Some of them Coach Murphy quotes written by one of TheDirk’s VPs of Marketing are on McSweeney’s Internet Tendency today. Check them out. Do you understand? Click here.

Hey! So, sometimes people are set ablaze. They should at least get funny mugs too that they can carry about the office. Check this one out. It also includes an unlicensed cute sleepy lion graphic!:

Or this one!…

Or this one!…

Our first TheDirk Poll:

Will Archuleta Be Voted Off ‘Idol’ for Singing ‘Revolution 9′ on Beatles Night Last Night?

Somehow vote YES or NO!

(and there will be another thing on TheDirk this week, not just this thing.)

Suicide Bombing Beats Out Dentistry as Occupation with Most Suicides per Capita

Lipton, NJ - The effects of this new golden age of terrorism are being felt everywhere. In a new survey published by Career Sciences this year, the rates of suicide per capita for 2007 are given for over 83 different common occupations. Over the previous 30 years that the survey has been published, the results have not varied greatly. But, this year, the perennial top-of-the-list, dentist, found itself second — and a far second at that — to suicide bomber.

“There are about 9 suicides for every 10 suicide bombers. It’s incredible. Comparatively, for the usual number one, dentistry, there’s about 1 suicide per 23,000 dentists,” said Dr. Meredith Hamm of the Career Sciences Center. “I just think the typical suicide bomber faces so much stress in performing the particularly harsh tasks they undertake and that must be what’s leading to this distressingly high figure. There definitely needs to be some system of counseling support or something in that relatively new career.”

Rounding off the top five most suicides-per-capita list were dentists, milkmen, suicide hotline operators, and some not very important job.

Some kind of suicide bomber type thing

Detectives Frustrated by Walls that Can’t Talk

Chicago, IL - Detective Lawrence Broch thought he had what it took to break his case. Two months ago, the elderly Stella Weidenbacher was stabbed to death in her apartment and her jewelry was stolen. Despite his many detective tools including magnifying glass, Broch had no clues or suspects or the definite killer.

But, Tuesday night, while laying awake in bed, Broch had an idea.

“I always do my best thinking while lying awake in bed. I was racking my brains, thinking that someone or some…thing must have seen this evil deed. And, then, I realized: the walls of the room she was murdered in. I’ll just go talk to them!”

However, the next morning, things didn’t quite turn out as hoped: “When I got to the apartment, I asked the walls all these questions and, of course, all they could do is sort of hum and moan their answers because they don’t have mouths. If only those walls could talk or even simply write down what they saw.”

Walls not talking

Ramming One’s Head Into Sculptures at Full Speed, Inc.

MEMO

March 6, 2008 

To: Marketing Team 

RE: Marketing rethink

Team,

Having been hired on as your new VP here in the Marketing department, I first want to say thank you for the welcome lunch today at Elephant Bar with all of you. I could eat that chocolate lava cake every meal of the day. Just kidding.

So, now down to business. As you know, the most recent quarter at Ramming unfortunately continued an unsettling trend we’ve had for now 9 straight quarters with us losing revenue over the quarter previous.

The question we need frankly to ask ourselves is why aren’t people ramming their head into sculptures (at FS)? That’s something we have to figure out. I know that, when I told my kids about the company I’d be working for, they said ramming one’s head into a sculpture at any speed “sounds stupid/gross/gay, etc.”

So, whatever the reason, there’s a perception out there we’re contending with.

We in marketing are charged with changing that perception. So I’d love to chat with each of you forany ideas you may have.

Some thoughts:

We haven’t yet delved into TV advertising because, from what I understand, historically the company has worried about the effect someone ramming their head into a sculpture would have visually to a TV audience. But, as is common in advertising today, we don’t have to literally show it or even really speak of it. Just show some 20-somethings hanging out in a sculpture garden, languidly looking at the stars and sitting back against each other around a camp fire, Nick Drake music playing and, after some of that, our logo softly displaying on the screen.

But on the other hand, we may want to actually be very specific in other mediums. Some new FAQs on our website dispelling the idea that we’re somehow in the business of something called “ramming one’s head into sculptures at full speed” but not literally that. I’m not sure why this confusion exists (why would someone name something else “ramming one’s head into scultpures at full speed”?), but it does.

Also, how is the lack of funding in the arts affecting our business (or “bidness” as David Letterman says for comedic affect)? With so few sculptures being commissioned in our neighborhoods anymore, potential clients are finding it harder to find the proper surface upon which the ramming should terminate. They just find themselves in a perpetual state of ram.

So, we may want to think about creating our own sculpting department. The sculptors wouldn’t have to be particularly good I don’t think. Just be able to transform a hard substance into something that would fit even the minimal standard of art (e.g., This means our sculpts wouldn’t have to convincingly and in new ways evoke war or that kind of thing to everyone who sees it. Instead, it could barely evoke something like wanting to eat and not everyone would have to “get it” either and it could technically be cliche.)

Another option here would be for us to lobby for NEA funding, etc. for sculpture parks in our communities. APparently, someone is currently doing that for us but he’s what is called insane.

So, I’ll set appointments with each of you in Outlook and we’ll brainstorm!

– Vince (my name)

Something About Drinking Wine Makes You Healthy or Some Such

Baltimore (around there), MD - Some health organization out here reported like this morning that…something about how wine or whatever can, if you drink one or two glasses or something, can help, like, your heart or livers or something. Something like that.

One of the scientists who ran or whatever the study is Dr. something (but not the same something as the number of glasses of wine something) who won the coveted Nobel or Institute of Something or the Attendance Award or something along those lines. Speaking to the press or in a report or while doing push ups or that sort of thing, he said, “[Something about they did experiments and then said the number of glasses] of wine [went on about how you get healthier or stay just as healthy or that sort of thing]!” Thinking for a second and smiling, he added, “[amazing joke]!”

Something

Lazy Kid Perks Up When Janjaweed Attacks His Home

Crystal Lake, IL - Carmela and Hugh Block of Crystal Lake, IL, have tried just about everything to get their chubby 14-year-old son Andy to put down his perpetual bowl of Lucky Charms, turn off his Guitar Hero video game, and get off the couch. But it’s been a losing battle.

“He’s just a very lazy kid,” Carmela shrugged.

“He’s just a very lazy kid,” Hugh added, providing exactly no extra insight beyond what Carmela had just said.

But Andy’s mother saw something different in her son when 20 to 30 Janjaweed (”Devil on horseback”) galloped into this small Chicago suburb and attacked the Block home yesterday afternoon.

“When the men threw torches through the window and ripped his father’s head off and drowned his baby brother Pete in the blood-filled neck hole of his father, Andy actually kind of sprung into action,” Carmela said proudly.

Specifically, Andy ran for his life with an almost hilarious waddle to the nearby woods. Several of the mounted murderer/rapists chased in pursuit but it is not yet known if they captured him and raped him while making him eat his own hands.

“They probably killed him, which saddens me to the greatest depths of my soul. Anyway, I should get going. A Janjaweed is currently swinging an axe towards my torso,” said the boy’s mother.

<open>

DIDYAKNOW that the only thing HARDER said than done is XGUNYMRGHSC, which is the act of laying there being spoon fed and poured MONEY UPON!

The Didyaknow mascot (whose name we forget at the moment)

Fourteen thousand dollars and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty-two cents of it was in pennies. That was all that Della and James had in checking and savings and their wallets combined. Sure, some more money in 401(k)s and CDs, but they couldn’t draw on those without some penalties. James knew the exact amount because he checked the state of their account on the Bank of America website this February morning. Fourteen thousand dollars and eighty-seven cents…and some investments. And that night was Valentine’s night.

James logged off the website, spiked his hair up just a little with some product, and went to work. Only ten hours to get his lovely bride a Valentine’s gift before he was to meet her at a local French place called Le Jardin d’Olive.

Later that morning, in his cube, he was busy at work with some financial analysis. Then, that afternoon, when he got back from Baja Fresh with Veronica and “Doobs,” he was reminded about the fact that that day was Valentine’s because Lily was wearing her heart-shaped teddy bear brooch thing and playfully haranguing everyone: “Now, where’s your red? You’re supposed to wear red on Valentine’s!” Which instigates the observation that some of the co-workers who even bothered to respond would say something humorous like, “I have a red stripe on my sock! That counts, right?” But the remainder replied with a “I don’t know, Lily. Just…Okay?” or a “Uh. Did you see if Cynthia’s at her desk?”

Only five hours until he was to meet his beloved for St. Valentine’s Day dinner. What would he get her for a gift? He couldn’t afford to get her a house or a beach. What would he get her? And in only five hours to do so.

In the restroom, where he brushed his teeth after lunch, James looked in the very wide mirror and re-textured his hair.

Della’s favorite flowers were white roses. It’s what she had ordered for her and James’s wedding two years ago. Also, whenever her and James went to Whole Foods to get his workout supplements and passed by white roses or if she caught a glimpse of them at the Farmer’s Market on their way to the 7:45 showing of a movie they both thought they’d maybe like okay, she’d say, “Jesus. Those are so gorgeous! They’re the only flowers I really really love.” Over the course of their relationship, she’s probably said that about 84 times, about the white roses, liking them, etc.

At 5:30, James realized he had only one and one half of an hour to get Della, his lovely wife, a Valentine’s gift before meeting her at the restaurant.

James eyes lit with an idea. He would have just enough time to get a haircut.

However, coming out of the salon, James was pale with despair. He didn’t like his new haircut as much as last time. Carlos wanted to “try something new.” Also, now James had almost no time to purchase Della a gift on this day of love!

At the flower shop on the way to the restaurant, James scanned the inventory. Tulips; gerber daisies; and yellow, white, and red roses. They were pretty expensive but James picked a few red roses from what was left and stood in line. He also noticed one of those metallic balloons that said, “Be Mine!” He thought Della would probably like it but it would be kind of a pain to carry.

As he sat down across from his wife, whose bosom was wonderfully kind of squeezed together by, presumably, her bra, James smiled and handed her the red roses. She kind of sighed, realizing once again that James didn’t remember — or, more likely, didn’t care — that it’s white roses she loves so. But then she did what she could to make the best of the situation: “Thank you so much, darling! They’re lovely!”

“I got you something too, dear,” she continued. She pulled out a beautifully wrapped present and handed it to him, which took a very slightly longer amount of time than one might expect as he had to finish glancing over at an evil-looking brunette by the bar.

“Okay,” he said as he tore into the package. It was a grooming kit, the beautiful leather case emblazoned with his initials. He’d always wanted one and Della got it for him even though he probably only mentioned it once.

“Well, okay,” he responded. “I guess I can use this stuff. I might wait until my hair grows in a little bit. I just got it cut as you can see and it’s a little too short.”

“Well, not that it doesn’t look great now, but it’ll probably be a good length in about a week,” she said.

“Okay. I guess I can hang on to this until then,” he sighed. Then he looked lovingly at the brunette again. “Oh. Here comes the waiter. By the way, I don’t want to take so long eating dinner like last time. I’m going to the gym early in the morning,” he informed her in a way that was romantic because he wasn’t outright screaming at her.

“Oh. Yes. Okay,” said Della as she quickly looked at her menu in this restaurant she used to love coming to so much with James.

The magi, as you know, were wise men — wonderfully wise men — who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. But Jesus was not the Son of God as such a thing does not exist. In this way too, Della, gave and gave to a love that wasn’t there. But she thought she might not find anyone else, so she stuck with this. She was the magi.

Love in its physical manifestation