The ODDyssey

 An Epic Tribute to the Bluth Family Misfortunes and

Michael’s Triumphant Return [to the Model] Home

‘Development Arrested’, that’s all they wrote
So our hero departed at the helm of his boat
From the Orange Coast he’d surely (Maeby?) float
Forgetting you should always leave a quick note.

He traveled, it seemed, the world around
No detective nor Ice could track him down
But alas Pop Pop would reach the far off town
To steer dear Michael’s vessel homebound.

Merely looking to take a much-needed break
Mike knew that he’d made a huge mistake.
The risks at sea he’d surely (Maeby?) take
And the journey home he’d set off to make.

If only by some wondrous sorcery could
He swiften his trek, yes, that would be good
But the family wizard said “No way, no deal.
COME ON! Magicians’ secrets are ne’er revealed.”

Not even for his own hermano would G-O-B do it
Nor could $80,000 of cartography lessons see Michael through it
So without direction he pushed off, and shouted, “Ahoy!”
Hoping he’d not end up in a sailor suit at Mother Boy.

Setting out on calm waters, Michael dozed off to dream,
Of banana stands, stair cars, girls with low self-esteem,
Men up in attics, men with no hair,
Lawyers, illusions and marriage by dare,

Of how hard it is to be both brown and white,
Business models, Annyong and courthouse fights,
Of cowardice as his true fatal flaw,
To which Gob would say, “CAW CA-CAW CA-CAW CA-CAW!”

As Mister Manager steered, Michael did not but stir,
So his son daydreamed of his own true love Ann (really, her?)
Wait, no, that’s not right. Was it her? Not sure, maybe.
But for homesickness he couldn’t but cry like a baby,

Cry like a man in cutoffs in the shower
(George Michael, after all, is a delicate flower.)
And right then Mike woke from his nightmare with a holler,
Feeling pain like he did with the goddamn Cornballer.

Realizing the life he was going back to,
Michael had second thoughts and knew not what to do,
Too far on their trek they had already traveled
And all of the sudden their plan had unraveled.

In need of some time to revamp their plot,
George Michael and Michael would give it a shot
To dock on the sands of an isle nearby
And figure it out (or maybe just die).

On this beach where the first leg of their journey had ended,
Was a blue one-eyed monster (no pun intended).
Not particularly large, and resembling an elf,
They soon came to learn that this man blue himself.

One more thing they learned, you can add to the list,
Was he happened to be the world’s first analrapist.
They talked through Michael’s problems ’til all had been mended
And again headed home, feeling like life was splendid.

The man yelled, “Alas! I’ve rubbed you the right way!”
“Yeah, you really might want to rephrase what you say.
But thanks for your help, we’ll blow out like two feathers.”
“Of course! I’ll stay here with my best friend, Carl Weathers!”

Back on the sea, deep and blue as that man,
Soaking in rays and nursing his tan,
Michael could only help but let out a whistle,
Flying straight home like an Iraqi war missile.

But soon drawing him towards a treacherous dune
Was a lonesome Siren, her intoxicating tune
No man could resist as she continued to croon
A classic song of delight in the afternoon.

And who should voice this heavenly piece
But his freckled television executive niece,
Definitely, Maeby had lured him right in
But he could not repeat George Michael’s first sin.

So to the sails our Michael was tied,
To withstand the sweet sounds as he passed right on by,
Keeping past love after past love in mind:
Mostly Sally. And Miss Baerly. Marta, Tracy and Maggie (who wasn’t actually blind).

Having traversed the fearsome and menacing pass,
Michael came upon yet another mean lass,
A sister, it was, though by no blood related,
But a leach, nonetheless, only by vodka sedated.

A six-headed beast, one for each social cause
She supports without question, please hold the applause,
Saving trees, fish and cows with such drive and such vision,
And last but not least: protesting circumcision.

Weaving away from her monstrous claw,
He evaded her grasp, as did Bob Loblaw.
“Hard to starboard” he yelled, keeping so calm and cool
When ahead it appeared a huge, swirling whirlpool.

“Are you serious, right now? Is this really for reals?”
But suddenly saw ‘twas a group of loose seals
And again turned the ship with all the strength he could muster.
Fearful, perhaps, but at least he’s not Buster.

But once he had passed them, well, what do you know?
He’d encounter another: one who’d never let go.
More than a hand to which she would cling,
Somehow drawing men in with each bitter zing.

To have a faithful son at her side once more,
Lucille tried to pull the ship into her shore,
(On which she’d romped with Oscar before)
Eyeing Lucille 2, hoping to even the score.

But quick as he was like a whore with her tricks,
Michael turned the boat and the course again fixed,
Home free he was, with his son at his side,
Each of his foes, long gone, pacified.

It’s the final countdown, and we indeed have arrived,
Thank [George Sr. in a] God [costume] that our hero survived,
Steering his ship towards his home port anew,
Thanks to Reed Hastings, for viewers like you.

Showing no fear: Notapusy, notacoward,
Ushered in by the voice of our main man Ron Howard,
Back to the model home, as in days of yore,
We give you Arrested Development, the last season: four.

STEVE HOLT!

I was on campus talking to a bunch of senior PR students.  Giving them advice.  Accidentally dropped an F-bomb or two. Nbd.  And I realized after finishing my ultra-inspiring panel discussion that while I have recently been severing ties with a number of collegey things (blacking out super hard and puking (ish), wearing my sorority shirts, being friends with fratty club promoters on Facebook, Facebook groups relating to fratting), I had failed to fully separate myself financially.

Yes, though I no longer owe them money, a USC-owned institution still had money that belonged to me.  And though I had access to it via my debit card (sitting in my desk drawer, unlike another of my debit cards that was recently stolen out of my roommate’s car when she was at the car wash <– yeah, that shit happens. fuckers charged $140. AT THE SAME GAS STATION WHERE SHE GOT HER CAR WASHED. lock your shit up.), I really just needed to close my checking account with the USC Credit Union and have that not hanging over my head anymore.

A couple of points you should be aware of:

• The reason I haven’t closed this account is because. well. the only times I’m really ever on campus is drunk on a Saturday to watch football. Banks just aren’t having that.
• I have not used that debit card in forever and a half.
• At one point there was negative $2.50 in it, yet I was never charged an overdraft or anything. And they eventually just restored my account to zero.
• So apparently I lied up there – USC didn’t have my money.  They just had a thing that held money, were I to have any.  It’s kind of like spending a ton of money on a wallet and have nothing to put in it.  Which is kind of like buying an education and then having to use it to have money again.  All of these analogies are upsetting to me.  I’d much prefer getting things for free. But I digress.

So I make my way up to the credit union and the following conversation occurs:

Me: I have a checking account. I haven’t used it in 12 centuries. I don’t even think there’s money in it. I don’t know the account number, and I don’t have the debit card with me.  Here’s my ID, let’s get that closed now.

Teller: Let’s see here. Yep, card hasn’t been used in over 2 years.  You have 3 cents…. oh….. uh… hold on, your account just froze my computer.

Funny story on its own, right? Cuz, you know, they gave me 3 pennies even though I at one point owed them 250?  No. Not even close to what I heard next to me.

Asian girl, probably a freshman, definitely a complete moron: (pulling multiple hundreds out of her wallet) Um, I need some traveler’s checks.

Indian teller (<– relevant, I promise): Ok.

AGPAFDAM: Wait, is it better to get traveler’s checks, or just get the money here and bring it with?

IT: *confused silence*

AGPAFDAM: Like should I get traveler’s checks?  Or if I get Indian currency here and bring it with me, will I have a better exchange rate? I’m going to India with the business school. (*Lara kills herself upon hearing* <– not really, but kind of)

IT: Currency exchange rates change daily.

AGPAFDAM: *confused silence*

IT: There’s no way of knowing if you’d get a better rate here or there.  And that doesn’t have anything to do with traveler’s checks.

AGPAFDAM: Ok, so I guess I’ll get some. If I don’t use them all, can I bring them back and get my money back?

…… at this point, I stopped listening, embittered by the fact that this person 1) has parents paying for her to go to India 2) has hundreds of dollars that her parents gave her to go spend in India 3) quite possibly may not know where/what India is 4) is most definitely going to graduate and get a job in consulting making minimum double my salary.

Also, my teller’s computer had finally just unfrozen, so he gave me my 3 pennies.  I kept them, but I really should have given them to that girl to buy a fucking clue. Or a traveler’s check.

And I mean, I’m also a really good actress.  And I could totally be an actress if I wanted to be.  But I don’t have a full on camera crew nor the desire to make a half-ass, shitty “Shit ___ Say” like all the unemployed 20-somethings/coeds out there who are bored as fuck and not actually creative enough to make it work.

Don’t get me wrong. “Shit Girls Say”, “Shit Nobody Says”, “Shit Black Girls Say”, “Shit White Girls Say to Black Girls” – top notch.  But an overwhelming majority of the other lol-m-g-let’s-jump-on-the-shit-so-and-so-says-bandwagon videos really put the “shit” in their video titles (unless they’re total vadges and put “sh*t” or “stuff” instead. Like that’s going to make a difference.)

Regardless of the fact that I generally pride myself in not stealing ideas from other people, these videos have been truly inspirational, and it’s kind of making me sad that I don’t have access to bored film students at USC anymore.  But if any of you come across the following and want to use it, I guess just credit me?

This intro is already getting too long (and probably boring. I’ll admit it.), so here’s my latest masterpiece. Use your imaginations. (Oh, and I know there’s already a video for this one. And it’s fucking terrible.)

Shit Aspiring Actresses Say

I just think I need new headshots.
He thinks I have real potential.
I won’t do nudity.
But like, if it’s essential for the role.
I’m totally fine with side-boob.
So you just want me to hold them like this?
I have an audition.
Yeah, I got a call back.
I really think I’m gonna get it.
This could be it.
I’m so close to getting my SAG card.
Yeah, I have an IMDB page.
I just need my time during the day for auditions.
Yeah, it’s at some apartment in the valley.
I’ve been in some commercials.
I was the lead in my high school play.
Aw thanks, I got them taken last week, the photographer was a-may-zing.
I’ll just have a salad.
I think I’m gonna stay in and work on my monologues.
I need to memorize these lines. This audition is a really big deal.
I met this agent last night, and he totally thinks I have the “it” factor.
I would have been perfect for that role.
He really wants to represent me.
I signed with a manager today.
Oh my god, that’s totally the kind of dress I’m going to wear at the Oscars.
I don’t even get why she’s famous.
I saw Jennifer Garner at Urth today. She’s not even that pretty.
Yeah, just a few student films.
It’s called Naughty Nurses 15, but I read the script and it’s really good.
I just feel like I’m really becoming the character.
There’s so much I can do with the role.
“But, Papa, I love him.”
“And then, he raped me.”
“And then, they raped me.”
I can totally cry on demand.
I’ve been on Law & Order.
It was the one where the girl got like gang raped by the homeless clan of former circus clowns.
I’ve worked with him. He’s such a dick.
I can’t wait to move to New York.
But if I get a boob job, they’ll never consider me for serious roles.
Why are they always complaining about paparazzi? I love having my picture taken.
Can I take your order?

But there’s nothing like a love letter from “genital warts” to remind me of why I do this whole blog thang:

Unfortunately, I don’t like genital warts, and genital warts are not welcome here.  Though I’m afraid of being in contact with (<– get it??)  genital warts, feel free to send genital warts an email.  Maybe something like “I HATE YOU GENITAL WARTS!”.  At least that’s what I would say. But maybe you like genital warts. Who knows.

Anyway, I have some posts coming up.  I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, and I want to share those thoughts with you, but I got this really cool little box that lets me stream Netflix to my TV (because I don’t have a penis and therefore don’t own a PS3 or XBox whatever the fuck you need to stream Netflix to your TV) and I’ve watched the entire series of the Hills and about 3 seasons of How I Met Your Mother in about 3 weeks.

Jesus H. Christ is right.  Looks like my boyfriend Tim Warner is shit outta luck, there’s a new game in TV town.

Lara, hold on a second.  Did you really just skip over the fact that you RE-watched the entire series of the Hills?  Even that last season when Lauren Conrad isn’t even in it?

Yeah, I did, and I’m not embarrassed.  I like the TV on in the background.  And with the Hills, I don’t even have to watch, because I know what’s happening.  They’re sitting at a trendy outdoor restaurant in LA having lunch.  Or at a trendy, dimly-lit restaurant having dinner.  Having conversations that go like this:

“Yeah.”

“Totally.”

“And I was like, ‘Whatever’.”

*Silence*

*Staring*

“Slut.”

“Yeah.”

Yes, that was pretty much the best recap I’ve ever written.  That is, until I take on Virgin Diaries in an upcoming post.  Wait for it, like a virgin bride and groom saving their first kiss for the wedding.  And then, you know, violently orally accost it.

Why else do we win?  Because unlike boys, we don’t have actual boners to conceal.  Oh, except for gay guys.  Sorry.  This must be rough for you.  Good luck being at work for the next few days.

For everyone else who loves Ryan Gosling and doesn’t have a weiner and doesn’t have the luxury of actually protesting outside Peopla Magazine’s headquarters, please feel free to post this all over your Bookface and Twatter:

All I do know is that someone is probs about to get fired for retweeting some weiner ninja with the Twitter handle @paulinadeginge who apparently loves giving beejes:

Not gonna lie, I’ve probably retweeted things along the lines of “I love giving head” (due to the entertainment value, not because I necessarily agree. Duh. #notaslut).  For example, a few weeks ago I retweeted DJ Black Bill Gates ((@blackbillgates)<— you need to follow him immediately) when he suggested “You gon get some dick today.”  Clearly retweet worthy.

Unfortunately, Southwest Airlines doesn’t have the same retweet freedoms I do.  Yikes for them. And I’m kind of sorry for blogging about this, but kind of not, because I’m looking forward to my blog being included in Southwest’s November news coverage/social media/holyshithowdidthishappen report. #IknowPR

And, in fact, I’m sure you’re probably wondering, “How did this happen? Why would someone do that?”

Well, either an employee at Southwest truly hearts blowies so much that they couldn’t resist, or they wanted to get fired, or they thought they were logged into their personal account and retweeted and were on the verge of sending a reply along the lines of “THIS IS MY ADDRESS COME HERE NAO.”

Either way, I’m super proud of my coworker for catching this gem on his screen.  And proud of my other married/adult/father/secretly-super-hilarious-and-softspoken coworker for making the comment [completely under his breath] “I think I should write her name down.”

#Work #Fridays #OneofthemostamazingTwitterfailsI’veeverseen

Having said that, there was a less-than-desirable bathroom situation.  Meaning that there was one unisex bathroom. (Gross.)  And of course, with all the booze I had consumed, I had to use it.

As soon as I walked into the bathroom, a few ridiculous things happened:

1. This sign was on the toilet

Oh, cool, so I’m just supposed to “press down”?  Is that how a toilet works?  Because it’s not like I’ve used one every fucking day of my life since I was 2. (<– I actually have no idea how old I was when I was potty trained, but that sounds about right.)

Really though?  Necessary? I think not.  It’s not like we’re in a 3rd world country.  We get it.  Thanks, Cha Cha Chicken.

Oh, but wait…

2. If you did, in fact, “press down” nothing happened because the flusher was broken.  Thanks for being inaccurate, sign.

3. People were using the toilet and not pressing down.

4. I FIXED IT.

Yeah, put this on the list of “really ridiculous shit I do when I’m drunk”:  Realizing that the flusher is broken on the toilet and lifting up the lid on the tank and fucking FIXING THAT SHIT.  I don’t even know how I did it, but I did it.  Like a pro.  First try.  And then clearly I washed my hands a LOT.

But seriously.  I think I should get a prize.  Slash everyone who was there should get me a present.

Sooo yeah.  Got drunk and fixed a toilet. #Saturday

But seriously, LOOK:

Snoop Dogg, Halloween 2010

Me, Venice [Beach] a few Fridays ago after this dude let me borrow his head

I’m going to send this to E! for their Fashion Police segment “Bitch Stole My Look!” and see if they’ll put me on TV as the bitch that stole Snoop Dogg’s look. (#bucketlist)

I think this is the coolest thing that has ever happened to me.  Previously, the coolest thing that ever happened to me was meeting some guy in Venice dressed as the Count from Sesame Street for absolutely no reason.  And then watching a fight in the street after.  And then asking a guy for one of his pepperonis (ON HIS PIZZA).  (<– Oh ya, this guy I went on an awkward date with that I never responded to  later told me via angry text after I even more awkwardly saw him out that I’m a stereotypical So Cal girl and he’d “rather date a chubby girl than someone who has to work out all the time to feel good about herself and try to look like a supermodel and not feel bad about eating pizza” and as he was texting me this I was eating a 10-piece chicken nugs and fries from McDonald’s.  But I digress.)

Anyway, I’m Snoop Dogg.  We’re twins. Go me.

[I was just going to make a joke about going to chill in Gangsta's Paradise but I realized that's Coolio. Lolz. P.S. Where is that guy? Hint hint, VH1.]

Speaking of amazeballs, I’m assuming everyone in the entire world watched Bachelor Pad  tonight and saw the most premium meltdown in ABC-”romance show”-aka-producers-are-seriously-fucking-with-mentally-unstable-bitches history.

Oh, you missed it?

That was the high point.

And this, of course, is the (32-going-on-14-year-old) girl that came into the show wanting to prove that she’s drama free and totes not batshit crazy.  Mission accomplished. (<– Not.)

Besides realizing that compared to this bitch I am even more awesome than I previously thought, it also dawned on me that Melissa 100% must be writing for Glamour.  And, in fact, most likely wrote a romantic advice article that quite literally brought me to tears it was so out of control.

The title? 5 Sneaky Questions to Ask a Man.

What would happen if you actually asked a man these questions? You would get kicked off of Bachelor Pad, but not before asking every single person 14 times if they voted for you.

Ok, so here’s the premise for the article: Want to ask a guy something on a date?  Don’t want to actually ask him? Want to ask him a fucking crazy insane question that makes absolutely no sense because some dipshit from OkCupid made some ridiculous statistics say whatever they wanted to trick you into looking like a total asshat and uphold the stereotype of girls being out of their goddamn minds and overanalyzing everything? THIS IS THE ARTICLE FOR YOU. (<— Brought to you by either Melissa, or her brain twin.)

And yes, I will break it down for you.  I hope this isn’t plagiarism.

Question 1

If you really want to know: Does he usually sleep with someone on the first date?

Ask him: Do you like beer?

Rationale: Apparently people who like beer are more likely to get it in on the first date.

Counterpoint from me: … just ask if he has a penis.  Same thing. (Oh wait, that’s assuming you’re attractive.  If you’re not, then the beer might actually make a difference. Sorry.)

Question 2

If you really want to know: How smart is he?

Ask him: Do you have a TV in your bedroom?

Rationale: Guys with TVs in their bedrooms aren’t as smart.

Counterpoint from me: Or you could say something intelligent and see how he responds. Or, you know, ask him if he has a TV in his room as if you’re planning on being there later so you can have sex because he loves beer.

Question 3

If you really want to know: Whom did he vote for in the last presidential election?

Ask him: Do you prefer simplicity or complexity?

Rationale: I actually didn’t care enough to read what the reason behind this one was, because it’s so out of control fucking stupid. What does that question even mean?

Counterpoint from me: See “Rationale.”  If he answers in terms of carbohydrate preference, though, then you don’t even need to ask #2. (<– Total nerd joke.  I’m embarrassing.)  But really, have a normal conversation.  Did he mention Whole Foods? Does he shop at Urban? Is he currently stoned? Is he 18-25 and doesn’t seem like he would know anything about politics and grew up in a wealthy family and just thinks money exists because it exists and that everyone deserves some? He voted for Obama. Or he forgot to vote, but then told everyone he voted for Obama.  Either way, he’s a firm believer in change.

Questions 4 AND 5 (<– BAM)

If you really want to know: Does he ever want kids?

Then ask him: At the movies, do you leave before the credits are finished? OR Do you believe in miracles? (<– Yes, I’m being serious.  That’s actually what it said.)

Rationale: People that leave before the credits generally want kids, but OkCupid has no idea why, which is shocking because everything else has been so scientific.  Oh, and then birth is a miracle, ergo guys who believe in miracles… believe in birth?

Counterpoint from me: You know, I can’t even argue with these.  I feel like I can’t get through a conversation with anyone without asking them when they leave the movies or how they feel about miracles.  This is just so seamlessly sneaky, the guy will have no idea that he’s really pouring out his heart and soul (and soon his seed, if he likes beer).

Well, thanks to Melissa or whoever wrote this.  I’m glad you cleared all that up for me.  But watch it, because the tables have turned, and it looks like I figured out the actual thought process behind this string of questions.  This is what you’re really asking:

1. Does he want to do me?

2. If I get knocked up, what kind of intelligence genes am I working with here?

3. If they’re not to my liking, will he care if I get a shmashmortion?

4. If I keep it, will he help me take care of my miracle?

Sex and babies.  It’s all we care about, and it’s all we’re good for.  Thanks, Glamour.

Was that creepy?  Perfect. Because that fits with the theme of this post from Emma K. Harr with whom I swapped blogs and explained to her how to be an actress.  I’m really good at advice too.

So here she is.  Enjoy her (and her Dexter references). (<– Not in a sexual way(<–Except for the Dexter references))

____________________________________

Well, hello there, you attractive audience, you!

I know, I know, I’m here just in the nick of time because you were about to forsake the good life and leave us all behind by taking the proverbial eternal plunge for fear I might not show up to save you, and lo and behold, here I am, rescuing you just as you were about to lean out too far over the chasm and meet your own premature demise.

And what a shame THAT would have been!

Because today, ladies and gents, I am here to share with you the Wisdom Of Olde that is only passed down through the generations, and these golden nuggets of grandiloquence I have resolved to pass unto thee contain knowledge the likes of which ye have probably ne’er seen before nor will e’er see agayne!!!

…Ahem…

So, without further ado, I present to you…

HOW TO BE A CREEPER IN TEN STEPS OR LESS

We all know someone whom we just can’t bear to live without knowing every single step they take, so buck up all you creeper-hopefuls!  This list is a comprehensive guide to becoming a better lover, friend, neighbor, slightly overbearing coworker, or genuinely concerned citizen.  And I mean, let’s be real, we all know that your beloved is playing hard to get, so you gotta up the stakes to make them realize they love you back

This is a comprehensive process, but each step can be enacted on its own apart from the others depending on your personal preference of creep. 

STEP 1: PICK SOMEONE TO FIXATE ON.  THEN DON’T STOP FIXATING ON THEM.

Urban Dictionary defines a ‘creeper’ as “a person who does weird things, like stares at you while you sleep, or looks at you for hours through a window. Usually a close friend or relative. You know right away if that person is a creeper or does creeper things. It is not hard to spot the creeper.”

The basic concept of this rule is to always be there.   At every turn, behind every tree, inside every conveniently-placed trashcan, you are there for her/him.  You are loyalty incarnate, my friend!  (Just be mindful of your subject’s affinity for punching things.)

STEP 2: SEXUAL EUPHEMISMS

Learn them.  Hone them.  Whip them out on unsuspecting passersby.  (See what I did there, eh eh?)

STEP 3: SAYING THE RIGHT THING AT THE WRONG TIME

Getting your beloved to notice you is as simple as knowing when to speak up at just the opportune moment.  When she’s crying over the death of her fourteen-year old cat, don’t just stand there and offer condolences like a sissy, take that shining opportunity to tell her how you really feel.   “I’m really very sorry that Fluffy ended up diving head-first into a bucket of olive oil, but at least now we can be together without his constant judgment.”

STEP 4: DEVELOP AN UNHEALTHY OBSESSION FOR AN OBJECT THAT IS NOT NORMALLY SEEN AS OBSESSION-WORTHY

This step takes you a little out of the mainframe of only idolizing other people and allows you to truly express your deep-seated love for mayonnaise and sea turtles.  Especially when you take every chance you get to share your love for mayonnaise, which everyone knows is the godliest form of heaven on earth in your mouth.

STEP 5: THE CLOSE RELATIVE OF THE CREEPER—THE DOUCHEBAG

Keep a weather eye out for this cultural offender, because you can definitely take notes from the way this guy presents himself.  If you’re looking for a signpost to wear around your neck proclaiming your creepish tendencies, then look no further than the wardrobe of the douchebag—it’s instantly recognizable and automatically gives you a certain reputation to be noticed as soon as you enter the room.  A few staple pieces of the douchebag-turned-creeper’s wardrobe are:

THE ASCOT.

SHERBERT COLORED POLO AND PLAID SHORTS COMBO

DRESS LIKE A HIPSTER VERSION OF A ‘70S PORN INDUSTRY BOSS

STEP 6: USE SOCIAL TECHNOLOGY TO ITS FULLEST ADVANTAGES

That’s right, you tech nerds, you’re going to have to jump on the social bandwagon and get a Facebook, Twitter, even a MySpace, which is where the REAL creepers hang out these days, and use them like they’re going out of style.  Don’t forget the endless benefits of good ‘ole fashioned hacking if you’re curious who you’re beloved has been emailing and texting back and forth with.

STEP 7: DRIVE AN UNMARKED, WHITE VAN EVERYWHERE YOU GO

Law & Order: Special Victims Unit makes bank off of these guys—but you’re just driving the van, not actually committing any felonies.  That’s another ten-step list altogether.  (Remember: Creepery is about devotion and loyalty, not stealing children.)

STEP 8: REFERENCE DEXTER IN REAL LIFE AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE

We all have our idiosyncrasies, and appreciating a man who knows how to solve problems is a great one to have.  Whenever you happen upon a tense moment or a frustrating problem, pontificate about “What Would Dexter Do?” to the people nearby.  They are sure to get an appreciation for your thoughtful criminality and meticulous mastermind.

STEP 9: BECOME A BRITISH JUDGE ON A REALITY TV GAME SHOW.

With this step, not only are you instantly famous and known for being a “British hardass,” but you also get to make inappropriate comments towards the young, attractive girls on the shows.  Don’t forget to use those sexual euphemisms we talked about, and maybe you can even show the guys some love!

STEP 10: CHANGE YOUR NAME TO SOMETHING REALLY AWKWARD, BECOME A POLITICIAN, THEN SEND PHOTOS OF YOUR JUNK TO THE INTERNET AT LARGE.                          

This one’s really pretty self-explanatory.

————————————————————————

So there you have it, folks!  And remember, the Art of the Creep is a delicate one that only the truly gifted can master.  It is a fine line between complete imbecile and wanted felon.  Tread carefully, and go share some mayo love.  Happy creeping!

–Emma H. from Charcoal Renderings