Some Weekend Fundle Fondling

First up: The Fountain Of Youth Flows In CC's

Peter Greyy, local comic, MC extraordinaire, and pop-culture MF'ing GURU (fah real, he would destroy Ken Jennings) has directed me to one of the most morbidly fascinating websites I've ever come across. Just so I don't offend people who hate seeing children dressed as pets dressed as members of the Partridge Family (oddly enough, none dressed as partridges), here's another website Peter turned me on to;
AWFUL PLASTIC SURGERY!!! Get ready to lose at least the next 30 minutes of your day.
The site covers celebs and pseudo-celebs who have yanked, stapled, unhinged, filled, emptied, inserted, Shop-Vac'ed, and down-right FAWKED their faces and places up and over in the pursuit of the image in their head that says "Now my parents love me."
You may assume this site would be brimming with Michael Jackson photos like so many hairplugs. Guess again. Mandy Moore got a new nose for graduation. Nicole Kidman's botox addiction. The Cat Woman, Jocelyn Wildenstein. J'Lo's new-no's. Benjamin Bratt's smaller nose. It's all on that site. How do they stay looking so young? Distorted self-image and lack of acting ability.
I'm not going to get into the argument over why people get "work done," I'll just let you enjoy some truly frightening faces:
Michaela Romanini: Her niece is marrying into Italian whatever. She's marrying Gollum.
Kylie Minogue: Can't get you outta my head. You = the doc's hypodermic needle.
Pete Burns: Former "Dead Or Alive" frontman, these pics almost make me ill. He's still awaiting the Neptunes sampling "You Spin Me" (whatever it's called) to pay for his sex-change.
Farrah Fawcett: Either Ryan O'Neal busted a nerve, or she still thinks she's Farrah Fawcett. Tragic.
Viktor Yushchenko: This Ukranian politician was once a dapper gentleman, but his Farrah obsession has turned him into a sad Lil Kim wanna be. Now he's darker than her.
Lil Kim: This is pretty bad, too. She's trying to look like a white girl, which would make her the second white female rapper, behind Eminem. I love the Chinchilla eyebrows.
Paris Hilton: First off, check out the nose job. Little Ms. Perfect, still under general anesthesia, had a snip and clip on the ol' Hilton facade.
Next up is a comparison of the young lady from teens to now, which is only like 3 years later. I hope she gets a really good, really dedicated, really insane stalker on her trail. I'm talking about a guy in his mid-30s who is really into Hentai, lives in the basement of his aunt's house, and can't stop listening to Enya, dumpster-diver, a seat-sniffer. Paris Hilton had her nose done, her cheeks done, and wears blue contacts. She's not even good enough for herself. She's going to make Courtney Love look like Oprah, which is Courtney's next surgery. You GO, SISTAH.

Next Up: Explanation For The Lack Of Info

Killorn O'Neill's website is out of commission, if you haven't heard. Since Killorn's been back from Mexico, from where she blogged, her site's been down from her host, which is why she hasn't been able to update it with anything. The pictures, oh, THE PICTURES are great on there right now. But it's been a week and we're all pretty tired of them, irony is so great the 15th time around. Picture this: An update to the site. A blog. Is Mitch Hedberg still a Local Club?
Please forgive Killorn as she settles back into the stress and strain of daily life, everything from going to work to having DSL in her house finally, it's all a bit too much for my favorite leprechaun. Or as Beka Barry calls them "Leprosychads" (see comments). Retard. So please give Killorn a few more days to get things together. We all know her as a vivid and emotive author, and I'm sure her next blog entry will be worth the wait.
Killorn couldn't poop in Mexico.

(ed. note: Killorn O'Neill's website was updated with entertaining and honest writin' later on the day this blog was posted. We all thank and love Killorn for sharing of herself and her love of Pantera and Splenda. White Powder!")

Finally: The Economy Of Suffering

A contractor here at the Orange Julius has spent the better part of the past 3 days coughing, sniffling, then doing that back-of-the-nose inhale/snork/clearing thing. KOOF KRRRF... GGGRRSSSSSS!
Now, if he'd stayed home one day, he misses 8 hours of work. Being at work and being ill he's touching all kinds of things with his sticky hands. Let's say 3 other people get his illness, and miss a day each. 3 people x 8 hours = 24 hours of lost blogging. You can see how it goes.
So, please, the next time you're not feeling well just stay home. You could probably use a day off if you're still battling that brown-bottle flu, having caught it the 3rd time this month.
I'm off to pull my shirt over my nose and lob Halls drops at the guy's hotdog neck.

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Was Your Ballot Rejected?
Apparently Mr. McArthur Raper just can't get a fair shake in this world. What a horrible name to have. McArthur. Gay.
Sorry, Carly Alexander Holzboog, your name's too stupid to register as a valid voter. I voted twice, once as Geoff Lott, then once as the dumbest name of all time:
Anthony "I'm Driving The Car From Uncle Buck" Moser.
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Have a Great Weekend! Go See TRACY TUFFS this weekend at Giggles Comedy Club! He's recording his live CD and you're ready to rock the hoozy. Sneak in some of your own airplane bottles.
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Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad's New Self.

You're Doing It Again

Holy Holiday Blitz, it's that time of year again. We climb over giftbaskets to find the amber bottles of pain killers, bop-bop-bopping across the linoleum as our rum-buttery fingers sssploork! it into the air. Why does everyone seem to be so down on medicating ourselves? It's been said hundreds of times, even if there was never a mind altering chemical or plant invented or discovered in our history, there'd still be plenty of people spinning around in the front yard claiming that they saw "God, and she looked like Jackson Browne." Do whatever you wanna do, I really don't care. But really it's not in your power to tell others what to do. Deal with you, first, then worry about how little other people think of you.

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One of the most well-known comics pretty much continued to lose his mind and composure and ran himself out of the Seattle comedy scene. He sponged off a woman for over a year, complained about all he did not have, and continuously made an ass of himself. He ended his last stint by ingratiating himself with the club and organization that helped launch him forward, and he is now back East doing Krishna-knows-what. I wish him well, but he f*cked himself time and again. Laters.

Mitch Hedberg made a recent trip through town and played a theater show. A few months back he blew up at the manager of a local club due to the manager not being forthright about ticket prices and therefore, quite likely, Mitch's pay for the weekend. Mitch stormed off-stage during the first show and did not return for the second. That was documented on his website in an apology to Seattle. So Mitch returned recently with Stephen Lynch as his opener. (Lynch is the boy-next-door guitar-playing funny man with some dark and twisted lyrics. It's funny, but don't confuse it with stand-up, which consists of spoken word and jokes). From an eyewitness account, Lynch had a great set. Mitch hit the stage and... (from my friend's e-mail) "BTW I went to the Moore and saw Mitch Hedberg……….OK he was so wasted it got to the point where he wasn’t funny and was going off on a rage and pretty much had to be cut off. I enjoyed his opener though…"
This is from Mitch's website:
"By the way, I need to do something about what happened in Phoenix. I am well aware I went over the top. I do not want a license to have shows like that but if you have it in your hearts (and you were THERE) can you forgive me for the self-indulgence?"
He goes on to offer a free show in Phoenix if they can arrange it. So there's a pattern of self-defeating behavior

A local performer also had a personality snap in her cerebellum, e-mailing Geoff Brousseau about some imagined slander against her. At the same time she's doing that, she's calling other comics looking for MY phone number, to give me basically the same message she had relayed to Brousseau. So here's a person that most people who claims in her e-mail to "know a lot of people," yet she can't figure out which Geoff is which. Brousseau's the handsome one with the luxurious dark hair, I'm the blonde one who hates women in their late 40's who have never resolved their dad issues, and we both hate cupid stunts.

So far, that's 2 comics crapping on their reputations, and one trying to use shit for Shine-ola. The first comic and I had our own little run-in. Never met Hedberg, but it's sad to think he may very well be out of comedy in a year if he continues down the road he's on. Clubs won't book him if he's freaking out every other show and can't spend one hour a day on the wagon. They'll book him, but his fee will drop considerably. The last performer, who is not funny and will not be called a comic by me, is coming unhinged.

Three comics, three near collapses. I hope that a few others will finally lose their shit and stay off the comedy radar for good. These people are pulling friggin' Kobe Bryant-sized boners out here, just f*cking themselves but good. So if nothing else, I think there are lessons to be learned here. We each carry that shoulder-riding devil, and sometimes it takes us down a few streets with a nudge, a hint, a whisper, or by nearly pulling our friggin' ear off. As adults, we must take note of when the Puckish one is talking loudest, and if you can anticipate when the little hor-ned one will come a-knockin', then congrats, you're way ahead of the games. Still, it's up to each of us to work our crap out, and ridicule those who don't.

Oh, and Tony Moser reminds me of a little something I brought back from Mexico: A Raw Ass.

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Holiday Spirits

Whynchoo tell ME what's up? Quit be lookin' at me like you're all THAT. You ain't all THAT, PUNK.
Oh look at MEEEE, I'm intense and serious! OOOOH, I'm better than YOU. Why? 'Cause y'ain't grown up with no cousins? You think I had it better 'cause my cousin's always around? Man, they are CRAZY, you think you're stronger for never knowing your uncles? You are BLIND my friend. Now you just walk around here acting like the uncle you never had to the nephew you never was, and you get off on that. That means YOU are crazy, Mr. RolePlaying whatever.

You ain't no Uncle Superman, bitch! Give me, MMPH, give me that bottle... Look you son of DAMMIT you spilled it! I'm no son of a bit LOOK HOW MUCH YOU SPILLED... you know I only get one chocolate milk a week, dammit. I'm leaving anyway. It's hard for you to be this big an asshole when everyone expects you to stink. You ain't sneakin' up on nobody.

What? Yeah, you do that. You come to my house when I'm home. Good luck getting past the moat. What? Yeah, I'm gonna build one right now, you think I ain't got it to build a OH GOD build a moat? I'll build a moat before OH GRRRGGGGHHFFFF you even wake up from your second wine nap, putz. I'm gonna dig a BLAAARRRRRR I threw up don't worry about that I'm digging a moat, you'll see, I'm BLAAALALALAALAAAARRR it's in my nose MMRRRAAAAAAK oh that BURAAAAAAWWWKKKKKKKK I'm leaving anyway. Whatever.

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

So You've Decided To Quit

Wow. I didn't think you and I would be having this conversation, but I guess it's time.
It appears you've quit. You have given us nothing to go on here. You haven't done anything for yourself and ,therefore, nothing for the rest of us. You made a conscious decision to do nothing. I'm sorry, I thought better of you. And I was wrong.

No, really, it's on me, I shouldn't have given you that much credit. It's my fault to hold you to the standards so high. Dammit, see, I am doubting myself again. You appeared to be able to handle it, and my ability to judge a person's aptitude on this equipment has been clouded by altruism and philanthropic endeavors. I once thought you'd be the best person for the job, and I was wrong.

So now what? I hope you have a back-up plan. For crying out loud, remember when we met, that day you were staring at the 2 in the address of the methadone clinic, pudding in your hand? You didn't even have a cup, just that handful of pudding, and I knew, right there, you had the touch to handle... I'm sorry... I'm just upset by this decision of yours. By not deciding, you've decided, and that's... see? I'm really... I can't do this. Okay, friend. Here's your severance gift card. And here's the last of my SunChips. It's harvest Cheddar. Remember our laugh over that? Cheddar can't be harvested! Yeah... Okay then. Off ya go. You be well. Be well.

Okay call security and get that freak off the grounds in 10 seconds or your family dies.


Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

This Is Majorly Sucking

Right now on Saturday Night Live, there's a shitpile passing for a sketch where these dicklumps are putting "Alexander The Grump" and syphillis-gun Colin Farrell through the paces of a "rhyme run." Lots of rhymes to get laughs instead of actual wit or anything. Lindsay Lohan is on the show, also, and there's not one mention of Colin using a sLohan to getting his nicotine-darkened fingers wet. He's a cad, she's a mess, it's a match made in fan fiction. That show sucks.

Good Bye, First Amendment
In Lancaster, PA a city councilman is trying to rid a farmer's market of a picture of President Bush.
Citing that the close and bitter election has cast sadness throughout all of Lancaster, this commie hemmorhoid believes the city needs a "time of healing." Regardless of how you think Pres. Bush should be removed from office, this City Councilman needs to be removed from his car and beaten crotch-wise. Somebody PLEASE hit that guy with the shovel he used to stack bullshit that first got him elected, PLEEEEEEEEEEEAASE! What's funnier is that this guy's name is "Nelson Polite." Hello Sexually Repressed. That has to be a fake name. Satan's in Lancaster, and he's Yellow Paged under "Polite, Nelson." No spouse.

The poster of the poster is a baker, a business owner. W.'s been good to the small business owner. It's at a "farmer's market," a group that is likely quite liberal, what with the shaping, painting, and selling of all kind o' beads, pots, and knitted clothing. It doesn't matter if it's in the middle of a church-run home for out of work porn starlets, THIS IS STILL AMERICA AND YOU CAN SAY, POST, SING, AND EXPRESS WHATEVER THE HELL YOU LIKE.

As long as it's popular, otherwise, don't bother me. Who knew Republicans would become the new hippies? You can't say shit in this country without someone getting offended. Fine. The worst is that nobody will ever take a moment and reflect on why they were offended. Say something offensive, and the person will likely stomp away to tell the manager of the coffee boutique, who will then ask that you please be nice. Or the offended party will quickly and forcefully reach into their pocket, ball up their fist, and retract it violently, wrapped around a cell phone to call their friend and tell them how they were just, ga-friggin'-sp, offended! HOW DARE THEE!

Get a sense of humor about yourself. You're going to die. No matter how much good you do in life, no matter how many petitions you hold in front of supermarkets, nor how many pockets-worth of coins you toss in the "Save Kids Without Playstations" cannister at the store, YOU WILL BE FORGOTTEN. If you can't laugh at that, we'll see you at the open mic. You have three minutes. Don't f*ck up.


Tony Moser reminds me of a white Derrick Cameron.
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Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.