One Egg Shy

The musings of Chris. Writer, humanitarian, hero.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Age of Luxury

We live in an automated world. While the predictions for the 21st century made by science fiction writers forty years ago—flying cars, time travel, moon colonies—haven’t yet come around, on a day-to-day basis, we do have some amazing technological advances at our disposal.

Think about it. How many times a day is life made easier by automated devices? In my house, for one, we have several timers for different devices. Our lights turn on 30 minutes before dusk and turn off at midnight. Our central air conditioner runs at different temperatures during different times during the day. We also have motion censors ensuring our safety. A motion censor in the garage turns on a different light whenever someone enters so that we don’t stub toes or bust asses. Our garage door shoots a laser at foot level across the span of the ground—if the door is closing and the laser is broken, the door goes back up, saving us from having to roll Indiana Jones-style to get through.

But it goes beyond the home: most bathrooms are completely automated as well. At the restaurant where I work, the urinals flush when you walk away, the water and soap turn on when you move your hands underneath, and the paper towels come out when your hands, dripping wet, reach for something to dry yourself with.

What would happen, however, if we suddenly lost all of these automatic luxuries? Would the customers at my restaurant leave full toilets and dirty hands in the bathroom?

It’d be even worse at my house. I panic to imagine coming home without our amenities. I’d trip over boxes on my way into the garage and stub my toe in the dark kitchen. Stubbing my toe would send me sprawling and to the ground. When I try to get up, I’d slip on the pool of sweat which has collected on the ground due to the lack of air conditioning. Dazed, I’d try to exit via the garage door, but I’d be decapitated by the garage door which doesn’t stop when I walk under it.

While this technology is impressive, I just hope it isn’t fostering too much laziness. I hope in 200 years, we still have the ability to walk around and wipe our own asses.

This post was written by the Autoblog 2000.

Monday, June 12, 2006

Personal Assistant

I’m forgetful. Like, really forgetful. Like, someone will ask me, “Chris, can you grab me a soda while you’re in the kitchen?” and I’ll forget my name is Chris.

This doesn’t bode well for my new job. I just got hired as a waiter and, during the interview, one of the answers I gave as to what makes a good server was “attentiveness.” It was a good answer and drew praise. Outside job interviews, however, I’m not very attentive.

What I need is help. When I walk around, I carry a small notepad to make observations in. I write a lot of different things—this blog, fiction, non-fiction, rap lyrics, warnings for poison labels, gay personal ads, obituaries for friends and family behind their backs—and it’s always good to have a pen and paper on me to jot down a note to myself. I’d probably do it regardless of my profession; if I were a police officer I’d write “Reload Gun”; if I were a rapist I’d write “visit Suzie late at night.” It’s really the same.

So when I work as a waiter, I’ll have a notepad to remind me of your stupid, complicated order, but I can’t always pull out a pen and paper in every situation, can I? It's much easier to do it while taking an order than, say, while having a serious relationship talk or arguing with a police officer. Plus, sometimes a reminder to myself will get buried and lost between an idea for a story and a gay personal ad. So what’s a boy to do?
Yeah baby...move that finger over my ass.
I suppose I could carry around Post-it notes and constantly tack them to places I often look: my computer screen, my steering wheel, Suzie’s ass.
Perhaps a better solution would be to buy a Palm Pilot but, to be honest, when I go out somewhere, I already carry my wallet, cell phone, iPod, keys, pen, small notebook, and Keebler elf friend Wally in my pockets, so a Palm Pilot would just be overkill. Plus, all those electronics so close to my balls could produce mutations...and not the cool X-men, shoot lasers from my balls mutations...more like the mishapen, useless testicle kind of mutations.

So I was racking my brain for a solution to my memory problem (remember, that’s where I started? I know Suzie's ass was distracting) when it finally hit me. The perfect, simplest, least annoying way to remind myself of things: Clippy the Paperclip.

You remember Clippy, right? That cute, helpful little paperclip who used to come with Microsoft Word? He was always a jolly, welcome guest to whatever paper, letter, or ransom note I was writing. He was quick to offer advice and suggestions for content and formatting. He was great!

If I could somehow procure a pocket-sized, real-life version of Clippy, I know my life would be much better.

I could ask him to remember things for me, like where in the mall parking lot I left my car, which way I turn a screw to loosen it, or how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop.

He could jump out of my pocket in situations to make sure I’m not making silly or rash decisions and tell me the best way to go. If my clothes don't match or my fireman costume isn't believable, he wouldn't let me go out in public.

I could also ask his advice: “Which tie goes best with this wig?” I'd ask him, or,“Will I get a ticket if I leave my prostitute tied to this parking meter?” Who can I trust in a complicated situation more than Clippy, a program designed by Microsoft?

I believe that Clippy could be as big as the iPod. The first version will likely be clunky and somewhat cumbersome, but as updates are released, he'll get smaller, sleeker, and capable of speaking other languages like Spanish or ebonics.

I bet you're worried about Clippy getting annoying. We all remember those times when we actually weren't writing a letter and didn't need Clippy's help, but he Please don't kill me. I love you!kept popping up regardless, offering suggestions we didn't need like a needling girlfriend who won't shut up despite the fact that we know perfectly well which exit takes us to Six Flags over Spokane and don't need her gabbing in our fucking ear. But I digress. This Clippy will be easy to silence (if only your girlfriend were as easy), and he'll even come with a self-destruct function if you get too frustrated with his interruptions.

So I'm going to do whatever it takes to get Microsoft to start manufacturing pocket-versions of Clippy as soon as possible, not just for me, but for humanity.

You're welcome.

Related Posts:
Alternate Versions of Clippy
Clippy's Guide to Ransom Notes
Clippy's Guide to Suicide Notes

Other OneEggShy Posts:
If Jesus had IM
Cuddle Parties

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Alternate Versions

Street Clippy:

Man About Town Clippy:

Mexican Clippy:

Clippy's Guide to Suicide Notes

Welcome to Clippy's Guide to Suicide Notes! I'll take you through a quick series of instructions to make sure you let your loved ones know exactly why you've chosen to take your own life, as well as make them really guilty!

•Tell people specifically how they could have done things differently to keep you alive.

•Use really good song lyrics to sum up how you feel.

•Instead of bequeathing earthly possessions which loved ones will actually appreciate, list weird, creepy objects for people to receive upon your body’s discovery, like your bottles of toenails or chest full of bird carcasses.

Clippy's Guide to Ransom Notes

Welcome to Clippy's Guide to Ransom Notes! I'll take you through a quick series of instructions to make sure you get the most money out of the hostage's love ones.
Do not fuck with me. I'll burn your pets for fun.• Cut out the letters of your message from fashion magazines; that way, the feds won’t be able to recognize your child-like penmanship.

• Send a non-traditional body part as proof of your kidnap victim. Remember, the more strange the body part, the more demented the captor. Knee caps, ear lobes, and segments of lower intestine will all freak people out.

• Come up with a great fake name to sign off as. Pick a famously evil character like Jack the Ripper or Vlad the Impaler. That'll be awesome.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

A Call to Arms

I'm sure many of you have seen the story about Jie-jie, the three-armed Chinese baby (pictured right). The story brought a lot of attention to the chinese baby, as well as a lot of jokes about what a great piano player he'd be or how great he'd be in the sack, some of them made by yours truly.

Unfortunately, Jie-jie will never reach his full potential.

You see, cruel Chinese doctors have decided to remove Jie-jie's third arm. That's messed up. Why doesn't Jie-jie have a choice in the matter? It's like baptizing a kid at such a young age; he or she should have a hand (or three) in the decision.

Sources close to Oneeggshy are reporting that the reason is because in China, each couple is only allowed to have one child, and Jie-jie technically counted as 1.08 of a person, meaning that the extra arm had to be removed.

Gone are Jie-jie's chances of being the star of a freak show. Gone are his chances of performing the old "third arm" pick-pocket trick. Gone are his chances of standing out from the other billion, boring Chinese people.

It's too bad. Jie-jie could have been something; something special.

Hopefully they'll let him keep the arm they removed. Never hurts to have an extra arm laying around, if you know what I mean (wink wink).