The Blog That Puts A Knee Into Goldencrotch

Yet another shot has crossed the bow of the Lott Luxury Liner. I am often taking fire from other vessels and light artillery. Firing gives away one's position, however. You know that... you silly, dumb, wee spirit of a man. And again, You have fired.

You see, as I sit at my desk of gainful employment, listening to the perceived "funnies" of people also employed by the 2nd worst-managed company of all time - the first being whichever company Tony will sexually harrass into an early grave during his lifetime - I am reminded that just about everyone believes they can "bring the funny."
The lady obsessed with Smeagol and therefore doing his voice every 2.4 hours? "Funny."
The guy who brought in a squirt gun or 3 to "liven things up?" "Funny."
The Hortense Cumberpatch of a woman who will answer ANY question you have... For a Fee! Does it have to be the Right Answer? "Funny."
The gal who calls the other ladies "girlfriend"s? "Annoying," and "barren," yet to many, "funny."
The fella who laughs at his own quips, yet makes everyone else uncomfortable with his wild-eyed opportunistic jumping-in with a Sandler movie catch-phrase? "Funny."

It goes like this. I could really give 1.8 to 2.3 linear feet of corn-eyed butt trout as to how You get to your funny. But however you get to it, the party is on. Started LONG before I got there. Long before you did, also. So you get your Funny, and you Bring It. Got it? Don't say "Oh I left it in my other career," or "I can't follow Gervin." You put your name on the list, you go on-stage, and deliver funny by the shovel-load into the laps of laughter-horny crowd members.

Until THAT happens for longer than 11 minutes 47 seconds, I will see that Funny is always being Broughten, and therefore you need to take the pressure of Yourself to bring it. It's too heavy for you. Sorry champ. Maybe next set.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a paying gig tonight in Marysville. Boast Toast.

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My Non-Funny Blog.