His Reality Check Bounced, Non-sufficient Funny

It's Friday, and it's time to recap all the issues most-pressing to us as internet users and people who like to dish the dirt. Thanks to the internet, information and half-truths spread faster than ever. And if you have one spread about YOU, well then, REBUT AT THE SPEED OF THOUGHT, or faster, in most cases. But let's go over what's most important to our society these days: Entertainers.


Stick It To The Man
Last night was the first night of the Giggles Laugh-Off, and already there's drama. One of the performers, who is NOT a comic in the truest sense of the art, got pissed off about how things were set up.
This guy has been in the finals each year of the contest by loading the Seattle gigs. That is, he's not funny, but he invites an assload of his friends and family and business contacts to the shows to vote for him. There's always a little different vibe for a performer's friends when their friend is on-stage. Even if the guy's not funny, which this guy is NOT, the performer gets a bigger laugh and sigh from their friends who "cannot believe that's [idiot's name here] up there!" As long as the performer doesn't totally black out and tumble into the second row, taking out the "Babies With Rabies" section, the performer gets off scott-free with a high score from their comedy-illiterate friends. There's usually more unfunny in his "hact" than you can shake the stick at, so I am pretty happy he's gotten on with his life.
His absence legitimizes the contest a wee bit more, but still, it's a contest, and these things are so subjective when you're a moderately insecure comedian. Is it legit to even do a contest, as a performer, where you'd be judged by people who really don't know any better about how you do what you do? Come out to Giggles and find the answer!
(the performer in question is, from what I understand, now BACK in the Giggles Laugh-Off.)

Contests are the only way comics will ever know if they are truly funny. Laughter, respect, and gigs aren't good enough for some of us. No, you have to place well in a contest to be considered a comic.


GW Bush. FUNNY!
READ THIS ARTICLE!!!
That article, for those who have skipped ahead, recounts President Bush's verbal missteps in the almost comprehensible words of the President himself. He's like Yogi Berra without the pesky humanity. I worry that the President has come out to defend himself for things he has said "from the cuff," as it are. He is the President of the United States of America, the best country with America in the name, the 2nd best nation in the continent, and he's reticent over a few things he's blurbled. This is really not the time to backtrack on a few goofy quotes as if atoning for your inability to speak without Cheney's hand pulling the string. He's not a boring President, that's for sure. I don't think anybody is going to be sipping a Roofied "Vodka & RedStates" any time soon, lulled into a false sense of democracy.
Keep 'em coming, George. We'll be there to hear what you write.

Who's That... Girl?
As Madonna has crossed over into 46 human years, she's perhaps showing some signs of age. If you want to see them you'll have to get reeeeeally close to the "leftovers" tray at a doctor's office. The Material Shiksa appears to have been taken by surprise in this new Versace ad. Notice the blonder mane, widened eyes, and stronger jaw-line. Like a fine wine, Madonna is at her best right after she gets a little air.


I pondered the notion of cosmetic surgery the other day, eye's wide as I noticed a couple of now-prominent tributaries at the corners of my eyes. On Feb. 4th I'll be 31 years old, and I see pictures of myself from 5-6 years ago, and I think... "What happened?"
Comedy, for one. A trip to Ireland, for two. Mexico, por tres. I've undergone more free radical intake than a Cuban whorehouse.
Besides, if men really wanted to feel younger, they'd buy their girlfriends SMALLER boobs.

Co-worker update
~ You can't spell "No Makeup Sandie" with out "DIE, PUKE MAN."
~ The conversation two doors away regarding a mother's convo with her kid about what gender of baby the kid wants "mommy to have" this next time around is too loud, too long, and too lame to allow it to continue. I'm going to go close their door.
~ Closing a stranger's door at work will get you some funny, self-important looks. Working with women can really f*cking blow. In this office, at least, men gather around to talk sports in the lunchroom, or talk IT nerdball crap at their desks. 17 minutes now of divorces, kids, lawyers, C-sections, and nursing, and I don't mean the E.R. kind.

Cognitive Slowdown
A number of advocates... oh how I despise advocates... are asking the department of transportation to lower the speed limit on the Alaskan Way Viaduct from 50 to 35. This is after a motorcyclist was killed in a collision with an SUV this past Monday.
Lowering the limit will not save lives, as lives are taken not by speed but by careless driving. Whether the limit is 35 or 350, there will be a few people who aren't paying attention to their surrounds, lost in their own stratocruisers (I think that's Lincoln's next SUV). It provides law enforcement with more opportunities to nail speeders at 51 who are just trying to get to featherplucking work after being held up by a fatality accident all morning.
* Some people are distracted by phones or DVD players in their cars. This is going to cause a lot of accidents until we all get DVD players and learn to drive the way we will in the future: Unattentive and hungover from all the parties to repopulate earth.
* Outlaw motorcycles, unless they are in a cage going around and around to the death. Make the death fiery! Make the cage small enough to fit on top of an SUV.


I'm outta here. Have a good Friday.



Take Me Home My Non-Funny Blog.

Best of 2005

The List! You've heard of it. It's everywhere. Everyone seems tohave a list. Top 10 Eyeshadows That Are Not Blue. Best 178 Moments In Zydeco. 3 Celebs To Watch Go In The Tank in 2005 (Ashlee, Hedberg, Kilborn). It's all opinion and bluster, unimportant rankings made by someone who just wants to get some recognition for loving, hating, or shrugging-off someone, something, or Sum 41. These are popular now, and will be for about another 3 months, until even the new open mic'ers start doing jokes about them. Then, ploop, a headliner will swing through town and take the best of the list jokes on the road with him, opening for irrelevant musical acts while getting re-booked for Leno. Yeah, THAT guy.

So far this year I've had a good time. Things have been on the high-side of decent. It doesn't seem like I've done much comedy, but I don't remember having any bad sets... yet. Work stinks, but that's what it's supposed to do. I will soon make the necessary moves to get my own business going. Those moves include my nervous hands plunking down a little start-up capital and loosening my pants to a comfortable size to accomodate the huge balls I think I'll need to swan-dive off the Corporate Crossover bridge and into Independence River. It will be a Top-3 moment in my life to do this, punctuated by personal letters delivered to each person who has bothered me beyond reason while I have been at this company. I know, what goes around comes around, but my Credit Kardma has a zero balance. What if nobody ever told you what you do to bother everyone? Well then, you'd be the prettiest, most popular girl in your high school, and therefore your life will be very easy and perfect.

I'm really enjoying the planning stages I'm in right now. I feel like I have been on a really aggressive timetable since December. I turn 31 in 3 weeks, so I'll be officially "in my 30s," and that's doing things with my head. I have to buy a house. I have to pay off my car. I have to get married. I have to start a family. I have to make my first million dollars. I have to. I have. I. . . Correction.
I, nor you, nor the prettiest girl at your alternative high school, will HAVE TO do any of that. It's not a recipe for being happy. Find what makes you happy, and do what you can to include some of it in between crying and waiting for the gin to kick in. And ask yourself what you really do want out of life. So few people seem to know.
"A good job." Define "good."
"A husband/wife." If you're unmarried and looking for a spouse, you'll probably find one. And THEIR spouse will be PISSED, so keep your eyes open for the "right person," preferably one with good credit, if you happen to be a black comedian.
"A black comedian." Congrats on the credit score.
"More money." Yeah, but HOW will you get it. If you want more money, you may very well get a check cut for you from your recently-deceased favorite uncle's insurance company. Enjoy it, and don't ask questions about the explosion at the carnival.
"A new car." Okay, so a NEW new car, or just some new wheels? I highly advise NOBODY buy a NEW new car. A necessity for 99% of us, it's also a constant expenditure, counting costs for gas, insurance, oil change every 7300 miles (whether you need it or not), delousing, kick-ass stereo that keeps getting jacked, and hypnotism to rid you of the need for a stereo that jack-worthy. You're looking at dropping like HUNDREDS of dollars in most cases. Keep what you have in good shape. Before it's absolutely time or a new one, shine yours up and trade it in to start with. Just like your first marriage.
"A 6-inch Black Angus Steak Sandwich from Quiznos, no onions, extra mushrooms, double the horseradish." Well said. That's a clearly defined desire. So shall it be given.
"To know what Love is." I want you to show me. And I want to feel... I want to feel what Love is. I want you to show me.
"Candy." Nope, sorry. Not until you've finished your induction.
"Please?" You asked me to keep you honest, and I want to see you succeed. Now let go of that, that is not yours and it's starting to turn purple.
"To write a good joke about lists." Good luck with that. Some things just aren't funny, like being a lazy stoner comic or a hyper stoner comic or a stoner comic or somebody who isn't clever enough to hide a list in their blog.

So whatever you want to see happen in your life this year, tell yourself it WILL happen. If you WANT it to happen, the only thing that will happen is WANT. And be prepared for whatever it is. In that case, I better go say goodbye to Uncle Larry and hope to Kilborn he hasn't willed me something crappy, like a clown statue or a good job.

I am OUT. See you in Olympia, gorgeous.
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Take Me Home

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This Is What I Feel Like Blogging About: NEW CONTENT ADDED!!!

It's Wednesday and I'm doing whatever I can to stay mentally occupied, short of tripping on Omega-3 fatty acid. I've updated my resumé, which is literally a retarded thing for me to do. I have as much desire to work for another corporation as I do to listen to people repeat their favorite lines from Napoleon Dynamite for an entire open mic. Right, right, MY mom goes to... got it.

NEW CONTENT:
This is my problem at the moment. When I'm at work, all I want to do, and apparently am very efficient at, is surf the internet for tales of human woe and weirdness in order to make jokes or blogs out of it. The internet is great for finding stories of a nature that you would never think could involve people. But next thing ya know some stoner's celebrating the holidays by going "down the chimney" on a robotic sheep at a Nativity Scene, AND suing the people who erected it for not putting up a warning sign. Apparently he broke away from the other Wisemen...

When I'm at work, I don't feel like working. It's in my nature to do what someone tells me specifically NOT to do, but I'm still an adult and accountable enough to handle my responsibilities. So I figure that while I'm at work I will have to move things around in the fridge so people panic as the though crosses their mind "WHAT THE FAWK?!?! WHERE'S MY TUNA TERYIAKI FROM LAST THURSDAY?"

I have an innate sense of going against orders, especially if they are absurd, like "Shovel the sidewalk" or "Don't bury me here!" But when at work, I have to perform tasks in order to keep my job, so you can see my dilemma. Work, boring. Surfing, fun. When I'm not at work, surfing, boring. Work, more boring. My life is great, I love it. I need to find a new mode d'emploi.
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Things are getting really weird in my apartment complex. The other night my neighbor was walking around in her underwear, like "no biggie, it's not cold out." The guy across the parking lot was watching porno all night. The couple in F-304 were fighting for a good two hours on Sunday night. I think they were, anyway. That's how it seemed through the telescope.
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This is the perfect shirt for this story.



I encourage you to falsify a resumé based on a company's outlandish requirements for a job. Make up terminology that refers to duties of a totally non-existent job. When you get the interview, you have to be a little early, well-dressed, and ready to impress. After you get hired, work a couple of days to get a paycheck, then walk into your new boss' office and say
"I probably should have told you this before I got hired. I'm really not qualified for this position. The company across the street is under surveillance by an unofficially government-funded agency known as SquidJigger. I am here as a decoy for the SJ to observe. I cannot stress to you how important it is that nobody else knows of this."
The next day, wear sunglasses all day, and skip meetings. Sleep under your desk. When you receive your first paycheck, tell your boss that everything's under control. Never show up again. Leave behind a Polaroid of yourself holding a Bowie knife and a bloody wig.
Honestly who gives a shit? You walk with a couple grand in your pocket, and you are totally untraceable.
That went on WAY too long to be that unfunny.
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The Pot Calling the Kettle "Diverse"

While I mull over a few options of things to blather on about, you need to take your lilly-white can to The Onion and see what's up in the world. You think you know, but you have no idea.

And thanks to a seed-based hot sauce condiment on my omelet this morning, I'm the one with the coughing fit. I picked this sauce up at Lenny's in Cabo. It's got a mustard seed base, then is built upon with Worcestestestshoozle, vinegar, chipotle ("chi-poh-fawk that's good"), and black pepper. As far as hot sauces go, it is a great paint stripper. I've got some rad hacks happening every few minutes now. I plan to sit and rack my diaphragm all eucalyptis morning, stopping only to projectile vomit and/or regain consciousness.

I f*cking love you guys.
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Take Me Home

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The Revolution Will Be TiVo'ed!

I had a kickass blog going, but some MF'ing TCP connection went chips-up. And, btw, the blog was about how F'ed up Technology is making the human race.
So once again, if THIS makes it past the Matrix, Technology is the new Religion. You might read it here first, before it's beamed into your optical nerves between commercials for CocaCola capsules and Hungry Man TV Dinner Pills.

And the guy I followed last night IS from the center of the Earth.

And Mickey should be up at every open mic. That guy makes me laugh my nerves off.

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.