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On the side of a hill in the deep forest green, tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground,
blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain sleeps unaware of the clarion call.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves washes the grave with silvery tears,
a soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions, generals order their soldiers to kill
and to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten

Friday, February 11, 2011

Sigh.

No time for lunch today, so just a quick hit (because I've seen an overload of examples)

Dear Fellow Designers,

Just being offensive does not equal hip. It doesn't equal sardonic. It isn't even ironic. You have to do more work. You have to set up the joke. You've got to do the distraction thing until you let loose with the stomach punch.

At this point you're just trying to shout in our ear without whispering first, "Come here, I've got a secret." It doesn't work as well.

And just because you use the f-bomb doesn't make it funnier, better, more adult or sophisticated. Actually it just makes you look like the cheese in the Cheez-it commercials. I don't mind the f-bomb. Heck, I fucking use the fucked up fucking word all the fucking time, myfuckingself. But if it's the only joke in your quiver, it isn't funny. It's pathetic.

Thanks for your attention. Now, get back to work, because, obviously, you have way too much time on your hands.

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