The Peanut Gallery for 3/15/2011

This is what I’ve divined after not looking very hard for post-graduate jobs: the mar­ket in Spokane for a Whitworth graduate with a degree in political science is pretty small. I think the community has caught on that it’s a fake major, like peace studies. I know Spokane is an important hub of polit­ical decision making and all that ephemeral nonsense, but believe it or not, people just aren’t interested in hiring people like me, or more specifically, me. I can’t fathom why…
Seeing the downward spiral into which my life is quickly heading, I have decided to adopt a more aggressive strategy to mar­ket myself to potential employers and for the collective good. They don’t call me “the Greater Vehicle” for nothing.

Enter Charlie Sheen. Either he’s clini­cally deranged or utterly brilliant beyond measure, but regardless, he’s clearly hit on something very accessible to large groups of average Americans: feigned and drug-in­duced insanity. His twitter account attests to his widespread popularity among Americans in all demographics, and “Sheen’s Korner” is Oscar-worthy, so obvi­ously he’s doing something right. Even in his drug-addled reality, Charlie is profitable and self-sustaining, unlike me. The guy’s got a verb attributed to him: “sheening.” Therefore, I have only one clear and fool-proof alternative: adopt a similar persona in order to attract attention to my myriad talents, manifold charms and exquisite so­cial graces.

First, I’m going to start a show on campus dubbed “Iris’ Korner.” I’ll say things like: “Sit back and rejoice, for the Malibu Mes­siah, the Condor of Calabasas, writes be­fore you, undigested hummus. Stay tuned to this warlock, this Gibson shredding na­palm poet because soon everyone will be begging for the keys to my gold.” Not a bad start?

Next, once people start noticing how I’m vigorously stirring the pots of controversy when I serve canned slabs of jaundiced go­rilla pelts at my house for banquets in the nude and begin crowning myself “Edgar Al­lan ME,” I’ll begin acting real crazy.

I fully plan on suspending myself from the ceiling of the HUB during peak hours, wild­ly waving a machete around while drink­ing tomato juice out of a jar labeled “tiger’s blood” and screaming “I’M FREE” at the tops of my lungs. That’ll get their attention. Winning!

Then, I must find a robotic and hologram-esque spouse or partner that the state of Washington will have to declare real for legal and tax purposes. We’ll pose for mug shots together and sue large corporations out of their bazillions! Together, we will go on spirit quests for local notoriety and pro­vide endless entertainment!

No doubt there will be naysayers and de­tractors trying to bring me down. Well, all I can say to that is sizzle, losing, bye! After I get a job with below average pay, they’ll have to eat their words now overgrown with the mold that has sprouted on their moral dysentery.

Overall, it is a rather feasible plan. I’ll fund it all with a newly found drug addiction. Af­ter all, what’s a seven gram ball in light of the epicness that will ensue? All I’ve got to do now is wait for Conan O’Brien to follow me on Twitter. Winning!

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