500 Seconds
I tried and tried and tried and couldn't write a column worth reading so I'm attempting something profoundly stupid.
Here it is, the 500 second, 500 word cant column. That's 8 minutes and 20 seconds to write 500 words and I hereby challenge all my fellow Cant members to join me in this grand experiment!
I'm throwing down the GAUNTLET. Yellow elf needs food BADLY. Red wizard is ABOUT TO DIE. Write, you motherfucker, WRITE!
No time to think up a topic. No Iron Chef theme. Just set a timer for this ridiculously short period of time and write write write like someone's holding a gun to your head.
Got a gun? Get someone to hold it to your head. I bet it helps, a lot -- especially if maybe they hate you and think they could maybe "pretend" they thought it didn't have any bullets in it. See! I've already provided a solid alibi for them. They could walk into court and claim both a first *and* a second amendment justification for turning your skull into a puddle of goo.
Unforunately, I'm lacking in anyone willing to hold a gun to my head, but TIME MARCHES ON and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Tick tick tick.
After decades of refusing to put anyone to death in the state of California, when Pete Wilson finally sent someone in for lethal injection, he was asked for his last words.
"Doesn't matter if you're a king or a lowly street sweeper, sooner or later you've gotta dance with the reaper." From "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey". I can't make a whole column out of it, but really, it's a pretty lovely image from a guy who killed two teenage boys and stuck around later to eat the quarter pounder and fries they'd picked up at McDonald's. And you know what he ordered for his last meal? Do you? A quarter pounder and fucking fries from McDonald's. Really, I can't think of a single other really creative "Fuck You" from someone on Death Row.
Anyhow, can't get into the Death penalty debate. Not enough time! And that was vaguely on track with the whole "time is running out, sooner or later we're all gonna die" theme.
Tick tick tick, fucking tick tick tick asshole motherfucker shit fuck asswipe TICK TICK TICK. Time going by, nothing to say, can't do another recipe column, can't have a "no column", gotta reach FIVE HUNDRED WORDS OR I'LL HAVE TO GO GET MY COCK PIERCED. Hey, it's not a gun to my head, but I *don't wanna do it* and *you* don't want me to do it because you KNOW I'll have to tell you about it and you *don't wanna hear about it*.
Thank god for word processors and automatic word counts! I'm ALMOST THERE. ALMOST THERE. SO CLOSE I CAN FUCKING TASTE IT AND TWENTY SECONDS LEFT HOLY CHRIST MARY MOTHER OF SATAN'S EVER LOVING BLOWHOLE
HOT DAMN IT I AM DONE!