Honey Badger Party Hat Method To Humor Writing

02/16/2011 · 18 comments

in How Did My Life Come To This

Phase 1: Deciding On A Bit/Post

You’re getting ready to go to a party. You look in the mirror, and you’re delighted by what you see.

I'm A Motherfucking Delight

You feel a little strange wearing a badger on your head, but you figure you can pass as quirky. The kind of person about whom one would say, “Oh hey, she does weird things but manages to look stylish while doing them. I like her undying free spirit.” You decide that everything will work out okay.

Phase 2: Brainstorming

You arrive at the party. As determined, people think you’re a bit weird, but you pass it off with a smile and some comment about how PETA says badger skins are really in this year.

The badger begins to become uncomfortable with all the attention, and starts making badger noises at people. You quickly move to the drinks station, hoping that this will pass and you’ll get through the party without much bullshit.

But the drunker you get, the angrier the badger gets. He’s actively swiping at your friends, smacking drinks out of their hands, clawing at their clothing and snarling. It’s getting ugly. You’re still trying to pass this all off as an okay decision that you have made, but it’s becoming apparent to everyone that you’re fucking crazy. You suddenly realize you’re the center of attention and try to laugh it off.

Phase 3: Writing

The badger leaps off of your head and onto the crown moulding. He’s circling the room, holding everyone’s attention and enjoying the rapt fear he commands from you.

Then, he strikes.

He soars from the ceiling onto your friend’s throat and starts viciously clawing at everything it can touch. You didn’t know badgers could speak, but he damn well called your friend’s mother a dick-wrangling fucksmack. He’s leaping from person to person, leaving a wake of horror through the room. They’re trying so hard to get away, but he’s a crafty motherfucker, and no where is safe. Lamps are broken, couches are ripped apart, you are threatened with blackmail, and your friend’s poodle might be a rape victim.

You’re bleeding from your ears. Oh God, this is going to be bad.

Phase 4: Editing

Now you’re stalking the badger with a pillow case, attempting a Guantanamo-Bay-Style capture of the bastard. It’s a goddamn Benny Hill chase through the party as you trade between leaping recklessly over furniture to catch him, and he, in turn, farting in your face, biting your chin, and running away.

You convince your least-hemorrhaging friends to assist you, and all 19 of you finally manage to cram some Valium down his hateful little throat and cram him into a ferret-carrier.

Phase 5: Posting/Delivering

You stumble home with your broken heels, torn dress, and comatose badger in his sad little prison. You’re certain that this will be the end of you, that it was the worst decision you’ve ever made. You treat your wounds, pass out, and pray for no one to remember this day.

In the morning, you check Facebook, certain of your impending sacrifice. Soon, you realize that people are talking about how hilarious it was that you brought the badger–they’ll never forget the image of you shouting at your party hat while hurdling the couch , “I’MMA KILL YOU AND YOUR WHORE MAMA, YOU RAT-FACED BASTARD.” No one was seriously injured, or at least not sober enough to remember why that happened if they were.

It suddenly occurs to you that it might have all been worthwhile. You bandage your eyes, poke a little fun at yourself, and realize that you had fun on the way. You might wear him next to the coffee shop, or on your next date.

But if that badger fucks with you again, he will rue the day.

hoodyhoo February 17, 2011 at 6:05 am

You truly are a motherfucking delight. This is EXACTLY how it feels to try to bring teh funneh, and we both have the festering badger wounds to prove it!

Noa February 17, 2011 at 1:56 pm

“The League of Funny Bitches-Now with Badgers.”

hoodyhoo February 18, 2011 at 6:15 am

“New and Improved! With 99-percent MORE BADGERS!” (Manufacturer’s warning: This blog was produced at a facility that also employs/processes badgers and may have been exposed to badger and badger by-products)

Noa February 18, 2011 at 3:12 pm

Now we’re excluding people with badger allergies.

Heather in MT February 17, 2011 at 10:57 am

This post totally made me think of this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg

Honey Badgers, they don’t give a shit!

Noa February 17, 2011 at 1:58 pm

I can’t stop watching that. Because it’s awesome.

Honey Badger don’t give a shit.

elizabeth- flourish in progress February 17, 2011 at 4:26 pm

omg. i feel like i’ve just been fucksmacked in the most delightful way possible. this is truly the ride one goes on….every last crafty motherfucking bit.

youre a fucking genius, ho.

Noa February 17, 2011 at 4:36 pm

You’re a motherfucking delight. You’re as cute as a honey badger. I mean that in the best way possible.

Amanda February 17, 2011 at 8:12 pm

Noa, you are hilarious!

Noa February 17, 2011 at 8:18 pm

Amanda, you made my fucking day. Also, the badger says hey.

Rebecca February 20, 2011 at 8:51 pm

Dear gods, that’s *exactly* what writing is like. I’m so glad someone figured out how to verbalize it.

P.S. Gimme back my badger, bitch.

Noa February 20, 2011 at 9:56 pm

That badger is MINE, ho.

shurikenboobs October 20, 2011 at 2:23 am

So THAT is what it’s supposed to feel like. Sweet Jesus, I’ve been doing it so, so wrong. Because when I do it, it feels like this:

1) Put on long rubber glove.
2) Reach far, far down inside mouth, so far that it’s actually a distance physically longer than your arm. You may actually need a robot, or one of those fun grabber-things that they have in the shape of dinosaurs for kids, and in the shape of nothing for handicapped people who actually need them.
3) Finally find some scraps of foodstuff/near-foodstuff such at things you might have bought at the 7-11 that have not been metabolized or otherwise converted into solid fat.
4) Forcibly mold them together, using whatever mortar you can find, probably spittle, anal leakage, vaginal discharge and words such as “fuck” and “bifurcated choad.” This is incredibly difficult since the chunks don’t really go together and are really just trying to dissolve in your gastric juices into nothingness where they belong. It’s somewhat like trying to make a sand castle with the absolute wrong consistency of sand. (I know you know what this is like because we’ve all been there and it is the number one reason we stop making sand castles. Not because of Loss of Whimsy.)
5) By the grit of your teeth and sweat of your brow, compress that pile of shit into a turd shape, and shove it through your rectum.
6) Poop it out. You have your very own synthetic turd.

Of course, thus described, I’m not sure why I keep doing it. I suppose it’s because of the erogenous nerve clusters around the anus.

BUT, now I know different. And that I have a lot to look up to. You and your badger have a damn perfect sweet fine ass cockfuckin’ symbiosis.

Noa October 23, 2011 at 10:39 pm

Your method is a slightly modified means to a similar end. It still works, but honey badgers involve less latex. Allergies, and all that.

Amy January 7, 2012 at 1:17 pm

I laughed so hard I cried. OMG.
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Noa January 9, 2012 at 11:46 pm

YES. I’m thrilled I could do that for you!

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