A Picture Spreads 1000 Germs

Sometimes I see strange things in the real world and choose to take a picture of said thing. They say a picture says 1000 words. So I'm choosing to write 1000+ words about the person/place/thing that I chose to take a picture of.

I hope to make this an ongoing literary feature of WFJ. In the debut addition, we will explore themes of love and FEAR as they exist in our 21st century suburban society.

Sí, She's Dead

The hot sun pressed against the Mexican restaurant, crunching the brick exterior like a corn chip, very slowly. The smell of tasty food being grilled coalesced with the sun rays, the pavement, the carbon dioxide, and the phantom breeze to produce a warm, summery scent-sation. Then a sugary, flowery, funky odor entered the smell periphery. A cloud of perfume moseyed toward the door and behind it, three females.

Christal, Sara, and Meegan were on another routine trip to Donde Padre's Mexican Grill. They're all lower-middle-class indentured workers at the tanning salon in an adjacent strip mall, where they all make $10/hr. If the monetary system were to collapse tomorrow--not that they would notice--but the three women could begin accepting payment in the form of sodium, trans fat, cholesterol, and (most importantly) alcohol, without much inconvenience or lifestyle disruption.

Ding. The bell rang as the door opened. This was how the restaurant staff knew the customer occupancy total was changing. Three more were added to the total. The total was now pretty high: happy hour! 

The host, Fernando, was twelve feet away from the door, around a slight corner. Upon hearing the "ding", he glided around the corner as if he were on a mini train track, like an amusement park ride. "Hello. How many?" he said melodically.

"And I said, ‘You’re not getting any of this, this is my shit,’" Christal said to her homegirls, continuing the convo that began in the car.

Shit, that's not a number, Fernando thought to himself. He knew it was probably going to be tres, but maybe not, maybe they had some guys joining them. Fernando just wanted to make sure, ultimately he just wants to keep the seating situation non-catastrophic. If the table assignments we misconfigured, or the servers got confused, it’d be all Fernando’s fault. 

"Three?” he asked again.

Sara texted somebody instead of answering the young man in front of her. Meegan assuaged the confusion, "Ya, three." Fernando took them to a booth. He didn't know for sure whether he's adverted a disaster or not. 

Jorge, the server, noticed the familiar trio and his heart got hot. His smile stretched out like an accordion because he loved Meegan. He found it easy to crush on many of the cute girls that came into Donde Padre's, but none of them had the appeal of the angelic Meegan. Jorge loved how confident she seemed, and how her voice was sort of froggy. Her hair was like silk spun on a star, and her lips were like a two dolphins hugging. Jorge closed his eyes, rhapsodized for a moment.

He emerged out of the kitchen like a float in a parade. His rotund body seemed to be holding a few extra volumes at this moment. It was sweet puppy love making him swell up. He approached Meegan's table with conflicting emotions: trying so hard to exude charm, which he had plenty of, but his shyness was stuffing it all back into him. 

"Hey ladies," Jorge said suavely to the three young women. But then no one said anything. Several long seconds went by, no response or acknowledgement. Christal looked at Jorge briefly and let out a sigh, that would've been the closest thing to a response. 

Sara squealed, "We'll have three margaritas!"

And so began the party.

-----------------------------

The sun orangified and leaned backward as the afternoon went by. The drinks kept coming to the party girl table. 

Each time Jorge brought a refill or an enchilada, he'd try to make conversation. He thought this would maybe be the path--albeit only the beginning of a very burdensome path--to Meegan's affection. But the thin phrases like nice dress and how's work were answered thoughtlessly, like an automated telephone survey. 

The drinks loosened up the three ladies socially; they became more loud and obnoxious, and more willing to move outside the isolation of their three-way conversation. Jorge was the only person in the restaurant that wanted to be in that conversation, but a few random patrons got to meet the ladies, whether they wanted to or not. 

Christal rolled her had back over into the booth behind her, which was occupied by a couple in their 50s. The man drank a beer, while the woman nursed a margarita, and they were doing a great job of not acting like insane party animals. Really, they were putting on an outstanding performance of being old and somber.

Christal, trying to bond with the auntie-esque woman, shouted, "Whoo! Yea my girl is doing the margarita thing, shake it baby!" 

It was like a cartoon coming into the real world. Shaking her glass, Christal swung her arm over the seat to try to "cheers" the woman. Her husband was visibly quite excited that the young lady was engaging with him; his big ears wiggled and his eyebrows shifted. His wife had been married to him long enough to know what those facial expressions meant. Another trick she picked up in the super-long marriage: physically shutting her husband down with a facial expression of her own. 

Sara left the table for the bathroom. She opened the door to see a tall man with his young son. Oh that one was the men’s room.

Jorge and Sara returned to the rowdy table simultaneously and very awkwardly. He acknowledged Sara but was so puffy and gaga over Meegan, it could be read right on his round face. "So are we celebrating tonight?" he asked. 

"Yea! It's Meegan's birthday!" shouted Sara. 

"Ohh...? Ohhhh!!" Jorge uttered. "Hang on!"

He ran back to the kitchen and hollered for Fernando. Upon the verbal cue, the kitty cat-like Fernando leapt off his invisible mini train track as if he had springs on his feet. 

"It's not my birthday, you betch!", Meegan squawked at Sara. 

Inside the kitchen, the young men converted to Spanish for a private conversation.

"What is it?" Fernando asked as he slipped through the kitchen door. 

"Meegan! The girl I have a crush on. It's her birthday."

"Ok. We'll do the birthday song! I'll go--"

"Fernando, is this a good time to ask her out?"

"Yes," Fernando spoke sentimentally, "Just tell her she is very special and you wish you could get to know her. She will like you, Jorge. You're the best."

"Thanks, amigo! Now hurry, let's go!"

The birthday procedure of Donde Padre's was about to commence. This typically entails at least two sombrero-wearing staffers playing guitar and singing a special birthday song, as well as a Mexican ice cream sundae. Lately they'd been using a small strobe light, which some people liked, while others were bothered.

Fernando burst out of the kitchen with his guitar, a sombrero, and the strobe light. His uncle Raul, the mustached assistant manager, joined him at the girls' table. They began the birthday song in two different keys and tempos, but found a harmonious middle ground after a few seconds. Out came Jorge with the cake. He sat it down and snapped a picture of the celebration. 

Meegan started feeling a bit uncomfortable with the attention. Sara and Christal were L-O-V-I-N-G I-T. Their half-hushed squeals of delight were like a siren that added to the blaring festivities. It was getting intense in Donde Padre's. And there was a goddam strobe light going off to boot.

Jorge pushed the cake towards Meegan as gently and sweetly as he could, which was slightly more gentle than a moose. He showed his beloved Meegan a smile that made her pupils shrink.

"Make a wish, betch!" Christal said.

Meegan wished this shit wasn't happening. She didn't mind being the center of attention, but she was used to having control over the situation: emotional control (in real life) or editorial control (when it came to her social media persona). She couldn’t wrangle control this time. This was just her friends teaming up with a few creepy guys to make fun of her.

"Happy birthday, Meegan," Jorge said softly, "I can tell you are a very special girl..."

Whoa, WTF Meegan thought. 

"I would be the happiest guy if you would please go on a date sometime with me." Jorge had forced the phrase through a gauntlet of nerves and self-consciousness, but consequently felt happy and proud. Simply asking Meegan on a date was a true accomplishment.

Conversely, he had a full-blown B.O. problem at the time, but was not terribly phased by it. He figured he could blame it on the fajitas nearby. If Meegan asked "Jorge, do you have B.O. right now?", he could say “No, Meegan. What you are smelling is the fajitas right there.”

As more anxious thoughts occupied his mind, along with a long drumroll, Jorge awaited a response from Meegan. Christal, Sara, Fernando, and Raul were all awaiting Meegan's answer. 

Meegan's eyes looked deader than a pan of ground beef. Her brain was fried; whaaaaat? These judgmental eyes attacked her like a gang of hornets; they sucked her dry and she was empty inside. Jorge's roly-poly figure hovered over her like the shadow of an A-bomb. 

Suddenly Meegan's neck and shoulders let go of her head. She folded 90° in a second. SPLAT! Face first into the ice cream she went. 

Meegan's body was completely limp, the company surrounding her was unanimously shocked and confused. 

"Ohhhhhhh," whimpered Jorge. "What is wrong?" It was the strangest moment of his life. 

Christal whispered, "Meegan?"

Meegan showed no life whatsoever, still sitting with her face in the ice cream. Her friends figured out where Meegan was going with this; she’s playing possum. Through girly telepathy, they began to improvise.

Sara looked at Jorge and said,  "She's dead." She pronounced dead as dud.

"Oh my god," Jorge replied. "She's dead?" He pronounced dead, deed.

"She's dud!" Sara shouted, thinking that she was correcting his pronunciation. 

"Dead?", Jorge asked.

"Si!" shouted Christal and Sara in unison. "Si, she's deed!"

Thinking that he had to call 911, Jorge spun around and bolted toward the front desk, his heart racing. But as he grasped the phone he suddenly realized that Meegan was perfectly alive, only faking a sudden death to make him go away. This realization made his heart slide all the way down his colon. Jorge just kept walking, right past the desk and out the door. Ding. The doorbell rang gloomily. Jorge started his car and drove home. 

Raul shrugged and walked away from the table. Fernando ran out the door after Jorge, who was supposed to be his ride home. But Fernando saw only an empty parking space with a large oil stain. 

Meegan slowly raised her head up from the dessert and said, taking a small breath between each syllable, "Oh my god, y'all. That was THE most awkward thing ever." A chill came over her and she shook in her seat like an old washing machine. 

"You always know how to handle your shit, Meegan," said Christal.

Sara added, "You're our hero."

"Lets get the hell out of here," Meegan told her friends. 

"Hang on," said Christal. "Let's take a picture." She snapped a shot with the camera Jorge had left on the table. Sara snapped one with her phone as well.

"Hey amigo, can we get the check?" Sara asked Fernando. 

"That man has paid for your meal and drinks!" Fernando responded. He was referring to the one-half of the middle-aged couple that'd become acquainted with the young women. 

"Hey," the man waddled over to the girls like a walking tree. "I hope you have a very, very happy birthday," he said ghoulishly. He was crawling into Meegan's personal space like a miner, trying to get closer and closer. His wife came out from the bathroom in time to witness his encounter and he quickly retreated. He was most definitely about to crawl into the doghouse, and probably wouldn’t come out until Meegan is his age. 

---------------------

Jorge returned to work at Donde Padre's the next day, but he had seen Christal, Sara, and Meegan for the final time. The treacherous three would soon find a new hangout: a trendy, faux-fancy brick oven pizza joint called Romeo's. Martinis became their new poison; prices at Romeo's were much higher, and none of the waiters would ever fall for Meegan. Although Sara slept with a bartender. 

It was several months later when the film in the restaurant-owned disposable camera was filled up. Fernando brought the developed photos back to Donde Padre's, and he and some other workers sorted through the pictures of all the happy customers and workplace shenanigans. And then Fernando came to a picture of the cream-faced blonde, Meegan. He thought of Jorge, afraid that seeing the picture would resurrect his heartache.

"Let me see that," Jorge said, emerging from the walk-in freezer, thin clouds of steam billowing ethereally behind him. Distant and pale, he resembled an angel, perhaps a ghost. It was as if Meegan's rejection had forever evicted every bit of joy from him.

Jorge held the picture an inch away from his face. Meegan looked more beautiful in the photo than he could every remember. 

Right next to the bathrooms, there was poster frame with a dozen slots for individual photos. Jorge walked to the frame and jerked it off the wall. He took out all the photos and inserted the single picture of Meegan. Jorge still showed no emotion. With a fierce stoicism he hung the frame back up. He then said a Hail Mary and went to retrieve the chips and salsa for table número cinco. 

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ballad of Dean Wheat

Dean Wheat waits for the man in a sticky booth near the concession stand of the theatre. Another matinee of the summer's hottest blockbuster is about to begin. 

The dealer arrives, asks Dean if he's seen the hottest new movie, the one that has swept the whole nation. Dean had not seen it.

The entire world mind is focused on this movie, Fixar Planet 3D. Cineplexes everywhere are bustling with Fixar fans running in and out. It's pure, nonstop, electric mania.

If you could witness the total collective thought of all first-world humans, it would be nothing more than a trailer for the film. Any fast food chain worthy of their salt and trans fat has toys, cups, and cardboard standups dedicated to Fixar's characters--not to mention the billboards, crossover promotions, commercials, and Internet pop-up ads that blanket the dominant Western culture. So it seemed odd that Dean wasn't at least a little familiar with Fixar Planet 3D.

The dealer gives Dean a hit of LSD with a Mickey Mouse logo on it, tells him to go Fixar (it's life-changing!) The hit goes down the hatch.

Dean zig zags through the elephantine herd of large adults and children to find his seat in the theatre.

Lights out. Here comes the first trailer. What will be the next big thing? 

Coca-cola commercial. 

The blaring audio from the sound system slopes down into a silence at the end of the advertisement. There's a brief pause, the hyper-bright screen descends into darkness. 

WWSSHHH! POPP!! Dean's ears snap. The sound of a hundred high-pitched pops and micro-crashes pierce his skull. Dean is startled severely; he feels his primal animal instincts kick in, sensing extreme danger in the dark theatre. 

Relaxation has fled his body, a racing heart jacks his chest. His drug-accelerated alertness pins him to the edge of his seat as the next trailer begins. This one features dull visuals and audio. The texture on the screen is soft, but not like an animal you'd want to pet. It's like a chemical-stained carpet. 

When the sound winds down again, Dean revisits the auditory horrorhouse. POP! SZZZ! CRACK! It seems--EEEEYYYAAAHH!!!--there are sonic predators all around Dean, who is a wingless bird; a turtle outside of his shell.

Bewildered, Dean bends his beady eyes around the corner. He sees a huge man--who seems much closer to Dean than he really is--lift a heap of popcorn into a hole in the middle of his face. The load gets thrashed around in the man's lawnmower teeth. Little bitty flakes escape, the lucky ones. The excess popcorn debris and blasts of spit hit the floor like a rainstorm. Dean can hear clearly the screams of every kernel, and even each little grain of salt.

Chomp! Chomp! The violent strikes echo through the theatre like an avalanche. From the back row fat man to the family of toads in the front; left to right, it's a symphony of big bites. Not one creature in the room is without armfuls of enriched, processed snacks. Dean is the only one that's candyless.

The concert proceeds: Sticky lips smack under slimy noses, sinuses suck up quick shots of air like face-zeppelins. Dirty gums rub against gelatinous globs of sugar, smothered in the moldy mouths of small children. Their young teeth are as good as dead.

It's a 7.1 surround-sound score of disgusting bodily noises. The grotesque parade of dietary squalor is giving Dean a grisly migraine. How can such unnatural chem-concoctions even be digested? Dean discovers the sound of intestinal thunder: the rumbling gas and bubbling acid being brewed in their stomach cauldrons. Eww.

And now here's your feature presentation. The movie rolls, bit nothing but a faint white noise seems to emanate from the theatre speakers, and the screen contains only a flickering paper-thin image. This is what everyone is so worked up about? Fixar is like a big hokey magic trick that draws a vast, unwitting crowd (the whole world?) But Dean sees the strings and the little man behind the curtain. And he's not impressed.

Dean wants to know just who is in the theatre, taking in the panorama around him seems to give him an aneurysm in his brain, a hundred tiny ruptures in all his veins. He sees these big smiles on everyone, eyes completely glazed over and spinning like the roller skates of a psychotic clown. Hahahauhhahaha! They love this garbage. The moviegoers shovel even more cruddy morsels into their beaks; they appear to be in nirvana. 

The nasty bastards gnash and nosh like there's no tomorrow. Dean starts to figure that they are totally insatiable. But is artificial sugar and fake food a sustainable resource? What do they eat when the candy is gone? Dean feels the real possibility that they may eat him. They're already eyeballing him; they all know he's an outsider. 

Attempting to pre-empt a cannibalistic attack, Dean stands up, turns around, and faces the crowd. With violent, swiping hand gestures, he yells bravely at the Fixar freaks. Something like: you're all sheep, product-addicted gluttons. As he jerks around fervently, Dean's arm is sucked into the mouth of pig-dude next to him. The greasy lips envelop Dean's forearm, which does not taste like sugar or food dye, so the pig-dude spits it out. 

No one in the crowd cares anything about Dean, the only concern is Fixar Planet 3D and the sugary refreshments that enhance its sensory euphoria. This fact doesn't comfort Dean. Another paranoia wave eclipses his consciousness; he's in hell. In a room full of people, but alone in hell.

A LITTLE PIG-KID JUMPS UP AND BITES DEAN’S ARM OFF!

Dean Wheat screams, it sounds like a soft super-low bass note. He blacks out.

Suddenly, Dean awakes in the sticky booth by the concession stand. He’s got his arm back; he is shrouded in a giant Hershey's Bar wrapper. Baffled and paniced, he kicks off the foil blanket and heads toward the glowing glass doors.

Like the last drips of hourglass sand, Dean sprints to the door through the counter-momentum of the cineplex receding into nothingness. Dean is the grey moving between light and dark.

He pushes the door open. In the courtyard he is face to face with the SUN GOD! Dean Wheat melts into a syrupy sludge.

Government Mandated Dating: A New Public Option For Meeting Singles

The War of the Sexes and the battle between Big Government vs Small Government are poised to converge over one controversial issue: Government-mandated dating. A proposed system would obligate single men and women to enroll in a dating database that would pair them up with state-approved suitors. The plan is known by the name Date.gov, which will soon be the web address for America's taxpayer-funded public option for online dating. Depending on who you ask, this is either a fascist annihilation of a sacred and "unflawed" dating tradition, or a springboard to an egalitarian society where everyone has a fair shot at true love. The true, practical and objective question is: will Big Brother be any good at matchmaking? 

President Obama's Affordable Healthcare Act seemed to open the floodgates for new Government programs that affect our lives in unprecedented ways. Although the Healthcare legislation and the dating mandate plan are both intended to improve the lives of Americans, they also incite major skepticism. Questions are raised about the effectiveness and integrity of the programs (Aren't Government-run services always inferior and wasteful?) as well as the philosophical virtue of Federal regulation (Is the Government suppressing liberty by telling us who to date?)

Americans have picked their own mates for almost 2½ centuries, why is now the time to change? And isn't this a throwback to the days of forced, arranged marriages and authoritarian government? Nobody likes it when their parents tells them who they can or can't date, and presumably, same goes for Uncle Sam.

New York congressman, Anthony Weiner, a major advocate of Government matchmaking, offers this official statement on his Twitter account:

The truth is the Government is never going to make you date anybody, so don't get all freaked out. And of course the Government would NEVER tell two people they couldn't be together! So perhaps love should be considered a public good, which would behoove the Government to facilitate it to its taxpayers. After all, shouldn't something as socially-centric as dating actually be socialized?

But far to the other side of the issue, there's libertarian leader and former Congressman, Ru Paul. While Paul is obviously antagonistic toward any type of Government activity, he truly knows sexuality inside and out.

There you have a summary of the political debate over the Government Dating proposal, but these polarized accounts do nothing to inform Americans of the actual issue. Believe it or not, there's more to relationships than just bickering. So to shed light on the factual conditions of the Matchmaking rollout, let's examine the history of its development and implementation strategy.

Rich guys really do get all the chicks!

You Had Me At 'Hello' - The History of Date.Gov

When Al Gore invented the internet in the early 1990s, President Bill Clinton's top priority was to cultivate the new technology to become a venue for meeting women. Even as an early concept, the internet has always been intended to be nothing but a virtual bar, a la picking up women and playing online poker. As the US Government worked on perfecting a viable online dating infrastructure, the internet evolved over the years into a platform with many more uses, most of which did not result in scoring with babes.

As is usually the case with American innovation, the technology is created by a Government institution and enhanced (read: commercialized) by business entrepreneurs. Companies like Match.com and eHarmony may have made significant progress with online matchmaking, but obviously the shareholders profited more than any average Joe or Joann looking for love. Privatized online dating sites boast about all the relationships and marriages they create, while omitting the ugliest detail: that they lead to even more breakups and divorces. Nothing about dating websites is ever as good as it claims to be.  

The next big stride for matchmaking technology came just two years ago, not from professionals in Silicon Valley, but from a student at the University of Massachusetts. Chris Smekhov, a 24-year-old Computer Science major and former virgin, was able to create an advanced algorithm that mathematically pairs up students using their Student ID numbers. Most college students meet each other through common interests, but this is a dead-end street when it comes to Computer Science majors, who are almost always socially-inept beta-males. It's understandable that these young men would devote their time to any sort of technical wizardry (or deception) that could get them a date.  

Smekhov never made too many UMass keg-party appearances, but by way of his job at he Student Registration office, plenty of students got to meet him and immediately forget about him. When he wasn't making ID badges and processing data, he would spend long, late-night hours cooped up in the computer lab. This was reportedly an unsettling scene for students and faculty that would pass by and look into the dark room; Smekhov's stick-figure frame enshrouded by darkness, only two milky eyes illuminated by the glow of the monitor. Suspicions arose that he was crunching more than numbers in there. But Chris Smekhov's hard work resulted in the state-of-the-art algorithm that, probably by no accident, paired him up the girl of his dreams. With the help of his Comp Science colleagues, Smekhov developed a smartphone app, YouMassAss, which repeated the function for hundreds of students who hopped right on the tech bandwagon. 

"I couldn't believe how quick it caught on!," Smekhov tells us. "Our generation is so tech-obsessed, they're just waiting for the next innovation that will make life more convenient and less complex. Everybody wants to hook up! We just want to avoid most of the preliminary human interaction. Just like we don't want to physically go to the bank, apply for a job, make a phone call, buy something at the store, go to a classroom, or rent a video."  

The US Government just happened to catch wind of Smekhov's app early on, and promptly bought the rights to the patent. This is standard procedure in the tech-business world, which is why the Government needed to catch up and finally make a wise investment. The Big Business monopoly of online dating was a few keystrokes away from being challenged by a public option.

When Love Comes To Town - The Implementation of Socialized Dating

A national dating pool is a colossal undertaking, so as the Government prepared for a large-scale rollout, a few localized test markets were established. For more information on this process, we were able to speak with Deb Barthsgaard, a lead director of the Government's marketing department--which, isn't it weird that the Government has a marketing department? It's also weird that Deb is not short for "Deborah", and damn sure not "Debbie". When you call her "Debbie", the interview ends.

Deb Barthsgaard
Assistant Director of Marketing - US Federal Government

"We determined that Unemployment Offices were the key to success.", Barthsgaard says, marking the first time that phrase has been ever used. Deb continues, "People are always registering and keeping correspondence with the office, they have no choice. So why not just use the unemployed as guinea pigs for this experiment? So for all intents and purposes, we've converted select Unemployed Offices into dating centers."

They changed the logo to look like Urban Outfitters, and put an Instagram-style filter on this picture.
Look how not-depressing it looks!

It turned out to be quite pragmatic and a smooth transition; the change only meant claimants filled out a few extra questions and checked a few extra boxes. Then when they receive their checks, it's got an even more exciting number on it, a phone number.

When you consider that over 40% of men and women meet their spouse at work, it makes perfect sense why Unemployment Offices should offer a dating service. If you don't have a job, how can you strike up a flirtatious rapport with a co-worker? And how can you develop that rapport into a tennis match of winks and longing glances? Then how do you harvest that sexual tension into a game of exponentially-erotic physical touches and deep conversations where you really, I mean really get to know the person, before going to bed with them and ipso facto entering a committed relationship? Unemployed people deserve the same opportunities. When you get laid off, you don't need to get a new job, you need to get laid. You just had a damn job.

Take a look at some of the couples that the Government has brought together, then decide for yourself if this will be a positive social program in the future.

Natalie & Juan "The Leopard" Alvarez

Natalie Cooper went from Beauty Queen to Welfare Queen in just nine months, and now all she's got to show for it is a toddler and a tiara. When she told her former beau that she was pregnant, it was a last thing she ever told him; he got the hell out of dodge. Even a child-support subpoena could not track down the freewheeler (he was using a fake name--that bastard!) so Natalie was on her own. What's worse, Natalie's relationship with "Rex" had caused her family so much shame and heartache, they ultimately had to cut her off for good. Her bridges were burnt and her lover had blazed a trail out of town. Who would she turn to now?

Then she met the Juan. He's Juan Alvarez, they call him The Leopard. It has something to do with how fast he could make money or close real estate deals back when the housing market was good. He's watched the world turn into a harsh, loveless place in the last few years, and has had to perform harsh, loveless acts. A master of many trades, The Leopard has been able to maintain a semblance of what was previously a very lavish lifestyle. He'd had almost everything, and no longer wanted anything except a Queen to share his life with. Finally the state awarded her to him.

Natalie Cooper will never forget the warm night at Tony Roma's where Juan told her, "I will take care of you and your kid."

Lenny & Margot

Margot had never heard of Magic the Gathering, or even World of Warcraft, before she met Lenny; now she is learning the ropes of online gaming and attends all of Lenny's Magic games at the card shop. Lenny had never watched America's Got Talent before he met Margot, but now he cares about it. They watch it together every week, alternating between Lenny's mom's house and Margo's apartment, until they inevitably, lovingly move in with each other. In fact, Lenny is thinking about trying out for America's Got Talent; he's not "traditionally" talented but Margo thinks he is. Yeah, these two do about everything together, they even take pictures together in the bathroom (must be a generational thing). And to think, none of it would be possible without the Government mandate. To top it all off, Lenny and Margot no longer need unemployment benefits because they've both just been hired by Kroger!

Keith (A.K.A. Rex?) & Amber

Amber is just like most girls, she'll have a child before she turns 19 and she just flat-out cannot resist the charm of Keith/Rex. She loves him because he's a bad boy and an enigma; he likes her because she's like most girls. Amber is--OK, that's enough about them, let's just move on.

Herb Patterson

Actually Herb was not able to meet anyone. If you or anyone you know is interested in Herb, please get in touch with him via Facebook. He's a good guy.

Rex & Jamekee

Oh Rex, goddam you!

Dontell & Duke

There are no words for these two. No words, at least none that I'd be able to summon. So let me just quote part of a song that the white one wrote about the black one:

     Jump up and down!

     Pick up my ***** and **** it around

     Pull me close **** and ***** all my **** 

Let's Work It Out - The Next Step for Date.Gov's Launch

The right wing--Big Business, Evangelical Christians, and the ruling establishment of traditional dating--want nothing to do with dating reform, or as they call it, "Love Redistribution". Only an elite minority actually benefit from the current system. Most of the voters that empower the right wing are going against their own interest; they say they don't like the plan but upon hearing the details individually, they are heavily in favor.

Conversely, Liberals are in favor of what's known as a "single player" system. This is basically a Euro-style nonstop sex frenzy. Everybody gets as much sex as they can stand, on demand, and the Government pays the bill. No committed relationships are required in this system, it's basically a Welfare state with free prostitutes. It's unlikely to pass in this uptight nation, but we can still dream.

The likely middle ground for both sides is going to be a system that incorporates dating site juggernauts like eHarmony, but includes a public option as well. There's one new provision involved that's surprisingly popular on both sides: the formation of the Federal Dating Insurance Claus, which would help protect and stabilize people's personal lives at the end of a bad relationship.

So even more Government growth is the answer? Did the Republicans buy off on this? Yes. Because they know business, and dating insurance is just good business.

A relationship is an investment. And in this dating market, there are a whole lt of bad ones. So wouldn't it be nice if the Government bailed you out when your Love Dow Jones crashes? When you enter a relationship, consider all the friends, hobbies, and bachelor happiness that you forfeit--now add in the opportunity cost of what you could've been doing, and multiply that by the interest rate. What you have is an equation that equals severe depression.

Here's an analogy for all you computer nerds: say you're working on a spreadsheet or a project when all of sudden, your computer crashes. The FDIC essentially hits CTRL-S before the crash, and lets you pick up right where you left off when you reboot. The FDIC acts as the "friender" of last resort that will forgive you for your dating debts, and will help you get your life back on track.

Recall the predicament of Natalie Cooper, the woman we met earlier. She was at the point where her life was falling apart fast, though luckily she met a 55-year-old Latin dreamboat. If she weren't so lucky, certainly the FDIC would've been the perfect relief from all the pain. She would've been able to reconnect with her family and pick up where she left off, as a single beauty queen with her whole life ahead of her. When the FDIC is instituted, the heartbroken men and women of America will be guaranteed a second chance; no single guy or gal will be powerful enough to ruin your life.

But if you've already conceived a child with your hostile ex-lover, it would probably be too late to go back...

Except this is America. And if it's profitable, it's possible! Whatever happens, whether good or bad, someone will be right there trying to make money off it. 

Once the bajillionith Cash-For-Gold business opened, the value of gold had reached its peak and subsequently began its decline. So then what are the business operators going to do with all that gold? Start the new capitalist fad, 'The Baby Boom'!