With heartfelt thanks to both fans of 2HW, I'd like to announce the end of an era in internet comedy. As Barney Gumble said in Puke-A-Hontas, "Don't cry for me, I'm already dead". 2HW is no more.
But, take heart...as Mufasa's Ghost said in the Lion King, "Look inside yourself Matt Hit Wonder. You are more than you have become. You must take your place in the circle of life". I've found that place...
Monday, January 5, 2009
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
History of Two Hit Wonder
This post was originally dated 11/1/06, but I'm moving it to the top to try to explain exactly what 2HW was...
Welcome to the website that got me fired from my job pretending to be an Accountant. Since HR encouraged me to stop coming in to work, two hit wonder’s web hits have gone up dramatically. With a lot of new incoming traffic, I thought it would be a good time to write a brief history of the train wreck that is 2HW, complete with links to my best posts.
In September of 2005, my friend Craig and I started 2HW. On the surface we may have appeared to be fat, balding, badly mustached dudes from Kansas working ridiculous jobs in Corporate America, but deep down we knew we were really Hollywood A listers. We figured the best way to make the transition from average office workers to international phenomenons would be to write ridiculous letters to Hollywood stars asking for assistance…
Letter to Neil Diamond
Letter to George Lucas
Letter to James Frey
When Hollywood didn’t immediately respond, we changed our Hollywood letter writing slogan to, “If you can’t join ‘em, beat ‘em (with verbal barbs)”…
Letter to Extreme Makeover Home Edition
Letter to Mel Gibson
Letter to Brokeback Mountain Author Annie Proulx
In February, we posted an ad on Ebay offering our services to star in a Super Bowl Ad…
Ebay Ad
Letter to the Dove Self-Esteem Fund
In April, I was laid off. But, before I could cash in on my 10-week severance package, I was offered an Accounting job for which I was completely unqualified. I set up Operation Set Matt Free and the Save a Wonder Foundation to solicit donations to help prevent me from having to become an Accountant.
Letter to Angelina Jolie
Letter to Bob Barker
2HW Benefit album
In July, we thought having a mid-life crisis would help, and it did. Soon after our annual shareholder’s meeting in Vegas, Craig and I broke up over creative differences (read: he wanted a more physical relationship). I took over all of the writing for 2HW, made the Craig character gay and started a new section called Work’s for PHAGs…
Work’s for PHAGs intro
You’re an Eight Update
Suggestion Box/Fun committee
Letter to Congressman
You’re an Eight video
In October of 2006, HR called me in for a meet and greet/formal investigation. They asked all about the website and video and concluded what I tried to tell them in my initial interview…I am not an Accountant.
I may have lost my job. I may have lost Craig as a buddy comedy partner. But, I have not lost my passion for using 2HW as the platform to screw up my life/get a paying job in the entertainment industry.
Update 2/20/07 I still don't have a job. But, I'm keeping in shape by running for President.
Welcome to the website that got me fired from my job pretending to be an Accountant. Since HR encouraged me to stop coming in to work, two hit wonder’s web hits have gone up dramatically. With a lot of new incoming traffic, I thought it would be a good time to write a brief history of the train wreck that is 2HW, complete with links to my best posts.
In September of 2005, my friend Craig and I started 2HW. On the surface we may have appeared to be fat, balding, badly mustached dudes from Kansas working ridiculous jobs in Corporate America, but deep down we knew we were really Hollywood A listers. We figured the best way to make the transition from average office workers to international phenomenons would be to write ridiculous letters to Hollywood stars asking for assistance…
Letter to Neil Diamond
Letter to George Lucas
Letter to James Frey
When Hollywood didn’t immediately respond, we changed our Hollywood letter writing slogan to, “If you can’t join ‘em, beat ‘em (with verbal barbs)”…
Letter to Extreme Makeover Home Edition
Letter to Mel Gibson
Letter to Brokeback Mountain Author Annie Proulx
In February, we posted an ad on Ebay offering our services to star in a Super Bowl Ad…
Ebay Ad
Letter to the Dove Self-Esteem Fund
In April, I was laid off. But, before I could cash in on my 10-week severance package, I was offered an Accounting job for which I was completely unqualified. I set up Operation Set Matt Free and the Save a Wonder Foundation to solicit donations to help prevent me from having to become an Accountant.
Letter to Angelina Jolie
Letter to Bob Barker
2HW Benefit album
In July, we thought having a mid-life crisis would help, and it did. Soon after our annual shareholder’s meeting in Vegas, Craig and I broke up over creative differences (read: he wanted a more physical relationship). I took over all of the writing for 2HW, made the Craig character gay and started a new section called Work’s for PHAGs…
Work’s for PHAGs intro
You’re an Eight Update
Suggestion Box/Fun committee
Letter to Congressman
You’re an Eight video
In October of 2006, HR called me in for a meet and greet/formal investigation. They asked all about the website and video and concluded what I tried to tell them in my initial interview…I am not an Accountant.
I may have lost my job. I may have lost Craig as a buddy comedy partner. But, I have not lost my passion for using 2HW as the platform to screw up my life/get a paying job in the entertainment industry.
Update 2/20/07 I still don't have a job. But, I'm keeping in shape by running for President.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Village Inn
Mom had back to school night tonight, and since she's gone back to work I've exhausted every possible fast food option, so I put the kids in their church clothes and took them to Village Inn for dinner. It was about as funny as that movie, The Village. The highlights...
I watched a grown man wait for the coast to be clear and sneak into the server station, grab about 40 napkins, stuff them inside his button-down shirt and make a hasty exit with his best girl.
I watched my daughter blow her straw wrapper clear over the head of her intended target (her brother) and hit the lady in the booth behind us. I'm a good father.
I watched a stretch limo drop off 8 people who spent all of 12 seconds in the lobby before realizing that Applebee's was accross the street. Actually they were on a scavenger hunt, but they seemed intent on spending as little time as possible with us common folk.
And the highlight for me was the sign that read:
"Special of the Day:
We seat incomplete parties at our discretion."
I watched a grown man wait for the coast to be clear and sneak into the server station, grab about 40 napkins, stuff them inside his button-down shirt and make a hasty exit with his best girl.
I watched my daughter blow her straw wrapper clear over the head of her intended target (her brother) and hit the lady in the booth behind us. I'm a good father.
I watched a stretch limo drop off 8 people who spent all of 12 seconds in the lobby before realizing that Applebee's was accross the street. Actually they were on a scavenger hunt, but they seemed intent on spending as little time as possible with us common folk.
And the highlight for me was the sign that read:
"Special of the Day:
We seat incomplete parties at our discretion."
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
My Favorites
My favorite type of salt is iodized.
My favorite type of flour is all-purpose.
My favorite type of parking is no overnight.
My favorite type of pregnancy is teen.
My favorite type of brown sugar is pure-cane.
My favorite type of gow is hoose.
My favorite type of wear is active.
My favorite type of cloudy is mostly.
My favorite type of 2:30 is ante meridiem.
My favorite type of town is man about.
My favorite type of jump is standing broad.
My favorite type of agreement is non-binding verbal.
My favorite type of roof is hot tin.
My favorite types of islets are of langerhans.
My favorite type of ship is the mother.
My favorite type of ground ball is seeing-eye.
My favorite type of legal is perfectly.
My favorite type of pants is hot.
My favorite type of talk is pillow.
My favorite type of shirt is muscle.
My favorite type of genius is diabolical.
My favorite type of orange is agent.
My favorite type of plane is da.
My favorite type of place is running in.
My favorite type of summer is Henry Lee.
My favorite type of punch is three-hole.
My favorite type of warning is winter storm.
My favorite type of thriller is psychological.
My favorite type of successor is hand-picked.
My favorite type of investigation is ongoing.
My favorite type of panic is widespread.
My favorite type of lamb is on the.
My favorite type of axle is triple.
My favorite type of engagement is limited.
My favorite type of steering is rack and pinion.
My favorite type of shui is feng.
My favorite type of tang is pootie.
My favorite type of seat is bucket.
My favorite type of platypus is the duck-billed.
My favorite type of velva is aqua.
My favorite type of passage is nasal.
My favorite type of scotch is hop.
My favorite type of wall is load bearing.
My favorite type of rider is knight.
My favorite type of justice is meanwhile back at the hall of.
My favorite type of jerk is knee.
My favorite type of whore is two bit.
My favorite type of curl is jerry.
My favorite type of sex is post-marital.
My favorite type of red is infra.
My favorite type of jam is Lisa-Lisa and the cult.
My favorite type of ketchup is real tomato.
My favorite type of sheen is afro.
My favorite type of poeia is onomato.
My favorite type of neck is vee.
My favorite type of top is tube.
My favorite type of chief is handker.
My favorite type of back is baby’s got.
My favorite type of news is late breaking.
My favorite type of emissions is California.
My favorite type of flour is all-purpose.
My favorite type of parking is no overnight.
My favorite type of pregnancy is teen.
My favorite type of brown sugar is pure-cane.
My favorite type of gow is hoose.
My favorite type of wear is active.
My favorite type of cloudy is mostly.
My favorite type of 2:30 is ante meridiem.
My favorite type of town is man about.
My favorite type of jump is standing broad.
My favorite type of agreement is non-binding verbal.
My favorite type of roof is hot tin.
My favorite types of islets are of langerhans.
My favorite type of ship is the mother.
My favorite type of ground ball is seeing-eye.
My favorite type of legal is perfectly.
My favorite type of pants is hot.
My favorite type of talk is pillow.
My favorite type of shirt is muscle.
My favorite type of genius is diabolical.
My favorite type of orange is agent.
My favorite type of plane is da.
My favorite type of place is running in.
My favorite type of summer is Henry Lee.
My favorite type of punch is three-hole.
My favorite type of warning is winter storm.
My favorite type of thriller is psychological.
My favorite type of successor is hand-picked.
My favorite type of investigation is ongoing.
My favorite type of panic is widespread.
My favorite type of lamb is on the.
My favorite type of axle is triple.
My favorite type of engagement is limited.
My favorite type of steering is rack and pinion.
My favorite type of shui is feng.
My favorite type of tang is pootie.
My favorite type of seat is bucket.
My favorite type of platypus is the duck-billed.
My favorite type of velva is aqua.
My favorite type of passage is nasal.
My favorite type of scotch is hop.
My favorite type of wall is load bearing.
My favorite type of rider is knight.
My favorite type of justice is meanwhile back at the hall of.
My favorite type of jerk is knee.
My favorite type of whore is two bit.
My favorite type of curl is jerry.
My favorite type of sex is post-marital.
My favorite type of red is infra.
My favorite type of jam is Lisa-Lisa and the cult.
My favorite type of ketchup is real tomato.
My favorite type of sheen is afro.
My favorite type of poeia is onomato.
My favorite type of neck is vee.
My favorite type of top is tube.
My favorite type of chief is handker.
My favorite type of back is baby’s got.
My favorite type of news is late breaking.
My favorite type of emissions is California.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Flight of the Conchords
I have a confession to make. My television gets over 300 channels, but I only want to watch one. After the wife and kids are in bed, I tippytoe into the living room and quietly turn to channel 314. Like most men, I’m drawn to the pay movie channels’ late night programming. Unlike most men, I’m watching a show about a couple of male (and fully clothed) folk musicians. In my defense, “Flight of the Conchords” is the fourth most popular folk parody duo in all of New Zealand (number three is a Flight of the Conchord’s tribute band).
The new HBO comedy series watches the Conchords (Bret and Jemaine) as they make the transition from mildly popular Kiwi band to struggling New York City based musicians. Their hapless manager Murray stalls their progress by refusing to get them nighttime gigs. “It’s too dangerous out there at night,” he argues. “Anything could happen…you could get murdered…or ridiculed.”
When Murray isn’t slowing the band’s development, a woman usually is.
First up is Sally, who used to date Bret, but drunkenly gives in to Jemaine’s dance moves and eloquent request for her to go back to his house so “we can feel each other up on the couch”. A sober Sally tries to get rid of Jemaine, who suggests that instead they take a break. “Break?!!” cries Sally, “No…there’s no relationship”. “Yet,” responds Jemaine, “Maybe we could start with a break”.
Next is Bret’s love Coco, who Jemaine constantly competes with for Bret’s attention. One show opens with a shot of Bret and Coco sitting on a couch tickling each other. Their apparent intimate moment is interrupted as the shot widens to reveal Jermaine sitting next to them. “Bret, how come you don’t tickle me anymore?” Jemaine wonders. “Seriously, you guys are just tickling each other and it might be nice to include someone else.” Coco (rhymes with Yoko) creates a wedge between the band members that may end up causing them to split.
Finally there’s Mel, the band’s fan. She doesn’t let her husband get in the way of fulfilling her duties as fan club president/stalker/sex-crazed lunatic.
The show’s characters are great, but what sets it apart from normal sitcom fare is the Conchords tendency to spontaneously break into song throughout each episode. Of Sally they sing, “You’re so beautiful. You could be a part-time model. But, you’d still probably have to keep your normal job.” These lyrics describe their financial hardship; “You know you’re not in high finance, considering second-hand underpants. Check your mind…How’d it get so bad? What happened to those other underpants you had?”
Summertime programming generally leaves fans of well-written comedy longing for the fall return of shows like “The Office” or “30 Rock”. But, HBO delivers a summer show that is worth watching, even if it has to be done in the wee hours of the morning, so that my wife doesn’t find out I’m every bit as obsessed with the Conchords as their other fan.
The new HBO comedy series watches the Conchords (Bret and Jemaine) as they make the transition from mildly popular Kiwi band to struggling New York City based musicians. Their hapless manager Murray stalls their progress by refusing to get them nighttime gigs. “It’s too dangerous out there at night,” he argues. “Anything could happen…you could get murdered…or ridiculed.”
When Murray isn’t slowing the band’s development, a woman usually is.
First up is Sally, who used to date Bret, but drunkenly gives in to Jemaine’s dance moves and eloquent request for her to go back to his house so “we can feel each other up on the couch”. A sober Sally tries to get rid of Jemaine, who suggests that instead they take a break. “Break?!!” cries Sally, “No…there’s no relationship”. “Yet,” responds Jemaine, “Maybe we could start with a break”.
Next is Bret’s love Coco, who Jemaine constantly competes with for Bret’s attention. One show opens with a shot of Bret and Coco sitting on a couch tickling each other. Their apparent intimate moment is interrupted as the shot widens to reveal Jermaine sitting next to them. “Bret, how come you don’t tickle me anymore?” Jemaine wonders. “Seriously, you guys are just tickling each other and it might be nice to include someone else.” Coco (rhymes with Yoko) creates a wedge between the band members that may end up causing them to split.
Finally there’s Mel, the band’s fan. She doesn’t let her husband get in the way of fulfilling her duties as fan club president/stalker/sex-crazed lunatic.
The show’s characters are great, but what sets it apart from normal sitcom fare is the Conchords tendency to spontaneously break into song throughout each episode. Of Sally they sing, “You’re so beautiful. You could be a part-time model. But, you’d still probably have to keep your normal job.” These lyrics describe their financial hardship; “You know you’re not in high finance, considering second-hand underpants. Check your mind…How’d it get so bad? What happened to those other underpants you had?”
Summertime programming generally leaves fans of well-written comedy longing for the fall return of shows like “The Office” or “30 Rock”. But, HBO delivers a summer show that is worth watching, even if it has to be done in the wee hours of the morning, so that my wife doesn’t find out I’m every bit as obsessed with the Conchords as their other fan.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I'm a Professional
Ticket brokers. Most of us hate them. I know my wife does.
My ticket broker career began as a hobby. I had a real job, but used my ticket income to finance my annual pilgrimage to Wrigley Field, home of my beloved Chicago Cubs. I technically became a professional broker the day my former employer encouraged me to stop reporting to work.
My wife would like me to regain my amateur status.
In the past, I kept her happy by consistently making good money buying a handful of tickets to games that featured the Cubs biggest rivals (the White Sox and Cardinals)and reselling them on Ebay.
This year, however, I decided to improve upon my business model by buying more tickets to worse games. I didn’t really intend to, but had a friend from Chicago encourage me to buy tickets to a July series against the San Francisco Giants since Barry Bonds would have a chance to set Major League Baseball’s all-time home run record. I didn’t listen to the voice of reason (or was that my wife?) as it tried to explain the improbability of a 42-year-old hitting exactly 21 home runs in half a season. Within minutes of talking to my friend, the 0 tickets I had planned to buy for the Giants series turned into 48. That $2400 was just eating a hole in my credit card available balance anyway. I was sure to make it back 5 times over. I was, after all, a professional.
Five months later, Bonds isn’t close enough to the record for the tickets to be worth anything. But, that didn’t stop me from making the 8-hour drive yesterday from Kansas City to Chicago to try to maximize my profit.
I got to Wrigleyville about 5 hours before game time, and began my quest to sell the 12 bleachers tickets (face value $50 each) that I had for tonight’s Cubs/Giants game. The first broker I visited ripped the tickets from my hand and I watched in horror as he passed some of them to his buddy. I was sure I was about to get three-card montied out of $600 worth of tickets. Instead he peeled off six twenties. “I’ll give you $120,” he said. “$10 a ticket! Oh man am I screwed,” I thought as I calmly walked away.
Two hours later, my calm exterior had deteriorated into equal parts wild-eyed panic and back sweat. After inquiring at almost every ticket agency within walking distance of Wrigley Field, the highest offer I’d received was $20 per ticket. Lacking confidence, I pathetically told one last broker, “I’m just trying to get my money back. I’ll take $45 each.” I’m pretty sure I slobbered on myself when he offered $40.
With a little hard work I was able to turn $600 into $480. Not every ticket sale goes that well, but with a few more successes like this, hopefully my wife will stop asking me to get a day job.
My ticket broker career began as a hobby. I had a real job, but used my ticket income to finance my annual pilgrimage to Wrigley Field, home of my beloved Chicago Cubs. I technically became a professional broker the day my former employer encouraged me to stop reporting to work.
My wife would like me to regain my amateur status.
In the past, I kept her happy by consistently making good money buying a handful of tickets to games that featured the Cubs biggest rivals (the White Sox and Cardinals)and reselling them on Ebay.
This year, however, I decided to improve upon my business model by buying more tickets to worse games. I didn’t really intend to, but had a friend from Chicago encourage me to buy tickets to a July series against the San Francisco Giants since Barry Bonds would have a chance to set Major League Baseball’s all-time home run record. I didn’t listen to the voice of reason (or was that my wife?) as it tried to explain the improbability of a 42-year-old hitting exactly 21 home runs in half a season. Within minutes of talking to my friend, the 0 tickets I had planned to buy for the Giants series turned into 48. That $2400 was just eating a hole in my credit card available balance anyway. I was sure to make it back 5 times over. I was, after all, a professional.
Five months later, Bonds isn’t close enough to the record for the tickets to be worth anything. But, that didn’t stop me from making the 8-hour drive yesterday from Kansas City to Chicago to try to maximize my profit.
I got to Wrigleyville about 5 hours before game time, and began my quest to sell the 12 bleachers tickets (face value $50 each) that I had for tonight’s Cubs/Giants game. The first broker I visited ripped the tickets from my hand and I watched in horror as he passed some of them to his buddy. I was sure I was about to get three-card montied out of $600 worth of tickets. Instead he peeled off six twenties. “I’ll give you $120,” he said. “$10 a ticket! Oh man am I screwed,” I thought as I calmly walked away.
Two hours later, my calm exterior had deteriorated into equal parts wild-eyed panic and back sweat. After inquiring at almost every ticket agency within walking distance of Wrigley Field, the highest offer I’d received was $20 per ticket. Lacking confidence, I pathetically told one last broker, “I’m just trying to get my money back. I’ll take $45 each.” I’m pretty sure I slobbered on myself when he offered $40.
With a little hard work I was able to turn $600 into $480. Not every ticket sale goes that well, but with a few more successes like this, hopefully my wife will stop asking me to get a day job.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Letter to Bruce Willis
Dear Bruce Willis,
When I first heard that “Live Free or Die Hard” was coming to a Cineplex near me, I cringed. I assumed that Dick Cheney had followed Al Gore’s lead by putting together an Academy Award worthy PowerPoint presentation about the Pro-Life movement. I was relieved to find out that I would be watching you bleed for 90 minutes rather than the unborn.
And bleed you did. All that blood made me realize that you, like most members of the NYPD, have impossibly white teeth. I also realized for the first time that Detective John McClaine seems to have little interest in getting the girl. Live Free’s formula seemed to be: Boy meets boy. Boy kills bad boys. Boy gets boy? The viewer is left to wonder if your misgivings about Justin Long’s Matt Farrell character dating your daughter had anything to do with you wanting him all to yourself.
I can only hope that your life imitates your art. I’m taking a bit of a risk with this letter, but I’d love to reinvent the Hollywood power couple, by making you my better half. Technically we wouldn’t be the first same sex Hollywood pair, but our union would certainly generate a lot more buzz than Liza and David’s.
All that attention would do wonders for at least one of our careers. I’m not concerned that your star doesn’t shine quite as bright as it did when Demi Moore stepped on your receding hairline to reach $10M paydays. Honestly, I’d be happy to use your bald head as a mini-tramp to land a $10 a week gig as a humor columnist.
But, I wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn’t let you use me too. I guarantee that playing the role of my husband would do as much for your career as playing Vincent Vega did for John Travolta’s. Before you know it, you’ll be making gay biker movies with Martin Lawrence.
You’re already on the right track. It was a brilliant business decision to let the Die Hard franchise evolve in much the same way our country’s views have on an issue like homosexuality. In “Live Free”, John McClaine made it cool to kick serious ass by day and go home with that kid from the Mac commercials at night. You’ve given publicity to an often-overlooked issue, a man’s right to choose (with whom he spoons).
Now, the choice is up to you…will you marry me Bruce Willis?
XXXOOO,
Matt
When I first heard that “Live Free or Die Hard” was coming to a Cineplex near me, I cringed. I assumed that Dick Cheney had followed Al Gore’s lead by putting together an Academy Award worthy PowerPoint presentation about the Pro-Life movement. I was relieved to find out that I would be watching you bleed for 90 minutes rather than the unborn.
And bleed you did. All that blood made me realize that you, like most members of the NYPD, have impossibly white teeth. I also realized for the first time that Detective John McClaine seems to have little interest in getting the girl. Live Free’s formula seemed to be: Boy meets boy. Boy kills bad boys. Boy gets boy? The viewer is left to wonder if your misgivings about Justin Long’s Matt Farrell character dating your daughter had anything to do with you wanting him all to yourself.
I can only hope that your life imitates your art. I’m taking a bit of a risk with this letter, but I’d love to reinvent the Hollywood power couple, by making you my better half. Technically we wouldn’t be the first same sex Hollywood pair, but our union would certainly generate a lot more buzz than Liza and David’s.
All that attention would do wonders for at least one of our careers. I’m not concerned that your star doesn’t shine quite as bright as it did when Demi Moore stepped on your receding hairline to reach $10M paydays. Honestly, I’d be happy to use your bald head as a mini-tramp to land a $10 a week gig as a humor columnist.
But, I wouldn’t be a good partner if I didn’t let you use me too. I guarantee that playing the role of my husband would do as much for your career as playing Vincent Vega did for John Travolta’s. Before you know it, you’ll be making gay biker movies with Martin Lawrence.
You’re already on the right track. It was a brilliant business decision to let the Die Hard franchise evolve in much the same way our country’s views have on an issue like homosexuality. In “Live Free”, John McClaine made it cool to kick serious ass by day and go home with that kid from the Mac commercials at night. You’ve given publicity to an often-overlooked issue, a man’s right to choose (with whom he spoons).
Now, the choice is up to you…will you marry me Bruce Willis?
XXXOOO,
Matt
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