What Would Clooney Do? – The Nasty Rumor

What Would Clooney Do?Feel you’ve reached a dead end? Got a problem you can’t solve? Relax! Just ask yourself: What would Clooney do?

The simple fact is that there is absolutely no problem too big for Clooney. Though it has not yet been proven by medical science, we suspect Clooney might even be the cure for cancer (or as old folks like to say: The Cancer). We also predict that at some point in the future, he will even bring peace to the Middle East. Unlikely? Perhaps, but just in case, remember you heard it here first.

Sure, in the last few years there has been much idle speculation about the power of Chuck Norris, but we’re only going to say this once: Chuck Norris has never gone mano e mano with George Clooney. That my friend is an established fact. Seriously, you can Google yourself silly and you will not find a single shred of evidence that Chuck Norris has ever battled George Clooney. On the other hand, it turns out David O. Russell is not so lucky, but we’ll get to that later in the column. For now, we tackle this week’s letter: The Nasty Rumor.

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Dear WWCD,

I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful jerk or anything, but I’ve really got troubles and frankly they’re kind of your fault. You see, there is this woman at work. Her name is Candi and she’s a complete mess. Candi didn’t just fall out of the Ugly Tree hitting every branch on the way down, she also landed face first on a rusty rake – in the middle of a patch of nettles. That was when the Ugly Tree fell over on top of her. It seems the falling tree then unleashed a swarm of angry Africanized honey bees that repeatedly stung her in the face. The bees were finally scared off when she was struck right between the eyes by a freak bolt of lightning and this started a small blaze on various parts of her now swollen melon. She tried to stop, drop and roll through the patch of nettles, but the flames wouldn’t go out. Luckily, someone happened to be passing by and they finally managed to extinguish her smoldering face by beating it with the rake she’d landed on. By some miracle she survived the whole thing, but the end result…well, I guess what I’m trying to get at here is that Candi is not easy on the eyes. 

She has straggly brown hair and she smells kind of stale, like my grandmother’s basement after it rains really hard or something. As further proof that there is a god and He is an angry cruel god, she has kind of a mustache on her upper lip and a snaggletooth too. Somehow she’s managed to avoid having a hairy wart on the end of her nose, but the poor thing does have one of those freaky wandering eyes that are always looking in the wrong direction and generally upsetting people.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Ugly people have as much right to exist as normal people. Besides, I’m not exactly Cary Grant or anything myself, but the thing is, she’s also kind of the office weirdo. You know the type I’m talking about. Every office has one. For one thing, she picks her nose and then scrapes it off on the edge of her desk. And then she has all this cutesy Hello Kitty crap laying around and her monitor is covered with sparkly little Rainbow Brite and Care Bear stickers like it’s 1983 all over again. All of her pens have these colorful little fluff balls on the ends and her cubicle is covered with fruity little posters that have nauseating inspirational Jonathan Livingston Seagull/Footprints in the Sand-type platitudes on them like “When asked if my cup is half full or half empty, my only response is that I’m thankful I have a cup!” What!? What does that even mean? What the fuck good is the finest Waterford crystal if you’re dying of thirst and you have nothing to drink?! You idiot, that’s the most retarded piece of optimistic Hallmark card bullshit I’ve ever heard. Who writes that kind of shit? What would they say to one of those famine ravaged human skeletons that Sally Struthers is always hovering around on late night TV? “Hey, buck up partner! Just be happy you’ve still got your teeth!” Yeah, thanks fucknut. Teeth sure come in handy when I’m slurping down this yummy fly-strewn gruel which is the first thing I’ve had to eat in a week and I’ll be lucky if it even stays down.

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, her desk. The absolute worst part is she has this creepy calendar with these gross little kids all over it. Each month has a new painting and all the little kids have cute little rosy, fat, cherub cheeks and they’re always getting into some kind of cute mischief with little wide-eyed “Oh! I just tipped granny’s jar of molasses onto the kitty cat!” expressions on their faces. They’re like those little Hummel figurines except they’re just paintings so you can’t smash them into tiny little bits when they fill you with rage and hate. I swear they make me want to vomit or punch a clown or something.

The lame thing is that I have to go by her desk like 15 times a day and every time she looks up and smiles and says “Hi” and I can never tell which one of her crazy friggin’ eyes I’m supposed to be looking at and it totally freaks me out. Usually I just end up gawking at her mustache and I feel like kind of a jerk.

Every day she eats the same thing for lunch: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off, some carrot sticks, a small bag of crunchy Cheetos and a diet Dr. Pibb which she drinks through a Red Vine with the ends bitten off. She writes her name on her lunch bag and naturally she dots the ‘i’ with a cute little heart. Mostly she sits in the break room alone, but this one time when I went in to get a can of Coke from the machine, she cornered me and forced me to look at all these horrid pictures of her 14 cats dressed up in these weird little costumes. You don’t put costumes on a cat for chrissakes! It’s not right! Oh, and all her cats have these creepy retarded names like “Mr. Bojangles” and “Princess Kitty Purrpurr”. What the hell are you supposed to say to a 35 year old woman showing you a picture of a cat named “Ferdinand Frederick Pusskins” dressed up in a little cowboy outfit? How do you have a conversation about that? You just can’t do it. There’s no way. I dare you to even try it.

Anyway, I feel kind of bad for her so usually I try to be nice. I’m practically the only one though and now she’s started monopolizing me at office parties. You know, I’m just hanging out by the table with the Buffalo wings and celery sticks, drinking a beer, minding my own business and she makes a beeline for me as soon as she walks in. She starts going off about “Freddy Pusskins” or whatever the fuck it’s called and there’s that goddamn crazy eye again and I’m looking at one and then I switch to the other and sometimes I can’t even tell if she’s talking to me or some guy who just came up to refill his keg cup. I’m standing there nodding like a moron with this stupid half grin on my face and I either want to smack her in the side of the head to try and straighten out the fucking eye, or I just want to end my life right then and there – a cocktail fork right in the jugular or something.

To make matter’s worse, there’s this cute new girl who just started in accounting and I’m trying to meet her, but friggin’ Candi is always following me around! It’s like when you get on an elevator and some guy farts and really stinks the joint up. Then he gets off and two floors down the elevator stops and some hot supermodel gets on. Of course the whole elevator still really reeks and there’s just you and her and you want to say you didn’t do it or maybe you think if you don’t say anything she wont notice, but she’s looking at you like you’re some kind of pig and it’s all she can do to keep from barfing up the Saltine she had for lunch and as soon as she’s able to come up for air she’s going to run home and tell her hot supermodel friends all about this loser on the elevator. I hate it when stuff like that happens and this is just like that! How do you try and meet an attractive new girl with a human fart floating around you all the time? You don’t!

That’s when I realized I had to do something and I decided to follow your advice about how to get rid of an unwanted girlfriend. Candi isn’t my girlfriend, but she was definitely clinging. Plus, I didn’t want to make her feel bad or anything. After all, booger picking, walleyed freaks have feelings too, right?

The thing is, I figured no one would believe me if I told her I was dating Pamela Anderson like you suggested so instead I told Candi I was dating the office tramp. Her name is Becky and she’s been with practically everyone in the office – all three floors. I think she’s even had sex with Ned, the creepy interoffice mail guy. All you really need to know about Becky is that she has a tattoo on her lower back that says “If you can read this your tongue isn’t deep enough in my ass”. I shit you not. She burst into the men’s room one time while I was taking a leak and showed it to me. Crazy.

Well, the good news is that your suggestion worked like a charm. Now when I walk past her desk, Candi won’t even look at me – with either of her eyes. The bad news is that word I was sleeping with Becky got out and the rumor spread faster than Becky herself at a Hell’s Angels rally. Before I knew it, everyone was talking about me and Becky. Then came the final straw: another rumor started going around that Becky has herpes! Suddenly, I’m tainted. All I wanted to do was get rid of Candi and now I’m a leper and I’ve probably totally blown any shot I had with the cute new girl in accounting. It’s horrible and I don’t know what to do next.

So that’s my story. Please help me WWCD. What would Clooney do?

Sign me,
Tramp Stamped

* * * * * * * * * *

Dear Tramp,

First of all: Whoa, hey, slow down there Holden Caulfield. While we regret any unforeseen consequences which may have arisen directly or indirectly from following our advice, pointing fingers and laying blame will get you nowhere. The first step to being more like Clooney is taking responsibility for your own actions. Remember that.

Now, back to the matter at hand. It turns out George Clooney is no stranger to vicious rumor and innuendo. In fact, a few months back you may have seen a video of director David O. Russell losing his temper on the set of I Heart Huckabees and really going nuts on Lily Tomlin. The video was posted for anyone to see on that YouTube the kids are always watching these days with their mash-ups and whatnot:

Wow, it sure looks like Russell has some serious anger management issues! We can’t believe he dropped the C-bomb on Edith-friggin-Ann like that! Anyway, we’re not interested in dragging David O. Russell through the dirt on these pages, so what does all this have to do with you? More importantly, what does all this have to do with George Clooney? Well, if you’re up on your recent Clooney history, you may recall he once had his own run-ins with Mr. Russell during the filming of the international smash hit film Three Kings. In a 2000 interview with Playboy magazine, Clooney says that Russell “yelled and screamed all day, from day one.” Once, when Russell was really ripping into an extra on the set, Clooney tried to calm the hot-headed director down and Russell turned on him! “Why don’t you worry about your own fucked up act?” Russell yelled. “You’re being a dick. You want to hit me? You want to hit me? Come on, pussy. Hit me!” We’re pretty confident Clooney did in fact want to punch Russell in the face, but of course he kept his cool. Well, he kept it that is until Russell grabbed him by the throat. At that point Clooney finally lost it (and who wouldn’t?) and he grabbed Russell by the throat as if to say: “You’re gonna grab me by the throat? You think so? Well Rosemary’s nephew doesn’t take that kind of shit from anyone, you punk. How about if I grab you by your throat right back? How do you like me now, huh?” Thankfully, Clooney somehow managed to not kill Russell right there where he stood. Eventually order was restored, Russell apologized and the film was finished. To this day, both men say they will never work together again.

Anyway, that’s kind of a long story, but because of the bad blood between Clooney and Russell, some ignorant stooges who clearly don’t understand what Clooney is all about actually had the nerve to suggest that maybe Clooney had leaked the Tomlin/Russell video as some sort of revenge for the Three Kings debacle. Naturally no one would’ve blamed Clooney if he had been the source of the leak, but that would’ve been very un-Clooney like. Clooney is no weasel and to prove it, he needed to set the record straight. Rather than let the problem linger and give people time to solidify their opinions, he realized he had to stamp out this rumor and he had to stamp it out fast. Before the spin could get out of control, he released a statement saying he would give one million dollars to anyone who could prove he was responsible for the leak. Of course no has been able to prove a thing and Clooney is in the clear. Even if someone still believes Clooney might have maliciously leaked the video, they at least have to admire the man’s stones for putting up a million of his own hard-earned dollars like that, right? Either way, Clooney’s reputation is enhanced and the problem is solved. Clooney: 1, Everyone Else: 0.

Well, you can probably guess at this point what your next course of action should be. Before another day passes, send out an email to everyone at work stating clearly and forcefully that you have never touched the herpe-queen with a ten foot pole or any other long instrument or appendage and be sure to back it up with a one million dollar reward to anyone who can prove you a liar. That’s what Clooney did and you should do the same. Money talks and bullshit walks. Its just that simple.

Thanks for writing in and remember: keep on living like Clooney and one day maybe you’ll be laughing about this whole thing in an interview in the pages of Playboy magazine. Good luck!


Come on pussy. Hit me!P.S. While we still take no responsibility for the problems you’ve experienced, we feel bad that our original advice may have complicated the issue. To show you how much we care, we’re sending you this custom David O. Russell punching dummy. Valued at over $250, you can see it looks remarkably like Mr. Russell. The best part is that whenever you punch it or kick it, it says: “You want to hit me? You want to hit me? Come on, pussy. Hit me!” We’ve got one here in the office and it provides hours of stress relieving entertainment and a lot of laughs. We hardly even play foosball anymore, we’re too busy taking turns kicking the shit out of David O. Russell. Enjoy!

<Read the previous WWCD column – A Sinking Feeling


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