Americans Pretending to Be British

I’m gonna file this entry under the category, “You Know What Really G’s and G?” as in, “grinds my gears,” “gets my goat,” and “gripes my Grandma.” And I’ll tell you what G’s my G – Americans pretending to be British. Let’s begin.

So it seems like everyone has at least one person in their life who makes a sad attempt at being something other than American when we all know damn well they were born and raised in McBurgerland and putting on a fake accent ain’t gonna do nothin’ to change it. I know at NYU there was an infamous character by the name of “Fake British Rob” who I personally never encountered, and everyone’s got at least one (if not several) person(s) from their high school who wanted desperately to move to Japan so they could work in a Hello Kitty Factory, watch anime, be accepted by their peers (good luck!) and compete on Most Extreme Elimination Challenge (that is what they do over there, right?) But aside from those incredibly obvious (and somewhat desperate and sad) attempts to pull off another national identity, I’ve noticed an ever-increasing, yet subtle, trend amongst the speech and behavior of young Americans that I can only assume is meant as an effort to appear more worldly and learned, ipso facto*, British.

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Reply to: see below
Date: 2008-08-25, 2:50PM EDT

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My Brother and Mad Libs

Remember Mad Libs? Why did we think those were so great? They were the most unimaginative, generic, fill-in-the-blank stories ever. Oh wait, now I remember: because when I was doing Mad Libs (around age eight) with my brother, they would all turn out something like this:

Two peniswrinkles, both alike in dignity,
In fair Poop Factory, where we lay our scene,
From ancient peniswrinkle break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross`d buttmonkeys take their life;
Whole misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their assgoblin bury their parents` strife.
The fearful passage of their gay love,
And the continuance of their parents` rage,
Which, but their children`s end, nought could fart,
Is now the eleventy-billion hours` traffic of our stage;
The which if you with stinky peniswrinkle attend,
What here shall poop, our toil shall strive to mend.

Hah! Now I remember why they’re so great. That shit is hilarious. We would spend every spare minute in the car giggling uncontrollably at the words “peniswrinkle,” “gaylord,” and “buttmonkey.” And I have to say, not much has changed.

American Apparel Update

So remember that post a while back where I relayed my cheeky and hilarious cover letter to American Apparel? For the longest time I didn’t hear anything, which is exactly what I expected. But, the other day, out of the blue, I get a call from an unrecognized New York number. And who should it be, but Aaron from the staffing department of AA, calling to see if I could come in for an interview! Well, Aaron old pal, I was sorry to tell you that that train has sailed and I have been taken by another lover, good old NYFA. Who would’ve guessed that two months after applying for a minimum wage retail job I would’ve given up on that dream and gone on with life? Not Aaron. Sigh. Don’t worry buddy, somewhere out there, in Williamsburg, there are a dozen hipsters waiting weeks by the phone to hear from you, for their chance at amazing discounts and the chance to sleep with Dov Charney. Keep in touch.