Hate mail to YOU.

You.

Yes, you.

You, sitting there listening to Linkin Park blasting through your iPod (the newest one of course, equipped with internet, video player, camera album, coffee maker and toilet paper dispenser—oh, and it plays music, too), texting your IM buddy off your touch screen 23MP camera phone with a 360-degree rotating screen. You, trying to find witty phrases for your Facebook status updates, then paraphrasing and Googling them to make sure no one will find out that you didn't make them up.

You, who thinks Jean-Luc Godard played an integral part in the French Revolution. You, who can't understand what the hell The Matrix was about (but it's okay, because you liked the fight scenes).

You, who is sure it was either Tolstoy or Dostoevsky who wrote Lord of the Rings. You, who is a seasoned art critic because you saw the vague outline of a penis in an abstract painting when you were 14.

You, who thinks Charlie Chaplin was some guy who impersonated Hitler. You, who has no idea who Peter Sellers is, but is sure that Jack Black is funnier than him.

You.

Yes, you, who hates the world's ignorance.

You, who compares the MTV of today with MTV back in the "good old days." Excuse me? Weren't you still wetting your pants in the "good old days"?

Che Guevara wearing a Che Guevara tshirt on a tshirt
You, who can't decide whether to take a stand or let others do it for you.
You, who hates MTV because they don't play enough music videos and too many reality shows. You want MTV to play more music videos? Weren't you just berating the shitty music they play? Would you like to make up your mind, fuckface?

You, who hates George Bush because you're one of the few enlightened ones that know he orchestrated 9/11. You, who is so modern and shocking because you support a black president.

You, who has no idea what carbon monoxide is, where it comes from, or what it does, yet you buy a hybrid car and slam those who drive Hummers.

You.

Yes, you.

You, who likes to judge the rest of the world for conforming.

You, who thinks you're cool because you listen to bands no one has ever heard of. Well, obviously some people have heard of them. But only the cool people. And you.

You, Mr. John Smith, who hates being number 765231087 in a system you hate, but hardly understand. You hate that your name, your identity, is replaced by a number. Excuse me Mr. John Smith, but you're the only 765231087 in America. Your number is more unique than your fucking name.

You, who loves Che Guevara, and isn't afraid to express it with his face plastered all over a T-shirt. The same you who hates Fidel Castro. That fucking dictator prick….

You, who laughs at the hipsters wearing Keffiyehs. Yes, you, dressed up as Gaara, following your friends to Comic-Con.

Someone, somewhere, said at some point in time something like, "When people are given the freedom to do what they want, they will usually do whatever everyone else is doing."

There is no you. You are me. I am them. They are us.

There is no world conspiracy to erase your individuality.

"They" just don't care. Much like I don't care about the emo kid who lives up the street and smokes the leaves of male weed plants. Just because I don't praise his uniqueness doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I'm sure he is a very special little boy. I just don't give a fuck.

Not only is it good enough for you to be a non-conformist, you need to make sure the whole world knows it. YOU do not shop at Hot Topic, and YOU do not watch MTV. It is much like the question, "If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"… If a non-conformist is not conforming but no one is around to see him, is he still not conforming?

In case no one has noticed, non-conformity is the new conformity. In order to be a non-conformist you need to conform to whatever it is everyone else is not conforming to. Get it?

So, wear your Che Guevara shirt with pride and watch MTV. And for fuck's sake, stop hating on America. They gave us Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix…. I'm sure they gave us other shit too, but I'll be fucked if I know what.

Join upcoming November classes in Satire Writing, Sketch Writing, and Stand-Up Joke Writing.