After my work is done I'm going to start a satirical newspaper in an effort to get discovered by the onion. Of course I'll be hoping that they'll discover me as a missing piece to their ideal lineup of writers, and not just as someone to compete with and drive into the ground.
Because my blog won't be better than the Onion. It'll just be a whole lot like it.
I'll satirize current events, claiming that, unaware of recent changes in local customs and excited about America's first African American president, British Petroleum celebrates African American literature with a free Joel Chandler Harris tarbaby for every child in New Orleans.
I'll satirize religious people who cling to cultural prejudices in spite of their various religions' messages of tolerance and love with an editorial called "Jesus is my Token." The editorial will celebrate recent biblical scholarship which now entitles all Christians to refer not only to "my Jewish friend" but now also to "my Black friend."
To satirize The Onion's effective monetization I'll sell "Jesus is My Token" bumper stickers, "Jesus is my token" hoodies, "Jesus is my token" stocking caps and "Jesus is My Token" New York City subway tokens. It'll be hard to get the weight and shape just right, but, man, won't Bloomberg need to change his pants when he gets a bagful of those out of the turnstyle.
Okay, that last part of my plan isn't just for shits and grins. It's also to get rich by selling tons of underpriced subway fare through worker exploitation in some third world country I'll never visit, with a reasonable chance of legally defending myself in the name of comedy, religion or some other sort of important right I am not, in fact, exercising.
I like those last few words: I am not, in fact, exercising. Maybe I'll sell them on some sort of running shorts or sporting accessory. Water bottle, anyone?
My blog will be funny, but it will also be a full time job. Which is good, because after I publish cutting edge satires of our religious and cultural mores, I may have a hard time getting another full time job. There are a lot of good reasons the Onion publishes its articles anonymously. Unless they don't and I've just been too busy laughing to read all the credits.
My blog will also parody The Onion directly, with an article called "area man read's funny article in humorous newspaper, and laughs." It will identify the person by name and then say, in five different ways that, after reading a satirical article in a satirical publication, he showed his amusement by giggling. It might even say that he chortled briefly, smiled to himself, and was reported to have bent slightly forward at the waist during the emotional display.
That article will also contain an interview with someone who sat next to the area man on the subway and firmly believes that he didn't laugh enough. "It would have been much better if he had doubled all the way over and guffawed into his knees," the fictional companion will drolly observe. "I don't know what the big deal is," he'll continue, "It's not like in an extreme moment of uncontrollable and cathartic response to the comedic text, he simultaneously started crying and shot milk out of his nose. To say nothing of sprite."
"It's not really such a big story. I mean, he laughed. Maybe the article was funny. Or maybe he just wanted to think it was funny, because at the end of a long day, he had no other thoughts to really comfort him, and it was good to just lose himself in the way the article repeated the same droll non-news-items as though they were newsworthy. It may have served as some sort of reminder of how awful life is, and what a shitty job we give to the people we expect to report on it every fucking day, no matter how little anything ever changes."
My article will finally contain a brief interview with the area man, himself. He will sheepishly acknowledge that, indeed, upon visually perusing the parodic periodical, he experienced brief diaphragmatic spasms accompanied by involuntary sonic creation in the glottal regions of his throat. When further questioned, he will expleain that he may even have undergone some slight, brief, accidental stimulation of his voicebox.
He will reflect, upon examination, that the action, which was not entirely dissimilar to an episode of seizure or glossolalia, provoked a certain amount of attention from his fellow subway passengers, but not nearly as much attention as he'd get if the subway cops found out he'd paid his fair entirely in Jesus tokens.
When asked to speculate on his future endeavors, the area man will say that he hasn't given it much thought, but that he imagines he'll keep waiting for his stop, "and then maybe read another article," while he waits for his crosstown bus, "that is, if all the reporters and cameramen won't be too offended."
