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Mr. Wrong

Automatic for the People, Right?

By Joe MacLeod | Posted 1/1/2003

So I agglomerated all the columns of Mr. Wrong I could find on www. citypaper.com--about 77,000 words--and ran the whole mess through the Microsoft Word AutoSummarize with the controls set to boil down to 900 words. And I'm never doing this again, because it's way, way easier to just write new crap as opposed to cut-and-pasting all the old crap into one document and doing the AutoSummarize until it's the proper length. Anyway, observe the True Essence. I stand by every automatic word.

I mean, if there's no column, there's no bolded items, eh? Oh, right. Edit my shit. I mean, cabbage is roughage, right? So fucking boring. Yeah! If it happens the same time every year, it's gonna turn into a holiday. Shit. Shit shit shit.

I'm gonna write a book.

Yeah! Love ya! Read your book, baby! Ho, shit! There's a war on, right? Genius, right? Hey, come on, it's my opinion, right? Maybe it's just me, right? What a fucking nightmare.

Blah blah blah blah.

I mean, 99.9 percent of the time, it's round, right? Right, you're a square. Caveat Fucking Emptor.

Good Times. It's irritating, right? Yeah. Hey! Huh?

Nuts, I don't even remember if it was Dear Abby or Ann Landers, but what's the difference, right?

Tom Brokaw is gonna quit reading the news on teevee. Big deal. I could definitely read the teevee news. Great. Plus, unto dust I shalt return, right? Somebody's gonna blow up something somewhere, right? There's lots of graduates out there graduating right now. "If you will," I mean. If you will.

How fucking hard is that?

There's potassium in bananas, right? Whatever.

Subject: Questionable Column

People didn't know shit. Man, what a crock of shit. The best time to live is right now, baby.

Right. Right, exactly. What a fucking party. Goddammit, I'd be driving a nice champagne-colored Lincoln Town Car right now if I had been thinking clearly. Jesus Christ. Jesus Fucking Christ. Jesus Goddamn Fucking H. Christ on a burning Popsicle stick. Tony Siragusa fucking up that guy's shoulder.

I'm talking about the fucking Super Bowl, baby, arrrooooo!

Super Bowl, man, yeah! Super Bowl. Yeah! Super Bowl

Right, why would anybody panic?

I mean, try and fucking stop me, right? Yeah, right! I mean, if it's history, it's not exactly an unmarked grave, right? Anyway, cool, huh? With a big "J." A Capital "J." I wanna see that guy wearing a fucking barrel, man. Man, that's some good shit. It's my right as an American.

Huh? Yeah! If there's gonna be celebrities, I wanna see 'em getting gnawed on by rats.

Allegedly, right? Jesus Christ.

It's the fucking United States Postal Service, owned by We the People, right? Super. Jesus Christ, it's a fucking government-sanctioned monopoly.

All over the fucking highway! Yeah, right. You're gonna blow it. Man! Hey, I wonder if you can you bet on the NASCAR? Jesus Christ, a little less time on the abs and a little more time on the wig, dude. If you are bored, it is because you are boring. The Boh Dome. That's fucking hilarious. Goddammit, Roman Numerals would be extinct if it wasn't for Super Bowl. Super Bowl is bigger than any one team. Big Fucking Deal. Where's my fucking tunic? Jumpsuits are futuristic, right? Jesus Christ. Hey! Man, what a great job.

Yeah, right, "transition team." Maybe if I get an agenda, the phony-baloney job that's right for me will show itself. Right. Man, that's some scary shit. Check the flying monkeys, man.

Yeah, right now, it's fucking Ehhcks-Massss.

Super. Jesus Christ. Fucking doomed, man. If I try to squeeze that sucker, I'm just gonna make it worse. Right, sure. Interstate 95 . . . and how come the fucking troopers don't bust this guy for talking on the phone? . . . I'm going 75 fucking miles an hour, and that fucker next to me is reading the paper. . . . Goddamn coin's too fucking small anyway. . . . Man, stuff in quotes is funny. . . . "stuff in quotes." Makes no fucking sense. Fucking Dodge. Get someone to help you sound out the big words if you need to. Vote, vote, vote.

Huh? Go on, write "phone company" on the fucking check and see if they don't cash it.

No fucking way. Right. Yeah, right. There's no perks. There's no reason to talk. So what if there's a little talking, I'm the one ruining the movie for everybody else with my big shut up. Talking bad! Jesus Christ. Water. Jesus Christ. Huh? Community relations, right? Suffer, teevee weather freaks. If we get a lot of rats, we're all gonna come down with the Bubonic Plague or something, right? You're right. Yeah, I'm that fucking selfish about my teevee-watching schedule. If I miss one fucking minute of the beginning of Law and Order, I'm screwed. Car! Shut your cakeholes, on-screen teevee news talent. Half of you morons would be out of work if the teevee news didn't do ridiculous shit like this. What's the fucking difference? Huh?

Am I gonna die?

Hey! Go right ahead and talk, losers. A big, stiff, eyelifted boob. A man's man. Great fucking idea. Even if it's only 1 percent harder. Old people. Bull-fucking-shit. My heartiest congrats if you've gotten this far.

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