Skizzleplex! (what you’re missing)

Well, you may have noticed I don’t post that often and if I do, the posts are kinda thin. To be honest, I’m sorta burnt out on blogging.

Putting hard work into something that seems so disposable to most people can be taxing on your motivational sub-cortex. I get about 500 hits a day on this site, but most of them seem to be from people searching Google images to find pictures of Alf or a Samoyed.

In response to this, I’ve taken a giant step backwards into the world of PRINT JOURNALISM!

I now publish my own newsletter/zine/magazine/periodical called “Skizzleplex“. Astute readers will recognize that I posted a blog with that name a while back, but basically it’s just a name I liked and had bought a domain for, so I decided to call my newsletter that.

Anyway, you might be asking what Skizzleplex is? It’s basically a short “comedy” newsletter that’s about 7 to 8 pages long. It consists of short stories (the kind I would normally put on here), clip art of dubiously trademarked sources and random stuff. I also, occasionally, feature a guest writer like John Marshall (the Chris Rock Show) and Kyle McCulloch (South Park).

I have to admit that it has invigorated me. I feel like I did when I started this blog. So I’m sure it won’t be long before I’m burnt out on this too.

Now you might ask yourself, “How do I get Skizzleplex?” Well, it’s easy.

You can send Skizzleplex an email at skizzleplex (at) yahoo (dot) com and request a copy.

At this point, you might be seeing the huge flaw in my plan. Namely: this costs me a lot of money. But that’s kind of the point.

You see, I’ve come to realize that the biggest benefit of a blog being so free and so easy, is that the majority of people don’t feel like investing that much into reading it, with a few notable exceptions. You know who you are and I thank you for your support.

On the other hand, paper costs money. Printing costs money. People recognize this and suddenly your writing becomes worth something. Maybe not enough to pay actual money for, but enough to invest some time and effort into actually reading.

And the biggest expense turns out to be actually mailing this crap out to people.

So, if you have access to a printer and want to save me some money, you can let me know that and then I will send you a .pdf copy through your email. It will print out exactly like the ones that I send hard copies of and it works on any computer in the world, there is no special software involved. Well, maybe it won’t work on Windows ME or something, I don’t know, but grow up.

If you don’t have access to a printer or you’re a jerk and just feel like sticking it to me, that’s fine. I will mail you a hard copy through the good ol’ (not really) USPS.

Below, I’ve attached a story from my latest issue, so you can see the kind of things I’m writing and sending out to people all in the name of anachronism. And remember, if you like what you see, you can always friend Skizzleplex on Facebook. Plus, if you’re really a tool and don’t want me even having your email address, you can always wait it out until I put the old issue up on the Skizzleplex Archive.

So that should about cover it! Hopefully, I will be hearing from you soon because you want to sign up to receive (the .pdf) of Skizzleplex!

Story Corner

My dad doesnʼt trust the government, so when I was a kid, we never had trash service. He got in this big fight with the town, because they said it was a rule that everybody had to have the sanitation department dispose of their refuse. His answer to this was to just stop paying taxes. Eventually, they worked it out and then the garbage men would just skip our house. In addition, he said he didn’t want any goddam Gypsies picking through our stuff, so we also couldnʼt just take it ourselves to the dump. So every week, me and my dad would take our trash and we would go out in the van, late at night. We’d find a lonely stretch of interstate and it was my job to push the garbage through the hole in the floor of the van that my dad cut out. I had to gingerly dump out the contents, a little bit at a time. It would take hours! Iʼd always be real tired the next day at school. My dad said it was the original form of recycling because the other cars would run over the cans and stuff and then everything would get pushed to the side where they had people come by and clean it up every once in a while. He said thatʼs what taxes were for. I didnʼt dare point out that he wasnʼt even paying taxes at the time, cuz he kinda had a short fuse. One time I asked why we couldnʼt just take the bags and ditch them on the side of the road somewhere. He got real mad and yelled at me and was like, “What are we, animals?” And that was the best summer ever!

My offer to Conan O’Brien

Mr. O’Brien,

Much has been said about your current situation with NBC. Along with this comes speculation about what you will do next.

I have seen it estimated that even if you do sign a deal with a rival network, it will take anywhere from a year to 18 months before you are back on the air.

In TV Land, that’s a very long time and the public can be fickle. Right now it’s dangerous for you to laze about in your gold-plated mansion or one of your many luxurious yachts, frittering away the collected goodwill of the nation.

You have received many offers from various corners of the entertainment world, you even have a contest where your fans can vote on which one you should accept.

Let’s be honest. Most of these are silly. People making joke offers.

You’re a comedy writer. You should be writing comedy. Not acting in a pornographic film.

So here’s a legitimate offer: write for the most pro-active, paradigmatic newsletter the world has ever seen: Skizzleplex.

Now, I know you’re used to being treated like a big cheese, but you won’t get any special treatment here. I’m giving you the same deal I give my friends. Write a comedy piece, it can be about anything. I’ll run it. Depending on how it turns out, maybe you can do another one. The possibilities are limitless.

I think this could be the thing that gets your career back on track, I really do.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Eric Filipkowski

I’m with Coco!

If you’re with Coco, you can go here and download this picture and use it on Twitter and Facebook and all that crap.

I’m not going to read your script either.

But I’m not going to be a dick about it..

When this article came out, a while back, there was something about it that didn’t seem right to me.

http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2009/09/i_will_not_read.php

I see where the guy’s coming from. I see that it’s at least partly tongue-in-cheek and I think he raises some valid points. I originally thought what bothered me was that the guy was arrogant, or that the people commenting on it seemed to split into two equally obnoxious categories: the “fine, fuck you, your movies suck anyway!” camp and the “right on, fellow professional writer, I hate when unprofessional writers do that to me too, because, like you, I am also a professional writer, did I mention that?” camp.

But after someone re-sent it to me last night and it stewed around in my brain a little longer, I think I finally figured it out.

It’s completely wrong.

If you’re too lazy to go and read the original, I think this sums it up pretty well:

“I will not read your fucking script.

…

If that seems unfair, I’ll make you a deal. In return for you not asking me to read your fucking script, I will not ask you to wash my fucking car, or take my fucking picture, or represent me in fucking court, or take out my fucking gall bladder, or whatever the fuck it is that you do for a living.”

So basically, he’s a professional writer, he makes a lot of money, he’s worked really hard to get to this point, etc., etc. Therefore, it’s unfair of you to expect him to give you all the benefit of his hard work for free. Also, he operates under the assumption that because you don’t know the etiquette of the situation, that probably means your script is terrible and will be a huge waste of time, but that’s not exactly spelled out.

Now, maybe you’re quicker than I am and you’ve already spotted the problem here. If not, I’ll lay it out for you.

This analogy is 100% wrong. He’s a writer. Not a reader. He’s not being asked to write anybody’s script, he’s just being asked to read it.

Nobody’s saying, “Hey, famous photographer, take my picture for me!”, they’re saying, “Hey, I just took this picture and I think it’s pretty good but you do this for a living and I was wondering if you would look at it and tell me what you think.”

That’s a pretty big difference, don’t you think?

Look, nobody wants to be put in an awkward situation and people resent being made to feel like they “owe it to someone” to help out, but the truth is, this isn’t that big of a deal.

Just say no. Or say yes and then lie about it later. How hard was that?

I’d like to give this guy a pass on this, but he keeps coming back to say the same thing over and over:

“You are not owed a read from a professional, even if you think you have an in, and even if you think it’s not a huge imposition. It’s not your choice to make. This needs to be clear–when you ask a professional for their take on your material, you’re not just asking them to take an hour or two out of their life, you’re asking them to give you–gratis–the acquired knowledge, insight, and skill of years of work. It is no different than asking your friend the house painter to paint your living room during his off hours.”

Again. Wrong. It is different. “Hey man, I just painted my living room, if you could come over and take a look at it later, that would be awesome, I really respect your opinion!”

See, in that light, the other guy doesn’t seem like such a dick, does he?

Now, there’s something worse here that he could be bitching about and he spends some time dancing around it, but doesn’t actually come out and say, which is that these people usually don’t just want your input, they want you to do all the work for them.

But why would you address that? Everybody knows that’s a ridiculous thing to expect from someone and there’s no country in the world with a social contract that would demand such a thing. Not even one of those countries where you get a free goat every time you come over to borrow some sugar. Those people are crazy, so there’s no need to write that article.

Writing isn’t easy. It is a skill. Not everybody can do it. These are the valid points I mentioned earlier. But when you start throwing around “these are the rules and all professional writers know them” you start to sound like a community college writing teacher or something. Or one of those “script doctors” who advertise in the back of literary magazines.

Also, this:

“It rarely takes more than a page to recognize that you’re in the presence of someone who can write, but it only takes a sentence to know you’re dealing with someone who can’t.

(By the way, here’s a simple way to find out if you’re a writer. If you disagree with that statement, you’re not a writer. Because, you see, writers are also readers.)”

Well, I guess I just disqualified myself from being a writer!

While writers may also be readers, apparently one thing they don’t have to be is logicians, because structurally, these stipulations are on pretty shaky grounds.

Seriously though, just say no. You don’t have to go and write a whole article and throw around the term “professional” six times (yes, I counted), just because some guy you barely know told your friends you pulled a dick move.

Just say no.

Or “Oh man, I’d love to, but I’m really swamped right now,” even though you’re actually just sitting in your room in your underpants, writing out responses to blogs that were published 4 months ago.

I’M a ‘c word’??!?

No. YOU’RE a ‘c word’!!! Burn!!!

(P.S., the ‘c word’ means ‘cranky person’, right?)

I drew a pirate!

I was hanging out with my friend, watching Yo Gabba Gabba and they had this part where they showed you how to draw a pirate. She asked me to make one too, so I did. I think it came out pretty good! Merry Christmas!

My New Restaurant!

Well, you may have been wondering where I’ve been lately.

What? No? You haven’t? Not even a little bit?

Wow. OK, well anyway, I’ve been busy working on getting my new business venture off the ground: “Just The Skin!” The world’s first fried chicken skin restaurant!

Let’s face it: everybody loves the crispy fried skin of the chicken, but we all hate eating the meat, right? All those bones and stuff. Who the hell has the time? Not me! And now, neither do you!

Some restaurants will claim they’re selling ‘just the skin’ but the truth is, they take shortcuts to reduce costs and fatten their bottom line. Not us! We take whole chickens, fry them up, take off the skin and throw out the rest! The way it should be!

Our first store is up and running and we’ll soon be expanding beyond the Knoxville metropolitan area, hopefully by the end of the year. We’re looking for interested parties who want to expand their own franchises all over the country.

Which brings me to the point of this post. If you’ve got $750,000 in cash and a net worth over $4.5 million or greater, send me an email at skizzleplex@yahoo.com so we can talk turkey (or in this case, chicken) and discuss this fantastic opportunity at greater length.

Or you can go to the web page we’ve created for anyone interested in finding out more about this great new way to build your wealth: www.skizzleplex.com.

My first Disneyland Podcast!

I was in Disneyland, I had my microphone, so why not? Right? Who cares!

I lost a contest!

So a few months ago, my mom called me and said, “Hey, I was listening to NPR and they announced that they’re having a fiction writing contest! You should enter that! Because you’re a writer!”

I went online and looked it up. There was actually an interesting premise to the contest; every story had to be under 600 words and begin with the same sentence.

“The nurse left work at 5 o’clock.”

So against my better judgment, I entered.

I didn’t win. I didn’t even get a mention. Luckily, I’m not bitter about it.

Here’s a little description of the contest and the winning entry is at the bottom. Click here.

Anyway, without any (additional) further ado, here is my losing entry, entitled, “I am lazy and rather than write something new, I can post this story I already wrote and pass it off as new and nobody will be any wiser for it!”

The nurse left work at 5 o’clock. Every day, 5 o’clock. On the nose.

For nearly a year, I had watched her, studied her every move. Well, every move as it related to her automobile usage, anyway.

I arrived at the hospital garage a little after nine am. I put my hand on the hood. Still warm. I had just under eight hours.

I pulled the coat hanger out of my duffel bag. After spending a few minutes untwisting it and straightening it out, I moved it around, up and down, along the window, realizing too late that I had no idea how to pick a car door lock.

Seeing as how I had been planning this operation for nearly 12 months, it’s sorta unforgivable that I hadn’t thought of that.

Deciding to improvise, I threw a rock through the window, clearing my throat in a vain attempt to mask the sound of glass breaking.

Immediately, the car alarm started shrieking its deafening sound. One more thing I hadn’t counted on.

As I slid into the debris-covered driver’s seat, I deftly reached under the steering column for the familiar wires. This was one part of the job that I actually had prepared for.

Just like in the internet videos that I had watched at the library, the engine roared to life. Well, I assumed it roared, because I couldn’t actually hear anything but the siren and the ringing in my ears that it had created.

If I had been hoping to drive off, unnoticed, in a vehicle with a broken window and the car alarm going off, I sure had another thing coming.

Though many of the doctors, nurses and various support staff felt free to brazenly stare and point at me as I exited the hospital grounds, luckily, none of them seemed to think it was worth informing the police or confronting me about it.

As I am no fan of confrontation or authority figures, I was pleased with this bit of luck.

After twenty minutes on the freeway, I reached my destination, thankful that it hadn’t snowed today.

As I pulled into the driveway, I was delighted to see that, unlike last year, not only was there no huge line, my car was the only one at the window.

“I’d like one free junior taco, please!” I said, triumphantly.

“Huh?” replied the dimwitted, teenage employee.

“My free junior taco.” My request was met with a blank, pimply stare.

“That’ll be 85 cents,” he replied.

“No, it won’t. It’ll be free. Every year, you have a giveaway to mark the anniversary of the founding of your restaurant. One free junior taco, given out only at the drive thru and apparently not to anybody going through the drive thru on a bike, as I learned last year.”

“Sir, that promotion was 3 days ago.”

As I drove off, defeated, I realized that this free junior taco (the one I never even gotten) had cost me much more than its 85 cent retail value. It had cost me my job, my friends and the respect of my peers in the medieval recreation society. Worst of all, it had nearly cost me my sanity.

But I had a dream and I went for it. It didn’t work out, but at least I took a shot. That’s a lot more than most people can say.

Now it was time to get on with my life and start being responsible.

So I pushed the car into the river and faked my own death.

Li’l Squirt, but BIG pimpin’!

Well, he’s out of the bear suit and back on the street, pimpin’ hos and clockin’ a grip like his name was Dolemite!

Don’t forget to visit supercooldudeland.com for all your cartoon needs!*

* refers only to cartoon needs involving illustrated versions of me in crazy costumes or anamorphic boxes of artificially flavored cheesestuffs who help out burgers.