A short while back, jaded Weezer fan James Burns offered the band $10 million to break up and stop producing music. The only matter was raising the 10 mil, which he planned to do through Internet donations. Well sadly, Burns pulled the plug on his campaign with a mere $9,999,615 to go.

While it did succeed in stopping everyone on the Internet from watching Double Rainbow remixes for a few seconds, it also got me thinking. If I could simply pay bands to break up, there are a lot more obvious choices than Weezer. Right now, I’ll put down the contents of my pockets — $3.29 and a coupon for a free Chik-Fil-A sandwich — towards a fund to get Nickelback to call it quits.

To replace them, we can create a robot with gelled hair that churns out Nickelback lyrics with the following format:

I live the life of a rockstar, and am awesome

Attempt to rhyme a word with awesome

Joke about oral sex written by a 12-year-old

Words strung together to be unintelligible

WHOOOOOAWOOOOMAAAAANNNYEAAAAAAH

Little-known fact: In Colorado Springs, a station played “Hero” on the radio, and then someone called in to request they play it a second time, back-to-back. In half an hour,  area emergency rooms were full of patients admitted with bleeding ears.

Here’s another idea: What if we instead raised the money necessary to send Justin Bieber to a military academy? The way he goes around pistol whipping kids in laser tag arenas, he certainly seems to have the temperament for it. And while he’s in boot camp, no Justin Bieber! Everyone wins!

If I had the means, I would pay the Black Eyed Peas $10 million to stop making music in a heartbeat. Coincidentally, ten million is the number of times the lyrics, “I got a feeling/Tonight’s gonna be a good night” are used in their hit song “I Got A Feeling (Tonight’s Gonna Be A Good Night).” The rest of the song is made up of random Yiddish words.

Of course this payment would come with the stipulation that all Black Eyed Peas stop making music, including Fergie, Will.i.am and Scrawny Dreadlocks Guy.

Then it dawned on me that this deal is quite lucrative for the individuals targeted. What if I offered to resign as Mouthing Off editor,  provided that I get compensated? I mean, surely people must find me annoying; basically all I do is complain about television and sandwiches.

But I realize that $10 million is a high bar for most students in this economy to aspire to, so I plan to introduce a payment plan. Get the appropriate response for the amount you contribute. For each level, I will steal an adequate amount of office supplies on my way out.

If you donate at the $1,000 introductory level, I will threaten to quit, rant about how bad this newspaper has gotten, and then quietly change my mind.

For those who contribute at the $20,000 level get the base “Johnny Paycheck” model, I will get up on the conference table during a staff meeting, declare that I “am so over” this place, grab a bunch of pens and run out. I may also shout “woo.”

If you manage to raise our premium million dollar “Whiteboard Girl” level, I will eviscerate our printer with a sledgehammer in “Office Space” fashion, change all the  office desktop images to a picture of me throwing up a middle finger, and Mouthing Off will feature every curse word I know.

You will also get a cute mug with a cat on it who dislikes Mondays.

And lastly, should you manage to collect enough for the $10 million “Golden Steven Slater” level, you get the full package. I will first, without telling anyone, hire Zack Braff to play the role of me. After one week, during our weekly meeting, Braff will present a cake to the office made of laxatives and fiber. The plate underneath the super-poop cake will read “I QUIT.”

Around noon, a Mariachi band will come into the office and play a folk tale about how I quit my job. At the same time, a skywriting plane will spell out the phrase, “Rory is out, suckaz.”

At 8 p.m. on production night, a well compensated groundsworker will cut the power to the Oakland Center. At this time my co-workers will discover a message written in glow-in-the-dark paint, reading “Gotcha, bitches.”

It’s nothing personal. It’s about $10 million. Operators are standing by.