The Geoff Lott Rules Live Tour Of Comedy & Talking

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Sunday, September 16, 2012

YOU SPIN ME RIGHT ROUND, BABY, RIGHT ROUND BONK

I know that everybody's kid is perfect.
But sometimes, something happens that's too funny to not share.  

video

No baby was harmed in the laughing-at of the baby in this video.
This baby was also unharmed.

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My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Friday, March 23, 2012

Fan Fiction: Competitive Erotic section

From time to time my brain conjures something so far afield that I leave it to fizzle out before it breathes fire unto itself. Sometimes it's so embarrassing I would rather nobody see it, rather not be associated with it. But sometimes it's so embarrassing and gross and weird that I'd rather just admit this is a part of my psyche that should get entertained and let the dogs run themselves out and over the hillside and be free.

Last night I read the following piece, which I wrote (big "Sorry guys" to my boys), in a Competitive Erotic Fan Fiction show in Seattle. I tied for first place.

It is a tale of Jeffrey "Bloeharten" Steingarten, Paula Deen, and Guy Fieri gone wrong. You read the rest.

In the voice of Jeffrey Steingarten.

A good meal can leave one feeling as euphoric as a restful slumber, waking mid-dream only to drift back into sleep, into the dream of laying under a glass coffee table while Rachael Ray squats over you. As a food critic I have eaten in the top restaurants all over the world. I have sipped 800 year-old beers. My olfactory senses have run headlong into the still-beating heart of a Nile-born crocodile. Once, in Massawa on the Red Sea, an elderly Croatian eunuch who had been force-fed only persimmon and organic brown rice for 2 decades, shat into my hands a product that I can only liken to what God must use for toothpaste.

Tonight was different. I was redlining a sensory overload rivaling the time I had to knife-fight a coked-up Anthony Bourdain for calling his taste in cuisine "as influential as the Ramones were to orthodontia." This night, this hazy timewarp had me reeling. There were flavors, not just something my mouth could relay to my brain, but multiple layers of taste and smell. Butters. Creams. Foams. Organ meats. Desserts. Sex. And porkfat. Oh dear... You see, you haven’t had bacon until it’s been run under the sweat-drenched breast of Ms. Paula Deen.

"That's ryt, sugar, you just let mamma do the cookin', and you do all the eatin' you can handle. I loooove it when you get a hand in my mixin' bowl and go to work. Hooo hooo, my Mrs. Butterworth done sprung a leak HAWT GOLLY."

Wading in and out of consciousness every time she pinched my nipples or drizzled hot clarified butter down my stomach, the booze-drenched coffee cake we’d put away was wrapping me in a mahogany haze of rum and insulin. My senses were crackling like funnel cakes in a deep-fryer thanks to the Ecstasy-infused crème fraiche I previously tongued from Paula’s open mouth. Sure, we’d gone full-sprint into Hedonism a few times, but this was something special.

In the past, it wasn't unusual that Guy Fieri would drop in and hang out if he were in the area. Guy liked to do a bump, kill a few White Russians (he once actually choked a half-blind Ukrainian girl to death in Memphis), wait for things to get hot and heavy, then sort of blend into the background – as best a guy dressed like Ed Hardy’s special-needs step-son can - and Guy would tug at his vienna sausage while Paula and I hit the passion buffet. I have never figured out why he wears only one sweatband on his wrist.

Paula brings tons of food and asks only that I bring half a Viagra and the Morning-after Pill. As a food critic it’s a pretty great gig. I eat great food all around the world for free, and when it comes to Paula, it’s really all you can eat, if you know what I mean. Or as she calls it, "Drinkin' from the gravy boat."

My medically-induced soupbone is throbbing to the point of near pain, and she’s rocking back and forth on me like she's churning butter. At one point I'm pretty sure a testicle went in there.

She’s telling me “No don’t you drop the batter on the griddle, hun. It’s not hot enough just yet. Yew hold onta that fer me, sweetloaf. When I need yer frostin', my cake'll be ready. I'm gettin' up on my third orgasm herrrrr, HOLY WAFFLE HOUSE.”

I glance down to watch her stomach hit mine as she leans into me, then rocks back, separating us with a gossamer sheen of butter and Bacardi and a dark… what is that… is that chocolate syrup? I black out again and my mind goes to a previous encounter of ours.

For a while we used butter and olive oil to saute our main course until she got a blue-ribbon yeast infection, which was probably kicked into high-gear by actual yeast and flour from the floor of her kitchen. For a while her crotch smelled like an old pair of Mario Batali's Crocs. Still, that was literally the best loaf of sourdough I’d ever had in my life. Now and again we mix up a batch for the diners at her restaurant “Lady & Sons.”

As I come to, I see a reflection in the mirror. It's the shaved, spray-tanned, Tazmanian Devil-tattooed calf and DC Skate Shoe'ed leg of Guy, off somewhere to my left. I sit, tied to a sticky, fluid-soaked chair with my purple root straining skyward from within a cannoli, my entire carcass glistening like a honey-glazed ham. The air is thick with musk, Malibu rum, peanut oil, an odd metallic scent, and a Glade Plug-in... "Cool Serenity" I think. Paula returns from the bathroom with a stemmed glass, pouring in a Tawny Port to top off our fleshy dessert. I glance over my shoulder and see Guy sitting backwards, but slumped over a chair. His shorts around one ankle, his shoes covered in a glossy red...

I take a sip from the glass pressed to my lips as my lover, Ms. Paula Deen, spits in her hand. She reaches down to twirl her fingers around the head of my GAAAA T THTHTTPTPPTTPHTHHFHFHFHFFF

I spit out the wine. It's gone sour or it's drugged, I can't tell which. It has a heavy smell, like a handful of old pennies... Like an animal. Like blood.

"Okay, sugar," she says, lowering herself to the floor, her sweat-matted head of lavender hair tickling my full stomach. She takes a big sip of the bloody port, spits it onto my love mushroom, and begins crunching through the cannoli.

"The griddle is ssssMOKIN' hot, sugar… Let's have that batter."



Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Monday, February 06, 2012

Lose FAAT with HIIT! $7 Program!

I rarely push any product. I don't believe in many of them to the point that I would tout them as "totally worth the effort to work for the money to afford them."

Turbulence Training is different
. It is a game-changer. It is about using your body as your gym, shortening your workouts, increasing your intensity, and giving you a mindset of training for fitness, not vanity. (Vanity is a fantastic side-effect, of course.

And for a very short time, Craig Ballantyne (Men's Health, Turbulence Training mastermind, Interval Training Guru, 8-pack Ab owner) is selling 3 of his best programs for only $7.

$7. You drank more than that watching the game.
$7. You ate more hot wings than that at lunch twice last week.
$7. That's it. Nothing more to buy.
2 programs, + 1 freebie. $7. Normally $90. No. $7. That's way cheaper.
But all the same workouts

When compared to driving to the gym ($3 gas) and getting a
Charbucks on the way ($4.50), this "at home fat burning method"
is already cheaper (and more effective) after just one day.

=> Save money and burn fat at home (here's how) Turbulence Training; BodyWeight Cardio

But hurry, Craig is only promising the solution
for just a few more hours.

PS - What the heck is this new type of cardio...

...that Geoff is goin' nuts over?

You're about to discover a way to burn fat and improve your
health without fancy, expensive equipment. FAST.

=> Save money and burn fat at home (Trade $7 for Fitness Here)
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Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Monday, October 03, 2011

Prob'ly my last Blogger blog

So I'm moving my coordinates in the Blogosphere over to this address:

HTTP://CRITICALDAD.WORDPRESS.COM

It's been 8 years of hammering through some death-inviting blogs here at Blogger.
But I need/want to monetize this writing like it was 2006, and Blogger's got one of those built-in technical blocks that keeps me from doing just that. They aren't targeting me, it's just a coding issue that keeps me from being allowed and able to get ads up on my blog here. Thus, I'm moving over to Critical Dad.

Before I go, here's why I love and hate writing.

I love creating. I embrace my creativity as a part of my Being, because it makes me feel Alive, and because for a long time, it was a negative. That is, growing up, my creativity was best used as a way of getting my entire body removed from Jr. High classes. I was a smart ass, a loudmouth, a knucklehead trying to get a laugh or tell a teacher I thought they were shit-full without using those words. So eventually, getting to a place where I could express my feelings and opinions - like anybody gives a crap - freed me to get it off my chest and out of my pool of white noise. It opened my mind up. I felt better.

I hate that I don't do it enough. I should, I have so much that bothers the hell out of me, but I let it go almost so quickly that it barely registers. And thus I should look less at the breaking moments and more at my own Principles, and how those are broken by people. I'm no Stoic, mind you, nor a self-righteous windbag. But I don't take my old furniture out to the dumpster nor toss my kid's unused toys in the recycling. I don't carry a small dog into grocery stores because I need attention. I can be a jerk, but not without reason. And the fact that I don't get jerky often enough here is to my detriment. Instead, I've been yelling at shitty neighbors more often than I should, and blasting an airhorn when walking past people texting behind the wheel.

So, it's been a riot, and I've been in dumb blogfights with people, so please read at your leisure. I'll compile a Top 10 Faves in a bit. For now, I have to go work out some issues.


Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Football Seasoning

FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL FOOTBALL
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Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Workin' It - Perspectives

It’s been over 5 years since I had a permanent, full-time, benefits+retirement+paid vacation job. 5 years. 1,500 days. I had one for a short time in 2008, but also had a few chances to make something bigger happen in my life, and thus happened the California misAdventures. Still, I wouldn’t trade those 14 months for anything in the world. However, I think a lot of folks may be taking what’s happened in the world, and how it missed them, for granted. And I’m hungry for it.


I want to take better care of my family. I work my ass off and want to be able to spend a full week at Christmas with my family and not fret over missing a week of pay. I want to give a company 50 hours a week, and a few on the weekend, and in return, bank a couple hundy for my retirement as a “thanks for last Saturday.” I’ll earn it.


As a contractor, I’ve busted my ass in large companies around the Puget Sound in order to keep working, maybe be brought on full-time, as well as gain experience. Not all companies work like that anymore. I haven’t had paid vacations, bonuses, nor the ability to really dump $ into my retirement accounts. This is what I’ve sacrificed in the face of “do not change. Change nothing. Don’t shake it up. Sit tight.” Financially it hasn’t been the best move. Sitting on the side of the “have not as much’es” (but still doing well), I miss out on money if I take days off work to go on a trip with the family. This is part of being a contract employee. My efforts go towards realizing the goals of the organizations I work in. I receive money for that. That’s all. It’s fact, not jealousy. And a lot of people I see who haven’t changed a thing in their careers have missed the point: If you’re not growing, you’re wilting.


In the meantime, I have scooped up experiences most folks have missed out on completely while their salary adjusted 3% up, and they complained. And they received a company-wide performance bonus, and complained it wasn’t as large as last year’s. I pay out of pocket for health benefits, and it doesn’t cover everything, which still matters around tax time. Full timers had to pay another $5 on the co-pay, and complained about getting screwed. Stress is a killer, ma’am. Take it easy. What a hard life you’re pushing through so valiantly. I know this is true, because I’ve heard it all. I’ve heard the complaints, the whining, the “can you believe what they’re doing to us?” whispered at the machine pumping out free lattes.


Don’t take these things for granted. These are perks, not rights. We’re not entitled to any of it. It’s a bonus, a hug, a little extra tongue on the second date. Have you really earned it? Did you create the iPad? Did you find the secret to no-burn cookies? Have you found a way to introduce demographically-targeted birth control so that the affluent neighborhoods are producing more children? No... You haven’t. Remember that the next time you are watching “Rio” from your back as your teeth go 2 shades whiter.


Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Battle Of The Blands

Revelation last week. While watching a comedian I really like and respect perform a very similar bit to one of mine, my lap felt cold. My joke-boner fell. Frankly, it's true that I have re-hashed too much work within my comedy. It's been too long since I introduced anything truly new, a chunk or a bit or a longer-form run of humor. It's important that I write what I think is funny, but lately all that comes out are lamentations.
About the state of this country (catatonic stupor/corn syrup insulin-crashing).
About religion and those who adhere to it as a lifestyle instead of a guiding light. Loving The Lord is a different expression than Paranoia.
About childless couples throwing shit-looks when my gorgeous and well-behaved son and wife and I sit down near them in a restaurant. Leave, fucko. Eat at the bar.

I'm a happy man and a fed-up American and a bored comedian. That has to amount to something. I'm not boo-hooing the passion I have found in Stand-up Comedy. My reverence for Sahl, Martin, Pryor, Cosby, Hicks, et al fuels much of my desire to accept gigs. My ego thinks I have something to say. So I'm probably just putting too much pressure on myself to make something count for eeeeeverybody sitting in the room at a comedy show. Instead, I need to go back to the drawing board, and draw the shapes of letters that become words and from there, jokes.

I need to do what I think is Funny, that's the trick. Like any work, it's important to do what YOU think is Good Work. Otherwise you're wasting your time and the time of the person paying you to check Facebook just reeeeeal quick. Comedy is a privilege and a passion to be part of. I'm lucky. Sadly, I've also been lazy. Time to turn that around and put it on its knees and tell it to say my name.

Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT