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O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

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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