The Geoff Lott Rules Live Tour Of Comedy & Talking

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Friday, December 30, 2005

Be Nicer, Damn It!

2005 was the year of unrealized Self-Empowerment, a movement that, like most weapons, is going off at all the wrong times. People have mistaken "rightful place in the kingdom of God on Earth" for "I don't gotta say no 'Thanks' or no 'Please' to nobawdy! I'll finish this phone conversation where the hell ever I wanna, you be a ho!"

General rudeness has replaced basic courtesy. I open doors for people, or hold them open, on a semi-regular basis. But I also have about a 2 to 3-second window for people to get in through tat door. I have no idea if it's all the energy drinks on the market, the alley-grade oxycontin, or the fact that people are "living in the moment, like today is the last day of their lives." It's annoying. It has to stop.

So I've come up with a 2-point plan for getting back on the Manners Mobile. I highly suggest anybody adapt it to their own lives (I know I will), and share it with others.

FIRST:
Repeat this phrase to yourself: While I am important, I'm not the only person _____BLANK #1_____

SECOND:
Follow it with this phrase: ... and therefore, I shall not _____BLANK #2_____ because that would be inconsiderate to the world around me, which does not revolve around me, but instead, exists for my benefit, and not vise-versa. And that goes double for ______BLANK #3_______

THE BLANKS!
Blank #1: fill in the blank with the name of whatever FridayOliveCakeChiliBirdFactory you happen to find yourself at after a long night of blowing truckers. Same thing can be used if you find yourself at the grocery store while taking a break from your favorite sport, Booger Rolling.

Blank #2: this is where you are conscious of what you're doing at that moment, whether it be NOT BLOGGING even though you're cluttering the net with your blank archives of banal horseshit and/or "Dreams." It also encompasses elevator farting, blowing salami burps, or not leaving a store when you think getting a better deal on cereal is more important than other people not hearing your 5 year old scream for a coloring book.

BLANK #3: "my (SEX ORGAN YOU WERE BORN WITH THAT GETS YOU IN TROUBLE THE MOST... which for me is my brain)!!!"

See, it's simple. Be in the moment, realize you're not the king of the queen of the MeyerTargetSafeLarry's, and say "Thanks!" when I hold the door open for you. Or you WILL be sorry the next time we're in the elevator together.

Happy New Year? I'll be the judge of that.


By the way, my girlfriend and I have quit smoking, and things are on edge around here. Come by and make sure we're not wearing each other as suits. DO NOT KNOCK, YOU COME IN AND YOU BRING ICE CREAM.


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

The Gifts Of Christmas Past

THE Holiday has come and passed, and I hope you each got something easily returnable. The fact of the matter is that very few people can shop for us as we get older, unless the shopper keeps an ear and a keen eye open to your style and suggestions. You may need running shoes (turns out I'm a supinating ball-striker), some fierce tops (if you've got good bottoms), or a new gadget that turns on the music, and turns off the rest of your social circle.

A pervasive feeling overcomes many people about 2.5 weeks into December, that harrowing "a Christmas party… a bathroom… a thong… balls?" feeling. This is preceded by wanting to get "something" for "so & so," but you're not sure what to get, and don't want to appear thoughtless by handing over the dollar amount in the form of a giftcard. Instead, your mind plumbs its resin & hops-glazed depths for a twinkling of their personality so you can get them an appropriate guilt trip. Er, gift.

Anywho, I wish I had more to say about all this but I have to go write my "Christmas Is Too Commercial" blog for the Pepsi website, sponsored by Nike's LiveRad campaign to fight obesity in our endangered species.org. Right after I return this "Babe Ruth" baseball card. Hello? I'm 31. I SAID BOOOOOZE, Mother.

Confidential to Steve:
Just because there's less blood in it does NOT mean "it's breaking up." Go home.




Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad