Kris Cooper | Professional Voice Actor for Commercial & Narration

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Hey, they said stealing spools of cotton candy was too sweet of a job for a cool cat like me. But being on the Tooth Fairy's most wanted list, that's as sweet as it gets.

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Oh my god, Rachel overheard Matt telling Koli that Juliana was texting Melissa the same thing that Jacob told Alexis who keeps on telling everyone, including Amanda, that we're throwing a party here tonight. I'm literally dead.

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We're screwed! Didn't moms tell you to quit hanging out with them fools on the block?

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It was a mistake that you were born with this gift. Such potential, wasted on one with so little heart.

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What? No! Our orders were to personally escort him to the 21st Galaxian Tribunal Assembly!

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Oh, right, right. As I was saying, I put my socks and shoes on the same way as everybody else. Sock shoe, sock shoe.

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You'd sooner sandpaper a tiger's ass in a boat than to mess with me! Now drop, and give me 50.

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Hehehehahaha! Well I'll be! The puny little sidekick's not so useless after all!

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Emily used to let nothing come between her and the NBA Finals, then Emily got YouTube TV, so even if she misses the first quarter, real-time highlights catch her up. This is the happiest Emily has ever been. I'm just playing. I don't know her, but she seems pretty good.

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It's a celebration in the DC Nation. Celebrate DC with Scratchers from the DC Lottery.

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This person said, they'd kiss every little Caesars employee right on the mouth for their beloved pretzel crust. So yeah, we think you'll love pretzel crust too. Love you!

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Patience. Open-mindedness. Resilience. Perspective. You want that. Okay, drive somewhere. Yeah, like, get in the car and drive!

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We're triers and builders. We're movers and shakers. We are grown-ass f***ing adults, and we are fruity pebble fanatics. So, what are you gonna yabba-dabba-do next?

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This man needs a double helping of bacon, stat, and he can earn double stars on the bacon beast from Hardee's when he orders through the app. Hey, give me one too! Oh yeah, that's fire.

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Dinosaur Island is back with more than ever. Take an epic journey to see 30 all-new life-sized dinos. Get your ticket to ColumbusZoo.org. Dude, you done?

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It was on that same house party that we had a curious conversation about driving a car. It started because she passed so close to some workmen that our fender flicked a button on one man's coat. You're a rotten driver, I protested. Either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn't to drive at all. I am careful. No, you're not. Well, other people are, she said lightly. What's that got to do with it? They'll keep out of my way, she insisted. It takes two to make an accident. Suppose you met someone just as careless as yourself? I hope I never will, she answered. I hate careless people. That's why I like you. Her gray sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had deliberately shifted our relations and for a moment I thought I loved her. I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires, and I knew that I first had to get myself definitely out of that tangle back home. I'd been writing letters once a week and signing them, Love, Nick, and all I could think of was how when that certain girl played tennis, a faint mustache of perspiration appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless, there was a vague understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free. Everyone suspects themselves of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine. I'm one of the few honest people that I have ever known.

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There's always been something between us, attraction definitely, but we've never moved beyond the suggestive comments and subtle looks from across the room face. Maybe we're both a little cautious to break that client-trainer barrier, I think we've both just been waiting for the other one to make the move. You started showing up to my Thursday evening yoga class last spring. At first, your appearances were sporadic at best. After a few weeks, you started coming in more often. And then, at some point, I was seeing you every Thursday, without fail. You would always linger after class, taking your time rolling up your mat and packing up your tote bag. It took me a little while to realize that you were waiting around so you could talk with me. Sometimes they were just quick, casual chats. Other times, we would talk for so long that we would have to leave the studio so the next class could get started. I try not to pick favorites when it comes to clients, but I just had this sense that something was building between us, that there was a reason we felt so drawn to each other. We've had moments, like that one time when I was readjusting your mountain pose. I was standing behind you, helping you tuck in your hips, and you pressed your back against my chest and your ass right into my hips. You turned your head to the side and looked at me like you wanted me to kiss you. And last week, you asked me about my massage services, how business is going, and if I could maybe squeeze you in sometime.

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Aragorn strained his ears and caught the sound of pounding hooves. Murtag ran out of the forest, driving the horses before him. He saw them, but did not slow. Aragorn jumped off Sephira, stumbling a bit as he matched Murtag's pace. Behind him, Sephira went to the river so she could follow them without being hindered by the trees. Before Aragorn could relay his news, Murtag said, His next words were deceptively calm, like those of a man concealing a terrible passion. Is there a valley or gorge ahead that I can leave through? Apprehensive, Aragorn tried to remember if he had seen any breaks in the mountains around them. He had not thought about Murtag's dilemma for a while. It's dark, he began evasively, dodging a low branch. So I might have missed something, but no. Murtag swore explosively and came to an abrupt stop, dragging the horses' reins until they halted as well. Are you saying that the only place I can go is to the Varden? Yes, we keep running. The Urgles are almost upon us. No, said Murtag angrily. He stabbed a finger at Aragorn. I warned you that I wouldn't go to the Varden, but you went ahead and trapped me between a hammer and an anvil. You're the one with the elf's memories. Why didn't you tell me this was a dead end? Aragorn bristled at the barrage and retorted. All I knew was where we had to go, not what lay in between. Don't blame me for choosing to come. Murtag's breath hissed between his teeth as he furiously spun away. All Aragorn could see of him was a motionless, bowed figure. His own shoulders were tense and a vein throbbed on the side of his neck. He put his hands on his hips, impatience rising.

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With the line still doubled around the robe, one of the tellers stuck a physician clothes sign in her window and walked to the back of the bank, where she leaned against a desk and began to pass the time with a man shuffling papers. The women in front of Anders broke off their conversation and watched the teller with hatred. Oh, that's nice, one of them said. She turned to Anders and added, confident of his accord, one of those little human touches that keep us coming back. Anders had conceived his own towering hatred of the teller, but he immediately turned it on the presumptuous crybaby in front of him. Damned unfair, he said. Tragic, really. If they're not chopping off the wrong leg or bombing your ancestral village, they're closing their positions. She stood her ground. I didn't say it was tragic, she said. I just think it's a pretty lousy way to treat your customers. Unforgivable, Anders said. Heaven will take note. She sucked in her cheeks, but stared past him and said nothing. Anders saw that the other woman, her friend, was looking in the same direction, and then the teller stopped what they were doing, and the customer slowly turned, and silence came over the bank. Two men wearing black ski masks and blue business suits were standing to the side of the door. One of them had a pistol pressed against the guard's neck. The guard's eyes were closed, and his lips were moving. The other man had a sawed-off shotgun. Keep your big mouth shut, the man with the pistol said, though no one had spoken a word. One of you tellers hits the alarm, you're all dead meat. Got it? The tellers nodded.

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He pushed me against the rough bark of the tree trunk. Shh, they haven't seen us. He motions his eyes toward the two girls. So? So we can sneak up and scare them. Chuck whispered, his eyes practically glowing with evil excitement. Let's make Carly Beth scream. You mean for old time's sake? Chuck nodded, grinning. For many years, making Carly Beth scream had been our hobby. That's because she was a really good screamer, and she would scream at just about anything. One day, in the lunchroom last year, Chuck tucked a worm inside his turkey sandwich. Then he gave the sandwich to Carly Beth. She took one bite and knew that something tasted a little weird. When Chuck showed her the big bite she had taken out of the worm, Carly Beth screamed for a week. Chuck and I took bets on who could scare Carly Beth the most and who could make her scream. I guess it was kind of mean, but it was funny too. And sometimes, when you know that people are real easy to scare, you have no choice. You have to scare them as often as you can. Anyway, that all changed last Halloween. Last Halloween, Chuck and I had a horrible scare. Carly Beth wore the most frightening mask I had ever seen. It wasn't just a mask. It was like a living face. It was so ugly, so real. It glared at us with evil living eyes. Its mouth sneered at us with real lips. The skin glowed a sick green. And Carly Beth's normally soft voice burst out like a terrifying animal growl. Chuck and I ran for our lives. No joke, we were terrified.

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I can see my reflection, the pink scars on my face deepened by the uncanny blue of my phone. The obituary reloads. I'm nearly 30 years old and this is the first obituary I've ever really read. I can't tell if that's lucky or an indicament of the dead in my life. I'm struck by how non-violent and flat the language is. Jake was 31. He survived by his parents, his wife. He was loved. It's odd, tonally so far from his personality. Do all obituaries play it safe or do some become honest? He bled out slowly, wishing for death. Do obituaries ever have a sense of humor? Jake died as he lived, staying up all night and fucking around. I know from other research, the rudimentary sleuthing I've become obsessed with, calls to the coroner's office, and reading up on the half-life of amphetamines, that there was speed in his system under all that whiskey. And I keep thinking that maybe the crash wasn't an accident, but a natural coda to a 31-year attraction to death. My thoughts dilate. I reopen the message that told me of the third crash. I can't believe I'm telling you this. From an acquaintance, I would have forgotten about completely if it weren't for the internet's insistence on keeping people around. It makes sense, in its way, to have learned of Jake's dying through a DM. That delivery system, so efficient and impersonal and arbitrary, it matched the near silence he and I had kept up for almost a decade. I rotate between looking at my phone and thinking about the lies I've told Luvina, who I call Lu when I love her most. I'm afraid that maybe this is too much, that she'll realize she's been waiting for a full, present, nonexistent me, even after all those times I promised there was nothing to wait for.

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Imagine instead of being parts of the same person, self 1, teller, and self 2, doer, are two separate persons. How would you characterize their relationship after witnessing the following conversation between them? The player on the court is trying to make a stroke improvement. Okay, dammit. Keep your stupid wrist firm. Then, as ball after ball comes over the net, self 1 reminds self 2, keep it firm, keep it firm, keep it firm. Monotonous? Think of how self 2 must feel. It seems as though self 1 thinks self 2 doesn't hear well, or has a short memory, or is stupid. The truth is, of course, that self 2, which includes the unconscious mind and nervous system, hears everything, never forgets anything, and is anything but stupid. After hitting the ball firmly once, it knows forever which muscles to contract to do it again. That's its nature. And what's going on during the hit itself? If you look closely at the face of the player, you will see that the cheek muscles are tightening and lips are pursed, an effort to attempt concentration. But tightened face muscles aren't required to hit the backhand, nor do they help concentration. Who's initiating that effort? Self 1, of course. But why? It's supposed to be the teller, not the doer. But it seems self 1 doesn't really trust self 2 to do the job, or else it wouldn't have to do all the work itself. This is the nub of the problem. Self 1 does not trust self 2, even though it embodies all the potential you have developed up to that moment, and is far more competent to control the muscle system than self 1.

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The future is uncertain. As students, we hope to use our education to build a more stable, reliable future. At Harrisburg Area Community College, students can obtain a degree, build their networks, and do it all without going into debt or moving far from home. Take the first step into a bright future at Harrisburg Area Community College.

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My mother had brain cancer last year, and the doctors weren't sure of how long she'd be in the hospital after surgery. It was during homecoming, and all of the hotels in town were booked. MedStay found me a room so that I could be there for her while she recovered, and kept our family together during a difficult time.

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Life only passes by once, so be sure to fill it with quality of life. Don't just count the years, make them count. Instead of waiting for good things to come, go look for them. Get out there and add more life to life. Always get together with those that make each day that much better. Enjoy each minute, each second, each moment. That's quality of life. And when everything's said and done, you'll be happy you gave him dog chow throughout his life, because it adds up to 1.8 years of more healthy life you can enjoy to the fullest. Together. Perina Dog Chow. Together, life is better.

Script:
Hey there, my name's Chris Cooper, and this is a raw audio sample of my home recording booth. It's an acoustically treated closet, double padded with 2-inch thick acoustic foam panels. This is a raw audio sample you are hearing, with absolutely no noise reduction, compression, or post-processing of any kind. I'm using a Neumann TLM-103 condenser mic, a Focusrite 2i interface, and a HP Spectre PC with Adobe Audition. Now, I'll turn my gain up and whisper so you can hear my microphone a little bit hotter. At this time, I'll go silent for 10 seconds so that you can hear the noise floor. Now, I'll turn my gain back down and give you a sample of me shouting. Thanks for listening to my audio sample. If you have any questions, please let me know. I hope you have a great day!