I love satire and I couldn’t wait to grow up and satirize everything under the sun, including the sun (that big overstuffed gasbag) and get paid for it, and go to the store and wait for the cashier to say, “So what line of work you in, buddy,” and I could say “Satire! I’m in the satire game! Just put the groceries in my Miata!”But I never thought that Cracked would amount to much. Let’s face it, this is a magazine that was a pimple on the hindquarters of Alfred E. Neuman. Weird then, that Cracked.com is capable of stuff such as this: admittedly, it’s the readers and not the staffers who cooked it up.