I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 100000: Young people of the Empire! I am only going to decree this once, so listen carefully. Two letter “O”s, in American English, are pronounced with a long “O” sound, un-interfered with. “Pool,” for instance: “poooooool.” It is not “poo-wuhl.” “Cooooool,” not “coo-wuhl.” Do you see a “W,” anywhere, in either of those words? Get it right. That’s all. I have no more to say on the matter. Now…[rubs hands together] for the punishment.

The Punishment: [Those in charge here at WFTC have deemed the Emperor’s punishment for this offense to be far too violent for publication. In fact, “sadistic” is a better word for the fate he declares for those who those who mispronounce the double-“O” sound. I mean, he’s really riled up by this one — rivers of blood; deaths of whole generations of descendants….mutilation…truffle-salt in the eyes…that sort of thing. Do yourself a favor and say it right. (“Right,” of course, being whatever the Emperor thinks.) The Imperial Language Patrol is everywhere. Don’t risk it for the sake of following some fleeting pronunciation trend. It’s hard to explain to the IRS (Imperial Revenue Service) why your body occupied two different zip codes, simultaneously, over a whole fiscal year. Just not worth the headache. Don’t be a foo-wuhl.]

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: language & grammar, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 87/8-P: The harmonica is hereby banned in the Empire. There shall be no more sonic poison vomited into sparkling guitar cocktails served by unwashed Dylan wannabes wearing neck-holders and moaning and spitting into cheap Hohners. The Emperor has decided that, artistically speaking, the harmonica is the proverbial fart in church; it is an Almond Joy bobbing in the public pool; the accidental, mid-wipe finger-punch through the toilet paper; the over-the-top scatological humor in the formal blog post; the plump and throbbing zit perched between the azure eyes of a beauty queen. The harmonica is a heinous-sounding buzz-saw backing a choir of angels. It adds about as much musicality to the average song as pants would add to the hydro-dynamics of a cruising Great White. (The only valid harmonica musician of all time is Toots Thielmans — he, alone, shall continue to be allowed to play, until such time as he may go up to the great Jam Session in the Sky.) Next week, all harmonicas shall be seized and destroyed in the Imperial Harmonica Smasher. (Yes, we built one. And, yes, it is as cool as it sounds.)

Everyone knows the definition of “perfect pitch” is when you throw a harmonica into a dumpster and it bounces off of a broken accordion. (Thank, yeeew – the Emperor’s here every week. Try the veal!)

The Punishment: Those caught with contraband harmonicas will be thrown into the smasher along with their offensive, metallic tooters — whose natural sounds will have been far more disturbing than the ensuing death screams of the besquished owners could ever be.

PS: John Popper is not a valid defense against this decree, so don’t try it. If anything, just bringing his name up will make the Emperor even more angry.

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning. 

Tags: music, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 449328: A guy winds up being lucky enough to have power right after Hurricane Sandy hits New York City and he drapes an extension cord over the fence and tapes a sign next to it that reads: WE HAVE POWER. FEEL FREE TO CHARGE YOUR CELL PHONE. Seconds later, a picture of this is all over the Imperial Internet on happy, smiley, I’m-so-happy-about-life-I-poop-a-little-every-three-minutes sites and people post it on Facebook and they tweet it with comments like: “See! There is hope for mankind.” Was it nice of this guy to do this? Perhaps. But it looks more (to this Munificent Dictator) like an act common human decency. The Emperor finds it a little sad that our standards have dropped so much that what might once have been seen as an act of simple obligation to one’s fellow humans is now regarded as a sign of hope for the entire human species. Give the person credit for some electric-cord altruism? Sure. Mark it as a sign of hope for the future? Not. Subjects of the Empire need to do a little better than that — and they do. Let’s praise truly selfless deeds because they are exceptional and let’s not get all tingly-pants because of a neat little viral photo of some nonchalantly-kind gesture. If a firefighter making a one-way trip into a burning high-rise shows the best part of humanity, then Emperor refuses to beatify a guy for dangling a cord and going in to have a sandwich and watch Dr. Phil.

The Punishment: Over-praisers of the commonly-kind gesture will be starved for a week-and-a-half and, then, when fed, will be beaten with an electric cord (that is, if they are not effusive enough in their thanks for the food).

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning. 

Tags: religion & philosophy, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 2012, Category 1: Hurricane Sandy is all but come and gone and she did great damage to the Emperor’s American East Coast. The Emperor’s Palace has been situated in this area for many years and He has seen a few storms. This time, things went much better. The Imperial Electric Company did its job well. Sure, some subjects are without power, but, overall, it seems the IEC was much better prepared. They have learned how better to deal with storms like this. Local governments were much better prepared, as well. Will anyone hear about it? Well, they will now: You are commanded to thank authorities and organizations for anything that went right (systematically-speaking) during this storm. (Of course, it goes without saying you should do the same for our safety and health workers.)

Why? Because the Emperor is used to being in a position of authority (both in his Imperial and his “real” life) and he knows that no one ever thanks those in authority for things that improve or that go well. But they sure as hell are ready to tell us when things go wrong, whether those problems are our fault or not.

The Punishment: Those who neglect to send thank-you emails will have their power turned off during the next drizzle.

Epilogue: The Emperor leaves you with this pictorial tale of kindness in the face of tragedy: This Great White Shark is ignoring his natural instincts in order to save a poor seal from drowning in the inland flooding on the Jersey coast by spitting him out toward the open sea. Inspiring. (Hat Tip: Marni Vaccaro and Joe Cairns.)

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new post each Tuesday morning.

Tags: politics & government, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. Cmi7: It may seem a tad common for one of his dazzling grandeur, but the Emperor does enjoy a little stint on Facebook or Twitter from time to time. (This invariably leads to finger-blisters for the Imperial Scribe who keeps a list of dictated future decrees.) But, for the love of ME, people, could you stop posting vapid, pedestrian, mediocre excerpts from song lyrics that a three-year old could have churned out during an inspired potty squeege? Sweet Jesu — what compels a person to take the time to type up “Yeah, baby — yeah; you’re mine and I’m yours and that’s the way it will always be”? This is such a good lyric that it had to be electronically broadcast to the world? This made you sit up and say, “Wow — that’s deep. I must share this.” Cripes. Meanwhile, Johnny Mercer dwells in Facebook obscurity — in the dark refuse pile of the un-tweeted — despite having written: [Read more →]

Tags: music, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 16 1/3: The Emperor loathes parroted language. He hates when people use a phrase that is either contradictory (or that is completely ineffectual) simply because that phrase appears in a popular pattern of speech. (And, if the Emperor hates it, then so shall you.) With that in mind, subjects of the Emperor (that’s all of you, in case you haven’t caught-on by now) may no longer preface statements with “Not to…” If you are not doing to do “it,” just don’t, but do not use “not to” to announce that this mysterious, forthcoming phrase is exactly what you next intend to do. For instance, during a conversation about baseball: “Not to change the subject, but I think aardvarks might have been deposited here on Earth by ancient aliens.” Or, in any other conversational circumstances: “Not to be sexist, but women are just not as smart as men.” Instead, replace “not to” with the statement: “Warning! I am about vomit forth a statement of alarming stupidity or irrelevance!” and, then, continue. It’s far more effective and logically sound and it makes it easier for the Imperial Spies to determine who needs to be watched closely. “Not to,” my minions, simply does not work out to absolution for your upcoming, moronic verbal ejaculation.

The Punishment: Violators will be sent to the Imperial Torture Chamber and they will repeatedly have their heads forced into a large tub of water by Gerhard, the Imperial Dunker. (You should see his arms.)  Before each submersion, Gerhard will smile and say, “Not to deprive you of oxygen, but…” The violators will be released after twenty dunks, if they live. A lot depends on Gerhard’s mood. And he has a tendency to lose track of time…

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: language & grammar, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 1942: The Emperor would like to point out that war stories are cool. War is not cool, but the tales of soldiers are fascinating, often heroic and often life-changing. He would also like to point out that everyday life is not war. Therefore, there shall be no more “war stories” told to people who are approaching various important stages of life that have been already experienced by the potential tale-tellers. For instance, it is no longer permissible to react to news of a dear friend’s pregnancy by saying: “Congratulations! Catch up on your sleep now. Hardy-har-har-har.” (We get it, war-hero. You have been through the Battle of the Bulging Diaper. Good job. How did you ever survive? So few have.) Likewise, no one may tell an engaged couple how hard the first year of marriage is or that the most difficult  part of eternal commitment is getting used to each other’s bathroom habits. (You have not jumped through the ring of fire. You just lived. This does not make you Evel Knievel.)

The Punishment: Tellers of non-war war-tales shall be forced to parachute into a combat zone. This way, they’ll really have something to brag about, later.  Hardy-har-har.

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. i-124-B: The Emperor is aware of how hard it is for young musicians and lyricists to approach the profundity of their Springsteenian and Dylanesque heroes — those stretchers of poetic and pop-cultural boundaries. He knows (not from experience, mind you, but from within the depth of his infinite wisdom) what it feels like to struggle with a lack of intellectual and artistic development in the face of a monumental desire to write something truly powerful. In short, the Emperor empathizes (theoretically). He cannot, however, allow these young lyricists to continue crossing the line of sensuality and over into  increasingly frequent  implications of cannibalistic desires. Lately, there have been far too many references to the “taste” of the lips of one’s lover, in popular tunes. This is not sensual and edgy, my young and comically rebellious friends. This is gross. Ye shall quit it.

The Punishment: Violating lyricists will be tied up and forced to listen to three weeks of non-stop jokes about cannibals, like this one: Two cannibals are sitting around the fire, eating. One cannibal says to the other, “I can’t stand my mother-in-law.” The second cannibal replies, “So, just eat the noodles.” THANK YEEEW! (Try the veal.)

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: music, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 7N: Like anyone else, the Emperor has need of an occasional conversion cord or of a particular plug-doohickey in order to connect  his laptop to the TV or something. For that, he usually goes to Radio Shack. But, after years of this, he has decided to stop dumping riches from the royal coffers into that establishment. The reason? They hire turds. Arrogant turds; rude turds; insecure turds; turds who are so eager for actual human contact that they will attempt to prolong said contact even if it means starting an argument from word one — or, perhaps, especially if it means that.

Case in point: “Hi,” says the Emperor, merrily, “I have this Dell laptop…” “Well,” interrupts the Radio Shack turd, in exactly the same voice as the comic book store guy on The Simpsons,  “that’s your first problem. Harharhar.” Many incidents such as this have occurred, but the ever-lovin’ topper was the Emperor’s last visit, yesterday, at the end of a long quest for a cord with which to send a signal from VGA output into an RCA video input, during which visit  the Radio Shack turd studied his iPhone as if it were a naked woman (which, I am sure, he will one day see in person — I mean, it has to happen everyone eventually, right?) never once making contact with the royal eyes. “No,” he said. “Go online. We don’t have that in stock.” [This last bit, said with an inflection he might have used if I had asked him for mint-chocolate-chip ice cream — as if only the most uninformed asshat on the planet could possibly think they would carry such an item.] Enough is enough. Management may no longer hire these antisocial turds. We realize that a gig at Radio Shack is like being in Best Buy’s minor-leagues, but, nevertheless, standards must go up.

The Punishment: [Read more →]

Tags: all work, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 04-67739: At televised baseball games, people are no longer permitted to yammer into cellular phones while waving to the camera in order to get the attention of the person to whom they are speaking. Those who do this (in the Emperor’s opinion) are addle-pated ninnyhammers. (Yeah, you heard me.) The Imperial Minister of Education/Effective Torture Practices concurs with this assessment. Through the punishment (to follow) a great peripheral social benefit (beyond the mere elimination of myriad undignified pinheads) will also be realized.

The Punishment: All baseball stadiums will be fitted with high-voltage wiring in the seats. Anyone seen, at a ballpark, talking on a cellular phone and flailing his arms about like a juvenile orangutan, will be immediately incinerated by means of a remote button-push. (The button resides on the arm of the Emperor’s TV-watchin’ chair.) The above-mentioned peripheral benefit: Imperial mathematicians calculate that, after only a single baseball season, the average intelligence quotient in America will have increased by as much as fifty points, owing to the removal of numerous fools from the overall equation.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: television, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 911: We should always remember 9/11, but not with patriotic pep rallies and not with fist-pumping; for, on this day, the extremist obsessions and narrow-minded religious views of a few arrogant, evil bastards resulted in the deaths of thousands of innocent people at the Word Trade Center in New York City, in a horrific crash in Shanksville, Pa., and at the Pentagon, in Washington, DC. On this day, trembling fathers wept into phones, saying goodbye to their children and wives, having given up, knowing that there was no way down or out, fighting not to sound terrified through the line — knowing that this final goodbye was worth trading away a last, useless burst of hope. On this day, wives did the same, fighting preservation instincts for a few seconds’ contact with their husbands and babies. And on this day, horrible circumstances made men and women who were just doing their duty into legends of self-sacrifice. This is the day when a thousand stories of strength and courage were passionately written, only to be sucked down in a cascade of molten metal and poison dust, never to be read by anyone. This was the day on which a new generation of children learned that grown-ups could actually take civilian life and expect sainthood in return.

This was the day of Allah’s misery. This was the day that, if God can cry, there must have been a hurricane in heaven — his tears like bullets in raging winds; angels covering their heads with trembling wings —  for a humankind that had turned him into a goal line to be crossed; a prize to be quibbled over; a concept for which to slaughter; a cause for torture and alienation.  [Read more →]

Tags: terror & war, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 123, Stanza 5 : There shall ever be, from this point forward, “Separation of Poetry and State.” Thus far, since having established his dominion over the world, the Emperor has tolerated the quaint machinations of federal, state and local governments, because it has amused him to do so. Yesternight, however, while driving upon a highway, he glanced up and saw an electronic sign that read: DRIVE SOBER OR GET PULLED OVER. Oh, nonononono. Uh uh. It is bad enough the politicians have been masquerading, lately, as actual human beings equipped with compassion and ethics and stuff. It is bad enough when law enforcement officers make disingenuous attempts to seem as if they don’t believe they are innately superior to anyone who drives a vehicle without flashy things on top of it…but, to align themselves with the noble mappers of the human heart? — to even allude to a kinship, however remote, with the wordsmiths who shine the light of Truth into the dark places of the Universe…and, then, to rhyme words like “sober” and “over” as if such an act doesn’t spit upon the dead faces of said Shiners of Light…? Such vapid hypocrisy will not be allowed in the Empire.

The Punishment: Violators will be bound to a chair. They will be forced to endure a bored-looking procession of black-clad fifteen-year-olds. Each angsty and/or recently jilted youth will recite poems (written on jagged-edged notebook paper and illustrated with ballpoint sketches of sinister eyeballs with marvelous lashes), until the mind of the violator cracks. (The Imperial Master of Torture conjectures that this will take an average of eight minutes per violator.)

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: language & grammar, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 90006: The Emperor is a regular Joe. Of a fine morning, he likes to munch a nice bowl of cereal. Sadly, though, he has often, of late, had his day start on a note of rage. This is because he has, more than occasionally, encountered an inner cereal bag that either a) a silverback gorilla on performance-enhancing drugs could not open or b) that opens easily… by ripping down the side or fraying into seven thousand jagged strips — cereal flying all about the Royal Kitchen — and dooming the contents to stale squishiness in the space of a few days. The Emperor knows that this is a recent phenomenon: as a child, he opened his own cereal boxes on a regular basis, without one single calamity. Something is awry with quality-control in the cereal packaging field. This will cease: effective, now. And if the Emperor’s Froot Loops ever again sail in multi-colored geysers past the sunrise windows of the Imperial palace, a certain toucan might have to be made an example of.

The Punishment: Responsible parties will be placed in a cage with a trained silverback gorilla (named “Otto”) who will attempt to “open” them by pulling outward, in opposite directions, while gripping their ears.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: recipes & food, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 84: While the Emperor truly wishes to outlaw the phrase “my bad,” he will not. Not completely. (The Emperor realizes he has a tendency to go overboard with the number of phrases he loathes…) But, the phrase “my bad” is now illegal in situations where it is completely obvious that it is, in fact, the speaker’s…uh, “bad.” An example might be found in the Emperor’s numerous and nightmarish memories of the Philadelphia Eagles’ former quarterback, Randall Cunningham, throwing the ball sixteen miles away from the vicinity of his intended receiver (into the teeth of an elderly nun who was innocently and selflessly — she was more of a tennis fan, really — accompanying her orphanage students on a trip to the game) and then slapping himself on the chest and mouthing “my bad” as if he was doing mankind a noble service by virtue of the very admission.  A more reasonable and un-hyperbolic example might be a situation in which a waiter drops a flaming entrée into the lap of a gentleman’s date, thereby igniting her dress and damning her to years of reconstructive surgery (not to mention robbing her of the ability to ever bear children), and proclaiming, penitently, that the accident is his “bad.” There simply will be no more of it in the Empire. If we can see that a mistake is yours and you extraneously proclaim it your “bad,” you will suffer. “My bad” does not, and never will, equate to “I’m sorry.”

The Punishment: Violators will — in homage to the delightfully evil creativity of  the dreaded pirate Yellowbeard — be forced to eat their own lips.

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: language & grammar, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 9932: Purveyors of fine chocolate treats will no longer be allowed to market their products with television advertisements that include women eating, moaning, throwing their heads back and seductively licking the chocolate drippings off of the tips of their fingers. While the Emperor understands the love that his female subjects generally share for chocolate (and while he enjoys similar goodies, himself, from time to time) he certainly would not permit the airing of commercials that include images of gentlemen dry-humping their Audis, or seductively nibbling at the radio antennae. While sexuality can be effective in advertising, the Emperor declares chocolate porn to be frigging stupid, and things that are frigging stupid are not allowed in The Empire.

The Punishment: Violators will be forced to watch a naked Sumo wrestler, recumbent, Rubens-like,  upon a velvet a chaise lounge, eat foot-long chili dogs for an entire month.

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: television, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 23Q: Citizens of the Empire are no longer allowed to answer someone’s questions by leading off with the word “so.” For example:

Interviewer: Is your novel about “coming of age,” Mr. Writerly?

Mr. Writerly: So…in the book, I try to examine youth as, etc, etc.

Although this type of response is as trendy and “NPR-ish” as inserting the phrase “sort of” (pronounced: “srtiv”) after every five words of a statement, leading off an answer with “so” makes it sound as if you are relieved that the interviewer finally shut up for six seconds and allowed you to continue to talk about yourself. It’s arrogant and it is a sure way to kill the flow of any discussion. And it will stop as of today. The Emperor has his eye on all of you pseudo-educated, neo-snobs…

The Punishment: Violators will be locked in a cell with a small desk, a quill and ink, and no food. They will be forced to write five-hundred word requests and to make arguments as to why they should be fed, each day, for a span of two weeks. Eight hours after each request, they will receive a note in response from the Emperor. The note will be engraved and gilded. It will read, simply, “So?” (In his divine munificence, the Emperor will provide a protein drink per day.)

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: language & grammar, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 3T-45: Rock and roll stations are no longer permitted to play reggae music. Reggae is the polar opposite of rock and roll. There are no similarities between rock and roll and reggae. The rhythmic stresses occur in different places. Reggae is “laid-back” and rock and roll is “in-your-face.” Barry Manilow fits a rock station playlist about as well as Bob Marley does. (And, no, excessive marijuana use is not enough of a connection between rock and reggae to justify its presence on the playlist.) Hearing reggae on a rock station is like finding a picture of one’s grandmother edited into a pornographic video: it just breaks the whole vibe; lets the air our of the balloon; jams on the brakes; busts the groove; kills the buzz — and all those other cliches that you lowly minions always identify with. It’s a bird in the face of roller-coaster-riding Fabio. When the Emperor is cruising along, slamming his face against the dashboard to “Hell’s Bells” he doesn’t want it followed up with “One Love.” You can’t do the devil’s horns thing to Marley, plain and simple. When the Emperor wants to suck on a juicy mango and loaf in a hammock, he welcomes all things Rastafarian. But when the Emperor feels the need to bang the royal head, he doesn’t want a pillow thrown in front of it. (It just ain’t a party until the crown gets dented.)

The Punishment: DJs who play reggae on rock stations will have headphones duct-taped to their heads and they will be forced to listen to Don Ho singing “Tiny Bubbles” for one solar year.

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: music, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. 111-11-1111-11/X: The Emperor calls for an end to the improper use of the word “hero.” A hero is a person who performs a heroic act (The Emperor’s New Collegiate Dictionary, 332). While many people should, for instance, be deeply praised for choosing selfless and noble careers (firemen, for example) or for exemplifying great courage (surviving cancer, for instance) we will, henceforth, reserve the use of the world “hero” for those who have performed heroic acts. The fireman doesn’t become a hero when he gets a position in the department; he becomes a hero when he saves a life. The cancer survivor doesn’t become a hero for surviving cancer; she becomes a hero when she dedicates her life to raising money for cancer research. (Oh, shut up. The Emperor, himself, is a cancer survivor and would never claim the title of “hero” because of it.) There are many wonderful, important and praiseworthy people out there who are not heroes. Heroes are a special category of wonderful people — unless, of course, we continue to call all wonderful people heroes.

The Punishment: Those who continue to misuse this word will be forced to spend the next ten years of their lives wearing their underwear on the outside of their pants, in public.

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: language & grammar, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. MCMVII: The Emperor now feels compelled to ban the use of a word. Sadly, there are those who use this word properly and in moderation, but he sees no other way than to banish the utterance of the word for no less than an entire decade, in order to stop the offenders. The word is: “amazing.” If the Emperor has to hear one more twenty-something describe her night, her trip to New York or her boyfriend as “ameezing” —  it is always pronounced this way — he might crack into Imperial shards. If one more vocabulary-deprived young fop in a television interview goes on a babbling, ineffectual journey through the forest of inanity to “describe” what an “ameezing” experience it was to meet so many “ameezing” people and do so many “ameezing” things, the royal skull might just implode. Further, preceding the word with “sooo” (drenched in an affected, see-sawey, imitative cadence) is now no longer allowed. In fact, it will only condemn the offender to deeper misery.

The Punishment: Utterers of the banned word will be chained in a great, high-vaulted and sonorous cathedral full of teenagers. The teenagers will all be talking about arguments they got into with their significant others during the previous night. They will rant, non-stop, in myriad, reverberating cackles until the Emperor’s “ameezing” ban is lifted. Which will be never. Let the fools drown in an eternity of “whatEVER” and “REEELLY?” and “no he didn’t” — let them drown, I say, in great waves of marble-reflected, nasal susurrations!

Now, go forth and obey.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: language & grammar, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:

Emperor’s Decree No. V-14: Owing to the convergence of two Internet events (first, the publishing of this article by esteemed WFTC columnist, Alan Spoll and, second, to a Facebook post by a friend of the Emperor’s —  name of Pete — in which said friend quoted Mark Twain as having written: “Don’t go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first”), along with the Emperor’s lifelong disgust with people who think they are entitled to success strictly by virtue of their “hard work,” your benevolent ruler hereby decrees: Your hard work means nothing. You are owed absolutely squateel for that hard work. Results matter. Your hard work is laudable, but it is not binding contract that guarantees your desired outcome. It is perfectly fair for you to work every day, all day, and then to lose the race or to not get the part in the play or whatever else you want. (Them’s, as they say, the breaks.) It is also fair for someone who works only half as hard as you to be chosen or to be promoted over you or to get the position that you desired. (That’s called “superior talent”; or, perhaps, superior conniving.) You cannot do anything you put your mind to. The world is not a grade school character-education class or a high school locker room. The world is a place in which great people make their way without excuses for their failures.

The Punishment: Anyone heard, by the Imperial spies, as having said, “It’s not fair [sob, sob, sniff]…I worked so hard” will be sentenced to death. The accused will be placed in a wicker cage and he will be allowed to slowly claw his way out. (This will take a lot of hard work.) The Imperial Executioner will be in the room, lounging on a pile of cushions, clad in silk pyjamas and having his feet rubbed by comely, hard-working servants. When the prisoner finally emerges, the Executioner will yawn, return his attention to a book, reach out, absently, and gun down the accused with machine gun fire.

The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.

Tags: all work, The Emperor decrees by Chris Matarazzo
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