This weekend, my daughter’s school held its annual Halloween Party. While we stood in line to play one of the games, a kindergartner said to me: “I knew you were a bunny because I could see your ears in your car.”
“Actually, I’m not a bunny,” I replied. “I’m Louise Belcher.”
The kindergartner and surrounding adults stared at me blankly.
“From Bob’s Burgers?”
More blank stares.
“It’s a cartoon? Louise Belcher from Bob’s Burgers?”
So, ever since I started working for a funeral home, I’ve found a thing that just drives me nuts is, when a fictional character dies, people go to visit their grave, like, days later,and there’s already a grave marker there.
And I’m all like: “Oh, psssh. Like, what, did the grave marker fairy put that there? I can’t suspend my disbelief for this! Those things take months to complete. We’ve got people who died years ago who still have the temporary markers on their graves! And don’t try to pretend like that’s a temporary marker! It’s clearly supposed to be carved.”
I go on to think: “And even if the marker was already there, like it was pre-purchased or something, it’s not like they’d be able to get the date of death in there that fast. Come on, people! Everybody knows this!”
And then I think: “Hmmm. Maybe it’s time to look for a new line of work.”
What we have here are two of the deadliest livestock you’re liable to meet: Chew’s Poyo, the violentest rooster ever, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail’s adorable Killer Rabbit.
One is likely to impale you with its razor-sharp claws. The other: to rip your throat out with its horrible teeth.
But which of these terrible monsters is the best?
On to the battle!
Physicality. One of our competitors is a rooster. Roosters are OK looking, I suppose, if you’re into that sort of thing, which, ewwwww. But the other is an adorable killer bunny. An adorable killer bunny! AN ADORABLE KILLER BUNNY! Winner? The adorable killer bunny.
More likely to kill you stone dead? The killer rabbit from The Holy Grail seems to only attack those foolish enough to venture into its territory. Poyo the rooster, however, not only has the ability of flight, but some crazy bastard has made him into a cyborg chicken that can hit Mach 5. (And, yes, take your evil-doing head clean off your shoulders).
It’s a close one, but Poyo could be anywhere. Even right behind you. Right now! Gaahhhh! Winner? Poyo.
Killed more knights/comedic actors? Boy, you know who sure killed a lot of knights/comedic actors? That killer bunny from The Holy Grail. Sure did. Yup. Winner? The killer rabbit.
Works for the USDA? In the world of Chew, the USDA is a much more badass organization than I suspect it is in our world. As such, this badass organization needs the baddest-ass of the badass secret agents on its payroll. That particular badass is Poyo. (I don’t know what they pay him. Corn?) Winner? Poyo.
Fought Satan and won? While his physical body was languishing in a coma, Poyo’s evil rooster soul was busy fighting the hordes of demons in hell and defeating them. I don’t know about the killer bunny, but probably not. Winner? Poyo.
Can only be defeated by a weapon delivered from God? Specifically, by the Holy Hand Grenade? Winner? The killer rabbit.
Brought back from the dead stronger, like a $6 Million Man, only in fowl form? By golly, I think this oddly specific category goes to Poyo!
Overall winner? Poyo! The best chicken ever, except for Fluffietta, the pet chicken I had when I was a kid, and whom my cousins ate that winter.
Look, all I am saying is that if someone was willing to pay me to be cute, I would try harder to be cute.
Ever since my new hero, Whatsisname, quit his job in a barrage of swearing, stolen beers and emergency inflatable slides, I’ve been thinking. Actually, I was thinking before that and don’t accuse me of otherwise, but I’ve been thinking specifically of the best ways to quit your job. With as much carnage as possible, except without the killing of people, no matter how racist they are. (Seriously. Not a fan of racists, but on the scale of 1 to evil, “mass murderers” beat them out.)
So here’s a list of ways to quit your job well after your inheritance has come in/nobody has caught you after you robbed that bank/you begin your life as a con artist.
1. Place an obituary.
Not for yourself. For your job.
This job is dead to me. It is survived by a bunch of people who don’t like it, and even more people who would never do it. There will be no services, because this job is an asshole.
2. Put someone on hold.
So, that jerk who always calls to bitch about how bad your company sucks and won’t ever let him transfer you to, I don’t know, an editor or someone who could actually help him, is on the phone. Ask if you can put him on hold for a moment. If he agrees, put him on hold. If he refuses, put him on hold. Then calmly gather your things and walk out. Later, you should call one of your friendlier coworkers to find out how long that bastard stayed on hold before calling back to complain about how bad your hold music sucks.
3. If you’ve got the time and the money, a funny thing to do is piss off your supervisor.
Does your supervisor have a car? Does he leave it unlocked? If not, do you know how to pick a lock? If not, do you intend to learn? While you’re learning how to pick a car lock, take a break from the pursuit to write “I quit” and other personal messages like “the next time someone complains about me following procedure because they don’t like our policies, go ahead and try to write me up for doing my job, you ass,” on many, many, many sheets of paper. So many. Then, break into your boss’s car and leave the many sheets of paper in there. Also, if you can find one, a sloppy drunk.
4. More vandalism.
Spray-painting your office building is also a fun way to relieve your frustrations, especially if you get the outside and the inside. And that coworker who’s always grabbing your ass.
5. During one of those “State of the company” meetings.
You could even turn in into a bad comedy routine.
“Does anybody even care about the state of the company? Like, are we ever going to get raises again? Right? Am I right? You’ve got to ask yourself, ‘How does our CEO sleep at night?’ And the answer is: ‘Comfortably, on her piles and piles of money!’ Ha, ha! I quit!”
6. Slapping. Lots of slapping.
Slap everyone you’ve ever wanted exactly the way they deserve: like a herd of redheaded stepchildren and $10 hookers.
(As a coworker pointed out, I’m a big fan of the slap.)
7. Arson is always fun.
If you don’t feel like burning the whole place down (and for god’s sake, wait until the night custodians are gone, because what did they ever do to you??), lighting a few trash fires is good enough. If you don’t feel like announcing your imminent departure, I’m sure everyone will get the hint when you never return. Or they’ll think you died a tragic death in the flames, whichever.
8. Via adult message-gram.
Why not announce that you’re quitting and possibly get someone fired for sexual harrassment? Two words: Messenger. Bunny.
9. Place an obituary.
This time, it can be yours. Feel free to blame your job for your untimely and horrible death all you want.
10. Hop on a Jet Blue airliner, hijack it and slide down the emergency slide into your workplace where you tell your boss: “I quit.”
I think this one’s self-explanatory.
Dear Prisoner KSC2-303,
I know it seems like I’m just proposing to every awesome fictional character willy-nilly, but I just want you to know that I have a true and abiding love for you that is as deep as any love that a fangirl could have for a character played by Tak Sakaguchi.
It’s, like, deep.
First off, I really admire the way you escaped from those police through a series of circumstances that led to a slightly oblique Evil Dead 2 reference. I mean, anything that leads to an Evil Dead 2 reference automatically fills me with a floaty feeling, like when you wake up and there’s a bunny in your bed and it’s wearing one of those miniature top hats.
(I think everyone should wake up like that, Prisoner KSC2-303.)
Plus, you have to deal with yakuza and zombies and then zombie yakuza, and they have guns, because, Prisoner KSC2-303, you star in one of the best zombie films ever, and I love you.
(It’s a deep love, and also a pure and abiding one.)
And I realize that you already have a love that has crossed the boundaries of time and space, but I just want you to know: that girl is just too wholesome for you.
I mean, sure, she’s cute and her blood has magical properties or something (that’s the part of the plot I always find a little hard to follow, Prisoner KSC2-303, because what does magical blood have to do with zombies with guns?), but she’s, like, the lawful good to your chaotic evil.
(Your chaotic evil-ness is part of what charms me, dear Prisoner KSC2-303.)
(Well, that and the way you look exactly like Tak Sakaguchi.)
Anyway, my point here, Prisoner KSC2-303, is that you deserve a girl who doesn’t have magical blood or, indeed, morals.
That girl is me.
(Because believe me, if there’s one thing my blood is not, is magical.)
(And if there’s one thing my morals are not, it’s existent.)
Think about it, Prisoner KSC2-303. We could fight evil together or be evil together. I don’t really mind which one. As long as I get to shoot some zombies in the brains at your side, I will be happy.
(You can’t imagine how happy, Prisoner KSC2-303. Happier than when you wake up and there’s a bunny in a miniature top hat and it’s doing a tap dance.)
So please consider me to be your partner in evil, or good, or whichever side you’re working nowadays.
Also, could I borrow your sword?
I love you.
Like: “If you go see Dinner for Schmucks, you’re the real schmuck.” (Because you want to be punished, either by the reviewer or the movie itself.)
Or: “Dinner for Schmucks, it sure sucks.” (Rhyming is always funny. Don’t trust me, ask my bunny!)
Or: “Dinner for Schmucks is like a four-course dinner that saves the best for last.” (Actually, that one’s not very funny.)
Or: “Steve Carell is no schmuck!” (Ha, ha, you know he totally is, though.)
Or: “The original French film was better.” (That has to be a joke, because when are the French ever better than us at anything?) (Also, would that be classified as jingoism or racism? Is French a race? Should I have paid more attention in sociology?)
At any rate, for these jokes and more, I’ll just say this: Dinner for Schmucks looks very, very not funny, and I’m a little weary of Paul Rudd.