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by: Max Burbank


If you're reading this, (and it's metaphysically absurd to suppose you are not, since if not read, has the preceding phrase even existed for you?) chances are you know who I am. If this is the first Max Burbank article you've ever read, congratulations. You are getting on board at a great time. That sounded more sexy than I meant it too, but you get the picture. Actually, more sexual, I suppose. I don't really find the phrase 'get on board' very sexy, but if you do, who am I too judge?

It has recently come to my attention via a series of bills with red markings indicating they are not the first copies I've received, calls from creditors, day glow orange notices attached to my front door and the occasional demands to come in from suited gentleman I do not know that I am in something of a financial pickle. Back 'in the day' I solved problems like this in a number of creative ways. Sleeping in cars, sometimes my own, sponging off family, friends, and state run mental institutions, fleeing in the night, petty crime, the occasional murder. Unfortunately, 'respectability' really puts the 'kibosh' on that kind of problem solving. Encumbered as I now am with a wife, two daughters, a mortgage, medication paid for by health insurance without which I become convinced that I am the personal Valet of Martin Van Buren (President Number Eight, of whom the official Whitehouse website's historical sections says, "Only about 5 feet, 6 inches tall, but trim and erect," a phrase which delayed the completion of this article for nearly an hour while I giggle liked a Japanese school girl over the use of the word 'erect' because of it's association in my mind with getting boners) and Parole, I can no longer simply 'make a run for it'.

Christ, I hope you are still reading.

Suffice it to say, I need greenbacks bad. A whole lot of them. As I see it, there are three ways, which I call the 'easy', the 'hard' and the 'highly unlikely' which I'll start with to get it out of the way.

I have it on pretty good authority that a 'second job' is even more like work than the first one. As long time readers will know, I hate work. It makes me feel common. If not for the money I would never even consider it. As far as a second job goes; 1.) It would have to pay a lot, because I need a lot of money. The Night Manager position at my local Walgreens is open, but though I possess the two most important qualifications (I speak English and I am not clinically retarded), I have no intention of applying. It pays chump change. Secondly, Many jobs I would apply for, such as being fondled by a series of well educated, attractive college girls for a lot of money and great benefits including dental, don't exist. And C.) , 'Moonlighting' is only fun until Cybil Sheppard and Bruce Willis do it which is what you thought you wanted, but it just sucks after that. That, my friends, is how old I am.

This is the easy way. Take me up on this and we can both stop now. You can stop reading, I can stop writing. Trust me, the hard way will require a great deal of effort on both are parts, and if you're anything like me, effort gives you hives and no matter how many four leaf clovers and lucky rabbit's feet you have, no attractive, well educated college girls will come down to the basement and rub soothing medicated ointment on you. So why not pony up a little of the long green? Seriously, get with the dead presidents. Give me money. As much as you can. At the end of this article you will find a way to email me. If you send a good faith email, I will send you my mailing address so you can mail me money. I think the fact I'm willing to do this after that whole unpleasantness with government of Nigeria shows just how much I believe in you. I think that's worth some of your money. I'm a realist, though, and that means I'm aware that the chances of my making five dollars off this gambit are slim to the point of delusion and that I have just wasted the time it took to type this section, time I will never get back. If I hate you a little bit for that, you have only yourself to blame. You know what could smooth things over? Some of your money.

Okay. If you're still with me, you're ready for the hard way. The time has come for the launch of…


For my part, Brand Max Burbank is not very different from what I'm already doing, i.e. writing funny articles which I am sometimes paid a small amount for by very nice people who have been doing way more than their fair share supporting me and passing the benefits on FOR FREE to you, my readers. I like to call this 'Pearls Before Swine', not because this phrase is original to me, but because it makes me laugh to call you pigs and imply that you are stupid. Don't get upset, if you'd just taken the easy way and given me money, you'd have never have needed to read all the way to the part where I called you a stupid pig. You chose the hard way. Blame yourself.

When you're done, roll up your sleeves, because the bulk of the work of launching BRAND MAX BURBANK
falls to you. Yes, spreading awareness of BRAND MAX BURBANK
is your job and it's going to take a LOT of elbow grease, and not the sexy kind.

What follows is a list of things you need to do. Why? It's simple. For my daughters, two sweet young girls aged 11 and 6 who are in now way to blame for the financial and legal troubles I find myself in, but who will suffer for it more than even I will, because unlike their Dad (me, I think) their brains are undamaged by years of abuse and so are unable to escape crushing poverty via lengthy and detailed hallucinations about being 'King' of 'Sexy Kitty Island'.

If you believed that, read no further! As a treat you can rest your weary eyes and skip ahead to the section labeled "YOUR MARCHING ORDERS". If you don't believe it, well, what kind of an idiot would? I need money because the best Internet porn sites are not free, and neither are the lawyers you need if you frequent the kind of pay sites I'm thinking of. Also, I'm thinking of getting one of those 'grills' funky rich African Americans are so find of, and all my credit cards are maxed out. Am I thinking of the right thing? A 'grill'? It's like big, ugly braces, but it's totally elective and usually made of expensive metals? I hope it doesn't cut my lips. I hate cut lips.

Here is a simple set of instructions that will enable you to spread the word of BRAND MAX BURBANK and eventually bestow on me a level of celebrity that is invariably coupled with money.

1.) READ MY STUFF. Simple, right? You're doing it now. Just don't miss anything. Be slavish in your devotion, you might as well start now, it will get you in practice for many of the next steps. Well, all of them really.

2.) ENJOY MY STUFF. You might think this is up to you, since humor is subjective. You would be wrong. Think back to that Martin Van Buren Boner joke I made a few paragraphs ago. Funny as hell, right? In order to properly proselytize BRAND MAX BURBANK
You need to think everything I write is funny. Which shouldn't be hard, because it is. I mean, come on. 'Boner'? Priceless.

3.) RECOMMEND MY STUFF. You need to tell everyone about how funny my stuff is. I don't just mean people you share an interest in comedy with or your hapless family, who have grown accustomed to at least hearing you. I mean every person you come in contact with. In the beginning, people will think you're a little crazy, but that will stop as soon as they become certain of it. At the end of the day, it benefits me, so ask yourself, why should Max Burbank Care? Ooooooh, I like the sexy way you're thinkin'!

to truly take off, it's got to be viral. I have no idea what tat means and in fact it sounds kind of gross, but 'Wired' magazine says it's important and they still publish a print magazine even though the Internet turned to shit right after I climbed on board. That sounded sexier than I meant it to, except for the part about something I'm 'on board' turning to 'shit'. Unless you're into that, which is wrong, but I don't care about your whole deal as long as you are vigorously promoting BRAND MAX BURBANK
to all your horrid little 'dirt road' friends. I mean, seriously, think of all the stupid crap people email each other. Jokes, lists, Pictures from Sexy Kitty Island, quizzes to see which Star Trek character you'd be if THERE WERE ANY SUCH THING WHICH THERE ISN'T, HELLO? You can email links to my stuff, cut and paste whole articles, whatever.

5.) MENTION ME ON YOUR 'MYSPACE' PAGE. Oh my God, you want to know how 'old' and 'out of touch' I am. I thought 'MySpace' was strictly, like, an on line meat coral for middle aged perverts. I mean, hell, that's all I ever used it for. But apparently, it's some whole kind of 'networking' dealio, and as such, a great place to promote BRAND MAX BURBANK

Seriously. There are web sites about every stupid ass thing under the sun. It's pretty clear the entire world is on a rollercoaster to hell since all you 'kids' don't do anything with your time but make stupid ass websites about shit nobody cares about, so if you can't take the time to make one about BRAND MAX BURBANK,
well, forgive me if I'm just a little bit insulted. I'd make one myself, but THAT sounds like a second job, which I believe I've already called 'Highly Unlikely'

MERCHANDISE. Like making a website, this is nothing I have the time or interest to do, so I need you to do it. Pitch in. Do you think Tommy Hilfiger got to where he is today without thousands of little malnourished Asians crammed into sweat shops scrawling his stupid name on everything like a megalomaniacal toddler on a crayon spree? No. He did not. And neither will I. You, dear readers, are my little malnourished Asian women. In a few years, when BRAND MAX BURBANK
has really taken off, I'll be sure to send you a 'cease and desist' letter as a thank you note.

Post it anywhere on the Internet you can. Make hard copies and staple them to telephone poles and stray dogs. Make stencils of the BRAND MAX BURBANK
image and spray them on Mailboxes, buses, playground equipment, all the recovering drunks and alcoholics at your court mandated twelve step program, where ever.

9.) DO NOT THINK I AM KIDDING. Sure, this article has been hilarious, especially that whole thing about Martin Van Buren's boner, but I am totally serious. I need to get famous, and at almost 45, overweight, white and male, I'm in what the actuarial tables label the 'suddenly drops dead' quadrant. Chop chop, little monkeys! Make haste and be a part of making BRAND MAX BURBANK
famous! You'll never taste the heights I'm destined to reach, but you'll live vicariously through me by knowing that in your own small way you helped me get out of debt and SAVED MY TWO YOUNG DAUGHTERS FROM A LIFE OF CRUSHING POVERTY.

So until I issue my next instructions, I remain...

Max Burbank
King of Sexy Kitty Island.

If you enjoyed this piece, be sure to check out:

The Junk Drawer of My Despair!

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