The Geoff Lott Rules Live Tour Of Comedy & Talking

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Thursday, June 12, 2008

Obama Baby-Mama Ain't Sayin' "Whitey," You CRACKERS!

Michelle Obama never used the word "Whitey?"

In a speech today or some time close to today, Obama said his wife never used the word in a speech, sermon, diatribe, or "shout-out."

...the F is wrong with that woman? Has she not lived in America? I can't stand "whitey," let me tell you. When I think of "Whitey," I think of slow-witted, clothing-bedazzling, singular-genre-music-listening, self-righteous, jingoistic turd-makers who watch that Jim Belushi show and are keeping places that serve fried shrimp in business. I am constantly yelling "WHITEY," "Honky," "Cracker," "Pale-Face," "Round-Eye," "Dan," and "John Tesh" without a second thought. Maybe I'm a racist.

So many rumors, lies, untruths, and horse's crap is circulating about Senator Barack Obama, there's a place to debunk some of it.

RIGHT HERE.

Turns out, sorry, he's not the antiChrist. POP goes a bubble.

I don't know who I'm voting for, just yet. I don't believe in nationalized healthcare because I think it would drive the quality of care into the ground. Kids should get healthcare whenever they need it, however. Also, organic beef tastes about 10-times better when eaten across the table from a gorgeous naked person.

I will find the Truth, as long as my schedule allows for it.
In the meantime, here's a funny picture.




Today I found myself reminiscing of when gas only cost $4.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Sick of It

So... again... at work...

This guy sitting near me, in an office... with a DOOR that closes on hinges and latches and locks... has his door open...
and a now-drying chest cough that spasms in quick, double-bursts every 90 seconds or so. You could set your whiskey shots by it. He works in HR. Imagine.

My problem with people coming to work ill, especially if they are contagious, and ESPECIALLY if they aren't that attractive, is the possibility of spreading their illness. I understand the move if you're the only orthopedic surgeon in the ER for the next 72 hours, or a drywaller who doesn't reek of beer before hanging Hardi-backer in the splash zones. But the HR contact? Dude.

Back in the bubble.

'kA-hhuu, 'kA-hhuu.

But HOW does this message get out? It's the same problem for somebody who is really loud at work, or dresses poorly (not the scooping neckline or short skirt, that's a whole different reason to stay home), or complains all the time. It's a personality flaw, it's in the code of the machine now.

See, in the past I've tried dropping hints, anonymous print-outs, farting in their cube, farting in a drawer in their cube, leaving the water of a tuna can in a cup under their desk, telling them outright, and general embarrassment. The last of those, by the way, is far too underutilized in our society. If somebody is bothering you with any sort of behavior that you haven't paid good money for, it's well within your rights to let 'em know.

I can't handle this. I'm 34. It could go on for Who Knows how long, and dammit, it's time to just do the right thing and tell HR.

Oh right. I gotta say something. Sorry Dude. I'm sick of your sickness.

Another time, earlier this year when I first started this job, I was very ill for a good 48 hours. Some sort of bug that just wracked me. So I decided to stay home for that Monday. When I returned, I was admonished, somewhat "gaily," by a co-worker that I better not be sick and get her sick, dang it!

From the day I started there was a wet, hacking chest cough emanating from across the cube walls, from the same person who was demanding that my presence not THAT FUCKING COUGH, DUDE, COME ON.... that my presence not impact her immune system. Now, my bug was legit. 4 months into the show here, that chest cough prevails, daily, wetly.

It's making me sick. DONE.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Monday, June 09, 2008

Comedy For Reals

This past weekend I performed 4 times at Laughs Comedy Spot in Kirkland. Every show was good, if not great. Grrrooood. Twice we had some chatsters off to stage left, including one group who, when admonished, responded with "Is that us?"

Yes.

The voices you hear coming out of the mouths of your friends whose mouths are moving 2 feet from you is ALL Y'ALL.

Working with Phil Palisoul, I learned a lot this weekend. This guy gets going and never lets up the entire hour. Joke after joke after laugh after laugh. That's hard to do as a comedian, and he was FRIGGIN' AWESOME. "Chicken Potpie..." A little reminder for those who made it.

I know, beyond a five o'clock shadow of a doubt, that Making People Laugh is my Purpose. However I can, where and when I can, it's what I Do. This is how I do.

It's how I do it, when I do it, when I'm up in tha club.

So now, here we are, back to the other side of reality.
Day job. Commute. Etc. E. t.... c... I actually do really like my day job, for one I must have, but it's surely not The Goal.

A booker recently, upon my turning down a gig in Soap Lake, WA, remarked that "it's hard to take (me) seriously as a comedian," since I wouldn't schlep out to Nowhere for $200 and a motel room for 2 nights. Soap Lake, WA, I retorted, is not a serious gig. I aim higher. Gas at $4 a gallon (remember when?) 220-mile round trip, day off of work, eating on the road, I would actually be losing $38 on the show is what it came to. The gig, came to find out, was canceled. Not enough tickets sold.
It's hard to take seriously anybody willing to sell out talent for an extra little cheddar.

That being said, some great things are in the works right now, moving forward with a serious momentum shove by myself, Lovely Wife, great Friends, Faith, and Fate. I can't make it on my own, but I'll show up and kick ass when I get the shot. Everything else is small potatoes. I want the sustained, throbbing Big Time, folks.

Ready.


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad