Wikipedia - Douglas "Crash" Jones

Douglas “Crash” Jones (Born March 19, 1968, or September 47, 3012 in stellar years, as he prefers) is a half vulcanian, half human spy, disguised as a North American tech savvy geek.

As the “supposed” director of new technologies at Miami Ad School he accomplished breakthrough work in his field, like scrolling down student’s documents on the screen for Wordsmithing class and creating multiple Twitter accounts.

The nickname “Crash” was proudly earned when little Douglas, at the young age of 31, learned how to turn on the television using the remote. On that date, the family threw a huge party to celebrate Dougie’s achievement. He was so excited with his triumph, that he destroyed the TV’s cardboard box with his head. People who saw it happening keep saying the 2 beers had an effect on him.

Early life:

Douglas Jones was born in planet Vulcan, to Spankra, a blind professional poker player, part time nun and Spock, USS Enterprise’s commanding officer. Growing up in Vulcan was tough, not only for being half human, but also for being the only kid who didn’t know how to create a shrinkage radioactive laser beam converter. Crash, suffered a lot of bully as a child, what made him dream about becoming a rocket scientist in order to create missiles and explode his school.

Work:

Among his accomplishments, there is the invention of the Interconnected Computer Network, which he presented along with his resume when applying to an internship at the Pentagon. Some years later, by mere coincidence, his creation would be called Internet and have its invention attributed to the U.S. government. When facing a prosecution by plagiarism, the U.S government pledged the world was not ready for the invention yet and that it would be useless by then, specially because Paris Hilton wasn’t born yet and Pamela Anderson was still a child.

Writing dialogue

On the elevator of a residential building, two middle age woman talking to each other, smiling as if they were true friends:

Mary:

- I can pretend that I’m a nice, normal person while I hold the door for you and say hello with a huge smile on my face.

Jane:

- Well, I can go even further and pretend that I give a damn about your life. In fact, I can even ask how you are doing, while putting my hand on your shoulder, just for you to see how much I care about you.

Mary:

- Alright, I can answer your sick, sarcastic question saying that everything is fine, when I actually feel the urge to attack you and choke you to death right before this elevator reaches my floor.

Jane:

- I can ask you about your son, that drug addict, degenerate bastard, whose car I just scratched with my keys, and even send him my best regards.

Mary:

- I can answer that he is doing very good, when he actually just came out of rehab and got arrested for possession. After that, I can ask about your husband, that horny little hairy beast, who fucked me 3 times on your bed, while you were at work yesterday.

Jane:

- Ok, I can say I am happy for your son, when I truly feel disgusted by him. I could also invite your family to have dinner at my apartment, but I’m honestly thinking about killing my unfaithful husband in his sleep tonight and running away with the dirty money he keeps under the mattress. So…

Mary:

- You know, now that the elevator arrived, I can say that it was good to see you and that we should go out together sometime, when I actually cannot stand being near your awful smell of cheap perfume and all I want is to drop a bomb on your apartment.

Jane:

- I can say that I miss you and you are looking good, when the real thing is, I could pay a million dollars not to see you ever again and you look like the fattest bitch that ever stepped on an elevator.

Screenplay – Once upon a time in Miami Beach

A bald, neo-nazi looking guy, with tattoos on his neck, is lifting weight at the local gym. He is working his biceps, doing slow, mechanical movements, going up and down with the exact same speed. He is putting a lot of effort into it while sweat runs downs his extremely white skin. The dumbbell is huge, but he is a big guy.

All together, a ripped, porn star looking Latino, with a pony tail, is punching the bag. The scars on his eyebrows can tell he is a professional boxer. Also it’s easy to notice because of the fast movements and strong jabs. The man is focused and his upper cuts are producing a loud noise that echoes trough the whole gym.

A third person at the scene is a really tall and strong African American, wearing basketball clothes. In fact, he looks a lot like a professional basketball player. This tough guy is doing abdominals while holding a weight to his chest. Lots of repetitions. A pretty hard core train that looks like it serves a purpose.

Suddenly and simultaneously, the bald white guy drops the dumbbell on his foot and looks up. The Latino boxer stops hitting the bag to watch what’s going on and the basketball player let the weight fall down and also look towards it. They turn their heads to the same direction as if they were hypnotized, but mad.

The camera shows a skinny blonde man, wearing the tightest Lycra pants and a tiny tank top with a rainbow on it, passing by as if he was walking on a runway for a fashion show.

The three initially “macho” characters leave what they were doing behind and instinctively follow the skinny blonde to wherever he’s going, walking just like him, as a runaway top model on crack.

Obama Sayings - Egypt

You guys built up the goddamn pyramids. Bringing a president down shouldn’t be that difficult.

I know how to end this. Honey, you are spending a week on Mr. Mubarak’s house.

OK, ok, if I had to eat that food I would be doing exactly the same.

Ok, cut. We already got some good shooting for the Grand Theft Auto Movie.

Call the Mummys, they will help you on this one.

I would like to see this kind of protest if Cleopatra was the president.

Think positive guys, now there are only 6 plagues left.

Do as you please guys. After all, we already have all the oil we need.

Obituary story

They were sitting on a dark underground tavern in Westminster, drinking the most bitter of the local Pale Ales while talking about a failed marriage. The depressive atmosphere, mixed with the smell of sweat, alcohol and cigars had become an unbearable combination even for the captain of The Red Army, one of the worst hooligan firms in London.

The miserable man had just been dumped by his wife, which was having an affair with the neighbor. Simon knew Alan for almost 40 years, so it was more than OK for him to cry in front of his oldest friend and he was about to. When, out of nowhere, trying to bury his feelings deep down inside, like any good English man, and desperately attempting to get his mind of the repulsive happening, he asks his best friend:

- I miss soccer. It has been such a long time since we don’t play it. By the way, how was Arsenal’s match yesterday?

Alan gets up instantly, leaving his beer unfinished at the counter. Without saying a word, he goes towards the door, hurting the wooden floor with angry strides. When reaching for the knob, he turns around, looks at his long time friend with profound disappointment and, right before going out, says:

- Soccer? For bloody sake, Simon! The name of the game is football.

This was Alan Uglow, an English abstract painter that lived by rules of his favorite sport. His work, filled with geometrical fields bordered by lines, reflected his passion for the game. With 69 years of age, he died of lung cancer in Manhattan, January 20^th.

Most memorable day at Miami Ad School.

A skinny geek, using black Ray Ban Wayfarfers with huge prescription lenses and a white micropore tape in the middle, stands sweating in front of the Miami Ad School. From where he looks, the place looks gigantic. Slowly looking up the stone wall, reaching the pink neon logo right when the lights go on. He’s is stuck there, scared to death, doing this twitch of cracking his, filled with callus, videogame addict, fingers. He gets the courage to make a move. The loyal doorman, who sees it all from his superspy cameras, opens the door with surgical precision at the exact moment the geek reaches for the knob. Thomas gets in. He looks at Alfonzo, the doorman, in his little office, holding a guinea pig with one hand, rubbing the little mammal against his check and, with the other hand, training his reflexes to push the door button as fast as he could. Thomas is a little freaked out, not only because of Alfonzo’s mutant supersonic speed, but because the man just keep starring at him in a strange way. He turns around and feels humble in front of so many awards. The geek stands there, starring at the One Show Gold Pencil for a couple of minutes. His ego starts poisoning his mind. The montage moment begins. A movie goes by on his head. Camera flashes coming from every direction, all the press is there. Thomas goes out of the limo dressed like a pimp and a red carpet unfolds right beneath his feet. He waves to the fans, who are going crazy behind the security, trying to touch him as he smoothly walks towards the auditorium to receive his award. He stops to pose for some pictures with his date, a smoking hot Victoria’s Secret supermodel. The gorgeous woman grabs his head, French kiss him and starts going crazy, licking his nose, his chin and his cheeks in front of everybody. Suddenly, he wakes up lying on the ground and realizes all the tongue action was actually coming from a brow Lab. There is a bunch of people around him, trying to understand what happened. As soon as Thomas get’s back to his senses, he uses his asthma pump to breathe normally. A beautiful blonde kneels down and says, with the most caring voice:

- Hey, you scared all of us here, are you alright?

Still dizzy, the geek replies:

- Am I in heaven? Are you an Angel?

- No, no, I’m just the co-founder and president of this school, Pippa. Nice to meet you.

She reaches for his hand, to help him stand up, and says:

- Let me take you to my office, so you can relax.

At this moment, an image pops up in his mind. He sees Pippa dressed as a female Warrior/Amazon/Horsewoman, saving him from a flying fire spitting dragon. The geek doesn’t say a word and just keep looking at her. He felt in love right away.

They’re sitting at Pippa’s office and she starts talking:

- What happened back there, sweetie?

He answers stuttering:

- I, I, I, I have an emotional disorder, every time I feel too sad or too happy or too exited the oxygen level on my brain goes down and I faint.

- Are you sure you want to be a creative?

- I couldn’t be a game designer, so, so, so, so I think I’m almost sure.

- So we will have to fix this disorder of yours.

- How come? You mean, you, you, you won’t accept me here?

- No, my dear. Is just that this industry can be really tough on you. You will have to deal with all kinds of emotions in a daily basis. You’ll get sad and happy everyday. And we don’t want a cute little boy like you getting frustrated, right?

Thomas falls back from his chair, fainted.

Most embarrassing moment

Back when I was 8 years old I was a really chubby kid. The type of boy who wouldn’t share his food even if his own mother was starving to death on a deserted island. Well, one day I was invited to go out to dinner with my neighbor, which happened to be my best friend at the time, and his family. As soon as we got in the mall, me and my also fat friend, Pedro, went straight to the food court. To McDonald’s specifically. A Big Mac, a quarter pounder and a vanilla shake later, you could say I was kind of full. Not so bad for an 8 year old, right? After the feast frenesi, Pedro’s younger brother, Luca, decided he wanted to play Q-zar. It was like an indoor paintball game, but instead of paintballs, the guns shot laser lights and each player had a vest with a receiver. It was so cool. The gunfight happened in the dark, with lots of neon lights. Oh, the early 90’s. Anyway, I remember being in line, waiting to engage battle, when my belly started to do these pre-historic noises. Shit! Motherfucking Ronald McDonald had sabotaged my burgers, I thought to myself. Is this asshole playing for the other team, or what? I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t fight handicapped by my stomach. Damn burgers wouldn’t stop me, a real warrior.

Game had started. Lots of boys running everywhere, shooting and hiding from the lasers. I was worried about my condition, but still trying to keep up. Impossible. It got worse. I had to stop in one strategic place and stand there waiting for the end. Suddenly, I was shot. The vest did a loud noise and vibrated right on the belly when shot. All the shaking triggered an outburst on my intestine. An eruption of shit coming out of my rectum made my underwear heavier than the 5 pound burrito I had for breakfast that morning. Wet feces running down my legs even reached my shoes. What could I do? I was desperately motionless. I stood there for the last 15 minutes pretending I was covering friends, guarding the base, working on my camouflage and all the imaginable excuses for standing like a statue in the middle of a battle. Game over, finally. What should I do know? Runaway? Hide there? No, they would come to pick me up. I went straight to the bathroom, running, getting dirtier with every step. When I got there, I did my best to clean myself with toilet paper, but it wasn’t working. The shit was too concentrated to go off like that. After 10 minutes of sweating, I managed to minimize some part of the damage. Pedro came into the bathroom to check if I was OK. I had to leave instantly not to raise any suspicion.

On the way back, things started to smell bad inside the car. Without even thinking twice, I was the first one to throw accusations.:

- “Luca, did you just fart?” “Shit Pedro, what did you have for lunch?” “I think there is a dead cat in the trunk? Or is it a rotten corpse?”

I think his parents knew it was me, but they didn’t talk, just opened the windows and drove like Ace Ventura all the way home. I was completely embarrassed with the situation, but kept my moral intact when we stepped out of the car and I saw a huge piece of dog shit on the ground, waiting for me, like a trap. At the time, I swear I could see the light bulb over my head. So I just aimed to that nasty, still hot shit and stepped on it with all my strength. Some pieces even flew to the sides, but that was fine, I made it imperceptible. With the alibi stamped on my shoe sole, I choose the exact moment of the goodbye at the door to drop the bomb:

- “Ohhh, what is that? Damn, a huge piece of dog shit on my shoes.”

With flawless precision, the whole family discovered the “mystery” saying out loud:

- “Owww, so this is where that disgusting smell was coming from.”

I arrived home felling so relieved and relaxed that night, I even forgot to take a shower before sleeping.