I just found out my work neighbor makes most of her own socks.
It kind of writes it's own punchline.
====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Friday, October 01, 2004
Public Display of Infection 2.oh!
Wednesday night I went on what was the best date of my life. Great food, great conversation, great scenery, great music, great chemistry. And it ended the way most of my dates do: Street nudity followed by a near-fatal multi-car accident. As we walked out of a lower Queen Anne cantina, I opened my date's door, shut it gentlemanly as she comfied herself on the leather buckets, and walked driver's-side to roll home-ward. As I did, I noticed the rather loud music coming from the SUV in front of me, the driver's side door open. I knew it was going to be a fun story because I was hearing Sitars and a little deep raga wafting over the noise of cab-bound drunken secretaries and a drifter, mid street-crap. Every bloggable story starts with sitar music.
By that SUV's open door stood a man, naked from the waist down. I, too, have been this moved by a Shakti rock-block. I hop in my ride and ask my date if she'd like to see a naked man. Her laughter turned to guffaws as she honked the horn to the man ahead of us, now quickly tossing on his boxers, which were, from the best I could tell in the varied lighting, "car porking orange." Old Navy carries 'em, check 'em out. I did not physilogically see the man's penis, but he WAS in a major metropolitan area driving a large SUV with 22-inch rims and loud stereo. So yeah, I guess I did see his penis.
The bobbing shadow in the SUV's cab showed me that he wasn't the only one re-dressing their personage. For a second I thought he was just a dude getting off his shift at a local restaurant or water show, changing for a night on the town. The shadow killed the dream that this was an everynight occurence, but hey, Sitars and moon-lit cocks, here comes a STORY! I wasn't sure the shadow was cast by a woman, but I assumed so, since I highly doubt a gay man would have sex with somebody standing outside an SUV wearing khakis and a denim shirt. I almost asked him when the movies had to be back. Instead, I gave the man a thumbs up. Way to go, bro.
As we pull up to the next stop light, his car sidles along mine, and he's giving me lady and I the "roll down the window" sign, or the "my finger smells funny" sign. He says to us "It's a new thing called Tahoe Aerobics, I highly recommend it." (The 2005 Chevy Tahoe: With 900 foot-pounds of torque and plenty of room to wheelbarrow your honey, it's the SUV chosen number 1 buy "Adultery Monthly.") The expression of his passenger was a metaphorical "thumbs down" to the recent event, or perhaps a "thumbs up" in that "please, I can't be in this car any longer!" way. Or maybe it was a look that reminded all of us to get paid for services up front. Light goes green, I'm trying to figure out why he's confirming what we'd already assumed. We get it, your cheating on your girlfriend with your wife, whatever. Judging from this guy's neck-whipping acceleration off the line, he was either a thrill seeker or in the company of a close-to-curfew babysitter.
We all got on the I-5 North on-ramp off of Mercer, and he's ahead of me. Ahead of him is another SUV, white in color, offsetting his blood-red ride. For some reason, Backseat Neil tries to get to the left of the white SUV, which had room to move right, but refused to, out of a much larger want to f*ck his paintjob than yield to a short guy with a penchant for public pumpin'. Whitey yields, Streetmeat Red roars on into the night. For the second time within 30 minutes, he f*cked a total stranger!
All I could figure after witnessing his methods of aggro merge & swerve was that f*cking in a car in front of Peso's ain't quite the relaxing vacation it's HY HY HYPED up to be. If you can drive that fast and reckless after sex, it probably didn't count.
My date ended the way they usually do. I get the stitches out next Tuesday. How many kidneys do you need to live anyway?
Arriba and Bonus Nachos.
p.s./f.c.r. If you haven't clued in yet, yes, my date and I remained chaste throughout the evening. I want to try and do the right things with this woman. I figured I'd save the roofies for Role Playing night. When I black out, I'll know the time is right.
=====================================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
By that SUV's open door stood a man, naked from the waist down. I, too, have been this moved by a Shakti rock-block. I hop in my ride and ask my date if she'd like to see a naked man. Her laughter turned to guffaws as she honked the horn to the man ahead of us, now quickly tossing on his boxers, which were, from the best I could tell in the varied lighting, "car porking orange." Old Navy carries 'em, check 'em out. I did not physilogically see the man's penis, but he WAS in a major metropolitan area driving a large SUV with 22-inch rims and loud stereo. So yeah, I guess I did see his penis.
The bobbing shadow in the SUV's cab showed me that he wasn't the only one re-dressing their personage. For a second I thought he was just a dude getting off his shift at a local restaurant or water show, changing for a night on the town. The shadow killed the dream that this was an everynight occurence, but hey, Sitars and moon-lit cocks, here comes a STORY! I wasn't sure the shadow was cast by a woman, but I assumed so, since I highly doubt a gay man would have sex with somebody standing outside an SUV wearing khakis and a denim shirt. I almost asked him when the movies had to be back. Instead, I gave the man a thumbs up. Way to go, bro.
As we pull up to the next stop light, his car sidles along mine, and he's giving me lady and I the "roll down the window" sign, or the "my finger smells funny" sign. He says to us "It's a new thing called Tahoe Aerobics, I highly recommend it." (The 2005 Chevy Tahoe: With 900 foot-pounds of torque and plenty of room to wheelbarrow your honey, it's the SUV chosen number 1 buy "Adultery Monthly.") The expression of his passenger was a metaphorical "thumbs down" to the recent event, or perhaps a "thumbs up" in that "please, I can't be in this car any longer!" way. Or maybe it was a look that reminded all of us to get paid for services up front. Light goes green, I'm trying to figure out why he's confirming what we'd already assumed. We get it, your cheating on your girlfriend with your wife, whatever. Judging from this guy's neck-whipping acceleration off the line, he was either a thrill seeker or in the company of a close-to-curfew babysitter.
We all got on the I-5 North on-ramp off of Mercer, and he's ahead of me. Ahead of him is another SUV, white in color, offsetting his blood-red ride. For some reason, Backseat Neil tries to get to the left of the white SUV, which had room to move right, but refused to, out of a much larger want to f*ck his paintjob than yield to a short guy with a penchant for public pumpin'. Whitey yields, Streetmeat Red roars on into the night. For the second time within 30 minutes, he f*cked a total stranger!
All I could figure after witnessing his methods of aggro merge & swerve was that f*cking in a car in front of Peso's ain't quite the relaxing vacation it's HY HY HYPED up to be. If you can drive that fast and reckless after sex, it probably didn't count.
My date ended the way they usually do. I get the stitches out next Tuesday. How many kidneys do you need to live anyway?
Arriba and Bonus Nachos.
p.s./f.c.r. If you haven't clued in yet, yes, my date and I remained chaste throughout the evening. I want to try and do the right things with this woman. I figured I'd save the roofies for Role Playing night. When I black out, I'll know the time is right.
=====================================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
The Upside Of Downtime
In the past two years I've been involved in semi-regular headchecking sessions. No, not hockey with quadraplegics... that's not going to help my "not going to Hell" campaign... I'm talking about therapy. In these sessions I have bared my soul to a person who has been trained to address any issue like a professional, but with heart and concern. It is in that chair, 10 feet from a non-judgmental professional that I found out how I became who I was then, and how I got to be who I am now.
Perfect? Nope, far from it, and totally fine with that. Nobody will ever get a diploma declaring them to be Normal, no matter how much counseling they participate in, nor how many pills, pies, or pints they throw down their throat. I have come to the realization that pretty much everyone's got a flaw. Perfection is solely the work of the Creator, and she's letting things go of their own accord these days, even parenting, even society... even Me. I like flawed people who call out their flaws. If you have a fake leg, address it by saying "I have a prosthetic leg. Hand me those bottles and we'll make this the best OzzFest EVER, WOOOOOOOOO OOOZZZYYYY!!!" Anybody who thinks they have cruised into adulthood without a few chips in the paintjob, rocks to the windshield, thrown-door ding & scratch combos is in desperate need of a full oil, lube, and filter, and they best get a look at the tranny, too. Especially if they're dating a cross-dresser.
I first sought out a counselor while battling a deep depression brought on by a number of things. I felt as if I was unworthy of the best of life because I hadn't suffered enough for it. I was living in fear that if I did, indeed, achieve anything of note in life I would next be struck down by God, errant golfballs, rabid gophers, or a dipshit named Nick on a Harley-Davidson. The last of those actually happened. But I hadn't felt such a dark pall over my life ever before, and I was tired of lugging it around. It affected my friendships, my relationships, and worst of all, it affected my happiness.
The stigma of therapy comes from people believing in the old "laying on the couch griping about the unattentive parent." That's all false. I sit in a chair. The point is this, our brains get wired as kids as to how we will love, achieve, and get through life. That wiring isn't always done by the most skilled of hands. Some kids turn out to be arm-chopping back country hikers. Some turn out creating computer languages that revolutionize how we get recipes for porn cake. Some turn out to hear voices that tell them kidnap prostitutes, while some just hear the voices that suggest haggling with her. How? When? Why? Those are the questions I had to ask myself, and then step back and look at my life's tapestry (so confidently masculine that I used the word "tapestry") for the Big Slideshow.
I turned out just about how every kid who comes from my background turns out. So, for what was mine, I'm normal. But that "normal" SUCKED. And I decided to unravel those threads and fix what flaws I could. It was scary, because who the F knew if I could ever get it back to looking like it used to. Then again, that's why I was there, because of how it looked. It takes far more courage to admit one's faults, and work to right them, than it does to fault one's right to be happy. In other words, you can be your own best critic or your own worst opponent. Don't fight dirty with yourself. You can't win.
Long story longer, I now realize that the journey of self-assessment and enlightenment NEVER ends. When you stop growing, you start dying. Simple biology lesson for ya, sans tax & tip. So I've decided that I am never going to stop taking time to assess my life and Who I Am. The more I learn about me, the more I can empathize with others, and the less I feel the need to neck-bat people for standing in front of me in a coffee shop without knowing what they want.
P.S. No, I am not crazy. However, I did have a tendency of attracting them for a while. Sorry Crazy-Moths, this bulb is needed for the stage lighting.
---------------
====================
GO SEE DWIGHT SLADE!
GO SEE TODD BARRY!
GO SEE ME! (Comedy Underground on Thursday, Laughs on Friday, Giggles on Saturday)
====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog. (like this one was fawking legendary)
Perfect? Nope, far from it, and totally fine with that. Nobody will ever get a diploma declaring them to be Normal, no matter how much counseling they participate in, nor how many pills, pies, or pints they throw down their throat. I have come to the realization that pretty much everyone's got a flaw. Perfection is solely the work of the Creator, and she's letting things go of their own accord these days, even parenting, even society... even Me. I like flawed people who call out their flaws. If you have a fake leg, address it by saying "I have a prosthetic leg. Hand me those bottles and we'll make this the best OzzFest EVER, WOOOOOOOOO OOOZZZYYYY!!!" Anybody who thinks they have cruised into adulthood without a few chips in the paintjob, rocks to the windshield, thrown-door ding & scratch combos is in desperate need of a full oil, lube, and filter, and they best get a look at the tranny, too. Especially if they're dating a cross-dresser.
I first sought out a counselor while battling a deep depression brought on by a number of things. I felt as if I was unworthy of the best of life because I hadn't suffered enough for it. I was living in fear that if I did, indeed, achieve anything of note in life I would next be struck down by God, errant golfballs, rabid gophers, or a dipshit named Nick on a Harley-Davidson. The last of those actually happened. But I hadn't felt such a dark pall over my life ever before, and I was tired of lugging it around. It affected my friendships, my relationships, and worst of all, it affected my happiness.
The stigma of therapy comes from people believing in the old "laying on the couch griping about the unattentive parent." That's all false. I sit in a chair. The point is this, our brains get wired as kids as to how we will love, achieve, and get through life. That wiring isn't always done by the most skilled of hands. Some kids turn out to be arm-chopping back country hikers. Some turn out creating computer languages that revolutionize how we get recipes for porn cake. Some turn out to hear voices that tell them kidnap prostitutes, while some just hear the voices that suggest haggling with her. How? When? Why? Those are the questions I had to ask myself, and then step back and look at my life's tapestry (so confidently masculine that I used the word "tapestry") for the Big Slideshow.
I turned out just about how every kid who comes from my background turns out. So, for what was mine, I'm normal. But that "normal" SUCKED. And I decided to unravel those threads and fix what flaws I could. It was scary, because who the F knew if I could ever get it back to looking like it used to. Then again, that's why I was there, because of how it looked. It takes far more courage to admit one's faults, and work to right them, than it does to fault one's right to be happy. In other words, you can be your own best critic or your own worst opponent. Don't fight dirty with yourself. You can't win.
Long story longer, I now realize that the journey of self-assessment and enlightenment NEVER ends. When you stop growing, you start dying. Simple biology lesson for ya, sans tax & tip. So I've decided that I am never going to stop taking time to assess my life and Who I Am. The more I learn about me, the more I can empathize with others, and the less I feel the need to neck-bat people for standing in front of me in a coffee shop without knowing what they want.
P.S. No, I am not crazy. However, I did have a tendency of attracting them for a while. Sorry Crazy-Moths, this bulb is needed for the stage lighting.
---------------
====================
GO SEE DWIGHT SLADE!
GO SEE TODD BARRY!
GO SEE ME! (Comedy Underground on Thursday, Laughs on Friday, Giggles on Saturday)
====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog. (like this one was fawking legendary)
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
The Joy Of Sectional Seating
Tuesdate
So I checked out the Personality Disorder test that you may have read on Blaine's Blog or Blogo De Shoogs. I took the test myself and I had a High level/tendency towards narcissism, and everything else was pretty low. I don't disagree with that, I find myself to be self-involved and self-preserving, unless someone could use a hand or asks for help, then I will pitch in. Usually free of charge, but gawd knows it's nice to move a dresser with the promise of a cold six on the receiving end. I have been told that I am elitist, a bit of an a-hole, and a f*cking (fill in the blank). To each their own opinion. I have had moments, hell, months of my life where I truly did not give two loaves about anybody else. That period usually followed a spate of me being too involved in things other than my life, and that imbalance usually gets one in trouble. I'm much more balanced now. I rarely venture out of my world now.
The questions of the test were pretty funny, too. I posted a few here that were pretty much loaded questions, or at the least, poorly written, in a way to cause some confusion in the test-taker, because a lot of people are pretty dumb. Let's be honest, you're probably a co-worker of someone who's lips move when they type, and who breathes with their mouth open.
Some of the questions!
So I checked out the Personality Disorder test that you may have read on Blaine's Blog or Blogo De Shoogs. I took the test myself and I had a High level/tendency towards narcissism, and everything else was pretty low. I don't disagree with that, I find myself to be self-involved and self-preserving, unless someone could use a hand or asks for help, then I will pitch in. Usually free of charge, but gawd knows it's nice to move a dresser with the promise of a cold six on the receiving end. I have been told that I am elitist, a bit of an a-hole, and a f*cking (fill in the blank). To each their own opinion. I have had moments, hell, months of my life where I truly did not give two loaves about anybody else. That period usually followed a spate of me being too involved in things other than my life, and that imbalance usually gets one in trouble. I'm much more balanced now. I rarely venture out of my world now.
The questions of the test were pretty funny, too. I posted a few here that were pretty much loaded questions, or at the least, poorly written, in a way to cause some confusion in the test-taker, because a lot of people are pretty dumb. Let's be honest, you're probably a co-worker of someone who's lips move when they type, and who breathes with their mouth open.
Some of the questions!
- Do you tend to avoid social relationships? "Social relationships." Please define. Like general, "hey what's up?," superficial stuff, or ???
- Do you find yourself unaffected by praise or criticism? Do I have to be unaffected by both? Someone was too lazy to type another question.
- Do you feel a yearning for acceptance among your peers? Did you just use the word "yearning?" Acceptance... I don't know. I guess if I consider them my friends. I'd rather be feared than accepted. Or no, lusted after, that's it.
- Do others see you as being cold and distant? And if you answered Yes, how can you be sure, if you're that distant?
- Do you find it hard to concentrate on one thing for a long time? Define "long time." Also, it depends on what that one thing is, and what # date I'm on.
- Do you sometimes profit at the expense of others, without being bothered by the pain or damage you may cause them? Yeah, every day. If there was anybody else with no foresight who wanted this job and didn't get it, then yes, every day we all do that. Do you do X without feeling the Y that others may feel? I don't know what others MAY feel.
- Do you consider your needs to be more important to you than the needs of others? Yes, all the time. My needs are more important to me than the needs of others because I'm responsible for getting them met. I can't give a man a fish if I haven't caught one, can I?
- Are you often uninterested in the feelings of others? The loaded "negative affirmation" question. Do you not want to answer this?
- Do other people accuse you of being manipulative? Ssometimes, but I can usually change their minds.
- Have you ever been in jail or done something that you could be put in jail for? Try answering this honestly, including every time you drove your car after a few Xanax & tonics.
- Do other people accuse you of being self-centered? Perhaps. I don't really pay attention.
- Do you have trouble not taking criticism personally? See, they do it again here, the negative affirmation. What the hell is the deal here, do they think I'm not going to see this? Do they think I am some bimbo? FAWK THIS TEST! I AM GOING TO THROTTLE THE NEXT PERSON WHO DECIDES IT IS THEIR PLACE TO PLAY "PEOPLE'S COURT" WITH MY DREAMS! SOMEBODY.... IS GOING... TO DIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGRRRRRRHGHGGHGHRHRRHAAAAAAAAAAAA
- Are you prone to bouts of anger? A resounding "SNORT" and a "NO, thank you."
- Do you often get stuck on the details while missing the larger picture? Sometimes, but I find that women kind of like that. And isn't that what it's all about, lying to women?
- Are you very concerned with your appearance and how others perceive you? Why, do I look heavy to you? "Very" concerned? No. This should be two questions. "Are you concerned with your appearance?" and "Are you concerned that others think you're a slob?"
- Do others accuse you of being rigid or stubborn? This question is horse-apples and I refuse to cotton to such banality. I say GOOD DAY, Sir. Thomas will show you to the door.
I hope you can see that this test is not 100% accurate, but I do have to agree on the narcissism. I'm a bit of an elitist, and while I understand that other people will say things about other people, I hope that when I come up in conversation, as I tend to do, they realize that I don't care what they say, just so long as they're talking about me. Press is press, people, even if it's a "stolen" romp tape and a pending lawsuit. Nothing can remove the memories of my weekend with that Mrs. Garrett look-alike.
Narcissism is a level of self-involvement that borders on insecurity. A semi-constant wondering how I am perceived by others, OR a high level of self-concern. Hmm.... I can look at myself naked and know that I'm surely not obsessed about my looks. I can see that I'm losing some hair and have yet to replace it with a convertible (irony?), but I do want a Benzo Roadster at some point. I like to dress well and smell nice. I read books and articles about overcoming fear and anxiety in order to achieve the highest goals in life. And when I hear reports of people speaking badly of me, I laugh. For some reason, I guffaw loudly as it rolls off my back. I have developed a sense of humor about myself as a shield against the photons of low-thinkers. And I do these things because I like to, because I want to be this person I am constantly becoming, and not because I want to fling it in the face of the tragically unattractive.
Anyway, I have a personality disorder, according to that test. Just one, after 30 years? I guess I have every reason to love, love, love the Me that is the I that I am for My Self. I need a little "Me" time... if I know what I mean.
----------------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Football, Comedy, Football, Green Lake, Talking Meatball, Footmeat, Greenball, Audition, Love Machine, Fomedy, Cootball, LoserAss, Junk In Da Trunk, And of Course, Football
Oh dear gawd, it's Mon-F*cking-day already. The only way for me to start this week is as I'm doing it right now, manipulating the lettered buttons of this "board" to produce words that form recognizable structures of communication in your friggin' brain. Dig my technological advances with a side of honey mustard ass-kicking sizzauce. Go ahead, dip & lick yer fingers. Enjoy.
I just watched the weirdest Aqua Teen Hunger Force ('toon network, look it up) of all time. In an effort to get Meatwad to lose weight, Frylock attempts to put him on a diet. Carl gets involved by using the South Bronx Paradise diet candybar, which helps him lose weight by the handful, including his ass-deposited liver, over a few hours. "I thought I felt somethin' slip," says Carl. Turns out it was the South Bronx ParaSITE diet, so you can imagine the extreme effects. In the meantime, MasterShake is making Funnel Cakes and brownies to get Meatwad fatter, so that MasterShake can win. 'Shake's secret strategy? Sticking a shop-vac into his straw right before weigh-in (it kills him). Carl wins the contest when a giant millipede erupts from his gut and drags Carl's body onto the scale, chanting in the voice of Emmanuel Lewis from "Webster," "I WIN! I WIN!"
(If you have no frigging clue what I'm talking about, that's what it's like to talk to a woman who tells stories about her friends you've never met. Everyone's losing weight, and one's got a virus inside of her.)
I got really bad food poisoning last Thursday. That's the last time I eat vending-machine Sushi.
HAX-TV will return next week on 10/05/04, with new sketches and a fresh outlook on life. A couple weeks back I did a candid review of the Open Mic Comedillio at the Underpants, and one of the performers from that night & review was a pile by the moniker of "Major." Generally a guy who is trying to be the life of every party, even if it's a wake, he's got a false confidence that comes from being 6'3'' and 300lbs, sporting a really intricate tattoo (read: covering up something embarrassing, like a guy's name or a swastika), and donning sleeveless attire while lacking muscle tone. Were it not for my sureness that he was packing a bootknife, I probably would have had a go at him. Anyway, in the lobby of SCAN is an article about that same guy, Major, having his own TV show on SCAN a while ago. Anybody can do it. Sadly, anybody will do. We want ours to be the Joe Millionaire of Public Access. A 1-season phenom that launches us all into stardom. Mercedes E55, here's I come.
Back now:
Football & It's Affect on Dating.
I didn't watch a lick of Seattle football this weekend. I watched a ton of other teams and schools go at it, but the Huskies are really bad this year, and the Hawks are really good. Besides, I had a hot date on Sunday afternoon, and she was far more interesting than the 'Hawks 34-0 Dirty Sanchez'ing of the Niners. Until the Oh! network (that sounds hawt) starts a Dating Highlights show, I feel okay about skipping the game now and again. "As you can see here, Lott jumps the count and goes right for the flank, but comes up short after being brought down by a facemask. He was carted off with an embarrassed libido and later traded for a man with all his hair and a leased 325ci."
I realize, also, that it's quite impossible for me to date someone more than 5 years younger than me. Not that women aren't beautiful in their own ways at all ages, but damn, there's just no shared experiences there. That's the way this wheel keeps rolling, though.
I'm thinking it's time for a good practical joke to be played at the office. I want to try the old "free pizza and donuts" e-mail, then leave empty boxes of each in the lunchroom, except for one of each with bites out of them, then see if anyone takes it. Perhaps sugar cookies where the sugar is actually salt? Out of Order signs on the Fridge? Somebody's been taking food out of the refrigerator again, so perhaps it's time for a booby-trapped item? "Oh my, I've never seen a California Roll just catch on fire in someone's mouth like that." Anybody got ideas?
I gotta get back to work now. Have a good Monday. Check out my schedule, btw, as I'll be headlining Laughs soon, and also, there's a hellacious weekend of comedy coming up. Where do we go? Where do we go now?
--------------------------
Take Me Home Tonight, I Don't Wanna Let You Go Till I See The Light
My Non-Funny Blog.
Oh dear gawd, it's Mon-F*cking-day already. The only way for me to start this week is as I'm doing it right now, manipulating the lettered buttons of this "board" to produce words that form recognizable structures of communication in your friggin' brain. Dig my technological advances with a side of honey mustard ass-kicking sizzauce. Go ahead, dip & lick yer fingers. Enjoy.
I just watched the weirdest Aqua Teen Hunger Force ('toon network, look it up) of all time. In an effort to get Meatwad to lose weight, Frylock attempts to put him on a diet. Carl gets involved by using the South Bronx Paradise diet candybar, which helps him lose weight by the handful, including his ass-deposited liver, over a few hours. "I thought I felt somethin' slip," says Carl. Turns out it was the South Bronx ParaSITE diet, so you can imagine the extreme effects. In the meantime, MasterShake is making Funnel Cakes and brownies to get Meatwad fatter, so that MasterShake can win. 'Shake's secret strategy? Sticking a shop-vac into his straw right before weigh-in (it kills him). Carl wins the contest when a giant millipede erupts from his gut and drags Carl's body onto the scale, chanting in the voice of Emmanuel Lewis from "Webster," "I WIN! I WIN!"
(If you have no frigging clue what I'm talking about, that's what it's like to talk to a woman who tells stories about her friends you've never met. Everyone's losing weight, and one's got a virus inside of her.)
I got really bad food poisoning last Thursday. That's the last time I eat vending-machine Sushi.
HAX-TV will return next week on 10/05/04, with new sketches and a fresh outlook on life. A couple weeks back I did a candid review of the Open Mic Comedillio at the Underpants, and one of the performers from that night & review was a pile by the moniker of "Major." Generally a guy who is trying to be the life of every party, even if it's a wake, he's got a false confidence that comes from being 6'3'' and 300lbs, sporting a really intricate tattoo (read: covering up something embarrassing, like a guy's name or a swastika), and donning sleeveless attire while lacking muscle tone. Were it not for my sureness that he was packing a bootknife, I probably would have had a go at him. Anyway, in the lobby of SCAN is an article about that same guy, Major, having his own TV show on SCAN a while ago. Anybody can do it. Sadly, anybody will do. We want ours to be the Joe Millionaire of Public Access. A 1-season phenom that launches us all into stardom. Mercedes E55, here's I come.
Back now:
Football & It's Affect on Dating.
I didn't watch a lick of Seattle football this weekend. I watched a ton of other teams and schools go at it, but the Huskies are really bad this year, and the Hawks are really good. Besides, I had a hot date on Sunday afternoon, and she was far more interesting than the 'Hawks 34-0 Dirty Sanchez'ing of the Niners. Until the Oh! network (that sounds hawt) starts a Dating Highlights show, I feel okay about skipping the game now and again. "As you can see here, Lott jumps the count and goes right for the flank, but comes up short after being brought down by a facemask. He was carted off with an embarrassed libido and later traded for a man with all his hair and a leased 325ci."
I realize, also, that it's quite impossible for me to date someone more than 5 years younger than me. Not that women aren't beautiful in their own ways at all ages, but damn, there's just no shared experiences there. That's the way this wheel keeps rolling, though.
I'm thinking it's time for a good practical joke to be played at the office. I want to try the old "free pizza and donuts" e-mail, then leave empty boxes of each in the lunchroom, except for one of each with bites out of them, then see if anyone takes it. Perhaps sugar cookies where the sugar is actually salt? Out of Order signs on the Fridge? Somebody's been taking food out of the refrigerator again, so perhaps it's time for a booby-trapped item? "Oh my, I've never seen a California Roll just catch on fire in someone's mouth like that." Anybody got ideas?
I gotta get back to work now. Have a good Monday. Check out my schedule, btw, as I'll be headlining Laughs soon, and also, there's a hellacious weekend of comedy coming up. Where do we go? Where do we go now?
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Take Me Home Tonight, I Don't Wanna Let You Go Till I See The Light
My Non-Funny Blog.
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