Got Bronson?

Where do babies come from?

2011-11-13T21:43:00.000-08:00

Dear Irene,
If I have heard the news right you recently had a baby but have many questions surrounding the baby; such as, where do babies come from or, how did I become pregnant? I can answer these troubling questions as I am a man of extreme intellectual, physical, and metaphysical beauty. But with that being said I maintain blunt language, being completely honest and uncensored in my diagnosis. I warn you, baby making can be a carnal sweaty business and what you are about to read might make you feel very uncomfortable.
To begin, babies occur when a mom and a dad kiss 100 times within a nine month period. If mom and dad want twins they kiss two hundred times within a 9 month period. The duration of a kiss will determine the size of the baby. If your 100 kisses average over two seconds it can increase the size of the baby by one pound. Per 100 kisses, every addition of five seconds to your AKD (average kissing duration) can increase your babies weight by a pound. Also, depending on who initiates the kissing determines the sex of the baby. If the father initiates, on average, more then the woman, the baby will have a higher chance of being male, and depending on how dramatic the initiation was, on average, will determine how manly or womanly the baby will be. A study was done on married couples throughout the Oregon suburbs that had four or more children. One such couple's first three children were boys and of those boys the first two were considered extremely manly (e.g. hair on chest, commanding presence, athletic). This was because the wife reported extreme dramatic kissing throughout their early marriage. She said she was consistently greeted with a husband kicking in a door wearing a cape, proceeded by a determined stride, followed by a dip and a long passionate kiss averaging a whopping ten seconds. Wow-wee! Another family had a baby girl that became a very girly-girl (e.g. mind like a diamond, knows what's best, eyes that burn like cigarettes, fingernails that shine like justice, and a voice that is dark like tented glass, that wears a short skirt and a long jacket, etc.) This was because the husband was confined to a wheel chair when they conceived their baby girl. The husband reported "sweet little pecks on the cheek as the wife leaned over with one leg kicked up for balance to take care of my every whim." Too cute!
But other than that your baby came from your uterus and out your vagina.

-My beautiful and Immortal conspirators ,

B.P. Whitmore

When will I die?

2011-10-17T23:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Adele,
Philosophers and pundants alike always tell me the questions surrounding death are some of the biggest mysteries and most thought-provoking destinations all humans share because it is something we cannot escape. Will it be painful? How will I die? When is someone truly dead? Is there life after death? When will I die? etc. I would go so far as to say that the questions about death are so important that asking them is almost a non-issue. Let me explain. If you asked a resident living in London during the V2 rockets attacks if he or she thought a V2 rocket was going to land on their Grandfather's house in 30 seconds, what would he or she say? They would probably say that it was improbable. If you told them that a V2 rocket was, in-fact, going to land on his or her Grandfather's house in 30 seconds, does it improve their situation? Probably not. I would say they would be mad and angry at you as they heard the next V2 rocket impact London, knowing they are helpless in preventing it. Death is such a mysterious certainty that it barely bothers us because when we learn that we are in-fact, going to die, all we can say is "Yep, I knew that this was probably going to happen eventually. . . sigh." This leads to a side note: Most people know when they are going to die and by what circumstances they are going to die. A common falsity that many people share is that we will never know how we are going to die or when we are going to die. If I was driving a car across a bridge that suddenly gave out, sending me tumbling toward a section of particularly sharp rocks, I only need a half- second to determine that 1.) I am going to die, 2.) I am going to die in the next two-three seconds, and 3.) I will die because I was driving too fast through the air into a section of particularly sharp rocks. It only takes a second for the average human to determine such things.
When will I die? Adele, I would not be far from the truth if I told you you are probably going to die within 20 miles of your house next to your family. This is true for 95% of all humans. People die close to the things that they are most by, which happens to be the place where you live and the people you live with. But this is just silly statistics. You want to know what I know! I have been far from courteous making you read through all that mumbo-jumbo to finally enlighten all of you, my dedicated underlings, as to the true fate of Adele. I tell you that I know the future because I get the early copies of Sunday Newspapers. Dated August 4th, 2094 in the New York Times that you, Adele, die of a freak accident at the local Sperm Bank in Rochester, New York, when a storage tank's support beams buckled under structural stress, spilling 20,000 gallons of company product into the room, drowning the four occupants present. Adele, you perished along with your husband of 30 years, the receptionist, and a potential red-headed donor. I would like to add that you died only three miles way from your houses with your husband. I hope this brings you comfort.

-To my beautiful and immortal conspirators,

Bronson Whitmore

What is the answer to happiness?

2011-05-03T19:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Drew,

The answer is simply but I will take two pages to write it, or maybe five. Happiness is feelings of joy, peace, bliss, mirth, elation, etc. that come from within you. Some people say that you can meditate on happiness and become happier but this is wrong. Meditating on happiness does not make you anymore happy than meditating on piles of money will procure a “Benjamin” bath full of one-hundred dollar bills. There are things that make you happy so meditate on those if you want to become happier.

So I clearly state that we must recognize what we are grateful for to be happy. So if I hear any one of you complaining about how unhappy you are I will not take pity on you. If your uncle died or you broke your foot I will ignore you! Perhaps you forgot that you are not dead? Or that your other foot is perfectly well? Or that you are still breathing after that insignificant car crash that left you paralyzed from the hips down? You’re still breathing. Are you not grateful that you are still breathing? Now I must state with all seriousness that true happiness comes from the immutable and all powerful creator that blesses you with world domination and power. So the next time you are feeling down in the dumps just think: “I’m so happy for Bronson!” I always feel better when I say it. Just say it with me right now: “I’m so happy for Bronson!” Now if you repeat this ten times a day for a month you will begin to feel better about your nice but unguided life. For a greater feeling of happiness, repeat the following four times a day: “I’m so happy for Bronson! I will give him a back rub!” or “I’m so happy for Bronson! I will give him a ten dollar bill!” I actually wrote a book on happiness which addresses this in detail. The book title is called “The Bronson Pill: It’s like Magic!” It’s $9.99 in book stores and a little extra if you have it shipped. I leave you with a great quote from the great theologian and philosopher Calvin Hobbes: "Happiness isn’t good enough for me. I demand Euphoria.” I hope that answers your question Drew and I hope you can depend on me for all your happiness.

- My beautiful and immortal conspirators,

Bronson Whitmore

What would life be like without the other gender?

2011-04-25T19:13:00.001-07:00

Dear Katherine and Eryn,
       If I were to entertain the fact that life would exist without the opposite gender I would say life would be different in many ways. First, there would be no sense of gender because there is only one gender. Second, if there were only men or only women, the way we would act and socialize would dramatically change.
       Let's touch upon the differences of the sexes. First, a society that is comprised of men would live in a Utopian society comprised of efficiency, peace, and prosperity because men are logical and peaceful at heart. A male society with leaders such as George Washington, Mahatma Gandhi, and Barak Obama would create a co-op synthesis of innovation and ideals. Not to mention Jesus is a male and he's perfect (you can't beat Jesus unless your Pontius Pilate).
      I female society would be the repugnant opposite. A society comprised of women would be ruled by totalitarian anarchy based on vengeance and hostility. I imagine a society of flaxen haired cheerleaders armed with automatic firearms burning the countryside because their leader, Oprah, was called a "bitch!" by Ellen DeGeneres.
      Don't get me wrong, I'm not sexist, I love girls and I think their graceful beauty is a shining light on a dark planet that would otherwise not swoon at the sight of a baby seal, but here arises a question. What would happen if men didn't have women? It is a fact that men are like blissful bees going about their work until you drop a female into there midst. When this happens we turn into starved baboons that have been tasered for months, only to wake up to see a beautiful ripe apple thrown into our midst.
      Ladies, men get mad and violent because we love you. Why do you think Napoleon conquered Europe? Probably because some pretty blond girl said he was short at a dance. He was so embarrassed he spilled Mountain Dew on his nice dress shirt so he ran into the bathroom sweating with shame. To his distress he realized that if he walked out of the bathroom with yellow stains on his white shirt people would freak-out. In an effort to preserve his dignity he crawled out the window vowing he would conqueror Europe and wear platform shoes to his next social ball. I feel you Napoleon. Don't listen to that beautiful girl in the red dress. Her silky golden hair that bounces about her shoulders as she flirtatiously moves about the dance floor. Or her infatuating hour-glass figure and graceful demeanor. You don't have to be any of those studly musketeer jockeys following her around like intoxicated cats fumbling to get catnip. Totally not worth it Napoleon.
       If there weren't women, men would have nothing to fight about and would go about our boyish hobbies like building legos and Xbox tournaments. What would women do if men weren't always trying to impress them? They would start fighting about who among them has the prettiest outfit, the smallest shoe size, the cutest hiccups, and etc. In a short amount of time a bloody scratching and hair pulling fight would ensue.
       On a different note about a mono-gendered society our feelings for each other would still be of love. Yes, we would all be homosexuals. In a duel-gendered society you can see this theory proven in isolated environments (e.g. super max prisons, Katie Perry's hit song, "I kissed a girl and I liked it", Obama and Biden, Lesbos, etc).

My beautiful and immortal conspirators,

-Bronson Whitmore

This, I believe.

2011-04-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Bronson, I want you to write an “I believe” essay to share with the 9th grade Socratic class

-Mrs. Martinez

Dear Mrs. Martinez,

      I believe in Xbox because adventure is a Coke, chips, and a click away. On Saturday I hop out of bed, skip the shower, and take my shirt off (it will just get dirty where I’m going). I grab a box of hyper-saturated corn syrup cereal, a gallon of milk, bowl, and spoon. I kiss my mama goodbye and she tells me to be careful as I juggle my food down stairs to the “ManCave”.
      Getting to the ManCave is an adventure on its own. It’s dark and messy but I can find it by the smell. The emanation of awesome percolates my senses and guides me to the epicenter of media indulgence. I flash on the light to reveals everything I have ever wanted: a man’s secluded entertainment oasis.The Mancave is the perfect filter of potential mates because, as you will learn, the Mancave is a veneer of myself at my most raw state.
      Everything I’ve ever wanted is here. TV, heater, mini-fridge, VIDEO GAMES, Frozen burritos, Weezer Cd’s, my pyramid of Mountain Dew cans, my Fallout 3 bobble head, My Master Chief (Halo) action figure, the couch I got for five dollars at the thrift store, my poster of Muhammad Ali that says: Impossible is Nothing…Nike, and gloves and winter hat when I play in the winter months. It’s a beautiful place that continues to give and give and give, and be awesome.
       My adventure starts with some first person shooters like Halo (the first Halo, the only good one), Modern Warfare 2, and Star Wars: Battlefront 2. I get online and start blowing stuff up with my nerd friends. After three hours of that I move on to more sophisticated games such as Portal, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic (which they should make into a movie because it is so awesome), and Hulk: Ultimate Destruction. Then at about four in the afternoon I take a 10 minute break to replenish my gamer food supplies and report back to my mom about my conquests in the ManCave. Then I get back into the fray! This is where I take my gaming to a whole new level. KOTOR, Mass Effect, Fall Out 3, Gears of War 2, and Command and Conquer 3 are played into the wee hours of the night. I usually can last until 3 or 4 in the morning before my shaky hands prevent me from playing any longer and my body slumps over like a bale of hay.
      Sunday morning I crawl out of the ManCave and see the light of the golden rising sun through the windows to the East. A sense of accomplishment washes over me as I put my callused fingers in ice water. The pain is great but compared to the battles I’ve seen, the planets I’ve visited, the gas tanks I’ve shot with a armor-piercing ballistic missile from the Statue of Liberty 1000 meters away, the pained beautiful women that I saved them from evil scientist, the cities I’ve destroyed and rebuilt in a day, and the aliens I’ve allied with to take down English-accented corporate despots. How I changed the world. What an adventure I have partook in. For I live with the greats and always shall. This I believe.

Three Short Answers

2011-04-24T13:29:00.000-07:00

Which hurts more, duct-tape pulled off nipple or happy trial?

I only tested on a deranged male, specifically myself, so results may differ depending on phenotype but I hotly contest that my happy trial still burns.

What would we do without you?

You would be productive citizens married to attractive and affectionate spouses living on gross piles of money.

Pirate or ninja?

I know I will either be suffocated in my sleep or robbed of all my possessions if I answer this question so I will say this and only this: "Give unto ninja what is ninja's, and unto pirate, what is pirate's." -KJV

Why do we dream?

2011-04-24T13:23:00.000-07:00

Dear mystery man,

What we dream is based off of many events and memories of the day that are spliced together to form what we call a dream. We dream because we would be bored stiff while we sleep if we didn't. Try standing in a refrigerator box for eight hours and tell me how fun that is. Besides Joe Carpenter and Hannah Brand most of us would go crazy. But stand in a refrigerator box with a video device that switches movies every thirty seconds and you're in business.

       Another reason why we dream is because it shows us what life would be like if we were in charge of the universe. My universe would be filled with headless kittens and my mother would be Richard Simons, I guess. Our dreams are a sobering reminder that the world would NOT be a better place if we were God.
        Another reason why we dream is so we can wake up thinking we fell off a large building and survived, or that we are capable of itching our brain via index finger through ear cavity. One time, in this crazy dream that I had... yeah, I kissed this girl and she turned out to be a dude. I woke up sweating and dumped Jessica Alba that day. In another dream, my friend whaled on me with a baseball bat. The next day he called me, in real life, to hangout. I was still mad at him from beating me up in my dream so I hung up on him.
        My dream-sharing brings up a point. NO ONE REALLY CARES. Have you ever really enjoyed listening to someone talk about something that never happened and that will never affect you in any way? I hate it when one person shares a dream which brings up another dream which gets the girl behind you to share her dream until everyone is sharing their dreams and no one thinks the other dreams are remotely interesting except for their dreams and subconsciously everyone is aggravated at everybody else for not really caring about their dreams but we all know that nobody cares about each other's dreams but still continue sharing our dreams. And it starts to turn into this 1-UP program where everyone else is tries to out-due the other with interesting dreams and you feel left out so you start making stuff up to fit in but nobody cares and you know it and everyone else knows that you don't really care either. But let's be honest; whatever crazy dreams you think you had its nothing compared to the crazy dreams I've had, so shut it! It's true, this one dream I had I hit this kid in the head with a toaster and I turned it on while it was on his head and it popped and his head was the shape of two toast-shaped prongs and I used him as a fork to stab George Washington in the bum to get him to chop his cherry tree down. It was crazy! And there were elves everywhere! And I had two thumbs on each hand, one on the inside and one on the outside... yeah.
         It's funny because when I told my brother James what I was writing about he started talking about dreams; not his dreams but his friend’s dreams. This lasted about ten minutes. Maybe I'm just a miser but please share your thoughts with me about dreams. Not of dreams but about dreams.

In the interests of survival,what would you do? Would you chop off your nose, or your ear?

2010-12-10T16:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Ellie,
        Without a doubt I would chop off my left ear because I have two ears and I have always considered my left ear annoying.
         Those who are wondering want else I would do in the interests of survival I will tell you. I warn you that the preceeding text will be vile and despicable, but the point is that I will do anything in the interested of survival. For details, read on.
         I would intentionally saw off my leg, rub chili peppers in my eyes, break my arms at the elbow, burn my right nostril shut, sing "I'm a little tea pot" in a tootoo, amputate one of my testicles, pull out my finger nails with pliers, brand my butt with a cattle prod that says, "cheaper by the pound", drink twelve bottles of NyQuil through a straw, suck my eye ball out with an industrial strength vacuum cleaner, and cover myself in fish guts and jump into a piranha tank. I would call the Queen of England a "!@#%$", or a  "*&$%".  I would cover myself in bacon grease and kick a mother bear's cub in the face. I would consume larve, rats, brains, urine, even my dead mother if it means the difference between dying of starvation or seeing the sun rize over the apocoliptic wasteland (love you mom). If I was being chased by bad guys I would hide in a mass grave, latrine, a snake pit, and John Candy's dirty underwear pile. I would hide in the belly of a horse to keep warm from the bitting cold,  You may think I'm kidding, but I'm not. I will do anything to survive because I only have one life to live and no shame. I would lick Richard Simmon's chest hair, tape my guts in with duck tape, date Rosie O'Donald, I would... oh God... say that (sniff)Luke Skywalker was not my idol! I would become a Radier's fan. I would host a Jane Austin movie marathon with a group of seventh grade girls and wear pink pj's.
PS: I wouldn't eat anyone that reads my column.

If the Devil appeared in front of you and gave you three wishes, as long as they were not good, what would they be?

2010-11-30T18:49:00.001-08:00

Dear Andy,

If the Devil appeared in front of me and gave me 3 wishes, as long as they were not good, I would wish for 3 unspeakable, horrifically sadistic things that couldn't be whispered is the ears of rational and moral beings without dying of shock and horror.

My first wish would be, you guessed it, TOTAL WORLD DOMINATION! (Complements to Jack Anderson) This would include 12 mandatory prayer breaks for the whole planet to worship yours truly. I would have a special police force tasked at collecting extra money that people don’t need. I don’t want people to have all this extra money and not do anything with it. That’s just inefficient. Also, I would build a water slide off my castle on top of Mount Everest so I could slide into the Indian Ocean. I would have drained the Indian Ocean and filled it with chocolate pudding and Swedish fish so that I don’t hurt myself when I hit the water.

My second wish would be that I was surrounded by scantily clad women all the time. These women not only would be sexy, but also fierce, warrior-looking babes, commanded by none other than Scarlett Johansson, Warrior Queen of Doom and Sexiness. Of course Scarlett Johansson is head over heels for me because of my charming and friendly nature. I would call these women “Bronson's Super Sexy Warrior Babes of Doom and Sexiness”. They execute people on my sacrificial alter with their Sexy Glance Power. I would be immune to their Sexy Glance power, but only to the point where I don’t die. Also, Bronson's Super Sexy Warriors [...](The editor suggested I cut here)

My Third wish, unlike my first two wishes, would be purely selfish. My last wish would be to have the power to snap my fingers and have everyone's heads instantaneously explode in a violent act of bloody randomness. After I'm finished rolling on the floor with laughter I snap my fingers again and everyone's heads regenerate. This is my back up wish in case my 10 mile water slide or my Super Sexy Warrior Babes of Doom and Sexiness get boring.

Do you got Bronson?

2010-11-28T12:51:00.000-08:00

Dear Person,

To “got” something is to possess or understand it and to “understand” something is have a deep knowledge of the subject presented. So for Bronson to “got Bronson” he has to understand himself. It was the effort of the two hundred page thesis on Bronson to discover if : "Bronson has Bronson?" Here is a summery of my findings:

What first had to be determined before testing if he has got himself was if he was self-aware. I set up a observation post in his room in an area that his mother told me he never uses (the laundry hamper) and was able analyze him before he wakes up. He seems quite smug with his room marked with a musky pre-adult pheromone that is potent enough to knockout a mature bear. You must understated that I fought off this fowl odor for months at a time surveying Bronson's habitat. He marked his territory with dirty clothes organized in a pattern that I can’t seem to find the significance behind. He is very concerned about his well-being as he wakes instantly to the sound of his rabid angry mother insisting that he gets ready for school. The first time I witnessed him waking I cover my eyes as he rips off the bed covers because I don’t know how properly clothed he would be. To my relief, Bronson does wear clothing when he sleeps, but, to my discomfort, very little clothing. While observing him for months at a time one day was particularly remarkable to my investigation. As he made his way to the door he stumbles over his empty laundry basket, proceeds to do the splits as he slipped on a Halo Graphic novel, and sent himself vulnerably towards the door-frame of his room. The house trembled when Bronson connected his head with the corner of the door-frame. Amazingly enough, young males are very resilient and Bronson had no exterior damage; however, the brain could be compromised. This event may seem unremarkable but it was after the klutzy and potentially impotent accident that I observed something incredible. As he was holding his cranium with his left hand and searched drunkenly for the light switch with his right he said something semi-audible under his breath. He said, “I hate my life.” Brilliant! Bronson is self-aware!

Now I will proceed to share with you one of my personal favorite observations about Bronson which does shed light on the main question at hand: Does Bronson... got Bronson? One day I followed him to the bathroom and was dumbfounded at the grooming instruments and miscellaneous objects he took into the shower. Toothbrush and toothpaste, radio, shaving cream and a razor (I am curious why he needs those because he has very little facial hair), toe nail clippers, a can of whipping cream, rubber ducky, some army men, and a rain poncho. While most humans spend 10-15 minutes grooming themselves Bronson takes twice as long. I don’t think he uses his shower time specifically for grooming. I say this because he starts to sing obnoxious tunes, dance to "What is Love?" by Haddaway, and rehearses jokes for friends that probably won’t appreciate them. It was incredibly fascinating to hear an eighteen year old make explosion and tank noises as he fantasizes about some sci-fi universe he’d rather be in. But the most interesting observation I made was when I threw a shoe at the bathroom door. When the shoe impacted the door he got really quiet, pretending he wasn’t doing anything abnormal or socially crippling.

Another, most interesting, part about Bronson is when he tries to socialize with the opposite gender, especially with the ones he finds attractive. In Shakespeare’s King Lear one of my favorite quotes by Cordelia states: “I cannot heave my heart into my mouth”, but when Bronson talks to females, it sure looks like it.

I must end this investigation by stating that Bronson is a bit hopeless and that, "Bronson does not got Bronson." This statement is supported by the overwhelming evidence presented in my thesis. The confused looks he gives himself in the mirror, or how mentally taxed he looks trying to find a pencil that he hasn't found in his own hand, the hysteria of feeling sorry for the starving people that live in Hungry, his childish habit of mixing all the soft drinks at a restaurant, etc, etc (pages 64-593). I also believe he might have a bad case of daydreaming and Excessive Compulsive Disorder when it comes to his model airplanes. He seems overwhelmed with the mundane tasks of modern life and has the uncanny ability to get himself into unreasonable situations at repeated and connected incidents. But in my final criteria on my thesis is the addition of a scary and troubling theory about Bronson which I state with the utmost observance and thought, to which, I present the scientific community. The final and most controversial proposal is as follows... do you "Got Bronson?" That is a question that will trouble me and most of my colleagues for decades to come.