Blog About Potilical Simepplings

Gonna have to vote in a week. Go do it. It's your right as an American to vote. It's a right that was fought for by millions of people over the past 230 years. It's not a fun thing, per se, which is why they oughtta open all voting booths near food establishments. Christ, America is all about Capitalism and Special Interests anyway, go put a booth in a Krusty Krepes and people will turn out like a mid-70's Who concert.

Rock For Change campaign's running strong. Springsteen's stumping with Kerry. It's been a Summer/Fall-long run of people attending shows with the agenda of getting Bush out of office. Understoond. Most everyone's got an agenda. This one, however, eesh, I don't know. I am happy that public figures are making pleas to get us 'Mer'cans in the booths, but f*ck if I want a President voted into office by people who thought it was a great idea to camp overnight for a shot at seeing Jackson Browne open for the Dixie Chicks.

You get my point. It's voting for the sake of voting, and that's about all we're gonna get right now. However, I'm hoping and somewhat believing that people are educating themselves more deeply on the "issues" affecting our country: National Security, Health Care, Social Security, Terrorist Insurance, Hymen Rejuvenation, Whatever Tracy Tuffs Is Doing, Low-Carb Diets, and Tax Structures. Iraq does not affect our country. It affects Iraq, and I have no friends there, so I give a shit.

I'm voting to approve I-884, to get money into schools. I'm voting against I-892 so that slot machines won't pop up on every street corner, regardless of revenue opportunities. It cheapens the neighborhoods, the stores, and it's greatly hated by Jackson Browne.

That's a shitty call-back.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Where I Realize How Much Work I Must Do

So what is "hack" in comedy, according to other comics?
Pretty much everything on this list, and I'm sure I've done all of them at some point or another.

Well, I'm gonna be in the lab a lot longer than I thought. G'night.

I am off to Michigan to see my cousin get married off. I wish her the best of love and growth and warmth in this new stage of her life.
Thank you God, for open bars.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Full of Schwag

I would watch nothing but C-Span if it were anything like Taiwan's Governmental Debates.

"You've got no shame!" screamed Chu Fong-chih of the opposition Nationalist Party, after throwing a take-out box of chicken and rice at Chen Tsung-yi, a legislator from the ruling Democratic Progressive Party who backed the special budget.

As it stands now I feel like I keep hittin' the 984 minute mark of Rep. Gerry Manderbustin's filibuster on the evils of low-rise tube socks and short-cropped hair on the female children. Let's see a person from the right throw a left hook, then MAYBE we'll talk. Until then, I'm voting the Green Curry line! Get it! OH MAN, DOES THE FUN EVER START?
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I've Been This Excited Before
Puss And Boots. Two people get caught in a rainstorm, break into a shoe store, feel frisky, and get it on amongst the boots. It's gross. They were both drifters.
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And Now For Head's Up - 7Up
I think I'm on the Teacher's side here. Parent arrives in classroom, teacher and parent get into brawl, parent goes to hospital, teacher goes to jail. See Teacher Run. See Teacher Get Pepper Sprayed.
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Probably Because God Hates Gay Sports
I'm not sure if anybody saw it, but there is video going around of a figure skater being dropped on her face after her partner stumbled and dropped her on her face. I want this video to share with you, but all I can find is news of Lindsay Lohan on the come-back from a high-fever. If you've seen the video you know the devastation of which I speak. I plan to implement it in my upcoming arm-wrestling match with Tony "Mousey On Jam Shorts" Moser.




Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About Moses On Jamba Juice

He's at it again.
You probably have no idea who I'm talking about since he's mostly diapers with a car.

Tony "Moses On Jamba Juice" Moser is up in the grill of yours truly, making attempts to rattle my gilded mic stand. I've tried to listen to the underlying message of his rantings about me. I've let the words fall aside and squinted so that I may look not at the mirrors, lava lamps, and smoke drifting from Moser's breathing holes, but at the intent of those words. Well I saw that intent my friends. And it was blank.

He was basically typing just to hear himself type. He's now taking credit for the songs written by bands such as Poison and Slaughter. He's stealing. He's plagiarizing the work of these men he so very much desires to look like in order to, basically, steal the clout of one Bradford Whitcomb Ainsely Undersworth Brake III. Keep trying, Mose.

I'm admit, I am NOT in Tony's league. I skipped it on my way to "confoundingly astonishing" at 3 months into this whole comedy thing. Tony sees me outside of his league, but he's so backwards that he believes he's looking behind him and there he sees me, but actually, I'm AHEAD of him, and he's forgotten what the future looks like. He's living in the past. Actually, he's living in a dreamworld populated by aromatic midgets, and he thinks it's the future. In reality, he's living in his mom's closet again. Nice pants, Gay Lord.

Deal with Moser any way that you must, but remember this: He is only out to please ONE PERSON; And when that woman of ill repute comes along Tony will finally quit comedy and become her lap dog. And maybe THEN, she'll realize what a real man it takes to do it the way it's done by Bradford Ainsmob Whitforth Underpants the Broken VII.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About Travel and Self-Censorship

I fly out to Michigan on Wednesday morning. Not sure which airline it is. I usually don't look, care, or pack until an hour before I'm leaving for the airport.

That's not true. I'm past that phase of life. I have had those trips where I'm f*ck off until the last 3 hours before I am supposed to be at the airport, sweating my way through packing useless items. I am 30 years old, for crying out loud, I should know that I need at LEAST a toothbrush, a t-shirt, one pair of underwear, and a decent book for a week away from home. I can do that. And I'm flying which means I'll be packed in a tube of "who's who in day tripping."

I think I'm going to fake some sort of 'tard so that I can get whatever I want on the plane. Nothing violent, but if someone is leaning all over me, I'm gonna get in their pie face and tell them in hushed tones "This is the last time you will ever fly if you don't quit coloring in that book, f*cksock." It seems that I go on every flight with an air of adventure and loving travel, and everyone else gets on it with "F*CK THESE PEOPLE, I AM GOING TO JAM THIS CARRY ON AND THIS LAPTOP AND THIS DOG AND THIS INCAN MATRIMONIAL HEADDRESS INTO THIS COMPARTMENT WITH MY BALLBAG ON THIS GUY'S SHOULDER BECAUSE I HAVE THE RIGHT TO!" AAAAH, there's where people 'tard themselves, their "Rights."

To have a "right" means you are justifiably allowed to do something. I think a lot of people confuse their "rights" and their "opportunities." Just because one may have the opportunity to neck-chop a 90 year old man staring at the cashier who just asked him "Paper or plastic," well, you don't really have the right to the aforementioned choppage. You have the right to make money for performing tasks, but you may also have the opportunity to steal from your employer. Even if it's just ONE time, giving away a handjob makes for a angry peeimp. na NA na NAAAH!

I feel privileged to fly, because it's not as cheap as it seems to be when you're going cross-country with a stop in Minneapolis. Not everyone can fly, especially if they are well-mannered and without a 3 year-old colicky snot monkey who wants "Seb-up NOW!" Seven Up? Severance Benefits? Spongebob? Don't know. Don't care. Quiet the kid down. So, do I have the right to a comfortable flight, where comfortable means "surrounded by people at 6:45am who just want to SLEEP GAWDDAMMIT?!?! I feel I DO have that right. So I'll make sure to get a notebook in order to manage my thoughts as I tell people to put their seatbacks up, wash their pits, and point out, quite loudly, that their ballbag is resting on my fake baby.

Have a great Tuesday, my friends.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog Regarding The Wrong Joke At The Wrong Time

Here's a joke I did this past weekend that each crowd groaned on.

"I enjoy my status in life, every now and again being treated to a dinner of exotic foods. Tonight we sat down to eat and had, let's see, Crab-stuffed Lobster Tail... then we had Veal-stuffed Lamb-shank, and for dessert we ate a black baby."

People groaned for one reason only.
They thought the baby was ALIVE. NO NO NO. It was dead, unlike those monkies whose brains are eaten while they kick away under the table.

I was upset they groaned, because they didn't even seem to register that I had never eaten a black baby before. Not that I particulary enjoy the dessert baby, but perhaps it was that I was eating a baby with dark skin, which would make them racist to think THAT is why I ordered that child. I did NOT. I have eaten babies of all ethnicites in the past, really mowed through them at all hours of the night. How come nobody groaned about the Caucasian shorty? What of the Laotian infant who met it's fate in the winter of '97? Succulent, yet not sympathized over. That crowd was racist.

I also snuck the word "wigger" in, but shyed away from material on "fisting," "anality," or "religion."
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Blog About The Weekend and Such

I saw a license plate that read "HOUSE4U."
Is it odd, to anyone else, that the word "house" is a conjugation of "ho use?" That's how it all started.
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Did she fake it?

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All of this past weekend's comedy was fun. 2 sets that were amazingly fun to have storked for the paying customers. 2 sets that were thrown sideways a bit by other people, one by my decision, one by fum-lucking-duck.

This past weekend I participated in a "showcase contest" where the winner was chosen by the audiences. We paired off 8 comics to go "head to head" over 2 nights, open game, winners vs. winners, and so on as it continued until there was one comic voted to have had the best set of the two with the most wins. Also referred to as "Round Robin."

I guess I can't write this as a recap. I had a set on Saturday night, first show, that defined what I'd like to get to as far as performances. The seats were sprinkled with high school-age kids in fancy dress, on their way to a dance of some sort. Cool. For them. I launched my mind out of my body and felt like I flew aroud the room as I told these kids that, even though they felt very powerful, it's aaalll bullshit. High School, the American Dream, Popularity, it's all crap played up by movies and people who, after high school, will see their popularity quickly fade. I know that I wasn't saying anything ground-breaking or sea-parting, in the big picture, but that room full of people were happy that I was going so loudly and heartily into it, face to the wind, weaving in and out just for show. So why reflect so masturbatorially on this all?

Because in that moment I was totally myself, unhinged and uncorked and fully loaded. A forward-thrusting expression of ad-libbed verbiage sprung forth like a kite in the wind, balanced by a tail with knots of pre-determined punchlines to jokes written many sets ago. All I could think of as I saw those kids walk in, besides "Where were these chicks when I was in High School? Oh right, the 2nd grade"... all I could muster inside myself was to tell them that the grades matter to people who never got out of school. School provides opportunities to relate factual information into daily life. But open eyes and hearts get us much further, faster, than walking around with a copy of Dostoyevsky under one tribally-inked arm, and a CD player held in their other hand, blasting Linkin Park's latest recipe for empowerment through revenge.

I got beat by 3 votes. It's never felt so great to be unpopular.

By the way, Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote, among other things "The Brothers Karmazov." I've never read it because I haven't ever made a conscious decision to seek and take in the work. Glancing about a bit, I found a number of his texts on line. Existentialist. I should take time and check those out.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.
Here's this turd log trying to throw the "Rock On" sign. Does she understand that nothing about her music rocks? Should people stabbed for doing this? I think so.