This Is News?

For all you kids out there thinking about going into the news industry, it seems the competition is... well... less than fierce.  The following are all actual recent TV news headlines.  I wish I was making these up.

"Thieves steal disabled man's fishing gear"
Stealing fishing gear is pretty pathetic.  Worse yet is stealing it from a cripple.  Worst of all is the fact that someone felt this was newsworthy enough to make it the featured story.

"Police test gun used in school shooting"
Why?  Obviously it worked.

"Study finds unsafe sex linked to heavy drinking"
Really?  I usually make great decisions when I'm wasted.  Good to know the scientific community is making good use of my tax dollars.

"Delivery men get reckless with packages"
The funny thing about this one is I used to be in a Chippendale group called "Delivery Men."  We were always pretty reckless with our packages, if you know what I mean.

"Suspect accused of horrific crime violated probation"
Weird.  When I was on probation I was told committing horrific crimes was ok.

"Crocodile steals lawnmower, holds it hostage"
Wait.  What?  Let me read that again.  Crocodile steals... wow.  What were his demands?  A toothbrush?  Steve Irwin's ashes?

"Dead dog gets loads of junk mail"
Call me when he wins the Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes.

"Reality TV star shoots man taking nap"
Cruelty!  At least have the decency to wait until he wakes up.

"Homeless people used as Wi-Fi hotspots"
This idea was taken from the Chernobyl area where local bums were used as street lamps.

"Man Sues BMW Claiming Motorcycle Ride Gave Him Painful Two-Year Erection"
The bike was THAT GOOD.

What the Hell Are They Saying? (Volume 1)

I made you a video. You're welcome.

If you prefer, you may view it on the YouTube page (and in higher resolution).

LL Cool J Is Going To Knock Me Out: The Bold Claims of Popular Musicians (Part 2)

In the first installment of this series, we saw the lyrical claims of popular musicians confirmed as either fact or fiction through extensive research and data collection*.  This time, we decided to get the answers straight from the horse’s mouth.

Hours later we were tired, frustrated, and covered in horse bites.  Worse yet, the horse had failed to answer any of our questions.  So, we decided to interview the artists themselves to find out whether their lyrics are for real or they’re just blowing smoke. 

Not like that, damn it!

---

Statement: 
“I kissed a girl and I liked it.”

“Artist” / Song:
Katy Perry / I Kissed a Girl

 I have experienced physical intimacy with a same-sex partner and found it enjoyable.

The Interview:

            Katy Perry’s PR Rep: Hello, [name of PR agency]**, [this chick’s name]** speaking.  How may I help you?

            Me: Can I speak to Katy, please?

            PR Rep:  I’m sorry?

            Me: Katy.  Ms. Perry.  Ms. Katy Perry.  May I speak to her, please?

            PR Rep: [slightly confused] Oh.  She’s not… physically present here.  Would you like to set up an interview? 

            Me: Yes. 

            PR Rep: All right, and who are you with?

            Me: Actually, I’m single at the moment; thanks for asking.  You sound like you could use some lovin’, though; what are you wearing right now? 

            PR Rep: [audibly irritated] I meant ‘which publication are you with?’

            Me: Oh.  Right.  It’s… well, I operate a small humor elephant on the Internet.  The Internet.  You know, the best of all the Internets.

            PR Rep:  I’m sorry, you said an elephant?

            Me:  Ugh.  Ok, it’s a blog.  God, I hate that word.  I don’t like the word blog so I call it an elephant.  Elephants are better than blogs.

            PR Rep: [long pause] That’s stupid.

            Me: You’re stupid.

            [silence]

            Me: Hello?

            PR Rep: I’m going to hang up now.

            Me: Fair enough.

            [click]

The Verdict:

            Unconfirmed.

---

Statement:
 “I’m gonna knock you out.  Mama said knock you out.”

“Artist” / Song:
LL Cool J / I’m Gonna Knock You Out

I am going to strike you with sufficient force to render you unconscious.  My mother instructed me to do so.

The Interview:

            [note: We couldn’t reach LL Cool J for this interview, so we instead called his mother.]

            LL Cool J’s mama: Hello?

            Me: Hello, Mrs. Cool J?

            Mama: What?

            Me: Is this Mrs. Cool J?

            Mama: Wha-- Oh.  Ha ha!  Oh, I get it.  Yeah, this is me.  Who this?

            Me: I think you know.  Let’s cut to the chase.  Did you tell LL to knock me out?

            Mama: Huh?

            Me: For safety’s sake, I’m taking it as a given that he does in fact intend to knock me out, and I’ve lived every day of my life in fear of it since hearing that song.  What I want to know is did you put him up to it?

            Mama:  [pause] I got no idea what you’re talkin’ bout.

            Me: Your son, LL Cool J, intends to knock me out.  He says you told him to do it.  Why?  Why me?

            Mama: Oh!  Ha ha, you mean that song.  Heh.  Oh wow, that’s old school right there.

            Me: Did you or did you not instruct your son to physically assault me? 

            Mama:  What the--I ain’t never told him to beat nobody up, you crazy motha--

            Me: Thank you.

            [click]

The Verdict:

            False, not that it’ll ease the pain when it finally happens.

You dead, sucka!

---

Statement:
 “I’m afraid of Americans.”

“Artist” / Song: 
David Bowie / I’m afraid of Americans

Persons originating from the United States of America instill in me a sense of dread.

The Interview:

            David Bowie: Hello?

            Me: Hi there.  Is this Mr. Bowie?

            DB: Yes, who’s this?

            Me: I’m the lead writer for a small humor elephant based in the Midwest.

            DB: Ah, elephants!  You’re from that zoology site, then, are you?  Wait… the Midwest of what?

            Me: Um… of the United States.

            DB: So you’re…. AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHH!

            Me:  Mr. Bowie?  Mr. Bowie, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?

            DB: [screaming continues]

Me:  Mr. Bowie?  Hello?

DB: [screaming continues]

Me: Mr. Bowie, I was just wondering if you are in fact afraid of Americans.

DB: [screaming continues, accompanied by what sounds like the telephone receiver being bashed repeatedly by a large blunt object]

Me: So… I’ll take that as a yes, then?

DB: [screaming and bashing continues]

Me: Right.

[click]

The Verdict:

            Confirmed.

...and Americans are afraid of this.

---

*Or I made it up.  Whatever.

**You have no idea how much research it took*** to find out the name of the place, much less the phone number.  No way am I going to let you in on my secrets.

***None.

The Dark Side

It started with Myspace.  I had to get on there because if you had a band to promote, that was (at the time) the way to go.  You HAD to be on Myspace.  I had always sworn that I wouldn't get on there because I wasn't (and still am not) a fourteen year old girl, but I did it anyway.  But I sure as hell wasn't getting on Facebook.  Bugger that nonsense.
Then everyone left Myspace.
Ok.  Fine.  Damn it all.  I'll get on Facebook.  Just what I needed; a social networking site where every stupid thing I post while drunk at 2am shows up on my mother's computer screen the next morning.  Sweet.  Just cross me off of your will now, Mom.  You too, Uncle Ned.  Tell you what though, this new "Twitter" thing is just stupid.  Completely retarded.  It does WAY less than Facebook, Myspace, and for that matter my toaster.  No.  Not doing it.
Then absolutely EVERYONE decided they needed to be on Twitter.  Great.   I hereby diagnose the entire planet with ADD.  There's no other logical reason for everyone to fall in love with a site that only lets you post a sentence at a time.
So I guess I've got to get on Twitter now.
Fine.  You can follow me on Twitter at @NLY_elephant.  I've gone to the dark side.  The web address is https://twitter.com/#!/NLY_elephant for those of you who haven't yet sold your eSouls and want to. 
I will be using this to notify you of updates/new posts (since you can't be bothered to follow using that Google thinger over on the right which I'm told is lousy anyway) and to post bits of humor that are too short to be worthy of an entire elephant post. 
This is all everyone's fault but mine, just so we're clear. 

Another Reason to Hate Text Messages (as if we didn't have enough)

Updates should be coming more frequently soon.  The Internet has informed me that I may have it in my home again after its long absence.

For those who were unaware, rather than typing http://nobodylovesyouandicanproveit.blogspot.com into your browser and getting carpal tunnel syndrome, you may simply go to www.nobodylovesyou.info, which will forward you here.  This is easier to remember when you're telling everyone you know about it, which you should since I'm way funnier (and more inclined to update) when more people are paying attention, probably.

Anyway...

Due to my recent lack of Internet I've been forced to communicate with human beings via other means, such as phone calls, text messages, and [shudder] actual conversations.  This has led to more than a few altercations with my phone.  I have a dumb phone.  This is because I don't want a "smart phone" because I hate technology.  In fact, if I could get by without having a phone I'd get rid of mine but it's damned hard to order pizza and call in phony police reports without one.  Therefore, my old-ass phone with its T9 text messaging occasionally forces me to spell out--letter by letter--the myriad words it is inexplicably missing from its dictionary.  
I have found that the following words are not in my phone's dictionary.  Do not ask why I have needed to use these words in text messages; suffice to say that it's very important.

hippopotamus
aardvark
sluts
felafel
walrus
bastard
assfucking
hipster
pterodactyl
mistletoe
Uranus
erogenous
lefty

However, the word "undulating" is in there.  Thank god for that.

The Devil Made Me Buy Coke Zero

Anyone who’s read much of my writing would probably tell you I love writing about things I hate.

That’s not true, though. I hate hating things. When I hate something, that means it’s wronged me and it’s probably decreasing the quality of my life. When I write about it I have to relive the hatred. Therefore, I hope you all appreciate the great sacrifice I’m making by writing this for you.

Which brings me to something I just learned that I hate. Coke Zero. It’s Coca-Cola. It’s got zero calories. But it’s not Diet Coke. It’s better. It’s different.

NO! It’s the same goddamn thing!

I went to the store today to buy some stuff and as I passed the beer aisle, that little devil on my shoulder calmly insisted that if I didn’t buy some goddamn beer he was going to pitchfork my eardrums until April. Fortunately, the angel on the other shoulder bailed me out (somewhat). Here’s a rough transcript of their conversation:

Devil: 

BUY BEER! BUY BEER!

Angel: 

No, we’ve had our fair share of beer in the past few days. Let’s not do any drinking tonight. Besides, beer’s expensive. We make like $40 a week. We’ve eaten Ramen noodles and grass clippings for three days straight.

Devil:

BUY BEER! BUY BEER!

Angel: 

Ugh, what, are you retarded? Are you listening to what I’m saying?

Devil: 

Buuuuuuuuuuuuy…

Angel: 

Listen, if you—

Devil: 

BEEEEEEEEEER!

Angel:

All right, let’s compromise here. Remember that big jug of whiskey? We’ve still got a fair lot of it left. We’ll drink some of that. It’s already paid for. No additional hits to the wallet. Deal?

Devil:

[grumble grumble want beer] Ok. What are we mixing it with? All we have at home is milk and water, and damned if I’m drinking that bottom-of-the-barrel-five-dollars-a-gallon piss-whiskey straight. Buy some Coke. Or Pepsi. Whichever’s cheaper.

Angel:

All right, fair enough. We can spare a buck or two for a two-liter. But let’s not go full-sugar soda. We’ve been watching our food intake a bit of late and can finally refer to our pecs as “pecs” instead of “tits,” which is nice.

Devil:

[angrily] Fine. You win this time, but next time we get drunk in public I’m making sure we do something especially stupid. You’ll regret this. [disappears into cloud of smoke]

Angel: 

[to me] Ok, we don’t much care for diet soda, so let’s do one of those that are supposed to be low-calorie but better than diet.

Devil:

[reappears in cloud of smoke] But if they’re better than diet, why doesn’t everyone buy them and stop buying diet altogether?

Angel:

Would you fuck off already? We’re getting some nasty aspartame-filled bullshit regardless; I’m just trying to ease the pain. [to me] So anyway, get Pepsi Max or Coke Zero.

Me:

I’ve tried Pepsi Max before. It’s just Diet Pepsi in a different bottle.

Other store patrons:

Who the hell is he talking to? Weirdo.

Angel:

Fine, get Coke Zero instead. We’ve always liked Coke better anyway…

BEGIN TANGENT

…but not so much more as to make me be a total assclown like you dicks who order a Coke and upon being asked if Pepsi is ok respond with something along the lines of, “Oh. Well. Never mind then. Just piss into a cup and give it to me because I’d rather drink that than Pepsi.” FUCK YOU. They’re both colas and taste only marginally different. I bet most of you inbred siamangs couldn’t even tell the difference between the two if it weren’t for the bottles being labeled. Unless Pepsi raped your mother and robbed you of your 401k, cut the bullshit and just drink what’s available. God, I hate you.

END TANGENT

Me:

Yeah, sounds good. Hey, there’s only one bottle of Coke Zero left. Lucky me! I bet that means it’s gonna be really good because so many people buy it and stuff.

Devil: 

You don’t believe a word you’re saying, do you?

Me: 

[despondent] No.

FOUR HOURS LATER

Me:

COKE ZERO SUCKS! THIS IS JUST DIET COKE IN A BLACK BOTTLE! YOU DIRTY BASTARDS, YOU TRICKED ME!!!!

FIVE HOURS LATER

Me:

I’m fairly certain I have stomach cancer. If I don’t have it, I deserve it for pouring such utter filth into my guts. Damn you, Coke Zero. You are all that is bad and wrong in the world.

Albert Pujols Signs with Angels, Begins Reign of Terror

Up there!  It's a bird! It's Superman! No, it's that plane I bought.

Yesterday, first baseman Albert Pujols called a press conference to announce that he had signed a 10 year, 254 million dollar contract with the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (who apparently can't decide which city they play for).  Albert had worn number 5 on his St. Louis Cardinals jersey since the beginning of his career, making his home in St. Louis and opening a restaurant there called "Pujols 5."
Albert approached the podium chewing vigorously on a piece of "5" brand gum produced by the Wrigley company, which Albert had purchased that morning along with three new BMWs, a solid gold bidet, and the planet Neptune.
After giving a brief statement, Pujols was asked why after repeatedly saying money wasn't a high priority for him and he simply wanted to play on a successful baseball team he opted to leave the St. Louis Cardinals, who had won the World Series twice in Albert's time with the team.  His response was as follows:  

"Yeah man, you know, it's all about the winning.  I just wanna play some ball, you know.  The Cardinals, we win the World Series and stuff, and the Angels, they gonna pay me a whole lot of fucking money, man.  So yeah, I just wanna play on a team that's gonna win some ballgames."

When he was told that his statement made absolutely no fucking sense Albert killed three reporters, removed their spines, and twisted them into a horrific representation of the number 5. 
Albert then informed those present that he had a special surprise for all of his fans:

"I got a big surprise for all my peoples today, man.  Back home [in his native Dominican Republic] we kinda poor, you know, so I figure I buy the whole goddamn country.  We gonna rename it and everything.  I call it 'Pujols.'  It's cool, yeah?"  

Albert then produced a large map with the Dominican Republic circled and a picture of his face sloppily glued on top of it. 

"Now that I got all this money I can help out all my peoples back home.  I can use the money I make in the Angels to help make the Dominican Republic a great place for all the kids to sew my baseball jerseys and make shoes and stuff to sell so I can make some money, you know?  It's gonna be great, man!" 

At this point, Albert smiled broadly; the first time he had done so since the conference began.  
When asked if he thought he would be able to maintain his high level of play throughout the length of his 10 year contract despite already being in his thirties, Pujols cackled maniacally, turned into a bat, and flew out of the room.
There were no survivors.