More Like

If you've spent more than thirty minutes with me, you'll have noticed that my go-to joke is "NOUN? More like A DIFFERENT NOUN THAT RHYMES WITH THE FIRST NOUN BUT COMPLETELY CHANGES THE MEANING OF SAID FIRST NOUN."

Here. Have examples.

"Hamburger? More like SHAMburger."

"Third-world country? More like NERD-world country."

"Genetically modified food? More like genetically modified GOOD."

I like the rhyming aspect and I like the simplicity of the formula. It might be overdone, but so are antibiotics and yet you still use them, you idiot.

ANYWAY, it's usually harmless and I try not to use it too often since I know it can get tiresome real quick.

I was in college when I first started using 'more like.' It was all in good fun as my friends and I would liberally apply it to everything.

"Cheese pizza? More like PLEASE pizza."

"ENGL 301: Intro to Poetry? More like ENGL 30-FUN: Intro to FLOW-etry."

No harm, no foul. Am I right, ladies? (That's another one of my favorites.)

ANYWAY, I had written a couple of articles for the campus newspaper so I went to their office to go turn them in. As I waited for the assistant editor to proofread my scathing review of the animatronic children's dinosaur show I went to (the headline read "Walking with Dinosaurs? More like Walking with Dino-SNORES."), I sat in a chair and leafed through the latest issue of the Rice Standard. The Rice Standard was one of the many literary publications put forth by students on campus. It wasn't very good.

After a particularly awful story about a girl deciding to not have sex with her boyfriend so she could save herself for marriage, I turned to the assistant editor and said "Rice Standard? More like Rice NO standards." Her eyes widened and she stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. Then she turned to the girl behind her.

The girl had her hands over her face. She was shaking quietly, trying to conceal then fact that she was crying, but not doing a very good job. I mean, you could totally tell. She placed her elbows on her desk, her hands still covering her face. The girl rubbed her eyes and sat there for a few seconds. She stood up, wiped the tears off her face and looked me right in the eyes.

"I am the managing editor of the Rice Standard. Go fuck yourself, asshole."

Then she ran off, crying even more.

Did I feel bad? Yes. Was I sorry? Yes. Am I a horrible person? Yes.

But now I'm more careful with my 'more like' jokes. I've learned that they're a cutting tool in the arsenal of literary criticism and that I need to reserve them when it's absolutely necessary. I can't just throw them around willy-nilly. Let this be a lesson to you all.

Lesson? More like just MESS-in.' With y'all.

No, but seriously, I made that girl cry and I felt really bad.