedding Part II, most heavily anticipated sequel since D2:The Mighty Ducks.
Cheerio!
Sincerely,
Joge
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Dear Cereal Mascots,
Our children are little sponges that soak up everything around them. Some guy in a movie said that once, and I could not agree more. Children watch television all the time, and T.V. is the place where they can pick up much of their behavior. For this reason, I have a major problem with nearly all of you crazy cereal mascots. Cereal mascots are obviously some of the most influential figures in a young child’s life, which is why I think all of those insane, cereal-loving creatures have got to go.
Nearly half of the commercials on Nickelodeon ( I have a correspondent to watch for me because I’m busy reading a newspaper) feature some kind of sugar-tastic cereal. I’m fine with that. Kids can eat nearly anything they want anyway without getting sick, so why make them only eat salad and whole grain crap. No, my real annoyance comes from the mascots in the commercials. Why is it that every mascot either has all of the cereal to himself and won’t share with anyone else, or he doesn’t have any cereal and he never will? This is by far the worst message we can be sending to children. “Kids, if you have something nice, never let anyone else share with you. On a separate note, there is always a reason to be discontent: just think of all those things you don’t have and you want.” When you wonder how those pesky kids in the supermarket got to be that way, just think of those commercials.
Good mascots for cereal are few and far between. Without a doubt Tony the Tiger ranks as the best mascot, and in addition, he was named Time Magazine’s Most Fascinating Animal of 2011. So he gets props right off the bat, especially because he promotes team-playing, hard work, and yummy flakes. Sadly, most cereal mascots are depressing characters, such as Sonny the Cuckoo Bird. Sonny has had a problem for years, and each time we see where he is in life, he gives in to his addiction. He can’t just have a bowl-full; he’s friggin’ Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs! Although this advertisement does educate children about manic depression in birds, it fails to teach them about the importance of moderation (and other food groups). L.C. Leprechaun, better known simply as “Lucky”, has molded the minds of many young children. Putting aside the fact that he has the ability to ride rainbows, he is a rotten, miserly little creature. This character enforces greediness in young people, and I’ll argue the only real contributions his commercials have are giving viewers a better knowledge of what Irish people actually sound like.
I find the Trix rabbit to be irritating. There is one message to take from Trix commercials: if you are a bad thief, you’ll always get caught. The rabbit rarely comes up with an intelligent idea to steal the Trix. I do not consider tip-toeing in the kitchen while the children are in the next room to be sneaky. Now, I do not condone stealing (or being a cartoon), but the Trix rabbit is bad at his job. He only gives the false idea that robbers are light-hearted and easy-to-confront people, a lesson I learned the hard way when I told a large gentleman on the train to give me my iPod back. “iPods are for kids!” I yelled at him, at which point he socked me in the stomach and presumably listened to all of my Frankie Valli tracks.
I’m not going to bother with any more amusing anecdotes, but I will say this: All you cereal mascots better get your crap together real soon, or I’m going to be mildly upset. Tony the Tiger, this message does not apply to you, because you are clearly a moral, law-abiding tiger (nor does it apply to Count Chocula because he’s a funny guy). Toucan Sam, you are on my watch-list.
Good mascots for cereal are few and far between. Without a doubt Tony the Tiger ranks as the best mascot, and in addition, he was named Time Magazine’s Most Fascinating Animal of 2011. So he gets props right off the bat, especially because he promotes team-playing, hard work, and yummy flakes. Sadly, most cereal mascots are depressing characters, such as Sonny the Cuckoo Bird. Sonny has had a problem for years, and each time we see where he is in life, he gives in to his addiction. He can’t just have a bowl-full; he’s friggin’ Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs! Although this advertisement does educate children about manic depression in birds, it fails to teach them about the importance of moderation (and other food groups). L.C. Leprechaun, better known simply as “Lucky”, has molded the minds of many young children. Putting aside the fact that he has the ability to ride rainbows, he is a rotten, miserly little creature. This character enforces greediness in young people, and I’ll argue the only real contributions his commercials have are giving viewers a better knowledge of what Irish people actually sound like.
I find the Trix rabbit to be irritating. There is one message to take from Trix commercials: if you are a bad thief, you’ll always get caught. The rabbit rarely comes up with an intelligent idea to steal the Trix. I do not consider tip-toeing in the kitchen while the children are in the next room to be sneaky. Now, I do not condone stealing (or being a cartoon), but the Trix rabbit is bad at his job. He only gives the false idea that robbers are light-hearted and easy-to-confront people, a lesson I learned the hard way when I told a large gentleman on the train to give me my iPod back. “iPods are for kids!” I yelled at him, at which point he socked me in the stomach and presumably listened to all of my Frankie Valli tracks.
I’m not going to bother with any more amusing anecdotes, but I will say this: All you cereal mascots better get your crap together real soon, or I’m going to be mildly upset. Tony the Tiger, this message does not apply to you, because you are clearly a moral, law-abiding tiger (nor does it apply to Count Chocula because he’s a funny guy). Toucan Sam, you are on my watch-list.
Sincerely,
Steve
Steve
Friday, April 27, 2012
Dear Battleship,
On those cold winter days when I am stuck in the house, and I’ve heated up some hot cocoa, there is no game I’d rather play than… Monopoly!!! Notice how I didn't mention a certain other game. Seriously, Battleship, you are the least inventive game I have ever played, and you always end in a huge, blown-out-of-proportion argument.
Last winter, for instance, I had a snow day and wanted to play a board game with my brother. Monopoly was conveniently nowhere to be found, and I would have taken TiddlyWinks first, but alas, my search was in vain. “So fine” I naively thought to myself, what is the worst that can happen.
Before my tale, I would just like to point out that there is 0 skill level required to Battleship, and I can guarantee that 0 fun will ensue. Seriously what were the game-board people thinking when they came up with this one? “Well, how about a game where the players have to guess where something is, and then they are either right or wrong?” In all honesty, I can say that playing solitaire in a funeral home is more fun than Battleship. I diverge.
So my brother and I were playing this wonder of a game. After I got a hit, I guessed all the other adjacent spots, knowing that one of them must be the true location of the battleship. Not getting any hits in these spots, I explained that the battleships aren’t supposed to be placed diagonally. Again, seriously, Battleship? If you aren’t supposed to put the ships at crazy angles, then why do the little picks fit perfectly into those pick-holders in every single position?
Next game. Everyone is aware of the rules now. Small beads of sweat begin to fill my eyebrows as my frustration with the game increases. This time we have a classic case of “Hey you looked at where my ships were!” Battleship, you look me straight in the eye and explain to me why there isn’t a bigger cover to conceal the locations of those ships. We’re just supposed to sit two feet from one another and not notice that it’s easy to see all of the other person’s business on their board. To make a bad story awesome, my brother and I began to have a verbal duel which was immediately followed by physical confrontations. Battleship absolutely does not= family fun! It equals bare-knuckle boxing with your ten year old brother in the living room, which is only interrupted by the occasional squirrel scurrying through the snow outside, wondering where the hell those damn nuts are!!
You haven’t served me well, Battleship. In fact, you’ve been downright crappy. You are always missing those red and white markers that I cleverly replaced with toothpicks, but even that isn’t working out. I’m giving you to good-will which probably won’t accept you either, making you a perfect candidate for the garbage. I don’t want it to be awkward between us, but I’d rather play puzzles (and I’m fairly certain they do not even qualify as boardgames). I will not be buying the advanced version of you in ten years that has sound effects and light-up bits. We are finished.
Sincerely,
Steve
P.S. Sorry I didn’t make a “bored-game” joke in there, I just needed to vent a little.
Last winter, for instance, I had a snow day and wanted to play a board game with my brother. Monopoly was conveniently nowhere to be found, and I would have taken TiddlyWinks first, but alas, my search was in vain. “So fine” I naively thought to myself, what is the worst that can happen.
Before my tale, I would just like to point out that there is 0 skill level required to Battleship, and I can guarantee that 0 fun will ensue. Seriously what were the game-board people thinking when they came up with this one? “Well, how about a game where the players have to guess where something is, and then they are either right or wrong?” In all honesty, I can say that playing solitaire in a funeral home is more fun than Battleship. I diverge.
So my brother and I were playing this wonder of a game. After I got a hit, I guessed all the other adjacent spots, knowing that one of them must be the true location of the battleship. Not getting any hits in these spots, I explained that the battleships aren’t supposed to be placed diagonally. Again, seriously, Battleship? If you aren’t supposed to put the ships at crazy angles, then why do the little picks fit perfectly into those pick-holders in every single position?
Next game. Everyone is aware of the rules now. Small beads of sweat begin to fill my eyebrows as my frustration with the game increases. This time we have a classic case of “Hey you looked at where my ships were!” Battleship, you look me straight in the eye and explain to me why there isn’t a bigger cover to conceal the locations of those ships. We’re just supposed to sit two feet from one another and not notice that it’s easy to see all of the other person’s business on their board. To make a bad story awesome, my brother and I began to have a verbal duel which was immediately followed by physical confrontations. Battleship absolutely does not= family fun! It equals bare-knuckle boxing with your ten year old brother in the living room, which is only interrupted by the occasional squirrel scurrying through the snow outside, wondering where the hell those damn nuts are!!
You haven’t served me well, Battleship. In fact, you’ve been downright crappy. You are always missing those red and white markers that I cleverly replaced with toothpicks, but even that isn’t working out. I’m giving you to good-will which probably won’t accept you either, making you a perfect candidate for the garbage. I don’t want it to be awkward between us, but I’d rather play puzzles (and I’m fairly certain they do not even qualify as boardgames). I will not be buying the advanced version of you in ten years that has sound effects and light-up bits. We are finished.
Sincerely,
Steve
P.S. Sorry I didn’t make a “bored-game” joke in there, I just needed to vent a little.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Dear Ke$ha,
I have a bone to pick with you. The other day, someone came up to me at a bar, and to my utter dismay, said, "Hey, you look like Kesha!" He then proceeded to ask me how I like life on the road, and if I really do wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy. (I do not)
If you are thinking I was flattered by this comparison, guess again. I took some comfort in the fact that it was a dark bar, and the young gentleman who made the comment was most definitely three sheets to the wind, but truth be told, I was still left feeling queezy, nauseous, and dazed. (That could have been the effect of the strobelights, but I attribute it more to this horrifying comparison.)
I have no problem being compared with celebrities. When people tell me I look like Taylor Swift, I usually shout "Tay Sway's my girl!" before busting out in a very squeaky rendition of "You Belong With Me." Who wouldn't want to be likened to Taylor Swift, America's sweetheart, who is pretty, fashionable, and showers daily. On the other hand, being compared to you, Ke$ha, was a dark time in my life, a day that will live in infamy and haunt me in my dreams for years to come.
I admit, it's not the most outlandish comparison to have ever been made. (I've previously been compared to Whoopi Goldberg as well, and I really don't see that one at all!) Objectively speaking, we are both tall, white, blonde females, and I suppose we are both vaguely Irish looking. But the similarities end there.
However, if the public is going to continue to mix us up, I implore you to clean yourself up a bit you hot mess. Considering we are two public figures who resemble each other and are garnering a lot of media attention lately(you for your musical career and trashtastic behavior, me for my blog and 2004 Scrabble Champion status) I think we have a certain responsibility towards one another to present ourselves decently. If someone were to stop you on the street and say, "Hey, aren't you Joge, author of Sincerely Joge and legendary Milton Bradley wunderkind?" you would be flattered. I am a normal, clean, and moderately respected person (famous opening lines of a resume) and I don't think anyone would be offended to be mistaken for me. However, when someone says to me, "Hey, are you Ke$ha?", I take that to mean, "Hey, aren't you that trashy sloven that onesied in Lily Allen's sink?" And I don't like it...I don't like it one bit.
Take the Olsen twins. They are bound to be confused for one another, so they have opted for a unified look of giant sunglasses and baggy dresses, and that works for them. Fred and George Weasley? They rock the whole "charming British ginger" look, and they nail it. Ke$ha, I'm not asking for us to wear matching sweaters for a holiday picture. I'm simply asking for you to comb your hair, brush your teeth with something other than a "bottle of Jack", and for God's sake, take a shower! I can't even decipher if you have freckles or it that's two year old glitter on your cheeks. I realize we are not twins and not even remotely related, but if people are going to continue to make these erroneous comparisons, we at least owe it to each other not to look like dirty, sparkly hippies. I've done my part, now you do yours!
Sincerely,
Joge
If you are thinking I was flattered by this comparison, guess again. I took some comfort in the fact that it was a dark bar, and the young gentleman who made the comment was most definitely three sheets to the wind, but truth be told, I was still left feeling queezy, nauseous, and dazed. (That could have been the effect of the strobelights, but I attribute it more to this horrifying comparison.)
I have no problem being compared with celebrities. When people tell me I look like Taylor Swift, I usually shout "Tay Sway's my girl!" before busting out in a very squeaky rendition of "You Belong With Me." Who wouldn't want to be likened to Taylor Swift, America's sweetheart, who is pretty, fashionable, and showers daily. On the other hand, being compared to you, Ke$ha, was a dark time in my life, a day that will live in infamy and haunt me in my dreams for years to come.
I admit, it's not the most outlandish comparison to have ever been made. (I've previously been compared to Whoopi Goldberg as well, and I really don't see that one at all!) Objectively speaking, we are both tall, white, blonde females, and I suppose we are both vaguely Irish looking. But the similarities end there.
However, if the public is going to continue to mix us up, I implore you to clean yourself up a bit you hot mess. Considering we are two public figures who resemble each other and are garnering a lot of media attention lately(you for your musical career and trashtastic behavior, me for my blog and 2004 Scrabble Champion status) I think we have a certain responsibility towards one another to present ourselves decently. If someone were to stop you on the street and say, "Hey, aren't you Joge, author of Sincerely Joge and legendary Milton Bradley wunderkind?" you would be flattered. I am a normal, clean, and moderately respected person (famous opening lines of a resume) and I don't think anyone would be offended to be mistaken for me. However, when someone says to me, "Hey, are you Ke$ha?", I take that to mean, "Hey, aren't you that trashy sloven that onesied in Lily Allen's sink?" And I don't like it...I don't like it one bit.
Take the Olsen twins. They are bound to be confused for one another, so they have opted for a unified look of giant sunglasses and baggy dresses, and that works for them. Fred and George Weasley? They rock the whole "charming British ginger" look, and they nail it. Ke$ha, I'm not asking for us to wear matching sweaters for a holiday picture. I'm simply asking for you to comb your hair, brush your teeth with something other than a "bottle of Jack", and for God's sake, take a shower! I can't even decipher if you have freckles or it that's two year old glitter on your cheeks. I realize we are not twins and not even remotely related, but if people are going to continue to make these erroneous comparisons, we at least owe it to each other not to look like dirty, sparkly hippies. I've done my part, now you do yours!
Sincerely,
Joge
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Dear Ronald McDonald,
In 2009, the Taco Bell chihuahua died. In 2011, the Burger King "King" retired. 2013 is fast approaching...will you be next?
Don't get me wrong Ronny, you've had a great run. Endorsing the McDonald's franchise and simultaneously scaring the crap out of anyone who sees you for over 40 years is no minor feat, and for that, I commend you. But I think all can agree that at some point, the "clowning around" must come to an end. (See what I did there?)
It's not that America doesn't love you. It's just that...well, quite frankly, you scare the shit out of us. So no actually, we don't love you. I know, that's a lot to take in. I'm sure you're probably feeling a lot of things right now--angry, upset, betrayed, confused. You're probably asking yourself: "What could I have done differently?"
Well, call me a sucker for creepy men in makeup, but I hate to watch you suffer like this. So here's what I'm gonna do RonRon. I'm going to give you a few tips to get back in the public's good graces, or at least to reduce the number of people who shiver at the sight of you.
First things first--what does American society value most? If you answered a giant leering smile like that of someone on heavy medication, you would be wrong. Wipe that grin off your face, you look like a serial killer. What Americans value most, unequivocally, is looks. And yours, my dear Ronald, are a big hot mess.
A few pointers for a top-to-bottom makeover:
1. Let's talk hair. The voluminous red waves gots to go. For the record, I have a redhead sibling, and I have no problem with redheads whatsoever. But the fact of the matter is, America is hating on gingers right now, and it doesn't look like they're planning on easing up any time soon. Chances are, you don't have a soul, but it would take people a lot longer to figure this out if you didn't have flaming red hair. And don't even try the defense that you're going for a "boy on fire" look. You are not Katniss. You will never be Katniss. Moving on...
2. The skin. This could easily lead into racist territory, so let the records show, I have nothing against white people. However, there is no reason for you to be walking around looking like Anne Hathaway in Alice in Wonderland. It's called a tanning bed. Find one and hop in. If you're afraid of cancer, well, let's be honest, you eat enough french fries that a heart attack is probably a lot closer on your horizon anyway.
3. The clothes. I'm not one to state the obvious, but I'm about to. No one looks good in red and yellow. No one. Except maybe Stewie Griffin. Are you an animated British baby? No? Then lose the jumpsuit, you look ridiculous.
Well, I guess that about does it Ronald. Good luck in your future endeavors, and enjoy your remaining time. To say that you will be missed is an overstatement. However, if you follow my advice, you will probably not be remembered with as much fear and revulsion as you would have otherwise. And you know what--I'm lovin' it.
Sincerely,
Joge
Don't get me wrong Ronny, you've had a great run. Endorsing the McDonald's franchise and simultaneously scaring the crap out of anyone who sees you for over 40 years is no minor feat, and for that, I commend you. But I think all can agree that at some point, the "clowning around" must come to an end. (See what I did there?)
It's not that America doesn't love you. It's just that...well, quite frankly, you scare the shit out of us. So no actually, we don't love you. I know, that's a lot to take in. I'm sure you're probably feeling a lot of things right now--angry, upset, betrayed, confused. You're probably asking yourself: "What could I have done differently?"
Well, call me a sucker for creepy men in makeup, but I hate to watch you suffer like this. So here's what I'm gonna do RonRon. I'm going to give you a few tips to get back in the public's good graces, or at least to reduce the number of people who shiver at the sight of you.
First things first--what does American society value most? If you answered a giant leering smile like that of someone on heavy medication, you would be wrong. Wipe that grin off your face, you look like a serial killer. What Americans value most, unequivocally, is looks. And yours, my dear Ronald, are a big hot mess.
A few pointers for a top-to-bottom makeover:
1. Let's talk hair. The voluminous red waves gots to go. For the record, I have a redhead sibling, and I have no problem with redheads whatsoever. But the fact of the matter is, America is hating on gingers right now, and it doesn't look like they're planning on easing up any time soon. Chances are, you don't have a soul, but it would take people a lot longer to figure this out if you didn't have flaming red hair. And don't even try the defense that you're going for a "boy on fire" look. You are not Katniss. You will never be Katniss. Moving on...
2. The skin. This could easily lead into racist territory, so let the records show, I have nothing against white people. However, there is no reason for you to be walking around looking like Anne Hathaway in Alice in Wonderland. It's called a tanning bed. Find one and hop in. If you're afraid of cancer, well, let's be honest, you eat enough french fries that a heart attack is probably a lot closer on your horizon anyway.
3. The clothes. I'm not one to state the obvious, but I'm about to. No one looks good in red and yellow. No one. Except maybe Stewie Griffin. Are you an animated British baby? No? Then lose the jumpsuit, you look ridiculous.
Well, I guess that about does it Ronald. Good luck in your future endeavors, and enjoy your remaining time. To say that you will be missed is an overstatement. However, if you follow my advice, you will probably not be remembered with as much fear and revulsion as you would have otherwise. And you know what--I'm lovin' it.
Sincerely,
Joge
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