Rejected
Some people don't respect McSweeneys, but either those people have a huge chip on their shoulder, are incredibly 'out there' conceptually, or they are just bitter and untalented. I, on the other hand, bask in failure fearlessly, and so, against my better judgement, here is my unfunny Spongebob submission - rejected by Mcsweeneys. My first real (literary) rejection. Although certainly not my first rejection. If you think about the similarities and differences between romantic rejections and literary rejections, it's kinda funny. And hey, there's the inspiration for my next submission! (provided it hasn't already been done - to the Googlemobile!)
Spongebob Squarepants Comes Clean.
I was patient at first. Maybe too patient. When you’re porous yellow and absorbent sometimes you’re going to have to take the fall and clean up other people’s messes. Let no one say that I ever shirked or crumpled under that heavy burden - at least not without bouncing right back. There comes a time though, when you need to draw a line in the sand, and then re-draw it really quickly after it washes away. And then do it again. Once more. There comes a time when a sponge has to stand up for himself. He might also say “Patrick, could you please draw that line in the sand again, since I can’t see it now.”
No one expected that one day a humble fry cook from Bikini Bottom would lay bare the hypocrisy and rot that eats away at the foundation of this place. On that day I would strike mightily at the decadence that twists and blackens the heart of my home – the pineapple heart. No, not mildew. Well, yes, mildew but also corruption. Chlorine bleach for the mildew, vigilante justice for the corruption. That shift at the Krusty Krab was the last straw – but actually I was saving the last straw to stab Mr. Krabs repeatedly between the carapace and the thoracic joint. And again with the sand line, please.
I come from simple folk - sessile filter feeders. In fact, structurally, Ma and Pa may be the simplest in all of Bikini Bottom. Salt of the earth. Sea earth. Salt of the seas. They weren’t good with money but we were happy. I never had the benefit of a college education, but I was a quick learner and I had an uncanny ability to retain knowledge. I tried to read everything I could get my hands on and one day they told me I was ready to try for a scholarship. I had high hopes but I should have known a guy like me wouldn’t be allowed to evolve in ‘their’ system. They said I was soft. I said I was flexible. They said I was gutless. No guts. I let that soak in. Yeah I know I’m never going to have a rigid outer shell or an internal skeleton, but that doesn’t mean I’m spineless. Well, technically I am, but I’m not afraid. Not anymore.
As a fry cook I can accept that I’ll take on some of the more unpleasant chores. I don’t want to come across as some big-shot Supersponge. I can just hear what they’d say – Spongebob Squarepants – too big for his britches. Spongebob FancyPants. But still…“Spongebob, swab this, Spongebob, wipe that. Spongebob, there’s been an ‘incident’ in the men’s room that calls for your specialized skills!” I know when I’m being talked down to, and frankly I don’t appreciate it. Day after day, I was completely wrung out by the end. And did I get any credit? Any thanks? Free Krabby Patties? Hah! How long did they think I would stand for that? I may be full of holes but I have integrity. They treated me like a common loofah. No more!
When the day came, Mr. Krabs was counting his money, as usual completely unaware of the world around him when he’s not barking orders. I needed someone on the inside, someone who hated him as much as I did. As agreed, my accomplice would lock up early while I lathered up and slid silently into the office. Normally Squidward and I can’t collaborate on anything but on this ‘issue’ we saw eye to eyestalk and it ‘clicked’. The sound of a straw plunging into real crab meat - click. It felt good. I did it again. Click. And again. click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick. The next thing I remember is Patrick staring over me, shaking me, parting the red tides.
Gary (my pet snail) and I dined well that night, although I couldn’t get the hang of the ‘bib’, something to do with my neck, or lack of one. I’m still paying for that too - try getting the grease stains out of alpine umber shorts. Think you can find lederhosen pleated Dockers at Wal-Mart? Good luck.
Spongebob Squarepants Comes Clean.
I was patient at first. Maybe too patient. When you’re porous yellow and absorbent sometimes you’re going to have to take the fall and clean up other people’s messes. Let no one say that I ever shirked or crumpled under that heavy burden - at least not without bouncing right back. There comes a time though, when you need to draw a line in the sand, and then re-draw it really quickly after it washes away. And then do it again. Once more. There comes a time when a sponge has to stand up for himself. He might also say “Patrick, could you please draw that line in the sand again, since I can’t see it now.”
No one expected that one day a humble fry cook from Bikini Bottom would lay bare the hypocrisy and rot that eats away at the foundation of this place. On that day I would strike mightily at the decadence that twists and blackens the heart of my home – the pineapple heart. No, not mildew. Well, yes, mildew but also corruption. Chlorine bleach for the mildew, vigilante justice for the corruption. That shift at the Krusty Krab was the last straw – but actually I was saving the last straw to stab Mr. Krabs repeatedly between the carapace and the thoracic joint. And again with the sand line, please.
I come from simple folk - sessile filter feeders. In fact, structurally, Ma and Pa may be the simplest in all of Bikini Bottom. Salt of the earth. Sea earth. Salt of the seas. They weren’t good with money but we were happy. I never had the benefit of a college education, but I was a quick learner and I had an uncanny ability to retain knowledge. I tried to read everything I could get my hands on and one day they told me I was ready to try for a scholarship. I had high hopes but I should have known a guy like me wouldn’t be allowed to evolve in ‘their’ system. They said I was soft. I said I was flexible. They said I was gutless. No guts. I let that soak in. Yeah I know I’m never going to have a rigid outer shell or an internal skeleton, but that doesn’t mean I’m spineless. Well, technically I am, but I’m not afraid. Not anymore.
As a fry cook I can accept that I’ll take on some of the more unpleasant chores. I don’t want to come across as some big-shot Supersponge. I can just hear what they’d say – Spongebob Squarepants – too big for his britches. Spongebob FancyPants. But still…“Spongebob, swab this, Spongebob, wipe that. Spongebob, there’s been an ‘incident’ in the men’s room that calls for your specialized skills!” I know when I’m being talked down to, and frankly I don’t appreciate it. Day after day, I was completely wrung out by the end. And did I get any credit? Any thanks? Free Krabby Patties? Hah! How long did they think I would stand for that? I may be full of holes but I have integrity. They treated me like a common loofah. No more!
When the day came, Mr. Krabs was counting his money, as usual completely unaware of the world around him when he’s not barking orders. I needed someone on the inside, someone who hated him as much as I did. As agreed, my accomplice would lock up early while I lathered up and slid silently into the office. Normally Squidward and I can’t collaborate on anything but on this ‘issue’ we saw eye to eyestalk and it ‘clicked’. The sound of a straw plunging into real crab meat - click. It felt good. I did it again. Click. And again. click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick. The next thing I remember is Patrick staring over me, shaking me, parting the red tides.
Gary (my pet snail) and I dined well that night, although I couldn’t get the hang of the ‘bib’, something to do with my neck, or lack of one. I’m still paying for that too - try getting the grease stains out of alpine umber shorts. Think you can find lederhosen pleated Dockers at Wal-Mart? Good luck.
posted by Vivec at 3:14 p.m.
2 Comments:
Good God is that YOUR tattoo?
no no no. I'm entirely too much a product of a higher caste to mark my own body within a common bawdy tattootorium.
You need to pay closer attention to the ALT text! I make most of them for you anyway! :P
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