The Geoff Lott Rules Live Tour Of Comedy & Talking

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Saturday, June 28, 2008

A Great Fear

Besides the humanity walking around the Taste of Tacoma this afternoon... which would have made even Mother Teresa mutter "REALLY? That tank top was what you said YES to?"... I have a very great fear.

It is this...

That I would come to a point in my life where my hubris and ego had so terribly clouded my vision that I felt nobody was more important, intelligent, or savvy as I. That nobody had anything to teach me. That I had become, in effect, the center of my universe.

I have so much compassion... or "only so much" compassion?... for my fellow man. I recently realized that I may have begun to believe my own stink was rosey. And it ain't, folks. Every new frustration is a moment for growth, a moment to take a lesson into my life and see if it applies.

'tis not always eas-eye. Some people, without ever knowing it, test my patience to the Nth degree. And I'm not sure if it's my place to let that out, or just say "oh well" and shrug it off. What if nobody were to ever say to that person "The amount of nervous laughter you produce? When something is beyond your grasp and yet you laugh to make yourself sound jolly? While you're really nice and all that, I think you're too damn loud. Shut the hole. Please. Thank you. Okay, looks like Chuck E Cheese is closing now, so I'm out. Thanks kid."?

So I must remember that I am growing, still, in the ways that matter most; as a Person who cares enough to not apply for a handgun permit.

Just Yet.

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Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Drugs On The Street

I've been at my new job since February, and a full-time employee here - as opposed to a contracted employee - since May 19th. After 30 days my "insurance" plan kicked in for coverage. Coverage here is a very loosely-applied term.



The Coverage I receive is, frankly, disgustingly small. For a tax-paying, full time, relatively handsome employee at a multi-billion dollar corporation (which does NOT provide creamer, sugar, or recyclable!!! cups for their employees keggers), I have squat to work with. I have a high deductible to pay BEFORE my insurance kicks in. The deductible would be paid on things other than Preventive care, such as physicals, inocculations, and shock therapy. Perhaps it's some sort of vetting, to prove I'm financially stable enough to pay for my own medical treatments prior to the company footing one cent of the bill.



The deductible is over $1,000. It's not an insurmountable sum. But where is the Benefit? As a contracted (read "SQUEEZED") employee, I had a similarly craptastic plan, wherein my prescriptions were covered up to $75 a month. Not a big deal there. Unless ya need a specialty med, which I do. Not as in "it helps me sleep from time to time." It's a medication that keeps me from having arthritis flare-ups and horrible psoriasis. Since it's the only drug of its kind, and the most-effective, it runs its own show, price-wise.



For a month's-worth of the med, off the shelf, yer lookin' at $1,500. My alternative is heroin. Or a detoxification program that would cost nearly that much, but wouldn't work at the cellular level that the drug does. And after all I've been through with it, the only thing that may, MAY work as well is a full month-long detox, liver-wringing, and being dipped in organic coconut oil by Salma Hayek. (these statements have not been disproven by the FDA, AMA, or my wife)


Well, my co-worker's grossing me out with a wet, hacking chest cough that is lingering since the 2nd day we worked here... and yet she remains adamant that she's NOT sick. 4 lineal feet of lung oyster begs to differ, sister.

Situations like this make me scream for "Universal Healthcare!!!" But I'll get past this, and write some funnier jokes about it, and do my best to bring it down from the inside. Like a virus. A handsome virus.

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My Blog About My Dad

Monday, June 23, 2008

Who Watches The Watchers?

Just read an article about how our society and communities, more and more, are becoming "Big Brother-ized." Cameras everywhere, paranoia-induced lawfulness!

Cameras are there to get the rulebreakers, right? The thugs and thieves and jay-walkers.
Why do we need this?

Because for too long, our society has taken it too easy on crime. We watch something happen, unarmed, and then call the po-leece. They show up, sometimes too late, and get their questioning on. Statements be droppin', y'all. Witness with eyes and all 'at.

And because we, as a society, didn't exact a little vigilante justice and drill some purse-snatcher in the legs with a bat or a bullet or a Dodge Hemi Crew-Cab. Purse gets returned, guy gets the corn kicked outta that wasted vessel of a reality-tv-addled carcass, dragged behind a dumpster, peed-upon, then the cops get called.

And for good reason. Lot of psychos out there, gotta make sure they aren't gettin' away with nothin'.

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Sunday, June 22, 2008

Please... ssshhhhh

It doesn't take much for my Stimulometer, the -ometer that measures stimuli, to start red-lining. I'm either hyperobservant, a snob, oversensitive, hungover, or all of the above. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes I really want to wear earplugs throughout my day. I hear a lot of insipid blather, and not the fun kind that makes you think "ooh, a conversation about, like, Mark's party. Exactly what I need right now and later."

My brain runs almost all the time. And lately I'm trying to communicate more openly. Not just in being forthcoming and non-judgmental and calm, but also honest about my emotions in the event that the emotions can make a difference one way or the other if they're brought up. Turns out...

they always can. Al. Ways.

So sometimes, when I want the world to shut up, I have to do so, first.
But the world here owes me nothing. I owe the planet quite a few things.

First off, I accidentally kicked a dude's chair last night while crossing my legs at the 9:10 of "KUNG FU PANDA," and I should have apologized for it. I didn't. I owe him one.

There's more, but for now... I just want quiet. I want peace. And quiet. In a bubble around me. I want no more questions about anything. I want to do what I have to go do, and not be asked what I'm doing, about to do, or just did. I need it. My brain needs to not be bothered by a question whose answer is not vital to the continued life of the asker. No, I don't need cracked pepper. Yes, I was next. No, that's not enough ice. Yes, really... I'd like the dressing ON THE SIDE.

I'm going now to drill a Valerian, go through old clothes until I get "Courtney Love in court" woozy, then climb into bed and put in my earplugs.

Hey World, seriously... help me out a little. Find out what "fiduciary" means elsewhere, I'm not your Wiki.

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My Blog About My Dad

Blinded by the Right

The other day at work I heard an idiot talking about how we ought to stop complaining about high gas prices. Echoing what many hacky comics have said in between bong rips (I'm not down on bong rips, just hacky comics), th'Idiot piped up with...

"Well, I mean, GAWSH, it seems like gas prices are probably so high because, I don't know, um... maybe it's all the way deep under ground and you have to dig for it? And then, um, like, you have to make it into GAS?"

First off, it took them a LONG time to say that. Brevity is the soul of wit, and can be a violent wolverine-like animal when stretched over an imbecile's rack of torture known as their "attempt at humor and/or social commentary."

Secondarily, but most importantly, is that this approach to the issue of gas prices either denies or is ignorant to the fact that oil companies, in the past year, have posted ANOTHER year of record-breaking profits. Revenue topped $377,000,000,000 (BILLion) at Exxon in 2006. Profit was around $36BILLION. All this in the face of Hybrid cars, solar energy, global warming, a deteriorating economy, ugly people, and the end of "Arrested Development."

So, if somebody says "Hey, gas is expensive because a lot of dinosaurs had to die for it," remember that many dinosaurs (including that Dick Cheney, George W. Bush, and Steve in accounting who never brings donuts in) are still living in the glow of gasoline. All while making a gigantic, steamy, ozone-eating profit.

I gotta get oil stock.


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My Blog About My Dad