OriginalUnoriginal.com was spawned from a heady brew of sarcasm, apathy, indifference and ennui. A virtual embodiment of post-post-deconstructionist Gen-Next tweener irony, its intent was to be the largest, most successful online purveyor of inane falsification – but without actually attempting in any way to appear fixated on that success. “We hoped to become notorious without indulging in notoriety,” explained Hermes Cummingson, Editor in Abstentia.
“Never underestimate,” Cummingson continued “the power of a group of motivated individuals to affect change among an overwhelmingly disinterested and detached populace, especially if your definition of change means creating a nano-second’s distraction from de rigeur obsessions like snack food, sitcoms and gas prices, tempered by unrealistic indulgence in absurdities like professional sports and soft-core pornography.”
Indeed, Cummingson and his compatriots revel in those rare moments when one of the nameless, faceless denizens of the Internet decide, for the merest moment, to stop hunting for free clips of “Facial Domination” or take five from managing the rosters of their fantasy DARPA League teams to digest whatever hit-and-run piffle OU is spewing that particular instant. So much the better, he adds, if it’s forwarded from someone in their carpool or adjacent cubicle.
Poised to become one of the recognizable sources of online inanity, OU could ultimately give two royal shits. Seriously. If you’re reading this, it’s because you’re craving a few seconds of mirthful distraction. You have a full understanding that everything is essentially crap, but willingly suspend your rationale with the hope that you’ll forget you’re trapped on a rat’s-wheel of futility.
Actually, you don’t suspend your rationale. You take your rationale, tie it to a tree in the back yard, and beat it to within an inch of its life – all for the sake of numbing the fact that in another few seconds, you have to get back to balancing accounts, tracking shipments, engaging in quality assurance, studying for whatever worthless degree your parents are paying for, or any number of ultimately transparent pursuits.
Feel better? Good. Now, take twenty steps back, get a running start, and jump up your own asshole.
OU – We’re really fucking happy for you.
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