Let’s Get Cracked! Introduction

So we’ve all heard of cracked.com, yes?

Why does everyone over 30 act bemused at the title anyways?

It’s a good website. I love it. I’m not sure whether it was the buffalo that started the stampede of list articles choking the internet- it’s a contemporary of Buzzfeed, at least- but Cracked’s the most well-groomed and well-fed of that herd. They cover a wide variety of topics and attack them from various angles, whether through vigorous research or just by plum asking the people involved in said topic. You’ve got inspirational-yet-tough articles from John Cheese and David Wong, music insights by Gladstone, funny and informative readings from the other contributors, and, my favorite series from the site, Luke McKinney’s Dick Moves in Online Gaming Series. Excellent stuff all around. They might not always check their facts the best, but the great outweighs the bad like a lion on top of a brussel sprout.

And if you do read Cracked, you might have noticed this…

Screen Shot 2015-08-22 at 2.27.14 PM

Oh hell yes we’re there!

This’ll be the start of a miniseries of blog posts called “Let’s Get Cracked!” I’ll journal my journey to a spot on the site, be it a single article or an entire column under my name. You’ll learn how I made it and what to do/not do in the process. There’s no set timetable on this- I’ll update when I make progress, with no stone dates for accomplishing anything yet.

Keep reading Cracked. Or start reading Cracked. Whatever you do, watch the bylines.


Song of Astronaut

I guess I’m just in a poetry-posting mood. Here’s another one, less esoteric, more serious. Also, here‘s the poem it’s based on.

Song of Astronaut

By Nick Edinger


For seven hours, I float in burnt-steak smell

Because the tear in our solar array

Cuts power to our station. While I dwell

In space, my hands the supreme tools, I stay

Between Man’s built outpost and given world.

With foot attached to metal arm, I whirl.


The Pacific engulfs the planet whole.

Australia, California are like

The fingers on a great blue ball that bowls

Through the cosmos. The little men, their Reichs,

They cannot leave that spin with all their spite.

“We should focus on earth,” they all recite.


I turn myself, a world in a suit,

To fix again what gives this station life.

These panels, tapestries in a mosque, loot

From the sun’s core, cut her up with a knife

So her blood can course through electric gold.

This tool of man is equal to behold.


And still, I find my eyes drifting to earth,

Where nature, like advanced machines, rolls on

To fight the infection of man. Our worth

We proved when we turned all the world our pawn

In pitiful battles of countries flawed.

Was this ev’n in imaginings of Gods?


But why be king of all chaos down there

When I can focus on this honeycomb

Of a snagged circuitry and fix with care?

With last stabilizer, I turn from home

And place the hardware down in now-filled gap.

From my earpiece, I hear my partners clap.


Like boastful Sisyphus, I bask in the

Relaxed muscles: a job well done. Ocean

Beneath is packed like bedsheet over fleas,

Which I can’t reach without forward motion.

I live between my dreams and planet’s skin.

The arm, attached to me by foot, draws in.

Rime of The Foolish Edinger

So I’m on vacation right now, and had a bit of an adventure. I made a silly poem about it. I encourage you all to do this occasionally- write not for yourself, but for another person as a gift. Takes you out of your head for a while, even if the meter ends up messed up or not all the rhymes work. Such exercises remind you who you’re really writing for anyways. My family really seemed to like the poem (partially because they were involved in it), and the project gave me a break from some other stories and screenplays that eat away at my head. In fact, if anyone here has any requests for a story or a skit or a poem, I’d be happy to oblige. But that’s enough stalling. Enjoy my Coleridge parody!

Rime of the Foolish Edinger

Far back when New York Chills did blow

over Lake Skaneateles,

there was a drunk cruising the waves:

a dullard, a ninny, tactless.

He painted his waves over water

like a wild modern artist.

The Edinger boat looked like port to him-

we learned he wasn’t the smartest.

So with the engine’s snarl behind,

and a beer in his beer-soaked hand,

he accelerated and- how do I say this?

You ever take a rock to a coke can?

The Edinger boat was torn apart,

despite its previous endurance.

The drunkard looked at the sinking wreck

and realized he had no insurance.

A crew arrived later to survey the wreck-

the pontoons, the engine, the prop-

and ferried it out of Skaneateles…

forgetting the bimini top.

(You all know about bimini tops,

correct? Covers half the hull, bit

that’s like a canopy for the boat,

gives real nice shade- eh, just google it).

For eons the bimini top languished

like a mute man’s speaking wish-

surrounded by piercing zebra muscles,

bits eaten by confused fish.

There it remained until the arrival

of the city-born sons of John.

These Edingers journeyed to the small speedboat

that replaced the boat that was gone.

They jumped off the dock, swam past Dan’s boat,

acting careful not to touch;

then Sue’s boat, then raft, then the small speedboat-

beyond that there’s just not much.

There was Rob, son of John, devourer of Worlds;

there was Matt, the man of Iron.

There was Nick, who skied on one ski once,

but afterwards found himself tired.

As his brothers climbed the ladder of the boat,

Nick peered to the green abyss

to find the relic of the old pontoon boat.

And then he called “Oi! What’s this?”

Nick picked up the metal scrap and pulled,

and surfaced just once for a breath.

He dropped the wreckage and gasped for air-

no way to complete a theft.

His family applauded his deep lake find

upon return. His uncle was curious.

“If you found that, Nick, perhaps you’ll find

our lost cover, if the trip’s not injurious.”

Nick dived to the treacherous depths below,

but found no cover, just wreckage.

The family council upon the hill

then chose to test Nick’s essence.

“Nicholas, the council decrees that you

bring up the top to a dry spot.”

That’s what Nick heard. He suggested it first,

and the drinking adults replied “Why not?”

A rowboat with a rope hung to the docks,

with the walls of waves it wrestled.

Nick witnessed the dinghy and shouted out,

“This will be my questing vessel!”

Nick sprinted down the hill’s stone steps,

at the rowboat’s docking did they meet.

Nick took his grand odyssey’s first step,

and stepped right onto the seat.

For those not nautically informed, the rowboat’s

seat is quite unsteady.

You can slip and fall off like a child on a raft,

and our hero Nick was not ready.

After the laughter from the hill died down

and after Nick spat out the water,

our hero climbed back onto his steed

and sped through the lake like an otter.

An otter high of meth, to be frank-

long ago, Nick’s rowing skills died.

If the police were on patrol then,

they’d’ve given another DUI.

But Nick arrived at the wreckage site

and dived with a rope in hand

to attach the bimini top to the boat!

This was as far as Nick planned.

Nicholas climbed back on the boat-

it was harder than it seemed,

due to that insidious Faustian deal

known only as Krispy Kremes!

Nick began his journey back to the cottage,

but forgot an important factor-

due to the front rope dragging the load,

he’d have to make the back trip backwards.

With pulls that pulverized his biceps,

with no drink to make the trip sweeter,

Nick strained and pushed ‘till his shoulders gave out

and found he travelled, like, a meter.

But Nick could not give in front of his folks,

so he lifted and churned and shoved,

and looked to the hill, until he saw

two dragonflies- making love?

It looked like that, they were together joined,

and one of them kept bucking

against the other… Nick pondered this:

what’s it like when dragonflies are… hugging?

So he kept his mind on insect love,

and the exercise made the work lighter.

But when he looked up and scanned the lakeside,

it didn’t make his day brighter.

He only had arrived at the boat of Sue,

his muscles were sore and stunted.

the waves were knocking his small progress back,

and now the rowboat was flooded!

Every shift of his body brought liquid in.

And when Coleridge made that one quote;

“Water, water, everywhere,”

Nick knew he didn’t mean the boat!

It was then a savior in a kayak came,

a resident of neighborly fame.

“Is there anything I can help you out with?”

said the wonderful Lady What’s-Her-Name.

Nick only asked for a sole bucket

and explained why, in the past hour,

he rowed in place, creating only splashes

in a pitiful display of power.

So the lady brought over a bucket from Nick’s mom,

and Nick heaved the water out!

Now, instead of moving like a rock,

he could move like a brain-dead trout!

But even right here, Nick didn’t give up-

he merely reconsidered

as he looked to the slightly shallowed bottom

of a lake that was zebra-muscle-littered.

It was here an idea struck our hero

like a get-rich scheme to a hobo-

“I can’t carry the load for the boat- I’ll just carry

the boat! Like Samwise did for Frodo!”

Nick jumped back in, flooding the boat again,

and dove to where the rope held taut.

He pulled and he swam and he dragged the top

across the rocks in his great plot.

He dove and strained and surfaced for breath,

and repeated this all down the path

back to the cottage, just missing Dan’s boat

and avoiding that apocalyptic wrath.

Nick swam past the dock, safe from the muscles.

The feet until land were few.

So he heaved the bimini top out of the water,

and carried it with a “hhhhrrrrrrgggggggAAAA

The bimini top had reached the shore!

Nick ran up the hill, still coughing,

to exclaim his victory to the unwinding folks

who responded “We really weren’t watching.”

“Well, Grandma saw when you rowed in place,

and the lady’s bucket came from your mother,

but we were chatting and having our drinks.”

Then Bob said, “Did you find our cover?”

So thus I conclude this epic tale

of trial for trial’s sake

to document the folly of all of those

living Skaneateles Lake.