Dangerous Numbers.
Almighty, large breasted valkyries with claymores, save us from their evil!
Number 1, the NUMBER 10!
Danger-scale: Communist. Not the current communists who make up that joke of a U.S. political third party that no one hears about, but the Soviet ones with the secret police, death squads, and conformist cooking show with a secret ingredient that was either cinnamon or people. That was the objective of the contestants. They had to figure out what they were eating and if they guessed wrong, they were killed and used in the next show. The secret to winning was really just tuning in last week to find out if anyone guessed wrong and was killed for the next week’s episode. Those were some real communists. The kind of evil that makes the apple pie fattened Americans lose sleep at night. Oh god, apple pie fattened Americans must taste SO good.
The number 10 is notorious for being involved in literally billions of top, bottom, and even middle ten lists. These lists are always changing randomly because their generation is as random as their “usefulness.” Seriously, I care as much about the top cellular ringtones as I care about the shape of my reader’s anal cavity. The number ten is a beacon of ignorance, begging would-be writers to fill pages with filth that would otherwise be filled with important advertising telling us which brand of gum would protect us better from bears.
Mmm… Butter.
The number 1337.
Danger-scale: Dropping a spoon next to a ninja. Actually, doing anything next to a ninja is probably going to get you killed.
The number one-thousand three-hundred and thirty-seven as been passed along like a pink slip of a supra on the race track.
Even soccer moms use this term now (1337 is gaming slang for elite). Seriously, I was in a coffee shop and these two soccer moms were talking about how “1337” their coffee mugs were at holding ice tea and this ninja, who was trying to grind on his axe, got so pissed off and told those soccer moms off. He was like, “look ladies, I don’t know what garage sale you’re waiting for, but that term is so overused and hackneyed that it doesn’t even have meaning anymore, so stop using it.” The ninja then packed up his axe and left without paying his bill. But it isn’t like anyone charges a ninja anyway.
The Number 1!
Danger-scale: Conor induced suicide. Perhaps some damage to OUR SOOOUULLLL, OUR SOOOUULLL(this continues for some time).
One, it is the loneliest number after all and that Bright Eyed son of an astronomer Conor knows it. He “sings” about it in pretty much every song he does. Implanting subliminal and superliminal messages in his CD’s telling the confused youths of the world, constantly under pressure from the adults to enjoy life more, to look up to the sky and find the consolations because there is no hope left on Earth!
“Your girlfriend left you! The world is over. Oh my god! OH MY GOD! The only hope is to find a woman on another planet because the best one here won’t have sex with me and the rest suck!” – Conor in First Contact Song.
All to fuel his star lust for alien tourism! Pretty soon Conor will have aliens from all over the universe hanging out in our arcades, movie theaters, and the even classy areas not filled with jerk teens crying in the corner. Man, the first alien tourist to take a picture of me at the opera is getting it in the face! I don’t want some big headed, green freak taking a picture of me while I watch some fat chick sing about how she’s cheating on some guy while he’s cheating on her and they’re both plotting tons of murder.
I HATE ASTRONOMERS, AHH! You’re ruining our planet!
I’ll keep you posted on the other numbers. Until then, consider ourselves at a code purple with green lines.
Share This
