Your Morning Headlines for April 23rd, 2008

From the Diary of Fools Newswire:

Hipster turns out to be just some guy with genuinely bad taste

Wears Styx t-shirt with no irony, earnestly enjoys taste of PBR

Gang violence task force reports "good news, bad news"
Bad news: Deaths from automatic assault weapons continue to rise
Good news: Choreographed dance fighting at an all-time low

Leonardo DiCaprio signs on to reprise role as "Luke" in Growing Pains: The Movie

This really happened.

by Reno Gruber, Hater of all things political.

Last night, the three remaining candidates not named Ron Paul or Mike Gravel reminded us all why we hate everything. Here at the Diary of Fools we shake an extra fist at the subtlety of this message to the sign-making populous that make up the "modern?" lynch mob that are professional wrestling fans.

This "Raw Smackdown" of modern politics perfectly displays why educated and media savvy adults generally think of politics akin to accepted molestation of our own agendas. I mean, we get it. You're trying to win...and like it or not, some of the 4.9 million people who watch Monday Night Raw vote. Maybe like 25,000 or so. But do you think any of them are going to vote for you, Hilary Clinton?

Excuse my snobbery pro wrestling fans; when I was 12 I was one of you (oh I miss your loin-clothed antics, Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka.) But this doesn't look like a progressive hot-bed of ideas and new thought. I assume more than one guy forgot to wear pants on the way to the stadium until some old woman screamed in horror on the bus there.

...ok i'm projecting again, I forgot pants this morning. But I had a valid excuse. I wanted people to see what manbeauty looks like.

Diary of Fools Nut-Punch of the Week, April 21-25, 2008

By Merton Sussex, Demagogue-at-Large

It's 2008, and the world is a scary place. The economy is swirling the toilet main, the entire Middle East is a cesspool with a fuse, and the thought of enduring 273 more days of the lame-duck administration of Goober T. McButtocks has your old pal Merton tearing what's left of his hair out in big, bloody golf-course divots.

To that end, The Diary of Fools is introducing a new feature: Nut-Punch of the Week.

Each week, the Diary will "honor" a different recipient out of a field of worthy candidates to receive a swift and decisive virtual haymaker to the junk. After all, we've largely always fallen back upon one of the only systems of recourse left to any thinking 21st-Century Western mind: Regular bouts of snarky mockery. So why not name names, and start calling out the vacuum-skulled colostomy-sacks who are in some way responsible for the flying mudball we all call home being in the sorry state it's in?

So, without further adieu, here are the inaugural Nut-Punch nominees:

Pope Benedict XVI

Wherever "His Holiness" goes, a festival of bullshit surely follows. Who's more eligible for a shot to the just-for-decoration cherries than THIS asshole? It's bad enough when he's parked on his stupid chair with his stupid hat in his stupid little walled-off city with his stupid striped-pantaloon rent-a-knights, preaching that gays are bad, condoms cause AIDS, and overpopulation is better than sex education. But then he has to go and bring his intolerant, backward, stone-age-mindset circus HERE. As if we don't have enough shit to deal with at the moment; now we have to burn taxpayer dollars in a constitutionally-questionable government-supports-church ticker-tape parade, kissing the saggy, wrinkled ass of a useless figurehead of an obsolete institution, and doing our best to keep him from getting shot on top of it. Like THAT'S easy. At the very least, I'd imagine the scores of molestation victims touched by more than the Holy Spirit over the years might have a high-caliber, long-range bone or two to pick with the bloated sack of protoplasm who just keeps moving the molesters around to different parishes rather than actually punishing the disgusting fucks.

Think about this for a second...El Papa drives around in a gigantic, bulletproof bubble surrounded by scores of armed guards instructed to drop on sight anyone who even has their hands in their pockets. And...Why, exactly? Remember: We're talking about the guy who is supposedly Jehovah's personal concierge. A dude who has so completely dedicated his life to the service of his particular mythological best guess that he was voted by all of his friends to wear The Hat. The right-hand man of the supposed "Almighty."

News Flash: If THIS cat's afraid to die, then the rest of us are FUCKED.

Plus, lest we forget...Consider the fact that he was not only a junior brownshirt during the Third Reich, but that if he looked any more like The Emperor from "Return of the Jedi", George Lucas would have to call his lawyer. And while I'm hardly the first to point any of that out, it's not like we can really give that shit too much weight.

Ben Bernanke

The current head of the Federal Reserve WOULD be fiddling while the economy burns, but he had to sell the Stradivari to fill up his Hummer.

When Alan Greenspan retired in 2006, I was honestly sad to see him go. Regardless of the fact that I'm perpetually pissed there exists a Federal Reserve at ALL, Greenspan seemed to have the attitude of a sewage-plant grunt: Sure, I may be hip-deep in shit, but that's more reason than ever to keep shoveling. In the face of adversity (namely, the economic turd-flush that ALWAYS happens when there's a Republican in the Oval Office), he just kept standing over the bulging, red-hot boiler of the U.S. economy, and slapping duct tape on the seams whenever a new jet of steam would geyser up. He held his own with aplomb.

But now, we have the smirking douchebag above. As far as I can tell, his entire contribution to the Fed thus far has been to use the thumb that's not perpetually lodged up his dirt-star to jab the flashing red "CUT INTEREST RATES" button on his desk like a smack-addled chimp hammering the treat switch in a Skinner box. Meanwhile, half of the country is in foreclosure, banks are failing like Dom DeLuise on a diet, and I have to take out a payday loan if I want to buy a fucking pack of Juicy Fruit. But that's okay, because the gum wrappers are worth more than the dollars I bought them with.

His latest genius move is to start talking to the press (who are demanding some accountability), and grudgingly admitting that he's starting to maybe see the faint glimmer of the hint of a whisper of the potential possibility for the conditions necessary to create the right environment for a recession to perhaps start to occur. Well, no shit! Next you're going to tell me that The Beatles were a pretty decent band, or that Osama bin Laden is kind of a jerk.

I'm gonna go ahead and say it: Ben Bernanke has gotta be the only Jew in the country who can't handle cash. Too bad he's responsible for FUCKING ALL OF IT.

Michael Bay

Asshole emeritus Michael Bay started his "entertainment career" directing soft-core direct-to-DVD Playboy videos. If there's the merest drop of justice in the universe, he'll end it the same way, except without all the soul-affirming nudity. Or the paycheck. Or the eventual distribution.

Plain and simple, Mikey embodies everything that's wrong with Hollywood, wrapped up into a smug, greasy little stubble-covered ball and deposited on your doorstep like a flaming bag of Beagle shit on Halloween. His crap-fest flicks are so full of stilted dialogue, useless explosions, and ridiculous special effects that there's never room for anything else. With the arguable exception of Uwe Boll (who nobody takes seriously anyway), no Producer/Director in history has been responsible for more outright garbage. This guy has released more turkeys than PeTA's Thanksgiving Task Force.

For the uninitiated, here's a quick rundown of the "higher" points of Bay's résumé:

The Rock: Sean Connery and Nicolas Cage try to out-squint each other for the better part of two hours.

Armageddon: Bay commits the equally-egregious cardinal sins of making Bruce Willis look like a pansy, and forcing Aerosmith to sing a fucking Diane Warren song.

Pearl Harbor: Oh, JESUS CHRIST. Way to reduce a tragically epic historical event to a ham-fisted, anachronism-filled suck-fest.

The Island: Budget = $120,000,000. Domestic gross = $36,000,000. How does a movie with cloned Scarlett Johannsens lose money?!? Oh, yeah...It sucked more wind than Hurricane Katrina.

Transformers: Thanks for raping what's left of the corpse of my childhood, asshole. Wanna strap me into the "Clockwork Orange" chair and force me to watch while you donkey-punch my mom next?

So, what's next for Mr. Bay? Well, the next two or three years of his life will be spent producing re-makes of "Nightmare on Elm Street," "The Birds," and "Friday the 13th," while trying to squeeze in a "Transformers" sequel...Because apparently there's still more left of that empire to take a steaming, corn-flecked dump on. And no...I'm not making any of that up. For those of us who bemoan the death of original screenplays and ground-breaking filmmaking, here is your posterboy. Memorize his face, for it is the face of pure evil.

And, your winner:

Michael Fucking Bay.

And that kind of surprises even your humble narrator. When I started writing this, I had fully intended to hand the trophy to Pope Palpatine I. But that was before I decided to peep Bay's C.V. in the Internet Movie Database, and discovered his upcoming projects. I literally cannot believe that this jagoff has the huevos to assume that he's good enough to try to improve on Freddy, Jason, and the Almighty Hitchcock. And it's that staggering level of hubris that earns him the maiden yambag thump of the Diary's N.P.o.t.W.

Free movie tickets for a month to whomever can find this shithead, and bash him in the stones for real.

Diary of Fools Recommends: Someecards.com

By Reno Gruber, solicitor of other websites


If any of you fucking champions of society are like ol Reno, you need a sun-dial, four email alerts , a few cellphone reminders and the threat of water torture to remember important peoples birth dates, not to mention something witty and sharp to send. Its not that you don't love them, its just that you know...your (read: my,) life of solitude and (my) bathroom mirror porn are extremely time consuming endeavors.

Well, Someecards isn't some magical robot that is going to remind you when your mother's birthday is; no the threatening notes you write to yourself to remember will still be needed. However, they will quickly subdue the beast that is the demand for good material. Its not your subversive "Happy Birthday, Fag." Although they should consider that, because its hilarious. No, its far more...yelp...irreverent then that. (I hate using such a topical-bin word, but it fits.) Its honest and its random, its hilarious.Whether its congratulating your Jewish brethren on hurrying through Seder, or just reinforcing to your gay friends that no amount of cock can pass through the inner walls of his nubile anus to make you not love him (no, not in that way Charlie.)

The braintrust over there have cooked up the funniest shit you can fit on an electronic 3x5 notecard, and makes us drab douchebags appear witty when we send our sisters a week-late email.


The classic "Sorry Emily, Missed your birthday again- thanks for always sending me money for mine...well here's a free email card i found. See ya at Christmas!"Is now dressed up with something that actually will make them laugh.

It won't make you into a good brother/sister/boyfriend/cat owner, but the cards will make your recipient laugh momentarily between bitter thoughts of why they still consider you family.

Some of the off-topic gems below.

Diary of Fools Guide to Poisoning your Soul: Vol. 1. Rock of Love 2

By Reno Gruber, Contributing Hobo

Rock of Love 2 Featuring Bret Michaels.

If you missed it, you apparently hate yourself and for that I am kind of worried about your health. You don’t know it, but you missed out on the worst thing ever(which not so coincidentally means you missed out on a hell of a television show.) But don’t get all suicidal, there is many an all-day marathon planned…this is VH1 we’re talking about here; Celebrity Fit Club only has so many episodes. But as the title suggests, this is the second offering of this cultural masterpiece- which means that shockingly, the first go-around didn’t solicit the former Poison front-man a lasting chance at love. Michaels had to decide between an off-putting 34 year old stripper who drank like Keith Richards and looked like a Blonde…Keith Richards and Jes, a Chicago hairstylist who was half his age, ¼ his weight and actually seemed pretty cool…and maybe out of his league. Turned out she thought so too, dumped him at the reunion show and suggested he was better off with the haggard stripper from Las Vegas (North, I presume.)

This year meant that VH1 and Bret Michaels both conceded they hit the jackpot last year with white America’s answer to Flavor of Love, so it’s safe to assume that Bret wasn’t too heartbroken when the waif-like Jes darted for smaller, but probably more tasteful things. He again introduced us to twenty of the least diverse/most predictable reminders why fathers everywhere should pay attention to their daughters for as long as they can. Hold on Fathers, or you will see them soon crooning your nearest reality show on the community stripper pole of rock stars that aged like fine milk. The first couple of episodes are a mess, where the producers’ hand-picked train-wrecks are poised to earn their per diem, and play their role of hilarious whores that are somehow not good enough for the remaining members of Great White (too soon?) It’s hard to remember what happens besides the formula of probable disease + predictable dance moves x Cabo Wabo by the gallon = mega ratings? The girls clamor to get to know Bret, while he walks around making awful one-liners that would cause any normal man to find fleeting salvation in his palms. I think I heard him point at “boobies” and say “me likey” at least four times. Apparently singing ‘Unskinny Bop’ over the years does NOT help your verbal ‘game’ with the ladies. Of course these ladies think it is the greatest thing they have ever heard. But it’s safe to say these women would either not notice/care if Bret Michaels was quietly replaced by Dee Snyder, Richard Marx or Chuck Woolery. They done seen him on Tee Veeee!

But the star of the show is also the thing that must be on the first line of Mr. Michael’s contract; Bret’s wig and its unconscionable absence in any discussion from anyone. I assume if anyone mentioned the “W word” production comes to a similar halt that my dancing does when I hear his music (immediate, with disregard for personal health.) Being a sloppy late-twenties man, I can’t exactly spot a weave. So its safe to think if I can, it’s one found at paper warehouse a few weeks into November in the dollar bin. I like to think Bret actually picked up a Bret Michaels wig from a lonely kiosk in some Rhode Island mall and got an empty compliment when he wore it. He seems disillusioned enough to slap a Steven Tyler silk bandana around it and just “Rock.” The first two episodes are pretty entertaining, but hardly notable. It’s obvious there are girls there that are merely paid to be a complete joke (wait, aren’t they all?) Cue the myriad of third generation porn “stars.” Its not shocking a show like this wouldn’t take it self seriously, but it’d be easier to call it hilarious if it wasn’t so aware of how bad it was. Concurrently, that’s exactly why American Gladiators sucked so badly. It DID take itself seriously...they just never get it right do they?

Anyhow the eventual winner is pretty much eliminated in the first episode, but some awful, haggard looking girl quits for no reason and Ambre (the winner, also an actress; weird, I know,) gets the pity “VIP pass.” They say the word destiny about 40 times before it’s over, and I was waiting for God just to annihilate the entire zip code that filming was in, but I assume he has bigger fish to fry at the moment (Cheney, wear a rain coat.)

There are 3 “hot” girls, all with more daddy issues than Patty Hurst and Paris Hilton combined. Kristy Joe, a cute brunette until you take a second look and see she has maybe the greatest case of “crazy face” ever witnessed on TV. The next spin-off should be a competition to see if anyone can look into her eyes and see any semblance of a soul. Daisy was your conventional tattooed rocker girl, and later we find she is the bastard niece of Oscar De La Hoya. She’s kind of cute, then you hear her talk, then you look at her again…then she keeps talking, then you take the nearest living thing and end its life force. The greatest laugh of the season was when she revealed that she also fucked CC Deville (also in Poison, also looks like Tina Yothers.) The nearly cute one was Megan, a tall, familiar looking girl that matches Kristy Jo’s dead look, and raises it with a vacant nothingness of a personality that plagues all too many women that have been told they were attractive once too many times in high school. I come to find out she was on “Beauty and the Geek” last year and actually won it. So yes failed actresses, you too can have an acting career shabbily playing yourself while chewing the scenery on the way! The only one legitimately cute was Jessica, who was completely ignored in the shows editing despite making it to the final 4. No time for cute girls when you have tramps to laugh at!

But the most fun I had laughing at, of all the women, happened to be the unreal duo of Peyton and Catherine. Peyton has to be the oldest 34 year old alive. I assume she had smoked a pack and a half of pall malls while tanning 5 hours a day since 82. Where last year they had someone that could be a blond Keith Richards, Peyton actually was Keith Richards. Rumor has it the army is trying to clone her skin as a prototype for a new type of bullet protecting armor. Seriously, I don’t care how much you care about personality, how this bitch got on any TV show can be only explained in two words. Blow and Job. Completely unreal and she lasted until like the final 7, outlasted somehow by Elvira, wait Catherine. Catherine was older than Bret, and was probably hot when Foghat was kicking ass that wasn’t the Apple Valley Bowling Alley. (Maybe the 1977 slow ride tour? I assume this again was the producers playing a funny on us, but seriously- I was insulted. I am not looking for Rock of Love to show me the exploits of how love conquers all, and how anyone can find love. If anyone does please stop reading this, find a butter knife and kindly insert it into your brain.

I was going to re-cap the whole show, but that would somehow make me more pathetic. Just know that in the end he had a chance between two different cases of fetal alcohol syndrome. Daisy, the rocker chick with eyes nearing her temples and Ambre (yes, she fucking spells her name Ambre) who’s eyes made her look like a live-action Kathy cartoon. He picked close eyes over far eyes. She cried, he looked like he just chose to have a tuna sub instead of cold cut combo.

Let the world erase this from their brains immediately.

Thanks for the memories, Bret. See ya next year when you find your Rock of Love in a bottle of Malibu laced with Propecia and Viagra.

Diary of Fools brought to you by:

FOX NEWS. The louder you report it. The truer it must be.

World View: The Dastardly Dalai Lama

By Blaine Fridley, Editor-in-Chief

When one hears the words "Dalai Lama", the immediate thought is, of course... "terrorist".

Umm...well, it is if you're Chinese president Hu Jintao and you're more insanely out-of-touch and batshit crazy than a puree of Amy Winehouse, Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Andy Dick all mixed up in a bucket.

In a recent New York Times article, Jintao explains China's heavy-handed response to Tibetan protesters as a necessary measure to protect his country's people and, um, "sovereignty" that is endangered by the brutally thuggish Lama and his clan of terror operatives/monks, stating:

"No responsible government will sit idle for such crimes,
which encroach human rights, gravely disrupt social order and gravely jeopardize
the life and property security of the masses."

Obviously, Jintao couldn't be more right. Without question, China's famously zealous pursuit of human rights protection and respect for life is second only to its sterling environmental policies and strict quality control in the manufacturing of children's toys.

A simple Google search proves everything:

China+human rights violations

Dalai Lama+human rights violations

I mean, just look at what the Nobel committee had to say about this threat to China's national security upon awarding the Dalai Lama the 1989 Nobel Peace Prize:

"The Committee wants to emphasize the fact that the Dalai Lama in his struggle
for the liberation of Tibet consistently has opposed the use of violence. He
has
instead advocated peaceful solutions based upon tolerance and mutual
respect in
order to preserve the historical and cultural heritage of his
people."

On top of that, the Dalai Lama has gone on the record as rigidly demanding not Tibetan freedom, but just more autonomy for Tibet within China.

How do you compromise with a tyrant like that?

The Day I Lost Faith in Humanity, part IV

by Blaine Fridley, Editor-in-Chief

Though it may come as a surprise to the millions of (potential) Diary of Fools readers out there, I am indeed forced to work a day job in order to cover the 99.97% of my budget that Google Adsense revenue does not.

As far as jobs go, I could do much worse. I know this because I have done much worse. Much, much worse. Dirty, filthy, unspeakable things. But for now, I will spare you the banality of my day-to-day workplace routine. In fact the only reason I mention my day labor at all is to set up yet another soul-crushing moment in the history of mankind.

This is a sign currently hanging in the men's bathroom at my office:

And for our Spanish speakers:

Apparently, GROWN-ASS ADULTS wiping boogers on the bathroom wall had become such a company-wide epidemic that HR had to take immediate action by way of this unfathomably ree-FUCKING-diculous sign (laminated, of course, so boogers could be easily wiped off). But even more ridiculous is the fact that HR apparently had this sign on file from earlier booger-flinging outbreaks. Just check out the date in the upper left hand corner.

Though, it is hard to decipher what, exactly, is the saddest part here. The fact that grown-ass adults are wiping boogers on the wall, or that some poor schmuck had to spend part of his/her day thinking of the most corporate, professional, HR-approved term to use for "boogers".

The Day I Lost my Faith in Humanity Archive:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Local View: News from the Land of 10,000 Lakes

By Blaine Fridley

DOF Newswire

St. Paul, MN-

Gov. Tim Pawlenty Makes a Big Statement with Budget Vetoes

Most notably, "Hey, I'm a huge dick", and "I'm a petty, childish, vindictive, rat-faced jerk-off." Oh, and "smarmy". Don't forget "smarmy".

Yup, less than two months after the Minnesota Legislature hit Gov. Tim Pawlenty with an override of his gas tax veto, the second-term Republican slashed the 2008 Bonding Bill with 52 line-item vetoes - including money for a much-needed light rail public transport system - while continuing his pathetic, pandering and transparent "fiscal conservative", "no new taxes" jig for the VP nod in John McCain's campaign.

Because, as we all know, not raising taxes is a sure-fire way to keep money in the "workin' man's" pocket, right Tim? Errr...oops.

And coincidentally enough, Mr. P made sure to pass most of the measures from suburban and rural areas, effectively squashing any hopes of getting enough support for another override to get light rail back on the bond for the Twin Cities.

For this (and for many past actions), Timmy has been nominated for the DOF "Crotch -punch of the Day". Any reader who supplies tangible proof that he/she delivered a punch to the gov's crotchal area by 11:59pm (CST) today will receive ALL of the DOF's Google AdSense revenue for the day, meaning a potential pay-out of TENS of cents for the winner. A double pay-out goes to out-of-state readers who accomplish this task.

Good luck. The DOF is counting on you.

Diary of Fools Online College Graduation Guide: Chapter 2, Part 2 - The Resume

By Blaine Fridley

Resumes. A good one will propel you to the front of the "quality candidates" line. A poorly composed one will end up "on file", which of course, is a globally-recognized Human Resources term for "the trash". The goal with your resume is to avoid the latter scenario.

How?

Well, beefing up your resume with degrees from well-respected and highly accredited universities along with Fortune 500 internships and high-profile charity work is one way.Another way is lying. A lot. Because some people will have all of the above on their resume. You probably won't and you'll have to keep up somehow. Besides, you have any better ideas? I didn't think so, Mr. Sports Management Major.

Before we go any further, it's important to remember that putting yourself on the job market is a lot like running for office. In order to succeed you must:

A) Make outlandish promises that you can't possibly deliver. (For example, I once told a prospective employer that I was a detailed-oriented multi-tasker, when in all honesty, I find watching TV and remembering to breath at the same time quite a challenge).

B) Air negative campaign adds linking other top job candidates with terrorists.

C) Remember that once you are hired based on your outlandish promises and subsequently fail to deliver on said promises, you should blame your gross incompetence on somebody else (just like any self-respecting politician) until you fall forward into a higher-profile, better-paying position. Repeat until retirement.

Many of you may feel uneasy spinning such a web of deceit. To that I say, don't be such a pussy. The void created in your soul from such amoral and unscrupulous behavior can always be easily filled with money, hot women, alcohol and excessive behavior. That always turns out well.

Trust me.

So, what kind of lies are employers looking for on a resume? Well, the bigger the better. Remember, there are people out there who actually do have the qualifications you're only lying about. Better make them pretty fucking good.

For example, if another applicant went to Harvard, so did you. During the day. Before your classes at Yale Law in the evening.

Or, if another applicant spent 2 years designing and implementing irrigation systems and teaching eco-friendly farming techniques in impoverished, famine-plagued African nations, so did you. Right after you found a cure for Leukemia. Got it? Go big, my friend. Unless, of course, you don't mind working at that belt buckle kiosk in the mall for the rest of your life. I mean, that's cool. After all, you are banging that chick from the Orange Julius stand AND getting 10% off all mall merchandise. I'd totally stick with that hand, dude.

Hopefully, by now you're starting to realize that while a select few have put in countless dedicated hours and thousands upon thousands of dollars earning their sterling qualifications, it's imperative to keep in mind that you can get the same qualifications with nothing more than a 2.5 GPA at Fratboy State University, some quality, heavy-stock paper, and an egregious distortion of the truth.

Excellent. Now that you know what goes into a good resume, it's equally as important to know how to put all that info together. Let's take a look at 3 different styles of resumes.

1. Chronological

This is the most popular format. It places information in reverse chronological order (i.e. from most to least recent). Employers tend to prefer this format as it (hopefully) demonstrates a candidate’s steady and upward career growth. Thus, the focus is on time, job continuity, growth, and achievements.

2. Functional

A functional resume focuses on skills, credentials, and accomplishments over the course of all jobs held. Emphasis is on what you did, not when or where you did it. Accomplishments, qualifications and experience are grouped together, to emphasize your experience in specialty areas.

3. Threatening

Rather than just flaccidly list your qualifications, the threatening resume allows you to take the bull by the horns and make your objectives known by spelling them out using strong, curt language and, most importantly, threats on the lives of the hiring manager and/or hiring manager's loved ones (click figure 3.1 below for an example).

Figure 3.1

If done correctly, one of these 3 options is bound to get you noticed by HR (or the authorities). And when that time comes, you'll have to be prepared for your first face-to-face job interview (or incarceration).

Up next in the Diary of Fools Online College Graduation Guide:

Chapter 3 - The Interview

Chapter 4 - Welcome to the Working World: Dealing with Chronic Depression

Coming Soon...

The DOF Online College Graduation Guide returns on Monday with a fresh installment - Chapter 2, Part 2: The Resume

In the meantime, in between time, get caught up on all the previous installments:

Introduction: A Commencement Day Speech to my Alma Mater by Blaine Fridley

The Diary of Fools Online College Graduation Guide: Chapter One - Moving Back Home

Diary of Fools Online College Graduation Guide: Chapter Two, Part One - Internships and Resumes

All the World is a Stage

Thanks to Uncle Beefy for turning the DOF onto these cats who've been dedicated to turning the mundane into entertaining performance art for baffled throngs of onlookers since 2001. Big up, Beefy! (CLICK THE PIC FOR LINK)

 

Pictures in the News

From Diary of Fools Newswire

The High Cost of Intergalactic Warfare

A candid look at the tragedy, devastation and sorrow born from the demise of a dedicated space invader, husband and father. (Click to play)

  

Welcome to Geno's...

...home of the World-Famous Xenophobic Cheese Steak!(Click for story)

"Would you like a side of small-minded bigotry with that?"

Whhaaaa? This guy intolerant? 

The DOF is shocked. Completely shocked.

We don't believe in anything anymore.