(Camera pans from above down to a 1950s happy go-lucky kid playing with a puppy in his front yard)
Announcer: What’s wrong, Mikey?
(Mikey looks around, startled, then look right into camera)
Mikey: What? Nothing.
Announcer: Now, Mikey. Lying only makes the pain worse, you know. You can’t hide those razor blade scars from me.
It’s a hard knock life here in the upper class suburbs of Kansas City. Growing up Midwest, rich and white, just isn’t what it used to be back in the day. Being happy now comes with the agonizing feeling of guilt for destroying the earth, culture, relationships, art, race relations and anything else you befoul with your mere existence! You actually think your father loves you? (laughter)
Mikey: Wow, I never realized I was such a disappointment to…everyone. How do I fix it, sir?
Announcer: (Laughing) Oh, there is no hope for you. Frankly, you will just have to bottle all this misplaced, hormone induced emotion and force it to come out in a new creative way – or grow up to become a serial killer.
You could also undergo a new government procedure called EMO Therapy.
Mikey: Eeeeemoo? That sounds scary.
Announcer: Oh it is, and painful to boot.
Mikey: Great, let’s get started.
Announcer: First, things first, you have to stop eating.
Mikey: Stop eating what? Meat? Eggs? Cheese?
Announcer: Everything. You are not allowed to be seen eating anything. You may drink, but it will have either be hyper-expensive energy drinks or countless, tasteless cans of PBR. This lack of food will cause you to become listless and moody. The first step in your transformation as you begin to waste away into a crippled hipster.
But this will help you as you begin to die your hair black and start wearing women’s pants and t-shirts that were meant for a fifth grader.
Mikey: What? Wait, I’m not wearing women’s clothing.
Announcer: Oh, yes you will if you want to be accepted by other Emos down at the Man Hole.
Mikey: Man Hole? But that’s the gay bar…I thought I was becoming Emo, not a fa…
Announcer: Mikey, you have so much to learn. There is nothing more Emo than wearing ironic t-shirts and going to ironic bars where you can listen to the latest screed by Ssion, Patrick Wolf or any other indie-queen-band.
Mikey: This does not sound like fun anymore.
Announcer: Oh it never will be fun. You are entering a world of teeth crushing depression and you will love it.
Once the sadness sets in and Connor Oberst’s “Bowl of Oranges” finally makes sense to you, then you will know that you have made the transformation. You will have a rich future to look forward too.
Your bar conversations will be monotone diatribes about the lack of good music despite the fact that you own 600 vinyl records and no record player. You will move to an apartment in downtown Austin or Omaha and write in a composition note book. You will try to learn an instrument and swear that you are going to quit your job at the movie theater to go tour with your other Emo friends who sleep on your couch. You will become pale, sad and blog incessantly about how the world is never going to understand you with poems that have no poetic value whatsoever.
You will shun outsiders, mock those you know simply because you hate everything, even yourself.
Even the sex can be soulless and boring as Emo women lack the ability to orgasm - It’s just too much effort, plus it would be an expression of an emotion other than face crushing depression.
Mikey: Gosh. (walks off screen).
Announcer: Like smoking, being Emo will simply make you look cooler, while simultaneously eating your soul from the inside out.
But it’s worth it, right Mikey?
(Pan to Mikey who is now crying in the corner surrounded by razor blades – suddenly looks up, smiles and throws a thumbs up to the camera).
Announcer: So remember, being EMO is not just a phase; it is a vapid wasteland of emotionless fun! God Bless America.