I’m a pretty big deal here on the internet. As such, I understand that many of you would like to get to know me better over some light phone sex and sexting. Or maybe you want to give me a writing job. Whatever. Contacting someone can be scary in this brave new world of ours, what with so many people walking around, all with their own unique communications preferences. Luckily for you, the person wanting to contact me, I have provided all of my personal contact info below.

I look forward to talking to you!

If you’d like to contact me, you can reach me via Email at Luisrafaelprada@gmail.com

I’m also on Facebook at Facebook.com/luisprada

You can follow me on Twitter at Twitter.com/Luis_Prada

My home phone number is (548) 445-48557

My mother’s cell phone number is (328) 348-56451

If you would like to contact me through non-verbal communication, roll your eyes and turn a cold shoulder and my inherent need to be loved by everyone will compel me to respond.

I can also be contacted via a series of arrogant finger snaps that grab my attention/make me think you’re a prick because you think I’m a dog.

If you blow in to a large conch shell, I shall respond. I’m A-Sharp. Don’t blow a B-flat – that’s Aquaman’s note.

I can also be reached by setting ablaze the many oil-soaked braziers that I have strategically placed along the jagged spine of the Rocky Mountains, down through the desert plains of New Mexico, through the vast expanses of Texas, and through the swampy marshes of Louisiana before finally touching down on the sandy beaches of Miami, Florida.

If Morse code is more your speed, I got you covered. Just point your beacon toward latitude 25°47′16″N and longitude 80°13′27″W and flash this:

-.– — –..–   –. . -   .- -   – . –..–   -.. .- .– –.

If you’re more of a semaphore person, simply wave your flags like so…

…and I’ll be all like, “Yeah, what…?”

I don’t have a mailing address.

I went a bought a bunch of different brands of bottled water. This is a review of them.

1) Dasani – Tastes like water.

2) Evian – Tastes like water.

3) Smart Water – Tastes like water.

4) Zephyrhills – Tastes like water.

5) Fiji – Tastes like water, but the tropical backdrop makes me think I’m drinking salt water.

I tick, nervously most times. Other times because I’m not nervous and have just gotten used to all the ticking I do when I am nervous, which is often. Over the years I have collected a comprehensive list of every nervous tick I’ve ever developed. These are real. What’s going on in my life at any given time influences how many of these ticks I will have going concurrently. If my only worry is work, I’ll have one, maybe two. If it’s work, a depleted bank account, relationship troubles, and my arch nemesis has foiled one of my dastardly plots again, I could have up to four of these ticks going at the same time. It gets annoying.

1. Excessive blinking, or am I a soviet spy sending coded messages to my comrades? No. I’m not. Blinking just makes reality go away for a fraction of a second.

2. I curl my top lip in to my gums, making it look like my upper lip was sliced away. Kind of like Jim Carry as Fire Marshal Bill.

3. Muscle twitching (quads, calves, biceps, pecs). Nothing turns on the ladies more than a guy that looks like he’s currently receiving electroshock therapy.

4. Spitting. A lot. Mostly when I’m outdoors. I like disrespecting grass.

5. Leg bouncing/shaking.

6 Rubbing the back of my tongue on the roof of my mouth.

7. Sliding my fingernails under other fingernails and applying pressure to that under-the-nail part of the nail. Does that have a name? I’m going to call it the nail basement. I like pressure on my nail basements.

8. Biting skin around nails. It tastes like where my fingers have been! :) Also, it tastes like where my fingers have been! >:O

9. Cracking knuckles. I’m a tough guy.

10. Twitching nose. I’m also a witch from the 1960s. It’s weird that I feel like I have to specify which 60s I’m talking about now that we’re this deep in to a new decade, even though we haven’t seen a new 60s since the last 60s.

11. Biting the inside of my mouth until I have tough little mounds of stringy flesh dotting my inner cheeks. Thrill-seeking bacteria scale these mounds for glory and to have a story that will get them laid for life.

12. Twitching my ears/scalp. It’s my mating call.

13. Making a grinding sound with my mouth that serves no purpose but I like to believe it lets me communicate with rusty brake pads.

14. Rubbing my big toe over my second toe (XO toe?), sometimes until the second toe blisters (aka XO toe woes).

I wrote an article back in June that got no love, probably because MCD didn’t has a strong a following as it does now. We’re not breaking any barriers, traffic wise, but we actually have people coming to the site regularly now, which is nice. Anyway, the original article, Five Life Lessons Learned from GIFs, is one of my favorites so far for MCD, and today’s article, its sequel, 5 More Life Lessons Learned From GIFs, is probably better, in my totally biased opinion. I hope to write a 3rd in the series to round out the trilogy. These are too much fun to write.

Read them both if you haven’t already. Hope you like them. And if you do, give'em a Facebook Like, maybe a tweet, and pass it along to someone else.

I wrote this one about 2 months ago, but it got lost in the shuffle. My editor and I both assumed it had already been published. We were wrong, and we be dumb and shit. Anyway, read it, and play some of the games on the list. A few might be pretentious as hell, but fun, original experiences nonetheless.

5 Ridiculously Artsy Video Games

I’ve written a lot of stuff for a lot of outlets. Here are my favorites; the ones that really show off what I’m capable of. I’ve added some context for a few of them. I’m looking for a full-time writing job. Does your video game need a writer? Hire me! Does your TV series writer’s room need a new writer? Hire me! Want to give me a book deal? Sign me up! Does your website need an editor/writer in a full-time salaried position? Hire me! You can DM me here, or find me on Twitter @Luis_Prada. My email is Luisrafaelprada@gmail.com. 

Cracked - I wrote for Cracked on and off for over 15 years. Eventually, I became a columnist and a member of the columns editorial team. I wrote hundreds of articles and wrote a few video scripts. 

3 Recipes For The Perfect Last Minute Mother’s Day Brunch - Don’t let the title mislead you. This was the first time Cracked let me write an article that was pure fiction disguised as a helpful, fact-based recipe article. If you like this, I have a whole podcast that’s basically this article in audio form. Links at the bottom of this post!

10 Very Dumb Questions You Should Answer Right Now - This is part 1 of a survey of the Cracked readership. Part two, below, is where it gets fun. Posting this one for full context.

10 Dumb Questions I Asked You Guys (And Your Dumb Answers) – And here’s Part 2! Never got to do this survey again for another column but of everything I’ve ever written, it’s one of the ones I’m most proud of. 

Amazon Thinks I’m Some Sort Of Serial Killer In Training

This Article Will Explode In 5 Points

The Hoax You Didn’t Realize Dominated The 80s - The Cracked article I’m most proud of. 

The Most Weirdly Specific, Lazy Spam Email I Ever Received

How I Tried (And Failed) To Stop Snoring With A Didgeridoo

Why Don’t We Have Flying Cars Yet? Well, Here’s The Thing…

4 Spam Emails That Deserve To Be Movies

I Ate At The World’s Best Sushi Restaurant

4 Ways I Realize I’ve Changed (Thanks To The New Zelda Game)

The 6 Most Useless Features Found in Flashlight Apps

5 Creepy Things People Say About Sex When Granted Anonymity

4 Recipes That Came From The Mind Of A Child (Taste Tested)

4 Things That Shock You About Dogs (If You Never Had One)

4 Creepy Unspoken Agreements We All Make With Public Places

4 Terrible Golf Tips For Beginners (By a Beginner)

Drones: The Movie Pixar Doesn’t have the Balls to Make - The first time I was ever allowed to break the traditional listicle mold. Still can’t believe they let me do this.

5 Random Questions You Didn’t Know You Wanted Answered

5 Newspaper Articles From History You’ll Swear I’m Making Up

Taco Bell’s Website Is Absolutely Insane (No, Seriously)

Papa John’s TikTok Has Intense Divorced Dad Energy

Bunny Ears - The site, which was owned and operated by actor Macaulay Culkin, gave me the chance to do something I’d wanted to do for years: get paid to write the silliest stuff I could imagine. The site was a satire of celebrity lifestyle sites like Goop but started sprinkling in some broader pop-cultural stuff toward the end. 

6 Bathrobes Perfect For Doing Coked-Up Naked Karate

I’ve Been Holding In A Tantric Orgasm For 22 Years. Please Don’t Touch Me

My Secret Ingredient Is Love, Which Has Been Recalled Due To Fecal Contamination

For The Last Time, I’m An Electrician, Not An Energy Healer

3 School Lunches Your Child’s Bully Will Love

We Just Tried Western Medicine, And Holy Shit Is It Effective!

I Traveled The World And Didn’t Learn A Fucking Thing About Myself

Lavish Vacation Spots To Visit When You’re On The Run From The Securities and Exchange Commission

I’m An Introvert And I Need Every Person On Earth To Know It

These 5 Posh Hotels Have One Thing in Common: You’re Banned from Them

Our Article Ideas Algorithm Says You Should Marinate Chicken In Piss

I Climbed Everest And Still Can’t Maintain An Erection

Funko Pop! Used My Likeness Without My Consent

A Good Night’s Sleep Made Me A Much More Efficient Asshole

My Restaurant Will Proudly Fuck Up Your Culture’s Signature Dish

I’m Trying Really Hard To Not Turn Your Vitamin D Deficiency Into A Dick Joke

I’m Totally Okay Being Trapped Under This Weighted Blanket

Reminder: Don’t Fuck Up This Turkey, Because You Can Really Use A Win Right Now

Marvelous Meat: This Plant-Based Burger Not Only Bleeds, It Screams

We Can’t Get Enough Of These 5 Celebrity-Recommended Tax Havens

Grounding: Connecting To The Natural Energies of Your Home By Sticking Metal Rods In Power Outlets

McSweeney’s Internet Tendency 

Click “No” If You’d Like Us To Guilt Trip You For Not Subscribing To Our Newsletter

The Inaudible Podcast Network - My time at Bunny Ears led to the development of a short recurring segment on the official Bunny Ears podcast called “Meditation Minute with Luis Prada”, a parody of guided meditation podcasts and Youtube channels. When Bunny Ears closed down, I was able to keep Meditation Minute. I spun it into my own podcast. The Inaudible Podcast Network is an audio sketch comedy series about four podcasts on a fake podcast network. Those shows are Meditation Minute, Truest Crime (a true crime podcast hosted by two serial killers), The Feed (a food culture podcast), and Three Indistinguishable Guys Talking About Movies (a movie podcast). I’ve completed two seasons so far, totaling 80 episodes, 20 of each podcast. Here are direct links to my favorite episodes so far. But first, here’s a link to the Patreon!

https://www.patreon.com/InaudiblePod

I can use the money! Season two just ended. I’m writing season three now. Anyway, onto the links…

TRAILER/Ep. 1 - Meditation Minute - Midroll Meditation

Ep. 2 - The Feed - Fleeing Flavortown

Ep. 4 - Three Indistinguishable Guys Talking About Movies - Review: The Family Circus Movie

Ep. 5 - Meditation Minute - Building a Happy Place

Ep. 28 - Truest Crime - Where Are They Now?

Ep. 33 - Meditation Minute - Breakout

Ep. 41 - Meditation Minute With Luis Prada - A Meditation for Those In A Rush

Ep. 42 - The Feed - The Indiana Sausage Wars

Ep. 47 - Three Indistinguishable Guys Talking About Movies - I See Myself In Luke Skywalker Despite HisGross Alien Genitals

Ep. 48 - Truest Crime - Riddles For Pestering The Cops

Ep. 58 - The Feed - Apologies To Canned Ham

Ep. 62 - The Feed - The Fight To Save Bees

Ep. 69 - Meditation Minute With Luis Prada - Corrections and Retractions

Ep. 78 - The Feed - Our Fascinating World of High-End Cheeses

Ep. 80 - Truest Crime - Most Truest Crime with Host FBI Agent Antonio Rodriguez

It was a long, hard road, but I did it. I won. I won therapy. After all those years of my therapist asking probing questions about my most private thoughts and feelings, I’ve been rewarded with a gold trophy that says “Therapy #1 Champion”.

Some say that’s impossible, and that even if it was, bettering your mental health shouldn’t be viewed through a binary lens. The doubters said the bettering of one’s mental health is a much more nuanced experience that rarely, if ever, results in a defined endpoint. But I defied the odds and won it. I am the winner of therapy; the undisputed champion of mental health.

I’d like to thank my parents. Without their daily screaming matches laying a foundation of instability when I was a child, I wouldn’t have even needed therapy in the first place. The refusal to divorce despite their contempt for one another gave me a mountain to climb, a star to reach. Thank you for never instilling in me the tools necessary to not be like you. Without your severe damage, I wouldn’t have received this gleaming trophy as a testament to my triumph over your failures.

I may be the one being honored, but I’m nothing without my opponent – and I don’t mean my litany of debilitating insecurities. I’m talking about Dr. Ramona Martinez, my therapist of over 15 years. Without her letting me ramble for 20 minutes and then asking “why do you think that is?”, I would never have had my breakthrough moment: when I realized my abandonment issues prevent me from fostering potentially meaningful long-term relationships. She challenged me to elevate my understanding of self to championship levels.

I realize this victory has opened the floodgates. Now everyone knows it’s possible to become the absolute champion of therapy and the king of mental health. Broken people from all over the world will be working even harder now to resolve their major psychological issues, hoping they can hoist this trophy above their heads, just as I have. I wish them the best of luck in their pursuit of total domination over their personal demons – but I won’t be dethroned so easily.

Winning therapy doesn’t mean I’m canceling my weekly sessions. In fact, I’m working even harder now to reach a state of mental perfection. I’m doing two sessions a day, six days a week. I call emergency therapy hotlines on my lunch break just to keep myself on my toes. I meditate and exercise, so my mind is clear and my endorphins are pumping like a broken fire hydrant on a hot summer day. I’m in better mental health than when I won therapy. So, a word of warning to all of you hoping to become well-adjusted adults: you better make sure your daddy issues are worked out before you step up to the king.

Welcome to The Museum of Childhood, my art event that’s just an elaborate playground where you can farm Instagram likes. I appreciate you coming out to this desolate strip mall to rediscover the whimsy of childhood here in the heart of the worst neighborhood in the city, where the high homicide rate is less concerning than the number of unsolved homicides. The danger is only a small price to pay to be a part of the single most obnoxiously Instagrammable event of the season. The actual price to pay is $45.

The Museum of Childhood features multiple rooms that visitors can roam freely to re-experience the wonders of their youth. Reviewers in local alt-newspapers have called it, “what it would feel like if Disney Imagineers made a jungle gym based on a Buzzfeed listicle about things only ’90s kids will remember.”

You can start by taking a dip in the Summer Pool Party room, built to look like a backyard pool where the “water” is a blue ball pit and a “Grilling Dad” complements guests on their high jumps off the diving board. Keep your eyes peeled for when “Grilling Dad” passive-aggressively scolds “Wife of Grilling Dad” when she reminds her “children” (you) to be careful. Yes, the nostalgic glee of each room will be undercut with a stark dose of reality that weirds everybody out.

You can race to the top of a 35-foot-tall foam-padded “dirt mound” in the King Of The Hill room. The hill’s base is surrounded by another one of my signature ball pits, this one designed to look like grass, which you’ll recognize immediately since the balls are green this time. Don’t forget to immerse yourself in the room’s reality by ignoring the EMTs in the corner panicking every time a hyper-competitive 230-pound man shoves a 125-pound woman off the top of the hill with no remorse.

Don’t forget to rack up upwards of 3,000 likes with a picture in the Pizza Party room. Snap a selfie on the large scalable plush pizza and interact with a man dressed like a pizza who’s so rude you’ll wonder if it’s a comment on how something we loved so much as children can ultimately be so bad for us, or if he’s just an asshole.

Maybe you’ll think the whole event is a comment on the superficiality of childhood as you enter the Boob Tube room. It’s a living room straight from a 1950s black-and-white sitcom, that is until you pass through a doorway painted like a TV to find a colorful world where local actors cosplaying as classic cartoon characters serve guests sugary children’s cereals.

You would be wrong. All of this is just an elaborate ploy to create a perpetually self-advertising money-making machine. Good guess, though.

As you’ll see painted on every wall, I have preferred hashtags I’d like you to include on all of your posts. They are:

“#GrillingDadCanGetIt”

“#CrappedMyPants@MoC”

“#Ballpit”

If you have fun today, be sure to catch my next Instagram-bait event, “Meat,” where we’ll celebrate the world of animal butchery by zip-lining on a foam slab of “beef” into a pool of “blood” (a ball pit). It’ll be held in an abandoned refinery on the outskirts of town, where industry once thrived but is now where adults celebrate abstract concepts via playgrounds that are surrounded by bullet casings and hypodermic needles.