Well SHIT.
Once again George W. Bush has won a Presidential election by a very narrow, questionable margin. The question I have is this:
Why the fuck is everyone I work with, and most everyone in general, talking about politics like they know what the hell is going on? I honestly doubt they know jack about the workings of the Senate floor, because if they did I'm sure I would have seen them at an Open Mic at some point. Lord knows they are cracking themselves up, as I am hearing ballot box-loads of nervous "This is supposed to be funny, so I will now laugh instead of allowing this person's feelings to be hurt" laughter.
We needed to ask ourselves a simple question before voting yesterday: In what positions, as U.S. citizens, are we most comfortable being royally fucked? If you thought we'd wake up with Kerry as President and all the wars having wonderously ended shortly before your RootyTooty Fresh&Fruity order being placed, you gotta straighten up. I have read and heard and sifted through enough information to know that neither Kerry nor W. would have been able to unfuck the fuck-ed-ness of America's stature in the world.
Bush has run our country's economy (read: White People's jobs) into the ground. Since taxes are the retail charges our Governmental Strip Mall has to charge for the Orange Julius and Priceless Pretzel you just picked up, if they drop their prices (read: tax cut), then quality will eventually suffer (read: fewer paid jobs OR the same jobs for lower wages). But we do love a bargain in America. And we got a President who knows all about slashing prices. But hey, he's "tough on Terrorism," which is a way of saying "he'll shoot from the porch, then check it out in the morning." Terrorism is not an "-ism." It's a religious movement, people. It's a beards-out war on American interests and symbols designed at getting our government's attention. Those prayer-crazy fig-logs are cutting the heads off of people working as contractors for American companies. That's DECAPITATION, Homey, and it ain't guillotine style. How do you deal with that?
And NO, he's not tough on Terrorism, and the Patriot Act has nothing to do with Patriotism. If Bush were truly TOUGH on Terrorism, he would have ex-fuckin'-scused himself from storytime back on 9/11/01 when he heard a hijacked plane went flight-deck first into an American financial beacon. I hope that story was funny enough to sit through.
One thing is for sure, you don't say "Okay, whatever you want. We'll look the other way." Next thing you know you're having trouble understanding the guy "helping" you fix your computer or selling you a pizza-tube at 7-11... oh shit...
I hoped for the Bush victory because I hope his administration will have learned from their mistakes with Iraq before we go any further. Saddam had to go, but he's been gone a year now, and we're still hanging around.
However, Bush led every company he's ever run directly into bankruptcy, with a bravery that can only be likened to "gross negligence." Bush also took over a heat-stroked economy backsliding after the celebratory drunken knee-&-palms-&-chin scraping known as The Internet StartUp Downfall. And President Bush courageously threw a rope to that faltering economy as it tumbled down the hillside of ShortSighted Capitalist Peak. He then launched himself off, screaming "BUNGEE JUUUUUUUUMP YEEEEHAAAAAW!" Nobody's holdin' that rope, W. Really should have had somebody tie that off.
Boring-story-slightly-longer:
Please God, watch over the leaders of this country. Don't let the Bush Administration fuck this up like that Halliburton thing, or the Enron bail-out, or the 3 companies that W. forgot to feed. We're all a little freaked out right now, especially those of us who voted for Nader. Amen."
----------------
Had Kerry been elected President, would we have been more comfortably fucked? Would he take care of OUR needs as the fuckees? It sure sounded like it. It's so easy to trust a man wearing a "LiveStrong" bracelet and a $2,500 suit. It's much easier to be on the side of a man who's second, yes, SECOND wife's family is well known for their ability to cover things up and hide mistakes, and yes, sometimes make it all a little tastier.
I hoped for the Kerry victory because he wanted to make it almost impossible for this nations corporate giants to send jobs overseas and/or offshore. A few blogs back, a comment left by Peter Johnson, a.k.a., "PJ," made key points about the proliferation of offshoring, not the least of which was a subtextual allusion to the "freaky hump style" of the foreign gals that PJ like so much. You have to read between the lines. It's there.
I shouldn't blog when I'm this jet-lagged. Okay, so this is what we have to work with. Keep reading and talking and thinking about politics. Don't let this go away. I wish I could throw down something that would make you feel better about the overall election day, which went nearly the exact opposite of everything I had hoped for. I wish I had words of encouragement and hope and direction. But I'm avoter, not a politician. I don't know squat about politics, other than I love the word "gubernatorial."
And mozzarella, fucking LOVE the motz.
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Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Sunday, October 31, 2004
The Blog About What I Saw On Halloween
First Off:
Yesterday I watched a long-ish clip from the new Osama B-Laden 12", "Yo, America." Not sure what it was called, it's pretty underground shit. Check it.
Ted Koppel V-Jay'ed the track, and in this mufugger "The Beardy Weirdy" as he's referred to in the undersand DJ circlez, layed it down like this:
"If we so hate freedom, as is said by your President Bush, why have we not attacked Switzerland?" Ah hellz, that's some JadaKiss rhe-to-rizzical inquiry.
Okay, so the governmental bodies that be (read: Ann Coulter and Lisa Welchel, Google it ya self) are peering at this site by now, seeing as how it mentioned the Big O. Personally, I'd say the guy's deeply misguided, preaching hate against American involvement in the Palestine/Israeli conflict. That's what he said on the video. I would rather he never peeked his gaunt and spiteful face out his mother's hookah, but the f*cker's in our grill and he's gotta be dealt with. The music, frankly, was a steaming pile of breakfast burritos, but what he said, who the Fallujah knows if we can take it for hairy-face value? The guest VJ's with Koppel mentioned this fact, and one of these guys was Muslim:
Old Beardy Lankster WANTS George W. Bush in the White House because it galvanizes America's enemies. W. is the lightning rod that attracts the discharged hatred of millions of trained and angry people who want to blow the candy corn out of anything who can tell you who Toby Keith does commercials for. Just say "Saturn," you'll be cool.
Anyway, yeah, that's what some experts said. Paraphrased, of course, but FAWK people, the track was in some foreign tongue. The subtitles, for all I know, could've been typed in by the underground control room running the media.
VOTE GEORGE W. BUSH AND GEOFF LOTT WILL BE ALLOWED TO LIbceaS40-=[o
Holy crap, I blacked out for a second... wha happa?
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Yesterday I watched a long-ish clip from the new Osama B-Laden 12", "Yo, America." Not sure what it was called, it's pretty underground shit. Check it.
Ted Koppel V-Jay'ed the track, and in this mufugger "The Beardy Weirdy" as he's referred to in the undersand DJ circlez, layed it down like this:
"If we so hate freedom, as is said by your President Bush, why have we not attacked Switzerland?" Ah hellz, that's some JadaKiss rhe-to-rizzical inquiry.
Okay, so the governmental bodies that be (read: Ann Coulter and Lisa Welchel, Google it ya self) are peering at this site by now, seeing as how it mentioned the Big O. Personally, I'd say the guy's deeply misguided, preaching hate against American involvement in the Palestine/Israeli conflict. That's what he said on the video. I would rather he never peeked his gaunt and spiteful face out his mother's hookah, but the f*cker's in our grill and he's gotta be dealt with. The music, frankly, was a steaming pile of breakfast burritos, but what he said, who the Fallujah knows if we can take it for hairy-face value? The guest VJ's with Koppel mentioned this fact, and one of these guys was Muslim:
Old Beardy Lankster WANTS George W. Bush in the White House because it galvanizes America's enemies. W. is the lightning rod that attracts the discharged hatred of millions of trained and angry people who want to blow the candy corn out of anything who can tell you who Toby Keith does commercials for. Just say "Saturn," you'll be cool.
Anyway, yeah, that's what some experts said. Paraphrased, of course, but FAWK people, the track was in some foreign tongue. The subtitles, for all I know, could've been typed in by the underground control room running the media.
VOTE GEORGE W. BUSH AND GEOFF LOTT WILL BE ALLOWED TO LIbceaS40-=[o
Holy crap, I blacked out for a second... wha happa?
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog About F*ck If I Know
I write to you from the Dell Tower Of Power in my cousin B-Rock's bedroom. He's 22 and I am wearing latex gloves. This kid is deviant. I feel weird using his computer when he's in the room. I feel like I should wait until that girl on top of him leaves, but Blogging waits for no tryst, even if it's illegal in most states between consenting Community College students. NO, I am not looking at them. Directly.
Hold on, gotta change camera angles.
He keeps getting IM'ed by somebody named, and I wish I were kidding, "kyssyfur meow. " Latest message:
RUT? Wanna see a movie l8r? I tootsied and it smells like cotton candy LOL!
$100 says that's a Jr. High science teacher named Orville wearing knee-garters and al dente schmeckel.
Last night was my cousin Sonya's wedding. She's about 6 months younger than I am, which makes two of my female cousins, younger than I, who have tied the knot. It's been all kinds of interesting to watch how this all goes down, the wedding planning. I think the divorce rate is so high in this country
(JadeFox90210 has signed off)
because people don't diversify their thoughts between the Wedding and the Marriage. 6 months to 1 year to plan a Wedding, which is one day of getting stared at by yet another relative with an oxygen tank, who knows you're part of the family, but can't remember if you're Rupert's kid or the one with the bent spine they adopted from Sierra Leone. The Marriage is FAR more important, that's where all the best sit-com material comes from.
Did you drink last night? I bet you danced sick, huh? Where RU? LOL!! ;)
So as my cousin B-O'Tard sits a few feet from me loading the clip of his .9mm Ruger... I'd rather be filming illicit movies... and testing the batteries in his stun-gun. He's really excited to go try his new rounds, which are like hollow-points but filled with a high-impact polypropylene ball that will keep the slug from exploding on impact, causing a much larger entrance wound.
I feel like getting crazy later? Do you want to come to my clas... come to my fort? LOL, MF'ER!
I feel the worst/best for Jeff, my cousin Jenniefaffer's new beau. This guy ROCKS. A successful lawyer at the age of 27, a truly good human being,
(AdoreableAmanda82 has signed on)
and has a great family surrounding him, he's being tagged by every other person he comes in contact with as the next to marry into the family. The guy rocks, my cousing JoonieFlapper kicks much cakes, so that's something that I give full blessing to.
In the meantime, where the hell was I going with this?
Oh yeah...
No matter if you're getting IM'ed by vapid dad-haters with more looks than brains, hey, you're 22, play the field and enjoy the game.
No matter if you're getting ready to go to Mexico in a month, and you ARE going, with some of your favorite people in the world, go for the stories and the sun and the fact that there will be friendly and unnoticed nudity cabana-wide.
No matter if you're 30 and 2500 miles away from your comfort zone, use the means you have available to communicate with those you miss and love.
No matter if you're setting up a date with KyssyFur Meow for your cousin, make sure you use the words "Halloweener," "Jack O'Lickern," and "Statutory of Liberty."
Trick or Treat.
Smell my feet.
Change the camera angle again.
BTW, my cousin B-Rat got shit-housed last night at the wedding and tounge-rooted a bowling alley waitress. He's all class.
---------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Hold on, gotta change camera angles.
He keeps getting IM'ed by somebody named, and I wish I were kidding, "kyssyfur meow. " Latest message:
RUT? Wanna see a movie l8r? I tootsied and it smells like cotton candy LOL!
$100 says that's a Jr. High science teacher named Orville wearing knee-garters and al dente schmeckel.
Last night was my cousin Sonya's wedding. She's about 6 months younger than I am, which makes two of my female cousins, younger than I, who have tied the knot. It's been all kinds of interesting to watch how this all goes down, the wedding planning. I think the divorce rate is so high in this country
(JadeFox90210 has signed off)
because people don't diversify their thoughts between the Wedding and the Marriage. 6 months to 1 year to plan a Wedding, which is one day of getting stared at by yet another relative with an oxygen tank, who knows you're part of the family, but can't remember if you're Rupert's kid or the one with the bent spine they adopted from Sierra Leone. The Marriage is FAR more important, that's where all the best sit-com material comes from.
Did you drink last night? I bet you danced sick, huh? Where RU? LOL!! ;)
So as my cousin B-O'Tard sits a few feet from me loading the clip of his .9mm Ruger... I'd rather be filming illicit movies... and testing the batteries in his stun-gun. He's really excited to go try his new rounds, which are like hollow-points but filled with a high-impact polypropylene ball that will keep the slug from exploding on impact, causing a much larger entrance wound.
I feel like getting crazy later? Do you want to come to my clas... come to my fort? LOL, MF'ER!
I feel the worst/best for Jeff, my cousin Jenniefaffer's new beau. This guy ROCKS. A successful lawyer at the age of 27, a truly good human being,
(AdoreableAmanda82 has signed on)
and has a great family surrounding him, he's being tagged by every other person he comes in contact with as the next to marry into the family. The guy rocks, my cousing JoonieFlapper kicks much cakes, so that's something that I give full blessing to.
In the meantime, where the hell was I going with this?
Oh yeah...
No matter if you're getting IM'ed by vapid dad-haters with more looks than brains, hey, you're 22, play the field and enjoy the game.
No matter if you're getting ready to go to Mexico in a month, and you ARE going, with some of your favorite people in the world, go for the stories and the sun and the fact that there will be friendly and unnoticed nudity cabana-wide.
No matter if you're 30 and 2500 miles away from your comfort zone, use the means you have available to communicate with those you miss and love.
No matter if you're setting up a date with KyssyFur Meow for your cousin, make sure you use the words "Halloweener," "Jack O'Lickern," and "Statutory of Liberty."
Trick or Treat.
Smell my feet.
Change the camera angle again.
BTW, my cousin B-Rat got shit-housed last night at the wedding and tounge-rooted a bowling alley waitress. He's all class.
---------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Blog About Potilical Simepplings
Gonna have to vote in a week. Go do it. It's your right as an American to vote. It's a right that was fought for by millions of people over the past 230 years. It's not a fun thing, per se, which is why they oughtta open all voting booths near food establishments. Christ, America is all about Capitalism and Special Interests anyway, go put a booth in a Krusty Krepes and people will turn out like a mid-70's Who concert.
Rock For Change campaign's running strong. Springsteen's stumping with Kerry. It's been a Summer/Fall-long run of people attending shows with the agenda of getting Bush out of office. Understoond. Most everyone's got an agenda. This one, however, eesh, I don't know. I am happy that public figures are making pleas to get us 'Mer'cans in the booths, but f*ck if I want a President voted into office by people who thought it was a great idea to camp overnight for a shot at seeing Jackson Browne open for the Dixie Chicks.
You get my point. It's voting for the sake of voting, and that's about all we're gonna get right now. However, I'm hoping and somewhat believing that people are educating themselves more deeply on the "issues" affecting our country: National Security, Health Care, Social Security, Terrorist Insurance, Hymen Rejuvenation, Whatever Tracy Tuffs Is Doing, Low-Carb Diets, and Tax Structures. Iraq does not affect our country. It affects Iraq, and I have no friends there, so I give a shit.
I'm voting to approve I-884, to get money into schools. I'm voting against I-892 so that slot machines won't pop up on every street corner, regardless of revenue opportunities. It cheapens the neighborhoods, the stores, and it's greatly hated by Jackson Browne.
That's a shitty call-back.
===================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Rock For Change campaign's running strong. Springsteen's stumping with Kerry. It's been a Summer/Fall-long run of people attending shows with the agenda of getting Bush out of office. Understoond. Most everyone's got an agenda. This one, however, eesh, I don't know. I am happy that public figures are making pleas to get us 'Mer'cans in the booths, but f*ck if I want a President voted into office by people who thought it was a great idea to camp overnight for a shot at seeing Jackson Browne open for the Dixie Chicks.
You get my point. It's voting for the sake of voting, and that's about all we're gonna get right now. However, I'm hoping and somewhat believing that people are educating themselves more deeply on the "issues" affecting our country: National Security, Health Care, Social Security, Terrorist Insurance, Hymen Rejuvenation, Whatever Tracy Tuffs Is Doing, Low-Carb Diets, and Tax Structures. Iraq does not affect our country. It affects Iraq, and I have no friends there, so I give a shit.
I'm voting to approve I-884, to get money into schools. I'm voting against I-892 so that slot machines won't pop up on every street corner, regardless of revenue opportunities. It cheapens the neighborhoods, the stores, and it's greatly hated by Jackson Browne.
That's a shitty call-back.
===================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
The Blog Where I Realize How Much Work I Must Do
So what is "hack" in comedy, according to other comics?
Pretty much everything on this list, and I'm sure I've done all of them at some point or another.
Well, I'm gonna be in the lab a lot longer than I thought. G'night.
I am off to Michigan to see my cousin get married off. I wish her the best of love and growth and warmth in this new stage of her life.
Thank you God, for open bars.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Pretty much everything on this list, and I'm sure I've done all of them at some point or another.
Well, I'm gonna be in the lab a lot longer than I thought. G'night.
I am off to Michigan to see my cousin get married off. I wish her the best of love and growth and warmth in this new stage of her life.
Thank you God, for open bars.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog Full of Schwag
I would watch nothing but C-Span if it were anything like Taiwan's Governmental Debates.
"You've got no shame!" screamed Chu Fong-chih of the opposition Nationalist Party, after throwing a take-out box of chicken and rice at Chen Tsung-yi, a legislator from the ruling Democratic Progressive Party who backed the special budget.
As it stands now I feel like I keep hittin' the 984 minute mark of Rep. Gerry Manderbustin's filibuster on the evils of low-rise tube socks and short-cropped hair on the female children. Let's see a person from the right throw a left hook, then MAYBE we'll talk. Until then, I'm voting the Green Curry line! Get it! OH MAN, DOES THE FUN EVER START?
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I've Been This Excited Before
Puss And Boots. Two people get caught in a rainstorm, break into a shoe store, feel frisky, and get it on amongst the boots. It's gross. They were both drifters.
==========
And Now For Head's Up - 7Up
I think I'm on the Teacher's side here. Parent arrives in classroom, teacher and parent get into brawl, parent goes to hospital, teacher goes to jail. See Teacher Run. See Teacher Get Pepper Sprayed.
==========
Probably Because God Hates Gay Sports
I'm not sure if anybody saw it, but there is video going around of a figure skater being dropped on her face after her partner stumbled and dropped her on her face. I want this video to share with you, but all I can find is news of Lindsay Lohan on the come-back from a high-fever. If you've seen the video you know the devastation of which I speak. I plan to implement it in my upcoming arm-wrestling match with Tony "Mousey On Jam Shorts" Moser.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
"You've got no shame!" screamed Chu Fong-chih of the opposition Nationalist Party, after throwing a take-out box of chicken and rice at Chen Tsung-yi, a legislator from the ruling Democratic Progressive Party who backed the special budget.
As it stands now I feel like I keep hittin' the 984 minute mark of Rep. Gerry Manderbustin's filibuster on the evils of low-rise tube socks and short-cropped hair on the female children. Let's see a person from the right throw a left hook, then MAYBE we'll talk. Until then, I'm voting the Green Curry line! Get it! OH MAN, DOES THE FUN EVER START?
==========
I've Been This Excited Before
Puss And Boots. Two people get caught in a rainstorm, break into a shoe store, feel frisky, and get it on amongst the boots. It's gross. They were both drifters.
==========
And Now For Head's Up - 7Up
I think I'm on the Teacher's side here. Parent arrives in classroom, teacher and parent get into brawl, parent goes to hospital, teacher goes to jail. See Teacher Run. See Teacher Get Pepper Sprayed.
==========
Probably Because God Hates Gay Sports
I'm not sure if anybody saw it, but there is video going around of a figure skater being dropped on her face after her partner stumbled and dropped her on her face. I want this video to share with you, but all I can find is news of Lindsay Lohan on the come-back from a high-fever. If you've seen the video you know the devastation of which I speak. I plan to implement it in my upcoming arm-wrestling match with Tony "Mousey On Jam Shorts" Moser.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog About Moses On Jamba Juice
He's at it again.
You probably have no idea who I'm talking about since he's mostly diapers with a car.
Tony "Moses On Jamba Juice" Moser is up in the grill of yours truly, making attempts to rattle my gilded mic stand. I've tried to listen to the underlying message of his rantings about me. I've let the words fall aside and squinted so that I may look not at the mirrors, lava lamps, and smoke drifting from Moser's breathing holes, but at the intent of those words. Well I saw that intent my friends. And it was blank.
He was basically typing just to hear himself type. He's now taking credit for the songs written by bands such as Poison and Slaughter. He's stealing. He's plagiarizing the work of these men he so very much desires to look like in order to, basically, steal the clout of one Bradford Whitcomb Ainsely Undersworth Brake III. Keep trying, Mose.
I'm admit, I am NOT in Tony's league. I skipped it on my way to "confoundingly astonishing" at 3 months into this whole comedy thing. Tony sees me outside of his league, but he's so backwards that he believes he's looking behind him and there he sees me, but actually, I'm AHEAD of him, and he's forgotten what the future looks like. He's living in the past. Actually, he's living in a dreamworld populated by aromatic midgets, and he thinks it's the future. In reality, he's living in his mom's closet again. Nice pants, Gay Lord.
Deal with Moser any way that you must, but remember this: He is only out to please ONE PERSON; And when that woman of ill repute comes along Tony will finally quit comedy and become her lap dog. And maybe THEN, she'll realize what a real man it takes to do it the way it's done by Bradford Ainsmob Whitforth Underpants the Broken VII.
------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
You probably have no idea who I'm talking about since he's mostly diapers with a car.
Tony "Moses On Jamba Juice" Moser is up in the grill of yours truly, making attempts to rattle my gilded mic stand. I've tried to listen to the underlying message of his rantings about me. I've let the words fall aside and squinted so that I may look not at the mirrors, lava lamps, and smoke drifting from Moser's breathing holes, but at the intent of those words. Well I saw that intent my friends. And it was blank.
He was basically typing just to hear himself type. He's now taking credit for the songs written by bands such as Poison and Slaughter. He's stealing. He's plagiarizing the work of these men he so very much desires to look like in order to, basically, steal the clout of one Bradford Whitcomb Ainsely Undersworth Brake III. Keep trying, Mose.
I'm admit, I am NOT in Tony's league. I skipped it on my way to "confoundingly astonishing" at 3 months into this whole comedy thing. Tony sees me outside of his league, but he's so backwards that he believes he's looking behind him and there he sees me, but actually, I'm AHEAD of him, and he's forgotten what the future looks like. He's living in the past. Actually, he's living in a dreamworld populated by aromatic midgets, and he thinks it's the future. In reality, he's living in his mom's closet again. Nice pants, Gay Lord.
Deal with Moser any way that you must, but remember this: He is only out to please ONE PERSON; And when that woman of ill repute comes along Tony will finally quit comedy and become her lap dog. And maybe THEN, she'll realize what a real man it takes to do it the way it's done by Bradford Ainsmob Whitforth Underpants the Broken VII.
------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, October 25, 2004
The Blog About Travel and Self-Censorship
I fly out to Michigan on Wednesday morning. Not sure which airline it is. I usually don't look, care, or pack until an hour before I'm leaving for the airport.
That's not true. I'm past that phase of life. I have had those trips where I'm f*ck off until the last 3 hours before I am supposed to be at the airport, sweating my way through packing useless items. I am 30 years old, for crying out loud, I should know that I need at LEAST a toothbrush, a t-shirt, one pair of underwear, and a decent book for a week away from home. I can do that. And I'm flying which means I'll be packed in a tube of "who's who in day tripping."
I think I'm going to fake some sort of 'tard so that I can get whatever I want on the plane. Nothing violent, but if someone is leaning all over me, I'm gonna get in their pie face and tell them in hushed tones "This is the last time you will ever fly if you don't quit coloring in that book, f*cksock." It seems that I go on every flight with an air of adventure and loving travel, and everyone else gets on it with "F*CK THESE PEOPLE, I AM GOING TO JAM THIS CARRY ON AND THIS LAPTOP AND THIS DOG AND THIS INCAN MATRIMONIAL HEADDRESS INTO THIS COMPARTMENT WITH MY BALLBAG ON THIS GUY'S SHOULDER BECAUSE I HAVE THE RIGHT TO!" AAAAH, there's where people 'tard themselves, their "Rights."
To have a "right" means you are justifiably allowed to do something. I think a lot of people confuse their "rights" and their "opportunities." Just because one may have the opportunity to neck-chop a 90 year old man staring at the cashier who just asked him "Paper or plastic," well, you don't really have the right to the aforementioned choppage. You have the right to make money for performing tasks, but you may also have the opportunity to steal from your employer. Even if it's just ONE time, giving away a handjob makes for a angry peeimp. na NA na NAAAH!
I feel privileged to fly, because it's not as cheap as it seems to be when you're going cross-country with a stop in Minneapolis. Not everyone can fly, especially if they are well-mannered and without a 3 year-old colicky snot monkey who wants "Seb-up NOW!" Seven Up? Severance Benefits? Spongebob? Don't know. Don't care. Quiet the kid down. So, do I have the right to a comfortable flight, where comfortable means "surrounded by people at 6:45am who just want to SLEEP GAWDDAMMIT?!?! I feel I DO have that right. So I'll make sure to get a notebook in order to manage my thoughts as I tell people to put their seatbacks up, wash their pits, and point out, quite loudly, that their ballbag is resting on my fake baby.
Have a great Tuesday, my friends.
=========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
That's not true. I'm past that phase of life. I have had those trips where I'm f*ck off until the last 3 hours before I am supposed to be at the airport, sweating my way through packing useless items. I am 30 years old, for crying out loud, I should know that I need at LEAST a toothbrush, a t-shirt, one pair of underwear, and a decent book for a week away from home. I can do that. And I'm flying which means I'll be packed in a tube of "who's who in day tripping."
I think I'm going to fake some sort of 'tard so that I can get whatever I want on the plane. Nothing violent, but if someone is leaning all over me, I'm gonna get in their pie face and tell them in hushed tones "This is the last time you will ever fly if you don't quit coloring in that book, f*cksock." It seems that I go on every flight with an air of adventure and loving travel, and everyone else gets on it with "F*CK THESE PEOPLE, I AM GOING TO JAM THIS CARRY ON AND THIS LAPTOP AND THIS DOG AND THIS INCAN MATRIMONIAL HEADDRESS INTO THIS COMPARTMENT WITH MY BALLBAG ON THIS GUY'S SHOULDER BECAUSE I HAVE THE RIGHT TO!" AAAAH, there's where people 'tard themselves, their "Rights."
To have a "right" means you are justifiably allowed to do something. I think a lot of people confuse their "rights" and their "opportunities." Just because one may have the opportunity to neck-chop a 90 year old man staring at the cashier who just asked him "Paper or plastic," well, you don't really have the right to the aforementioned choppage. You have the right to make money for performing tasks, but you may also have the opportunity to steal from your employer. Even if it's just ONE time, giving away a handjob makes for a angry peeimp. na NA na NAAAH!
I feel privileged to fly, because it's not as cheap as it seems to be when you're going cross-country with a stop in Minneapolis. Not everyone can fly, especially if they are well-mannered and without a 3 year-old colicky snot monkey who wants "Seb-up NOW!" Seven Up? Severance Benefits? Spongebob? Don't know. Don't care. Quiet the kid down. So, do I have the right to a comfortable flight, where comfortable means "surrounded by people at 6:45am who just want to SLEEP GAWDDAMMIT?!?! I feel I DO have that right. So I'll make sure to get a notebook in order to manage my thoughts as I tell people to put their seatbacks up, wash their pits, and point out, quite loudly, that their ballbag is resting on my fake baby.
Have a great Tuesday, my friends.
=========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog Regarding The Wrong Joke At The Wrong Time
Here's a joke I did this past weekend that each crowd groaned on.
"I enjoy my status in life, every now and again being treated to a dinner of exotic foods. Tonight we sat down to eat and had, let's see, Crab-stuffed Lobster Tail... then we had Veal-stuffed Lamb-shank, and for dessert we ate a black baby."
People groaned for one reason only.
They thought the baby was ALIVE. NO NO NO. It was dead, unlike those monkies whose brains are eaten while they kick away under the table.
I was upset they groaned, because they didn't even seem to register that I had never eaten a black baby before. Not that I particulary enjoy the dessert baby, but perhaps it was that I was eating a baby with dark skin, which would make them racist to think THAT is why I ordered that child. I did NOT. I have eaten babies of all ethnicites in the past, really mowed through them at all hours of the night. How come nobody groaned about the Caucasian shorty? What of the Laotian infant who met it's fate in the winter of '97? Succulent, yet not sympathized over. That crowd was racist.
I also snuck the word "wigger" in, but shyed away from material on "fisting," "anality," or "religion."
============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
"I enjoy my status in life, every now and again being treated to a dinner of exotic foods. Tonight we sat down to eat and had, let's see, Crab-stuffed Lobster Tail... then we had Veal-stuffed Lamb-shank, and for dessert we ate a black baby."
People groaned for one reason only.
They thought the baby was ALIVE. NO NO NO. It was dead, unlike those monkies whose brains are eaten while they kick away under the table.
I was upset they groaned, because they didn't even seem to register that I had never eaten a black baby before. Not that I particulary enjoy the dessert baby, but perhaps it was that I was eating a baby with dark skin, which would make them racist to think THAT is why I ordered that child. I did NOT. I have eaten babies of all ethnicites in the past, really mowed through them at all hours of the night. How come nobody groaned about the Caucasian shorty? What of the Laotian infant who met it's fate in the winter of '97? Succulent, yet not sympathized over. That crowd was racist.
I also snuck the word "wigger" in, but shyed away from material on "fisting," "anality," or "religion."
============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
The Blog About The Weekend and Such
I saw a license plate that read "HOUSE4U."
Is it odd, to anyone else, that the word "house" is a conjugation of "ho use?" That's how it all started.
~~~
Did she fake it?
~~~
All of this past weekend's comedy was fun. 2 sets that were amazingly fun to have storked for the paying customers. 2 sets that were thrown sideways a bit by other people, one by my decision, one by fum-lucking-duck.
This past weekend I participated in a "showcase contest" where the winner was chosen by the audiences. We paired off 8 comics to go "head to head" over 2 nights, open game, winners vs. winners, and so on as it continued until there was one comic voted to have had the best set of the two with the most wins. Also referred to as "Round Robin."
I guess I can't write this as a recap. I had a set on Saturday night, first show, that defined what I'd like to get to as far as performances. The seats were sprinkled with high school-age kids in fancy dress, on their way to a dance of some sort. Cool. For them. I launched my mind out of my body and felt like I flew aroud the room as I told these kids that, even though they felt very powerful, it's aaalll bullshit. High School, the American Dream, Popularity, it's all crap played up by movies and people who, after high school, will see their popularity quickly fade. I know that I wasn't saying anything ground-breaking or sea-parting, in the big picture, but that room full of people were happy that I was going so loudly and heartily into it, face to the wind, weaving in and out just for show. So why reflect so masturbatorially on this all?
Because in that moment I was totally myself, unhinged and uncorked and fully loaded. A forward-thrusting expression of ad-libbed verbiage sprung forth like a kite in the wind, balanced by a tail with knots of pre-determined punchlines to jokes written many sets ago. All I could think of as I saw those kids walk in, besides "Where were these chicks when I was in High School? Oh right, the 2nd grade"... all I could muster inside myself was to tell them that the grades matter to people who never got out of school. School provides opportunities to relate factual information into daily life. But open eyes and hearts get us much further, faster, than walking around with a copy of Dostoyevsky under one tribally-inked arm, and a CD player held in their other hand, blasting Linkin Park's latest recipe for empowerment through revenge.
I got beat by 3 votes. It's never felt so great to be unpopular.
By the way, Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote, among other things "The Brothers Karmazov." I've never read it because I haven't ever made a conscious decision to seek and take in the work. Glancing about a bit, I found a number of his texts on line. Existentialist. I should take time and check those out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Here's this turd log trying to throw the "Rock On" sign. Does she understand that nothing about her music rocks? Should people stabbed for doing this? I think so.
Is it odd, to anyone else, that the word "house" is a conjugation of "ho use?" That's how it all started.
~~~
Did she fake it?
~~~
All of this past weekend's comedy was fun. 2 sets that were amazingly fun to have storked for the paying customers. 2 sets that were thrown sideways a bit by other people, one by my decision, one by fum-lucking-duck.
This past weekend I participated in a "showcase contest" where the winner was chosen by the audiences. We paired off 8 comics to go "head to head" over 2 nights, open game, winners vs. winners, and so on as it continued until there was one comic voted to have had the best set of the two with the most wins. Also referred to as "Round Robin."
I guess I can't write this as a recap. I had a set on Saturday night, first show, that defined what I'd like to get to as far as performances. The seats were sprinkled with high school-age kids in fancy dress, on their way to a dance of some sort. Cool. For them. I launched my mind out of my body and felt like I flew aroud the room as I told these kids that, even though they felt very powerful, it's aaalll bullshit. High School, the American Dream, Popularity, it's all crap played up by movies and people who, after high school, will see their popularity quickly fade. I know that I wasn't saying anything ground-breaking or sea-parting, in the big picture, but that room full of people were happy that I was going so loudly and heartily into it, face to the wind, weaving in and out just for show. So why reflect so masturbatorially on this all?
Because in that moment I was totally myself, unhinged and uncorked and fully loaded. A forward-thrusting expression of ad-libbed verbiage sprung forth like a kite in the wind, balanced by a tail with knots of pre-determined punchlines to jokes written many sets ago. All I could think of as I saw those kids walk in, besides "Where were these chicks when I was in High School? Oh right, the 2nd grade"... all I could muster inside myself was to tell them that the grades matter to people who never got out of school. School provides opportunities to relate factual information into daily life. But open eyes and hearts get us much further, faster, than walking around with a copy of Dostoyevsky under one tribally-inked arm, and a CD player held in their other hand, blasting Linkin Park's latest recipe for empowerment through revenge.
I got beat by 3 votes. It's never felt so great to be unpopular.
By the way, Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote, among other things "The Brothers Karmazov." I've never read it because I haven't ever made a conscious decision to seek and take in the work. Glancing about a bit, I found a number of his texts on line. Existentialist. I should take time and check those out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Here's this turd log trying to throw the "Rock On" sign. Does she understand that nothing about her music rocks? Should people stabbed for doing this? I think so.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The Blog Next To Tony's
So Tony "Moses On JambaJuice" Moser is at it again, trying to rattle my pots and pans. Ain't gonna happen.
See, I have a secret weapon. Last week I befriended a man who shall be referred to as "Dirt McGirt," or Dirt. You may remember him as Old Dirty Bastard, or Big Baby Jesus, from The WuTang Clan. Yeah, he my boy.
So I aks Dirt, "Hey Dirt, a lot of fools are trippin' on me lately, trying to run a pace that outspeeds they own shortcomings of paranoida, disempowering, and egotisticness and trying to step on my game, numsayn motherf(beep)ker? What da f(beep)k I'm a do?"
Dirt says to me, "First off, we need to work on your vocabalary and methods of communication. Second, it's important to remember that people are the products of environments that have longs since passed by. What you see now is like the starlight you see in the night when y'all know the words and the time is right. That light you see is what burned off that star a long time ago. It's getting to you now, but it can't hurt you, enjoy the burn, bruh. Just understand that you keep your head up, and you'll see starlight, you'll see your name in lights, and sometime you see up a ho's tights, word?"
I says "Word, Dirt. Word."
And then I hit the "Next Blog" button on Tony's screen and I got THIS, which throws down on Tony and everyone else but me like you would not believe. Holy crap. Check THIS OUT!
===============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
See, I have a secret weapon. Last week I befriended a man who shall be referred to as "Dirt McGirt," or Dirt. You may remember him as Old Dirty Bastard, or Big Baby Jesus, from The WuTang Clan. Yeah, he my boy.
So I aks Dirt, "Hey Dirt, a lot of fools are trippin' on me lately, trying to run a pace that outspeeds they own shortcomings of paranoida, disempowering, and egotisticness and trying to step on my game, numsayn motherf(beep)ker? What da f(beep)k I'm a do?"
Dirt says to me, "First off, we need to work on your vocabalary and methods of communication. Second, it's important to remember that people are the products of environments that have longs since passed by. What you see now is like the starlight you see in the night when y'all know the words and the time is right. That light you see is what burned off that star a long time ago. It's getting to you now, but it can't hurt you, enjoy the burn, bruh. Just understand that you keep your head up, and you'll see starlight, you'll see your name in lights, and sometime you see up a ho's tights, word?"
I says "Word, Dirt. Word."
And then I hit the "Next Blog" button on Tony's screen and I got THIS, which throws down on Tony and everyone else but me like you would not believe. Holy crap. Check THIS OUT!
===============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
The Blog About Regularly Scheduled Blogging
Damn, what a week.
The Bostonian Buttplug at my work is off his head. Twice this week I've asked him to keep it down, but it's not working. His Boston RedSox are tied up in the ALCS with the Yankees, so he's strutting around like he's at least 5'5". Then the Patriots beat the Seahawks last week so he's been trying to sound like he's a proud father, but humbled all the same.
"Yeah boy, we really showed you guys what Championship football looks like."
I hate the pronouns people use when talking about sports teams. "We." I don't remember the Pats ever calling a play that went to a 5'3", 219lb fartback with emphysema and Samsonite eyebags. "You guys." Right, like the guys from Network Security suited up for the game. Right after their 2nd French Bread pizza and 4th handful of Halloween M&Ms. Then again, we got f*cked into paying for the stadium, so I think each week at least one tax-payer should be allowed to suit up and make the average pay of the team, and then take liberties with a hotel concierge.
Man, who keeps ripping in the elevator? I think it's in the metal work now.
I'm out for now.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Bostonian Buttplug at my work is off his head. Twice this week I've asked him to keep it down, but it's not working. His Boston RedSox are tied up in the ALCS with the Yankees, so he's strutting around like he's at least 5'5". Then the Patriots beat the Seahawks last week so he's been trying to sound like he's a proud father, but humbled all the same.
"Yeah boy, we really showed you guys what Championship football looks like."
I hate the pronouns people use when talking about sports teams. "We." I don't remember the Pats ever calling a play that went to a 5'3", 219lb fartback with emphysema and Samsonite eyebags. "You guys." Right, like the guys from Network Security suited up for the game. Right after their 2nd French Bread pizza and 4th handful of Halloween M&Ms. Then again, we got f*cked into paying for the stadium, so I think each week at least one tax-payer should be allowed to suit up and make the average pay of the team, and then take liberties with a hotel concierge.
Man, who keeps ripping in the elevator? I think it's in the metal work now.
I'm out for now.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, October 15, 2004
The Blog About Why I Was Up All Night
Last night's comedy pursuit quantum-leapt me to Marysville. This city is weird. It's got all the small town feel of Hoquiam, sans history. Do they sell drugs in Marysville? Can't say, didn't buy any there. Do the MAKE drugs in Marysville? Can't say, didn't swap recipes with the locals. What CAN I say? How about this:
When in Marysville, you can drive to a local convenience store and buy a scale. Saw it on the way out of town. Yeah. Not a bathroom scale. Not a produce scale. A druggin' scale. And yet, like so many of their mysteriously "late" girlfriends, nobody in Marysville acknowledges the issue.
Shawn Cain MC'ed the evening, dressed like a Shaolin Monk. I had to snatch the mic from his hand to do my set. Bob Lindsey did 3 minutes that did really well. Bob's biggest snafu is not knowing how to get off stage. Not that he's a stage hog, but he truly says "Okay, I guess I'm done, so I should go now and yeah, okay, thanks for laughing, okay... Shawn?" To that effect. I hope Bob keeps it as his calling card. It's actually pretty funny. I feel bad for saying "How about Bob, huh? I used to buy crank from him" when I got on stage, because that's NOT FUNNY. Bob, white pants? You're not supposed to wear white pants after Labor Day of the year 1926.
I had a good set at JR's Steakhouse. As good as it's gonna get there, from what I was told. I realized that when I am performing in a room that serves as a pool hall, dance floor, and vomitorium it's best to stick to the joke material, and not the story-line jokes. At least for me. The crowd that listened was with me. The ones who talked were, at first-through-15th glances, the kind of dudes who "ain't gonna listen to nobody no how, got it, FAGG*T???" I closed on 8 minutes of religion and politics, getting 3 applause breaks during one new bit on Advertising and Christianity. That's one I will have to deliver with a wrinkly brow and winky eye. People tighten up around the Lord.
James Inman headlined and did a great job, resurrecting his Wal-Mart bit that I friggin' love. It's one of the first I've ever heard him do. Yeah, uh huh, you don't hear THAT at Wal-Mart DO YA? NO! Nice work James, for the 20 minutes I saw of it. Then I had to go and comparison-shop the scales. I got some product to move.
Of course, it would have been GREAT to get home and fall asleep. Aaah, yes, that would be the way it's supposed to work out, no? Get home and be lights-out at 12-ish. SUPER. Couldn't happen though. Nope. Started getting really tired about 12-ish, get in bed to read... upstairs neighbor's TV is on. But I figure it'll go off in a bit. 1:30am, I'm knocking on the hog's door to get her to turn it down. Nothing. No answer. Lights on and all that. 2am, back up there, knocking. 2:30, knocking. Leave a note to let her know
A) She's ugly
B) Her TV is too f*cking loud. I even wrote down what show she was watching, and two lines from it. Does "Matlock" EVER go off the air?
5 minutes after my last trip upstairs, I hear her galumphing over to the front door. She likely got the note. The TV was off 5 minutes later. Silence at nearly 3am. Either she was stone-walling me or she's half-deaf. I once fell asleep listening to Metallica's "And Justice For All" on 8 in my headphones, so my hearing isn't THAT sensitive. Then again, I'm getting older and would prefer to not "nap" when my body demands 5 - 5.63 hours of sleep each night.
Some woodsy, tie-dyed sandal jockey is wearing toe-bells at work today. This also the same woman who raises llamas. Llama pictures at her desk. Llama sweaters, shirts, kerchiefs. To each their own, of course. But wow, it's unhealthy. It's not a hobby, it's an obsession. TINA, COME GET YOUR MEDS!
-------------------------------
"Can you turn off 'DAT FAN' ovah dayuh?"
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
When in Marysville, you can drive to a local convenience store and buy a scale. Saw it on the way out of town. Yeah. Not a bathroom scale. Not a produce scale. A druggin' scale. And yet, like so many of their mysteriously "late" girlfriends, nobody in Marysville acknowledges the issue.
Shawn Cain MC'ed the evening, dressed like a Shaolin Monk. I had to snatch the mic from his hand to do my set. Bob Lindsey did 3 minutes that did really well. Bob's biggest snafu is not knowing how to get off stage. Not that he's a stage hog, but he truly says "Okay, I guess I'm done, so I should go now and yeah, okay, thanks for laughing, okay... Shawn?" To that effect. I hope Bob keeps it as his calling card. It's actually pretty funny. I feel bad for saying "How about Bob, huh? I used to buy crank from him" when I got on stage, because that's NOT FUNNY. Bob, white pants? You're not supposed to wear white pants after Labor Day of the year 1926.
I had a good set at JR's Steakhouse. As good as it's gonna get there, from what I was told. I realized that when I am performing in a room that serves as a pool hall, dance floor, and vomitorium it's best to stick to the joke material, and not the story-line jokes. At least for me. The crowd that listened was with me. The ones who talked were, at first-through-15th glances, the kind of dudes who "ain't gonna listen to nobody no how, got it, FAGG*T???" I closed on 8 minutes of religion and politics, getting 3 applause breaks during one new bit on Advertising and Christianity. That's one I will have to deliver with a wrinkly brow and winky eye. People tighten up around the Lord.
James Inman headlined and did a great job, resurrecting his Wal-Mart bit that I friggin' love. It's one of the first I've ever heard him do. Yeah, uh huh, you don't hear THAT at Wal-Mart DO YA? NO! Nice work James, for the 20 minutes I saw of it. Then I had to go and comparison-shop the scales. I got some product to move.
Of course, it would have been GREAT to get home and fall asleep. Aaah, yes, that would be the way it's supposed to work out, no? Get home and be lights-out at 12-ish. SUPER. Couldn't happen though. Nope. Started getting really tired about 12-ish, get in bed to read... upstairs neighbor's TV is on. But I figure it'll go off in a bit. 1:30am, I'm knocking on the hog's door to get her to turn it down. Nothing. No answer. Lights on and all that. 2am, back up there, knocking. 2:30, knocking. Leave a note to let her know
A) She's ugly
B) Her TV is too f*cking loud. I even wrote down what show she was watching, and two lines from it. Does "Matlock" EVER go off the air?
5 minutes after my last trip upstairs, I hear her galumphing over to the front door. She likely got the note. The TV was off 5 minutes later. Silence at nearly 3am. Either she was stone-walling me or she's half-deaf. I once fell asleep listening to Metallica's "And Justice For All" on 8 in my headphones, so my hearing isn't THAT sensitive. Then again, I'm getting older and would prefer to not "nap" when my body demands 5 - 5.63 hours of sleep each night.
Some woodsy, tie-dyed sandal jockey is wearing toe-bells at work today. This also the same woman who raises llamas. Llama pictures at her desk. Llama sweaters, shirts, kerchiefs. To each their own, of course. But wow, it's unhealthy. It's not a hobby, it's an obsession. TINA, COME GET YOUR MEDS!
-------------------------------
"Can you turn off 'DAT FAN' ovah dayuh?"
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
The Blog That Puts A Knee Into Goldencrotch
Yet another shot has crossed the bow of the Lott Luxury Liner. I am often taking fire from other vessels and light artillery. Firing gives away one's position, however. You know that... you silly, dumb, wee spirit of a man. And again, You have fired.
You see, as I sit at my desk of gainful employment, listening to the perceived "funnies" of people also employed by the 2nd worst-managed company of all time - the first being whichever company Tony will sexually harrass into an early grave during his lifetime - I am reminded that just about everyone believes they can "bring the funny."
The lady obsessed with Smeagol and therefore doing his voice every 2.4 hours? "Funny."
The guy who brought in a squirt gun or 3 to "liven things up?" "Funny."
The Hortense Cumberpatch of a woman who will answer ANY question you have... For a Fee! Does it have to be the Right Answer? "Funny."
The gal who calls the other ladies "girlfriend"s? "Annoying," and "barren," yet to many, "funny."
The fella who laughs at his own quips, yet makes everyone else uncomfortable with his wild-eyed opportunistic jumping-in with a Sandler movie catch-phrase? "Funny."
It goes like this. I could really give 1.8 to 2.3 linear feet of corn-eyed butt trout as to how You get to your funny. But however you get to it, the party is on. Started LONG before I got there. Long before you did, also. So you get your Funny, and you Bring It. Got it? Don't say "Oh I left it in my other career," or "I can't follow Gervin." You put your name on the list, you go on-stage, and deliver funny by the shovel-load into the laps of laughter-horny crowd members.
Until THAT happens for longer than 11 minutes 47 seconds, I will see that Funny is always being Broughten, and therefore you need to take the pressure of Yourself to bring it. It's too heavy for you. Sorry champ. Maybe next set.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a paying gig tonight in Marysville. Boast Toast.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
You see, as I sit at my desk of gainful employment, listening to the perceived "funnies" of people also employed by the 2nd worst-managed company of all time - the first being whichever company Tony will sexually harrass into an early grave during his lifetime - I am reminded that just about everyone believes they can "bring the funny."
The lady obsessed with Smeagol and therefore doing his voice every 2.4 hours? "Funny."
The guy who brought in a squirt gun or 3 to "liven things up?" "Funny."
The Hortense Cumberpatch of a woman who will answer ANY question you have... For a Fee! Does it have to be the Right Answer? "Funny."
The gal who calls the other ladies "girlfriend"s? "Annoying," and "barren," yet to many, "funny."
The fella who laughs at his own quips, yet makes everyone else uncomfortable with his wild-eyed opportunistic jumping-in with a Sandler movie catch-phrase? "Funny."
It goes like this. I could really give 1.8 to 2.3 linear feet of corn-eyed butt trout as to how You get to your funny. But however you get to it, the party is on. Started LONG before I got there. Long before you did, also. So you get your Funny, and you Bring It. Got it? Don't say "Oh I left it in my other career," or "I can't follow Gervin." You put your name on the list, you go on-stage, and deliver funny by the shovel-load into the laps of laughter-horny crowd members.
Until THAT happens for longer than 11 minutes 47 seconds, I will see that Funny is always being Broughten, and therefore you need to take the pressure of Yourself to bring it. It's too heavy for you. Sorry champ. Maybe next set.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a paying gig tonight in Marysville. Boast Toast.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
The Blog That Wonders Where That Last Blog Was Going
The comments from the previous blog were good. I think PJ is quite well-read, quite intelligent. Quite. And I'm due for a lesson on the world's economy, especially because I wade through it every day of my life on the way to and from my bed. I'm too close to the unemployment line. I need to step back and see if I am destined for it.
Aggressively stupid? In a blog? This is the most passive-aggressive stupidity there is. I can say anything about anyone here, be it rumor or party-camera-recorded incident, and what people really want is the DIRT. What do I think of him? What's her problem? What do I think of you? What do I want to see happen to them? Does she still drink that much? Who just called? And why?
See how it takes one person's death grip on a topic to spin Funny to Unfunny? Lamarckism? That's retro Darwinism, my friends, before the iguanas came to power. Funnier? I hope the F so.
Anyway, it's economically sound to pay people less to do the same work. Still it's hard to have a price tag slapped on your chest by someone who's already decided you're out of style. Let the new Imperialism begin.
Enh...
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Aggressively stupid? In a blog? This is the most passive-aggressive stupidity there is. I can say anything about anyone here, be it rumor or party-camera-recorded incident, and what people really want is the DIRT. What do I think of him? What's her problem? What do I think of you? What do I want to see happen to them? Does she still drink that much? Who just called? And why?
See how it takes one person's death grip on a topic to spin Funny to Unfunny? Lamarckism? That's retro Darwinism, my friends, before the iguanas came to power. Funnier? I hope the F so.
Anyway, it's economically sound to pay people less to do the same work. Still it's hard to have a price tag slapped on your chest by someone who's already decided you're out of style. Let the new Imperialism begin.
Enh...
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog Where Darwin Gives A Knowing Look
Double Fatality Closes I-5.
Both men were on foot, crossing I-5 at night. I'd be traumatized if they hadn't been injured. Not that they should be, but it's two guys making yet another thick-headed decision that will negatively affect an innocent person. When will it ever end?
Rhetorical, obviously.
========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Both men were on foot, crossing I-5 at night. I'd be traumatized if they hadn't been injured. Not that they should be, but it's two guys making yet another thick-headed decision that will negatively affect an innocent person. When will it ever end?
Rhetorical, obviously.
========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
The Blog Where Accupressure's Getting The Better of Me
Another episode of HAX-TV is in the can. It was organized a notch or a notch-point-seven better than a rugby scrum. I thought it was entertaining. Most entertaining was Tony Moser's finesse at the organ. Insert pun here. Insert. Pun again.
Apparently the term "midwifery" is pronounced "mid-wiff-ery," as properly dictated by a woman who likely hasn't worn makeup since last Halloween. Odd that she hung in through the entire show, snooted it up, then slammed-down her home phone. Home phone? OOOOOH, she's all kinds of RICH!
Thanks to Killorn and Shoogs B for the talented repartee. Rap partay. Kick ass.
I'm going to fight off insomnia tonight with some accupressure patches, little soft-rubber cones placed at the base of my palm to stimullllllllllllllllarte... stim......................... stimulate the sleepy what. I donm'''''''''''''''' think i ts workin
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Apparently the term "midwifery" is pronounced "mid-wiff-ery," as properly dictated by a woman who likely hasn't worn makeup since last Halloween. Odd that she hung in through the entire show, snooted it up, then slammed-down her home phone. Home phone? OOOOOH, she's all kinds of RICH!
Thanks to Killorn and Shoogs B for the talented repartee. Rap partay. Kick ass.
I'm going to fight off insomnia tonight with some accupressure patches, little soft-rubber cones placed at the base of my palm to stimullllllllllllllllarte... stim......................... stimulate the sleepy what. I donm'''''''''''''''' think i ts workin
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Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog Where I Don't Care For A Bit
I have no desire what-so-ever to be at this job today. I headlined a comedy show this past weekend, and now I'm running over spreadsheets. People say "doing what you love to do and getting paid for it is the recipe for happiness."
Guess what? That's 1/2-true. Getting paid enough to make a living out of what you love to do is the recipe for happiness. I'll work a day job, that's fine, but wow, to deal with a guy who brushes his teeth with his ass after feeling like I'd tapped my higher being? Tell me who that gives me a happy feeling?
Watch HAX TV tonight, Ch. 77, 10pm. Please?
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Guess what? That's 1/2-true. Getting paid enough to make a living out of what you love to do is the recipe for happiness. I'll work a day job, that's fine, but wow, to deal with a guy who brushes his teeth with his ass after feeling like I'd tapped my higher being? Tell me who that gives me a happy feeling?
Watch HAX TV tonight, Ch. 77, 10pm. Please?
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog That I Decide to Yell At The Computer In
Second time now, my keyboard shortcuts erased funny blogging.
FAWK.
IRONY:
I work for a cellphone company, and the worst phone ettiquette of all time is right here in this company. If you're indoors, turn your phone off. You'll hear it vibrate if you're near it. If you leave, and the ringer's on, then your cube neighbors all get to ponder what kind of jerkhole leaves their cellphone on, and what kind of human consciously chooses "Fur d'Elise" in 1's and 0's to express themselves via communication device. IF YOU'RE NEAR IT, YOU'LL HEAR IT. Vibrate or die.
IRONY:
The monkies on whom science has tested numerous vaccines are now so scarce that science fears running out of monkies to test vaccines of the new superbugs on. In the meantime, a massive flu and cold bug-outbreak has gripped London. Thank YOU Simon, Ruth, and Nigel. Step up for a vaccine test, and get a can of sardines! We'll not tell a soul you're on the dole. It'll be our li't'l whispers.
SWEET:
Comics rejoice! Itemize your deductions and get an extra $500 credit! What the chunk am I saying? Comedians ITEMIZING tax deductions such as mileage, gas, food, morning-after pills, and Axe BodySpray to cover up 3-day road-trip swamp ass? Right. There's a better chance James Inman will write an "airline food" set.
IRONY:
The value of your education is apparent only to you. I hope you studied Odds are that a college degree won't mean SHYTE to employers very soon. When a company decides to tap the work resources of a nation that speaks English as a 3rd language, you can bet that they are saving money at all costs. When your President says he's created 800,000 new jobs, make sure those jobs aren't all going to people who don't mind eating with a fly on their eye. So what's the next wave of employment? Self-contracting. Yep. You will be your own boss. Ask for a little more money, take care of your receipts and your benefits, and never again work for a company that doesn't give two kebabs about who it's hiring.
I work 3 cubes away from a guy wearing a XXL t-shirt, running pants, and slippers at work. You know what the sound of failure is? The "zwip-zwip" of nylon in the IT department. And those pants aren't for exercise, those are for random desk-nap comfort levels. And he's from America. Kennewick, to be exact. Oh... now I get it. We. Are. Slobs.
=========
FAWK.
IRONY:
I work for a cellphone company, and the worst phone ettiquette of all time is right here in this company. If you're indoors, turn your phone off. You'll hear it vibrate if you're near it. If you leave, and the ringer's on, then your cube neighbors all get to ponder what kind of jerkhole leaves their cellphone on, and what kind of human consciously chooses "Fur d'Elise" in 1's and 0's to express themselves via communication device. IF YOU'RE NEAR IT, YOU'LL HEAR IT. Vibrate or die.
IRONY:
The monkies on whom science has tested numerous vaccines are now so scarce that science fears running out of monkies to test vaccines of the new superbugs on. In the meantime, a massive flu and cold bug-outbreak has gripped London. Thank YOU Simon, Ruth, and Nigel. Step up for a vaccine test, and get a can of sardines! We'll not tell a soul you're on the dole. It'll be our li't'l whispers.
SWEET:
Comics rejoice! Itemize your deductions and get an extra $500 credit! What the chunk am I saying? Comedians ITEMIZING tax deductions such as mileage, gas, food, morning-after pills, and Axe BodySpray to cover up 3-day road-trip swamp ass? Right. There's a better chance James Inman will write an "airline food" set.
IRONY:
The value of your education is apparent only to you. I hope you studied Odds are that a college degree won't mean SHYTE to employers very soon. When a company decides to tap the work resources of a nation that speaks English as a 3rd language, you can bet that they are saving money at all costs. When your President says he's created 800,000 new jobs, make sure those jobs aren't all going to people who don't mind eating with a fly on their eye. So what's the next wave of employment? Self-contracting. Yep. You will be your own boss. Ask for a little more money, take care of your receipts and your benefits, and never again work for a company that doesn't give two kebabs about who it's hiring.
I work 3 cubes away from a guy wearing a XXL t-shirt, running pants, and slippers at work. You know what the sound of failure is? The "zwip-zwip" of nylon in the IT department. And those pants aren't for exercise, those are for random desk-nap comfort levels. And he's from America. Kennewick, to be exact. Oh... now I get it. We. Are. Slobs.
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Monday, October 11, 2004
The Blog Regarding Saturday, etc.
Saturday at Laughs was a totally different world.
Holy crap, there were easily 95 people in that room. Imagine your gramma's rec room. Pack that with 10 more people than you should have in there. Multiply that by 5. Welcome to Fire Safety Night at Laughs.
There was some great grass-roots advertising done by Chilidog via the ever-growing mailing list, as well as word of mouth and my own e-mail efforts to get folks to come out to the show. It's much more fun with a big audience. How much fun? Well...
Dan Moore started it off. Killed. Geoff Brousseau hit 2nd. Killed. Blaine Reeder goes 3rd. As Blaine put it he was "working (his) ass off" for that crowd. Admittedly, they were a little reserved. I think it was the heat in the room. Or, according to a previous blog of Blaine's about why a comic won't do well... ya know what, skip that. I attest to the fact that there was a table of 3 in the front that was pretty White and crossy-armed. Fahim Anwar, duh, destroyed. Fawk, that guy is so good, and he's going to F it up with a degree in engineering. I know him "when." Duane W. went up before me. And, uh... I don't know. He's got Funnies.
Then I went up and did a little roast of the openers. My personal favorite roast:
"So Blaine Reeder, give it up for him! That guy's really quite funny, but he's got some problems as you may have gathered. I would pray for Blaine but he doesn't like me talking behind his back." I thought it was rathah wittay. Hmmph.
And for the next 49 minutes I knocked out the best set of my life. I had so much fun it was ridiculous. And I think it carried over to the non-laughing table in the front. They were laughing, then commenting on some of my material. Regardless, I had fun because I WANTED to have fun, I told myself to go HAVE FUN before I went on stage. And being in that mood, I believe, came out in my demeanor. Smoke & mirrors? Not only the main decor of the back of Laughs, but also a little trickery to get people to want to laugh? Perhaps. But damn if I didn't have a horse-carcass worth of fun on Saturday night.
Of COURSE I didn't tape it! That would've made SENSE, huh? Frickin' FRACK.
Thank you to Geoff, Killorn, Tony, Doug, Blaine, Fahim, Dan, and Duane W. for their opening efforts. You're all funny as hell. Tony Moser, well, good enough for open mic'ing. Thanks again to Dave Dennison for headlining me. Thanks to Terry for not believing in me and making me want to work harder in the past year to get better. Thanks to Pat Cashman for the air time on Friday morning. Thanks to all of you who came out to support live comedy and have a laugh.
Life can suck. If you don't make fun of it, you will become Life's Bitch. Stab hypocrisy your first day in lock-down. Run your yard.
==============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Holy crap, there were easily 95 people in that room. Imagine your gramma's rec room. Pack that with 10 more people than you should have in there. Multiply that by 5. Welcome to Fire Safety Night at Laughs.
There was some great grass-roots advertising done by Chilidog via the ever-growing mailing list, as well as word of mouth and my own e-mail efforts to get folks to come out to the show. It's much more fun with a big audience. How much fun? Well...
Dan Moore started it off. Killed. Geoff Brousseau hit 2nd. Killed. Blaine Reeder goes 3rd. As Blaine put it he was "working (his) ass off" for that crowd. Admittedly, they were a little reserved. I think it was the heat in the room. Or, according to a previous blog of Blaine's about why a comic won't do well... ya know what, skip that. I attest to the fact that there was a table of 3 in the front that was pretty White and crossy-armed. Fahim Anwar, duh, destroyed. Fawk, that guy is so good, and he's going to F it up with a degree in engineering. I know him "when." Duane W. went up before me. And, uh... I don't know. He's got Funnies.
Then I went up and did a little roast of the openers. My personal favorite roast:
"So Blaine Reeder, give it up for him! That guy's really quite funny, but he's got some problems as you may have gathered. I would pray for Blaine but he doesn't like me talking behind his back." I thought it was rathah wittay. Hmmph.
And for the next 49 minutes I knocked out the best set of my life. I had so much fun it was ridiculous. And I think it carried over to the non-laughing table in the front. They were laughing, then commenting on some of my material. Regardless, I had fun because I WANTED to have fun, I told myself to go HAVE FUN before I went on stage. And being in that mood, I believe, came out in my demeanor. Smoke & mirrors? Not only the main decor of the back of Laughs, but also a little trickery to get people to want to laugh? Perhaps. But damn if I didn't have a horse-carcass worth of fun on Saturday night.
Of COURSE I didn't tape it! That would've made SENSE, huh? Frickin' FRACK.
Thank you to Geoff, Killorn, Tony, Doug, Blaine, Fahim, Dan, and Duane W. for their opening efforts. You're all funny as hell. Tony Moser, well, good enough for open mic'ing. Thanks again to Dave Dennison for headlining me. Thanks to Terry for not believing in me and making me want to work harder in the past year to get better. Thanks to Pat Cashman for the air time on Friday morning. Thanks to all of you who came out to support live comedy and have a laugh.
Life can suck. If you don't make fun of it, you will become Life's Bitch. Stab hypocrisy your first day in lock-down. Run your yard.
==============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog on Columbus Day
Christopher Reeve died today at the age of 52, 9 years after his paralyzing fall from a horse. Rodney Dangerfield died last week at the age of 82 from a stroke suffered during yet another bypass surgery. Great men. Great lives. And I'm sure a lot of great jokes to follow. I'll let you know what I hear.
If it's true that celebs die in 3s, here's hoping for Ashton, Paris, or Carson Daly. I strive to make the most of my performing abilities, my gifts and blessings, and William Hung is currently tag-teaming the Theta Ate A Beta chapter of North Texas U. Welcome to celebrity.
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I Just Bought Me Some BLING!
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Weekend Recap
So. You'd like to know how the weekend went, huh? You weren't able to make it over to Bellevue to see a show, huh? Well you missed a couple of great shows. Here's a little of what you missed...
Friday Night
Laughs was PACKED. Probably 90% capacity, as in they could probably only fit another 10 people in the room if they really tried. 80-90 people in the audience. It was great to see that many people show up for comedy. We need those crowds, we WANT those crowds!
An awesome show, from the first comci to the guy before the headliner. Doug, Blaine, Brousseau, Killorn, and Tony all showed the crowd why it's good to laugh, and hard to make you do so. I felt kind of bad because another local comic, Steve Nielsen, showed up and wanted to do time. I had asked the other comics to show up and perform, and they did, so I didn't want to bump them. 3 of them weren't at Saturday's show, so I was hoping Steve could come back when he could surely get up. Wasn't gonna work out for him on Saturday.
Steve, being a veteran of the Seattle Comedy Scene (been around longer than me), it's likely the he should never get bumped from a list. He's a great comic and writer, one of my favorites. I had no time nor care over whether anybody's feelings were going to get hurt. My hope is that Steve wasn't upset. If not, then even cooler is the Steve. If so, well, sorry Steve, not much I can do at that, or this, point. To spell it out, this is a glimpse of the Politics of Performing. Not everyone's going to be happy. Especially after I get off stage.
Decent set Friday night. I was very tired as I was at work until 1am for a bunch of crap work. Fawk, that's ridiculous. To come to work just so you can make someone else look good? But I fully learned that, if I'm DOING A SHOW, not just guesting or MC'ing, but if I am the headliner, I have NO excuses, I must PERFORM. I learned that early Saturday morning. I went dancing at Misty's in Bellevue on Friday after the show. Misty's attracts an eclectic crowd. Everything from swingers of all ages, to handsy Middle-earth men sweatin' it up in gabardine.
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Saturday to follow Friday. Funny how shit works out, huh?
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
If it's true that celebs die in 3s, here's hoping for Ashton, Paris, or Carson Daly. I strive to make the most of my performing abilities, my gifts and blessings, and William Hung is currently tag-teaming the Theta Ate A Beta chapter of North Texas U. Welcome to celebrity.
************
I Just Bought Me Some BLING!
************
Weekend Recap
So. You'd like to know how the weekend went, huh? You weren't able to make it over to Bellevue to see a show, huh? Well you missed a couple of great shows. Here's a little of what you missed...
Friday Night
Laughs was PACKED. Probably 90% capacity, as in they could probably only fit another 10 people in the room if they really tried. 80-90 people in the audience. It was great to see that many people show up for comedy. We need those crowds, we WANT those crowds!
An awesome show, from the first comci to the guy before the headliner. Doug, Blaine, Brousseau, Killorn, and Tony all showed the crowd why it's good to laugh, and hard to make you do so. I felt kind of bad because another local comic, Steve Nielsen, showed up and wanted to do time. I had asked the other comics to show up and perform, and they did, so I didn't want to bump them. 3 of them weren't at Saturday's show, so I was hoping Steve could come back when he could surely get up. Wasn't gonna work out for him on Saturday.
Steve, being a veteran of the Seattle Comedy Scene (been around longer than me), it's likely the he should never get bumped from a list. He's a great comic and writer, one of my favorites. I had no time nor care over whether anybody's feelings were going to get hurt. My hope is that Steve wasn't upset. If not, then even cooler is the Steve. If so, well, sorry Steve, not much I can do at that, or this, point. To spell it out, this is a glimpse of the Politics of Performing. Not everyone's going to be happy. Especially after I get off stage.
Decent set Friday night. I was very tired as I was at work until 1am for a bunch of crap work. Fawk, that's ridiculous. To come to work just so you can make someone else look good? But I fully learned that, if I'm DOING A SHOW, not just guesting or MC'ing, but if I am the headliner, I have NO excuses, I must PERFORM. I learned that early Saturday morning. I went dancing at Misty's in Bellevue on Friday after the show. Misty's attracts an eclectic crowd. Everything from swingers of all ages, to handsy Middle-earth men sweatin' it up in gabardine.
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Saturday to follow Friday. Funny how shit works out, huh?
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
The Blog Where I'm At Work At 12:20 At NIGHT
First off, I crossed paths with Jake Dill again tonight at The Wok of Shame in Lynnwood. I thought I was headlining, but it turns out that Jake was. It's the first time I was out of a paying gig and felt happier than, well, Jake Dill, for starters.
Taster's Wok (a.k.a. "The Wok," "The T-Hole") sucks for comedy. The only person I've seen do really well there is Heneghen. If you know Heneghen's act, you know it will kill in a club or the lounge of a Chinese restaurant. They LOVE Heneghen there, and everyone else is just some schlub with a dream of getting out of Lynnwood without eye herpes or a paternity suit. On his first day of work, Ronnie liked to wear his best paternity suit. Then get shat-housed at The Wok.
I did about 15 minutes, some of it okay, and dammit, I got the biggest laughs on toilet humor. I think the bit is funny, because it illustrates a low point of my day at work where I realize that my co-workers may appear to be in their 30s, but are actually just 3rd Graders with Debit Cards and a hankering for bagged snacks and Mt. Dew by the gallon. So yeah, potty humor. Doo it.
The funniest thing about it was that people were listening, even with their backs turned at the bar. And even better, if not funny, was that two other properly drunk car detailers - I'm guessing by the thin beard/double earring/necklace trifecta - were trying to pull tail while the show was going on. One guy was named "F*ckin' Todd, man," so exclaimed as he exited the bar, door-right, making a phone call. They didn't let the fact that some other guy was talking louder than them interrupt their attempts to get shot down in public. Good for you, F*cking Todd, man! Who prefaces their name with "F*cking?" Todd, that's who. I use it when I'm angry at somebody. Best I could tell, Todd's made enough bad decisions to be mad at Todd for at least another 3 years, or whenever he drinks himself into a faceplant coming out of The J&M. Goodbye CarStars, Hello Comedy Career!
Van Halen's coming to town again. Anybody think Al Foxx is nervous? The last one turned his life around, after disengaging said life from that rogue panel van. Red is for ROCK & ROOOOLLLL!!! Oh, and Stop. Inside joke, kind of. I can tell those kind of jokes because they're funny.
Okay, I gotta get some sleep. This is ridiculous.
Catch my TV appearance in November. You watch "World's Wildest Police Videos," right?
======================
Note to self: Peanut Butter & Chocolate = Natural Enemies
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Taster's Wok (a.k.a. "The Wok," "The T-Hole") sucks for comedy. The only person I've seen do really well there is Heneghen. If you know Heneghen's act, you know it will kill in a club or the lounge of a Chinese restaurant. They LOVE Heneghen there, and everyone else is just some schlub with a dream of getting out of Lynnwood without eye herpes or a paternity suit. On his first day of work, Ronnie liked to wear his best paternity suit. Then get shat-housed at The Wok.
I did about 15 minutes, some of it okay, and dammit, I got the biggest laughs on toilet humor. I think the bit is funny, because it illustrates a low point of my day at work where I realize that my co-workers may appear to be in their 30s, but are actually just 3rd Graders with Debit Cards and a hankering for bagged snacks and Mt. Dew by the gallon. So yeah, potty humor. Doo it.
The funniest thing about it was that people were listening, even with their backs turned at the bar. And even better, if not funny, was that two other properly drunk car detailers - I'm guessing by the thin beard/double earring/necklace trifecta - were trying to pull tail while the show was going on. One guy was named "F*ckin' Todd, man," so exclaimed as he exited the bar, door-right, making a phone call. They didn't let the fact that some other guy was talking louder than them interrupt their attempts to get shot down in public. Good for you, F*cking Todd, man! Who prefaces their name with "F*cking?" Todd, that's who. I use it when I'm angry at somebody. Best I could tell, Todd's made enough bad decisions to be mad at Todd for at least another 3 years, or whenever he drinks himself into a faceplant coming out of The J&M. Goodbye CarStars, Hello Comedy Career!
Van Halen's coming to town again. Anybody think Al Foxx is nervous? The last one turned his life around, after disengaging said life from that rogue panel van. Red is for ROCK & ROOOOLLLL!!! Oh, and Stop. Inside joke, kind of. I can tell those kind of jokes because they're funny.
Okay, I gotta get some sleep. This is ridiculous.
Catch my TV appearance in November. You watch "World's Wildest Police Videos," right?
======================
Note to self: Peanut Butter & Chocolate = Natural Enemies
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The Blog After Wednesday
I have no time to link anything right now. Deal with it.
Had a lot of fun last night comedying for the people of the Puget Sound. The Underpants Aspen Comedy Festival/Vancouver Comedy Day tryouts were first. It sucked. The crowd was a quiet-laughing crowd, except for the yappy dipass in the 2nd row who reminded me of a kid who had too much sugar and inattentive parents. Crazy Mark Spitz-looking motherfudger. Big ups to Jake Dill on his set. He had as good a set as was gonna happen in a room full of nicey-nice Seattle people. Then again, the odds are that I just wasn't funny enough to get 'em. New material, new delivery, I'm trudging onward. Unaffected, overall. Oh well. It'll all come around again. I'm sure the Chatty Spitz will shoot at me tonight in Lynnwood.
The Pegasus show was kick ass. I had a monster vocab night. Nothing too crazy, like "versimilitude" or "cran-apple-icious," but I did throw down with "carte blanche," "melange," "debaucherous," and "fisting." Got an applause break on that last one. I really should have memorized my set-list, but why, when it will all go out the window tonight at Taster's Wok in Lynnweird? You wanna see what comedy in the Northwest is really all about? Be at the Wok by 9pm tonight. Bring your spittin' pants. Big ups to T-Mose and The D.Gale for their support. Tony did nearly 7 minutes after getting lost, having only been to Pegasus like 10 times AND getting directions from everyone and their parole clerk. SLOPPY, Tones. Sloppy.
Tomorrow Morning! 8:10a.m., KJR-FM 95.7! Yours Truly on the Pat Cashman show! Tune in! Call in! Request a tune! Send me money! I'll be promoting this weekend's shows at Laughs, as well as HAX-TV, and the Seattle Comedy scene in general.
I'm off for some Thai food now. I ain't had Thai for a long Thaime.
Should have stopped at the Radio thing, huh?
--------------------------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Had a lot of fun last night comedying for the people of the Puget Sound. The Underpants Aspen Comedy Festival/Vancouver Comedy Day tryouts were first. It sucked. The crowd was a quiet-laughing crowd, except for the yappy dipass in the 2nd row who reminded me of a kid who had too much sugar and inattentive parents. Crazy Mark Spitz-looking motherfudger. Big ups to Jake Dill on his set. He had as good a set as was gonna happen in a room full of nicey-nice Seattle people. Then again, the odds are that I just wasn't funny enough to get 'em. New material, new delivery, I'm trudging onward. Unaffected, overall. Oh well. It'll all come around again. I'm sure the Chatty Spitz will shoot at me tonight in Lynnwood.
The Pegasus show was kick ass. I had a monster vocab night. Nothing too crazy, like "versimilitude" or "cran-apple-icious," but I did throw down with "carte blanche," "melange," "debaucherous," and "fisting." Got an applause break on that last one. I really should have memorized my set-list, but why, when it will all go out the window tonight at Taster's Wok in Lynnweird? You wanna see what comedy in the Northwest is really all about? Be at the Wok by 9pm tonight. Bring your spittin' pants. Big ups to T-Mose and The D.Gale for their support. Tony did nearly 7 minutes after getting lost, having only been to Pegasus like 10 times AND getting directions from everyone and their parole clerk. SLOPPY, Tones. Sloppy.
Tomorrow Morning! 8:10a.m., KJR-FM 95.7! Yours Truly on the Pat Cashman show! Tune in! Call in! Request a tune! Send me money! I'll be promoting this weekend's shows at Laughs, as well as HAX-TV, and the Seattle Comedy scene in general.
I'm off for some Thai food now. I ain't had Thai for a long Thaime.
Should have stopped at the Radio thing, huh?
--------------------------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Chews Your Words Carefully
Last night's Comedy Underground Open Mic & Confuse-a-thon wasn't so bad. Much like Mt. St. Helens I fully expected it to blow. There were a few tremors here and there, a few plumes of steam, but thank you God, there were no Schwarzenegger impressions. There was a pretty bad Sly Stallone, however. I love when a comic comes on stage with a certain "look" to them, and says to the audience, "I know what you're thinking…" Cool. I like that your skin is thick enough to see my thoughts of you huddled in a sobbing mess on stage, vowing to never do comedy again, and yet you defiantly trudge on in the face of silence.
Then they say something like, "… you're thinking 'Wow, that guy looks like Sylvester Stallone on crack!' How would that sound? (impression and my exit to the men's room for distance-vomiting goes here)." The weird thing was that there was uproariously laughter at one point in his set, but I missed it while talking with another comic. Talking out of turn is addressed later on in this blog.
Blaine Reeder's got a new bit about his taste in women changing with his age that is awesome.
Doug Gale is Doug Gale, man. Doug Gale ain't gotta do nothin' fah nobody.
Joe Larson, damn him. Gets better every time I see him.
Tony Moser wasn't there. It was after all, for comics only.
Some other guy made a bad Pres. Bush joke even worse with a, scandalous!, reference to vaginas, then double-stacked his shitwich with a "Hey, no pun intended." Dude, none taken. I was wondering where he was the other night. Tony was looking for a man.
My set went far better than I had planned, with some new openings, and a few new tags to a bit that is still in the incubator. Carl Warmenpockets, the Ass. Man. of the Underpants, even came over to tell me he thought it was really funny. It's been a while since I heard that, and it made me feel good.
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Use Your Words
In the past 36 hours I have been called everything from a "dear-heart" to a "dumbass." And "dumbass" was on the shy side of how bad it got. Makes me wonder what people's perceptions are of me. I know that I can be "elitist" and "prickly," especially when I feel imposed upon, which is unfair to all. My elitism is more based on how I just hate to settle for less than I feel is good enough for me, keeping high standards for myself. I detest mediocrity. I abhor "good enough." I purposely ignore "that'll do."
I should have the sense by now, if I do indeed feel imposed-upon, to tell someone "Hey, I appreciate the offer/attention/bondage attempt, but I need to respectfully decline your invitation to your Family Reunion/Swingers Meeting/Bocce tournament." That's pretty simple, right? To simply tell someone "no."? I value honesty so much that I guess I think everyone values honesty. However, honesty can be buffed and shined by the tenderness of one's words, a way to dilute the tonic from Industrial Reality to Morning Optimism. It's a guy thing to try and fix something, even it means fixing the view by breaking through the wall.
I had a guy I work with question my competence and integrity of my work. He was later asked to double-check 6 months of my work to find flaws, which he starts today. I may not have a title of authority, but the next best thing - being good friends with those who do - is something I am party to.
Yesterday at the grocery store I asked a woman with a full cart if my 3 items and cash-to-purchase-combo could cut ahead of her. I was asking her to extend a courtesy by giving up another 48 seconds of her line-waiting, and erasing my 4 minutes-ish of standing on line for water, gum, and luncheon meat behind her huge produce purchase. That crap's gotta get individually weighed, folks. She begrudged me the spot, and acted like the Queen Silent Bitch while I completed my purchase. I thanked her, for the 3rd time, before leaving. Was I wrong in looking out for my own interests of not waiting in line longer than I may have to?
Today I was told by a friend that there are some moments where I need to learn when to keep my mouth shut. Out of respect for that friend and our friendship, all I will say is "gotcha, lesson learned." Had I thought the words I spoke would be incriminating or cause pain to my friend, I would never have allowed them to breach my lips. In the aftermath, I wondered whether or not it's wise for me to talk to this person for a few days. Guess I'll listen to what my gut instinct is telling me. Sorry, that's not for you to know. Gotta keep my fingers off the board.
Tomorrow I start the Eastside Comedy Gauntlet! First is a showcase for the Aspen Comedy Festival, then I'm off to Pegasus Pizza, Thursday is Taster's Wok, Friday & Saturday I'll be at Laughs. I'm looking forward to all of it, since this is what I do, ya know? I hope I can get my point across and keep my mouth shut at the same time. Opening the mouth seems to be troublesome this week.
=====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Then they say something like, "… you're thinking 'Wow, that guy looks like Sylvester Stallone on crack!' How would that sound? (impression and my exit to the men's room for distance-vomiting goes here)." The weird thing was that there was uproariously laughter at one point in his set, but I missed it while talking with another comic. Talking out of turn is addressed later on in this blog.
Blaine Reeder's got a new bit about his taste in women changing with his age that is awesome.
Doug Gale is Doug Gale, man. Doug Gale ain't gotta do nothin' fah nobody.
Joe Larson, damn him. Gets better every time I see him.
Tony Moser wasn't there. It was after all, for comics only.
Some other guy made a bad Pres. Bush joke even worse with a, scandalous!, reference to vaginas, then double-stacked his shitwich with a "Hey, no pun intended." Dude, none taken. I was wondering where he was the other night. Tony was looking for a man.
My set went far better than I had planned, with some new openings, and a few new tags to a bit that is still in the incubator. Carl Warmenpockets, the Ass. Man. of the Underpants, even came over to tell me he thought it was really funny. It's been a while since I heard that, and it made me feel good.
==================
Use Your Words
In the past 36 hours I have been called everything from a "dear-heart" to a "dumbass." And "dumbass" was on the shy side of how bad it got. Makes me wonder what people's perceptions are of me. I know that I can be "elitist" and "prickly," especially when I feel imposed upon, which is unfair to all. My elitism is more based on how I just hate to settle for less than I feel is good enough for me, keeping high standards for myself. I detest mediocrity. I abhor "good enough." I purposely ignore "that'll do."
I should have the sense by now, if I do indeed feel imposed-upon, to tell someone "Hey, I appreciate the offer/attention/bondage attempt, but I need to respectfully decline your invitation to your Family Reunion/Swingers Meeting/Bocce tournament." That's pretty simple, right? To simply tell someone "no."? I value honesty so much that I guess I think everyone values honesty. However, honesty can be buffed and shined by the tenderness of one's words, a way to dilute the tonic from Industrial Reality to Morning Optimism. It's a guy thing to try and fix something, even it means fixing the view by breaking through the wall.
I had a guy I work with question my competence and integrity of my work. He was later asked to double-check 6 months of my work to find flaws, which he starts today. I may not have a title of authority, but the next best thing - being good friends with those who do - is something I am party to.
Yesterday at the grocery store I asked a woman with a full cart if my 3 items and cash-to-purchase-combo could cut ahead of her. I was asking her to extend a courtesy by giving up another 48 seconds of her line-waiting, and erasing my 4 minutes-ish of standing on line for water, gum, and luncheon meat behind her huge produce purchase. That crap's gotta get individually weighed, folks. She begrudged me the spot, and acted like the Queen Silent Bitch while I completed my purchase. I thanked her, for the 3rd time, before leaving. Was I wrong in looking out for my own interests of not waiting in line longer than I may have to?
Today I was told by a friend that there are some moments where I need to learn when to keep my mouth shut. Out of respect for that friend and our friendship, all I will say is "gotcha, lesson learned." Had I thought the words I spoke would be incriminating or cause pain to my friend, I would never have allowed them to breach my lips. In the aftermath, I wondered whether or not it's wise for me to talk to this person for a few days. Guess I'll listen to what my gut instinct is telling me. Sorry, that's not for you to know. Gotta keep my fingers off the board.
Tomorrow I start the Eastside Comedy Gauntlet! First is a showcase for the Aspen Comedy Festival, then I'm off to Pegasus Pizza, Thursday is Taster's Wok, Friday & Saturday I'll be at Laughs. I'm looking forward to all of it, since this is what I do, ya know? I hope I can get my point across and keep my mouth shut at the same time. Opening the mouth seems to be troublesome this week.
=====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Mondane
So what the hell, is Mt. St. Helens gonna blow or what? It cast a pall over every 2nd Saturday show this weekend, as the crowd rumbled 'neath my feat and my lava dome rose and fell with steam released from my vents.
Tony Moser's at it again. This guy used to do comedy around Seattle, and now he's back basically denying everyone a chance of having a normal conversation with him. Example:
Me: "Hey Tony, how's it going?"
Tony: "I just tongue-bathed your grandmother. How about you, f*ck eyes?"
Moser's (pronounced "faaaarrrt") got some kind of beef with me that I think is ridiculous. See, Tony used to be the premier blonde male comic at open mics. He thinks I'm trying to steal his crown. I'm NOT. I took it while he was working on his Macho Man voice. It's gone. I don't even want the crown, I just didn't want him to have a crown that wasn't attached to his being King Jacksock.
But hey, Tony's presence has made me stronger. Everyone rises to a higher self when they have a foil, an archnemesis. Batman had the Joker. Superman had that horse. For me, it's a guy who is really amazingly funny, driving me to be the best comic around, but until I meet him, I'll allow Tony his fantasy of having any sort of effect on me. I do like Tony well enough, it's like Peter Johnson without the attempts to be inaccessible. Yeah, I mentioned Peter Johnson in my blog. I pander to the Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Hentai crowd on a regular basis. Put on yer good software vendor polo, fellas, ladies like a man with a velcro wallet.
Anyway, work is work. I'm part of a new project to integrate 3rd-party/vendor software into an enterprise application so a business partnership thrives. It's exciting.
Saturday night at the 2nd show I was called a "bitch" and flipped off by a drunk woman in the 2nd row. Sounds like a Slim Shady rhyme. It started after I told some jokes about the Presidential Candidate Debates, topped off with why marriage should be illegal before the age of 25. Flippy DiFingerfood was a Republican - low-shouting "Buuuush" during my bit, and I refused to pander to a bikini wax joke - who was NOT married. As I began to go back at her, she tried to hide her face like she was near the end of a first, shame-filled date. The man she was with, out of her sight, gave me the "go ahead, go for it" sign. Do you see what the problem is with the loudmouthed woman? Even the man in her life can't stand her. And this isn't a woman who was entertaining, she just lacked the appropriate grasp of humor to realize that THOSE WERE JOKES. So I threw one over the fence and left it alone. She also flipped the headliner off within 3 minutes of his opening joke. Just another pushy broad who'll get dumped before Christmas. It's perfectly fine to have your beliefs and dreams, but if you plan to voice them for no particular reason in a public forum, you may as well be farting in an elevator.
I think that most people's biggest problem is that they don't know what their biggest problem is. They may know what their symptoms are, but they never go deeper, to the cause of their effects.
Gotta go to work. Stuff to be stuffed into stuff for other stuff.
=========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tony Moser's at it again. This guy used to do comedy around Seattle, and now he's back basically denying everyone a chance of having a normal conversation with him. Example:
Me: "Hey Tony, how's it going?"
Tony: "I just tongue-bathed your grandmother. How about you, f*ck eyes?"
Moser's (pronounced "faaaarrrt") got some kind of beef with me that I think is ridiculous. See, Tony used to be the premier blonde male comic at open mics. He thinks I'm trying to steal his crown. I'm NOT. I took it while he was working on his Macho Man voice. It's gone. I don't even want the crown, I just didn't want him to have a crown that wasn't attached to his being King Jacksock.
But hey, Tony's presence has made me stronger. Everyone rises to a higher self when they have a foil, an archnemesis. Batman had the Joker. Superman had that horse. For me, it's a guy who is really amazingly funny, driving me to be the best comic around, but until I meet him, I'll allow Tony his fantasy of having any sort of effect on me. I do like Tony well enough, it's like Peter Johnson without the attempts to be inaccessible. Yeah, I mentioned Peter Johnson in my blog. I pander to the Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Hentai crowd on a regular basis. Put on yer good software vendor polo, fellas, ladies like a man with a velcro wallet.
Anyway, work is work. I'm part of a new project to integrate 3rd-party/vendor software into an enterprise application so a business partnership thrives. It's exciting.
Saturday night at the 2nd show I was called a "bitch" and flipped off by a drunk woman in the 2nd row. Sounds like a Slim Shady rhyme. It started after I told some jokes about the Presidential Candidate Debates, topped off with why marriage should be illegal before the age of 25. Flippy DiFingerfood was a Republican - low-shouting "Buuuush" during my bit, and I refused to pander to a bikini wax joke - who was NOT married. As I began to go back at her, she tried to hide her face like she was near the end of a first, shame-filled date. The man she was with, out of her sight, gave me the "go ahead, go for it" sign. Do you see what the problem is with the loudmouthed woman? Even the man in her life can't stand her. And this isn't a woman who was entertaining, she just lacked the appropriate grasp of humor to realize that THOSE WERE JOKES. So I threw one over the fence and left it alone. She also flipped the headliner off within 3 minutes of his opening joke. Just another pushy broad who'll get dumped before Christmas. It's perfectly fine to have your beliefs and dreams, but if you plan to voice them for no particular reason in a public forum, you may as well be farting in an elevator.
I think that most people's biggest problem is that they don't know what their biggest problem is. They may know what their symptoms are, but they never go deeper, to the cause of their effects.
Gotta go to work. Stuff to be stuffed into stuff for other stuff.
=========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, October 01, 2004
#273 on the "Weird, But I'm Not Surprised" list
Public Display of Infection 2.oh!
Wednesday night I went on what was the best date of my life. Great food, great conversation, great scenery, great music, great chemistry. And it ended the way most of my dates do: Street nudity followed by a near-fatal multi-car accident. As we walked out of a lower Queen Anne cantina, I opened my date's door, shut it gentlemanly as she comfied herself on the leather buckets, and walked driver's-side to roll home-ward. As I did, I noticed the rather loud music coming from the SUV in front of me, the driver's side door open. I knew it was going to be a fun story because I was hearing Sitars and a little deep raga wafting over the noise of cab-bound drunken secretaries and a drifter, mid street-crap. Every bloggable story starts with sitar music.
By that SUV's open door stood a man, naked from the waist down. I, too, have been this moved by a Shakti rock-block. I hop in my ride and ask my date if she'd like to see a naked man. Her laughter turned to guffaws as she honked the horn to the man ahead of us, now quickly tossing on his boxers, which were, from the best I could tell in the varied lighting, "car porking orange." Old Navy carries 'em, check 'em out. I did not physilogically see the man's penis, but he WAS in a major metropolitan area driving a large SUV with 22-inch rims and loud stereo. So yeah, I guess I did see his penis.
The bobbing shadow in the SUV's cab showed me that he wasn't the only one re-dressing their personage. For a second I thought he was just a dude getting off his shift at a local restaurant or water show, changing for a night on the town. The shadow killed the dream that this was an everynight occurence, but hey, Sitars and moon-lit cocks, here comes a STORY! I wasn't sure the shadow was cast by a woman, but I assumed so, since I highly doubt a gay man would have sex with somebody standing outside an SUV wearing khakis and a denim shirt. I almost asked him when the movies had to be back. Instead, I gave the man a thumbs up. Way to go, bro.
As we pull up to the next stop light, his car sidles along mine, and he's giving me lady and I the "roll down the window" sign, or the "my finger smells funny" sign. He says to us "It's a new thing called Tahoe Aerobics, I highly recommend it." (The 2005 Chevy Tahoe: With 900 foot-pounds of torque and plenty of room to wheelbarrow your honey, it's the SUV chosen number 1 buy "Adultery Monthly.") The expression of his passenger was a metaphorical "thumbs down" to the recent event, or perhaps a "thumbs up" in that "please, I can't be in this car any longer!" way. Or maybe it was a look that reminded all of us to get paid for services up front. Light goes green, I'm trying to figure out why he's confirming what we'd already assumed. We get it, your cheating on your girlfriend with your wife, whatever. Judging from this guy's neck-whipping acceleration off the line, he was either a thrill seeker or in the company of a close-to-curfew babysitter.
We all got on the I-5 North on-ramp off of Mercer, and he's ahead of me. Ahead of him is another SUV, white in color, offsetting his blood-red ride. For some reason, Backseat Neil tries to get to the left of the white SUV, which had room to move right, but refused to, out of a much larger want to f*ck his paintjob than yield to a short guy with a penchant for public pumpin'. Whitey yields, Streetmeat Red roars on into the night. For the second time within 30 minutes, he f*cked a total stranger!
All I could figure after witnessing his methods of aggro merge & swerve was that f*cking in a car in front of Peso's ain't quite the relaxing vacation it's HY HY HYPED up to be. If you can drive that fast and reckless after sex, it probably didn't count.
My date ended the way they usually do. I get the stitches out next Tuesday. How many kidneys do you need to live anyway?
Arriba and Bonus Nachos.
p.s./f.c.r. If you haven't clued in yet, yes, my date and I remained chaste throughout the evening. I want to try and do the right things with this woman. I figured I'd save the roofies for Role Playing night. When I black out, I'll know the time is right.
=====================================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
By that SUV's open door stood a man, naked from the waist down. I, too, have been this moved by a Shakti rock-block. I hop in my ride and ask my date if she'd like to see a naked man. Her laughter turned to guffaws as she honked the horn to the man ahead of us, now quickly tossing on his boxers, which were, from the best I could tell in the varied lighting, "car porking orange." Old Navy carries 'em, check 'em out. I did not physilogically see the man's penis, but he WAS in a major metropolitan area driving a large SUV with 22-inch rims and loud stereo. So yeah, I guess I did see his penis.
The bobbing shadow in the SUV's cab showed me that he wasn't the only one re-dressing their personage. For a second I thought he was just a dude getting off his shift at a local restaurant or water show, changing for a night on the town. The shadow killed the dream that this was an everynight occurence, but hey, Sitars and moon-lit cocks, here comes a STORY! I wasn't sure the shadow was cast by a woman, but I assumed so, since I highly doubt a gay man would have sex with somebody standing outside an SUV wearing khakis and a denim shirt. I almost asked him when the movies had to be back. Instead, I gave the man a thumbs up. Way to go, bro.
As we pull up to the next stop light, his car sidles along mine, and he's giving me lady and I the "roll down the window" sign, or the "my finger smells funny" sign. He says to us "It's a new thing called Tahoe Aerobics, I highly recommend it." (The 2005 Chevy Tahoe: With 900 foot-pounds of torque and plenty of room to wheelbarrow your honey, it's the SUV chosen number 1 buy "Adultery Monthly.") The expression of his passenger was a metaphorical "thumbs down" to the recent event, or perhaps a "thumbs up" in that "please, I can't be in this car any longer!" way. Or maybe it was a look that reminded all of us to get paid for services up front. Light goes green, I'm trying to figure out why he's confirming what we'd already assumed. We get it, your cheating on your girlfriend with your wife, whatever. Judging from this guy's neck-whipping acceleration off the line, he was either a thrill seeker or in the company of a close-to-curfew babysitter.
We all got on the I-5 North on-ramp off of Mercer, and he's ahead of me. Ahead of him is another SUV, white in color, offsetting his blood-red ride. For some reason, Backseat Neil tries to get to the left of the white SUV, which had room to move right, but refused to, out of a much larger want to f*ck his paintjob than yield to a short guy with a penchant for public pumpin'. Whitey yields, Streetmeat Red roars on into the night. For the second time within 30 minutes, he f*cked a total stranger!
All I could figure after witnessing his methods of aggro merge & swerve was that f*cking in a car in front of Peso's ain't quite the relaxing vacation it's HY HY HYPED up to be. If you can drive that fast and reckless after sex, it probably didn't count.
My date ended the way they usually do. I get the stitches out next Tuesday. How many kidneys do you need to live anyway?
Arriba and Bonus Nachos.
p.s./f.c.r. If you haven't clued in yet, yes, my date and I remained chaste throughout the evening. I want to try and do the right things with this woman. I figured I'd save the roofies for Role Playing night. When I black out, I'll know the time is right.
=====================================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
The Upside Of Downtime
In the past two years I've been involved in semi-regular headchecking sessions. No, not hockey with quadraplegics... that's not going to help my "not going to Hell" campaign... I'm talking about therapy. In these sessions I have bared my soul to a person who has been trained to address any issue like a professional, but with heart and concern. It is in that chair, 10 feet from a non-judgmental professional that I found out how I became who I was then, and how I got to be who I am now.
Perfect? Nope, far from it, and totally fine with that. Nobody will ever get a diploma declaring them to be Normal, no matter how much counseling they participate in, nor how many pills, pies, or pints they throw down their throat. I have come to the realization that pretty much everyone's got a flaw. Perfection is solely the work of the Creator, and she's letting things go of their own accord these days, even parenting, even society... even Me. I like flawed people who call out their flaws. If you have a fake leg, address it by saying "I have a prosthetic leg. Hand me those bottles and we'll make this the best OzzFest EVER, WOOOOOOOOO OOOZZZYYYY!!!" Anybody who thinks they have cruised into adulthood without a few chips in the paintjob, rocks to the windshield, thrown-door ding & scratch combos is in desperate need of a full oil, lube, and filter, and they best get a look at the tranny, too. Especially if they're dating a cross-dresser.
I first sought out a counselor while battling a deep depression brought on by a number of things. I felt as if I was unworthy of the best of life because I hadn't suffered enough for it. I was living in fear that if I did, indeed, achieve anything of note in life I would next be struck down by God, errant golfballs, rabid gophers, or a dipshit named Nick on a Harley-Davidson. The last of those actually happened. But I hadn't felt such a dark pall over my life ever before, and I was tired of lugging it around. It affected my friendships, my relationships, and worst of all, it affected my happiness.
The stigma of therapy comes from people believing in the old "laying on the couch griping about the unattentive parent." That's all false. I sit in a chair. The point is this, our brains get wired as kids as to how we will love, achieve, and get through life. That wiring isn't always done by the most skilled of hands. Some kids turn out to be arm-chopping back country hikers. Some turn out creating computer languages that revolutionize how we get recipes for porn cake. Some turn out to hear voices that tell them kidnap prostitutes, while some just hear the voices that suggest haggling with her. How? When? Why? Those are the questions I had to ask myself, and then step back and look at my life's tapestry (so confidently masculine that I used the word "tapestry") for the Big Slideshow.
I turned out just about how every kid who comes from my background turns out. So, for what was mine, I'm normal. But that "normal" SUCKED. And I decided to unravel those threads and fix what flaws I could. It was scary, because who the F knew if I could ever get it back to looking like it used to. Then again, that's why I was there, because of how it looked. It takes far more courage to admit one's faults, and work to right them, than it does to fault one's right to be happy. In other words, you can be your own best critic or your own worst opponent. Don't fight dirty with yourself. You can't win.
Long story longer, I now realize that the journey of self-assessment and enlightenment NEVER ends. When you stop growing, you start dying. Simple biology lesson for ya, sans tax & tip. So I've decided that I am never going to stop taking time to assess my life and Who I Am. The more I learn about me, the more I can empathize with others, and the less I feel the need to neck-bat people for standing in front of me in a coffee shop without knowing what they want.
P.S. No, I am not crazy. However, I did have a tendency of attracting them for a while. Sorry Crazy-Moths, this bulb is needed for the stage lighting.
---------------
====================
GO SEE DWIGHT SLADE!
GO SEE TODD BARRY!
GO SEE ME! (Comedy Underground on Thursday, Laughs on Friday, Giggles on Saturday)
====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog. (like this one was fawking legendary)
Perfect? Nope, far from it, and totally fine with that. Nobody will ever get a diploma declaring them to be Normal, no matter how much counseling they participate in, nor how many pills, pies, or pints they throw down their throat. I have come to the realization that pretty much everyone's got a flaw. Perfection is solely the work of the Creator, and she's letting things go of their own accord these days, even parenting, even society... even Me. I like flawed people who call out their flaws. If you have a fake leg, address it by saying "I have a prosthetic leg. Hand me those bottles and we'll make this the best OzzFest EVER, WOOOOOOOOO OOOZZZYYYY!!!" Anybody who thinks they have cruised into adulthood without a few chips in the paintjob, rocks to the windshield, thrown-door ding & scratch combos is in desperate need of a full oil, lube, and filter, and they best get a look at the tranny, too. Especially if they're dating a cross-dresser.
I first sought out a counselor while battling a deep depression brought on by a number of things. I felt as if I was unworthy of the best of life because I hadn't suffered enough for it. I was living in fear that if I did, indeed, achieve anything of note in life I would next be struck down by God, errant golfballs, rabid gophers, or a dipshit named Nick on a Harley-Davidson. The last of those actually happened. But I hadn't felt such a dark pall over my life ever before, and I was tired of lugging it around. It affected my friendships, my relationships, and worst of all, it affected my happiness.
The stigma of therapy comes from people believing in the old "laying on the couch griping about the unattentive parent." That's all false. I sit in a chair. The point is this, our brains get wired as kids as to how we will love, achieve, and get through life. That wiring isn't always done by the most skilled of hands. Some kids turn out to be arm-chopping back country hikers. Some turn out creating computer languages that revolutionize how we get recipes for porn cake. Some turn out to hear voices that tell them kidnap prostitutes, while some just hear the voices that suggest haggling with her. How? When? Why? Those are the questions I had to ask myself, and then step back and look at my life's tapestry (so confidently masculine that I used the word "tapestry") for the Big Slideshow.
I turned out just about how every kid who comes from my background turns out. So, for what was mine, I'm normal. But that "normal" SUCKED. And I decided to unravel those threads and fix what flaws I could. It was scary, because who the F knew if I could ever get it back to looking like it used to. Then again, that's why I was there, because of how it looked. It takes far more courage to admit one's faults, and work to right them, than it does to fault one's right to be happy. In other words, you can be your own best critic or your own worst opponent. Don't fight dirty with yourself. You can't win.
Long story longer, I now realize that the journey of self-assessment and enlightenment NEVER ends. When you stop growing, you start dying. Simple biology lesson for ya, sans tax & tip. So I've decided that I am never going to stop taking time to assess my life and Who I Am. The more I learn about me, the more I can empathize with others, and the less I feel the need to neck-bat people for standing in front of me in a coffee shop without knowing what they want.
P.S. No, I am not crazy. However, I did have a tendency of attracting them for a while. Sorry Crazy-Moths, this bulb is needed for the stage lighting.
---------------
====================
GO SEE DWIGHT SLADE!
GO SEE TODD BARRY!
GO SEE ME! (Comedy Underground on Thursday, Laughs on Friday, Giggles on Saturday)
====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog. (like this one was fawking legendary)
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
The Joy Of Sectional Seating
Tuesdate
So I checked out the Personality Disorder test that you may have read on Blaine's Blog or Blogo De Shoogs. I took the test myself and I had a High level/tendency towards narcissism, and everything else was pretty low. I don't disagree with that, I find myself to be self-involved and self-preserving, unless someone could use a hand or asks for help, then I will pitch in. Usually free of charge, but gawd knows it's nice to move a dresser with the promise of a cold six on the receiving end. I have been told that I am elitist, a bit of an a-hole, and a f*cking (fill in the blank). To each their own opinion. I have had moments, hell, months of my life where I truly did not give two loaves about anybody else. That period usually followed a spate of me being too involved in things other than my life, and that imbalance usually gets one in trouble. I'm much more balanced now. I rarely venture out of my world now.
The questions of the test were pretty funny, too. I posted a few here that were pretty much loaded questions, or at the least, poorly written, in a way to cause some confusion in the test-taker, because a lot of people are pretty dumb. Let's be honest, you're probably a co-worker of someone who's lips move when they type, and who breathes with their mouth open.
Some of the questions!
So I checked out the Personality Disorder test that you may have read on Blaine's Blog or Blogo De Shoogs. I took the test myself and I had a High level/tendency towards narcissism, and everything else was pretty low. I don't disagree with that, I find myself to be self-involved and self-preserving, unless someone could use a hand or asks for help, then I will pitch in. Usually free of charge, but gawd knows it's nice to move a dresser with the promise of a cold six on the receiving end. I have been told that I am elitist, a bit of an a-hole, and a f*cking (fill in the blank). To each their own opinion. I have had moments, hell, months of my life where I truly did not give two loaves about anybody else. That period usually followed a spate of me being too involved in things other than my life, and that imbalance usually gets one in trouble. I'm much more balanced now. I rarely venture out of my world now.
The questions of the test were pretty funny, too. I posted a few here that were pretty much loaded questions, or at the least, poorly written, in a way to cause some confusion in the test-taker, because a lot of people are pretty dumb. Let's be honest, you're probably a co-worker of someone who's lips move when they type, and who breathes with their mouth open.
Some of the questions!
- Do you tend to avoid social relationships? "Social relationships." Please define. Like general, "hey what's up?," superficial stuff, or ???
- Do you find yourself unaffected by praise or criticism? Do I have to be unaffected by both? Someone was too lazy to type another question.
- Do you feel a yearning for acceptance among your peers? Did you just use the word "yearning?" Acceptance... I don't know. I guess if I consider them my friends. I'd rather be feared than accepted. Or no, lusted after, that's it.
- Do others see you as being cold and distant? And if you answered Yes, how can you be sure, if you're that distant?
- Do you find it hard to concentrate on one thing for a long time? Define "long time." Also, it depends on what that one thing is, and what # date I'm on.
- Do you sometimes profit at the expense of others, without being bothered by the pain or damage you may cause them? Yeah, every day. If there was anybody else with no foresight who wanted this job and didn't get it, then yes, every day we all do that. Do you do X without feeling the Y that others may feel? I don't know what others MAY feel.
- Do you consider your needs to be more important to you than the needs of others? Yes, all the time. My needs are more important to me than the needs of others because I'm responsible for getting them met. I can't give a man a fish if I haven't caught one, can I?
- Are you often uninterested in the feelings of others? The loaded "negative affirmation" question. Do you not want to answer this?
- Do other people accuse you of being manipulative? Ssometimes, but I can usually change their minds.
- Have you ever been in jail or done something that you could be put in jail for? Try answering this honestly, including every time you drove your car after a few Xanax & tonics.
- Do other people accuse you of being self-centered? Perhaps. I don't really pay attention.
- Do you have trouble not taking criticism personally? See, they do it again here, the negative affirmation. What the hell is the deal here, do they think I'm not going to see this? Do they think I am some bimbo? FAWK THIS TEST! I AM GOING TO THROTTLE THE NEXT PERSON WHO DECIDES IT IS THEIR PLACE TO PLAY "PEOPLE'S COURT" WITH MY DREAMS! SOMEBODY.... IS GOING... TO DIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGRRRRRRHGHGGHGHRHRRHAAAAAAAAAAAA
- Are you prone to bouts of anger? A resounding "SNORT" and a "NO, thank you."
- Do you often get stuck on the details while missing the larger picture? Sometimes, but I find that women kind of like that. And isn't that what it's all about, lying to women?
- Are you very concerned with your appearance and how others perceive you? Why, do I look heavy to you? "Very" concerned? No. This should be two questions. "Are you concerned with your appearance?" and "Are you concerned that others think you're a slob?"
- Do others accuse you of being rigid or stubborn? This question is horse-apples and I refuse to cotton to such banality. I say GOOD DAY, Sir. Thomas will show you to the door.
I hope you can see that this test is not 100% accurate, but I do have to agree on the narcissism. I'm a bit of an elitist, and while I understand that other people will say things about other people, I hope that when I come up in conversation, as I tend to do, they realize that I don't care what they say, just so long as they're talking about me. Press is press, people, even if it's a "stolen" romp tape and a pending lawsuit. Nothing can remove the memories of my weekend with that Mrs. Garrett look-alike.
Narcissism is a level of self-involvement that borders on insecurity. A semi-constant wondering how I am perceived by others, OR a high level of self-concern. Hmm.... I can look at myself naked and know that I'm surely not obsessed about my looks. I can see that I'm losing some hair and have yet to replace it with a convertible (irony?), but I do want a Benzo Roadster at some point. I like to dress well and smell nice. I read books and articles about overcoming fear and anxiety in order to achieve the highest goals in life. And when I hear reports of people speaking badly of me, I laugh. For some reason, I guffaw loudly as it rolls off my back. I have developed a sense of humor about myself as a shield against the photons of low-thinkers. And I do these things because I like to, because I want to be this person I am constantly becoming, and not because I want to fling it in the face of the tragically unattractive.
Anyway, I have a personality disorder, according to that test. Just one, after 30 years? I guess I have every reason to love, love, love the Me that is the I that I am for My Self. I need a little "Me" time... if I know what I mean.
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Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Football, Comedy, Football, Green Lake, Talking Meatball, Footmeat, Greenball, Audition, Love Machine, Fomedy, Cootball, LoserAss, Junk In Da Trunk, And of Course, Football
Oh dear gawd, it's Mon-F*cking-day already. The only way for me to start this week is as I'm doing it right now, manipulating the lettered buttons of this "board" to produce words that form recognizable structures of communication in your friggin' brain. Dig my technological advances with a side of honey mustard ass-kicking sizzauce. Go ahead, dip & lick yer fingers. Enjoy.
I just watched the weirdest Aqua Teen Hunger Force ('toon network, look it up) of all time. In an effort to get Meatwad to lose weight, Frylock attempts to put him on a diet. Carl gets involved by using the South Bronx Paradise diet candybar, which helps him lose weight by the handful, including his ass-deposited liver, over a few hours. "I thought I felt somethin' slip," says Carl. Turns out it was the South Bronx ParaSITE diet, so you can imagine the extreme effects. In the meantime, MasterShake is making Funnel Cakes and brownies to get Meatwad fatter, so that MasterShake can win. 'Shake's secret strategy? Sticking a shop-vac into his straw right before weigh-in (it kills him). Carl wins the contest when a giant millipede erupts from his gut and drags Carl's body onto the scale, chanting in the voice of Emmanuel Lewis from "Webster," "I WIN! I WIN!"
(If you have no frigging clue what I'm talking about, that's what it's like to talk to a woman who tells stories about her friends you've never met. Everyone's losing weight, and one's got a virus inside of her.)
I got really bad food poisoning last Thursday. That's the last time I eat vending-machine Sushi.
HAX-TV will return next week on 10/05/04, with new sketches and a fresh outlook on life. A couple weeks back I did a candid review of the Open Mic Comedillio at the Underpants, and one of the performers from that night & review was a pile by the moniker of "Major." Generally a guy who is trying to be the life of every party, even if it's a wake, he's got a false confidence that comes from being 6'3'' and 300lbs, sporting a really intricate tattoo (read: covering up something embarrassing, like a guy's name or a swastika), and donning sleeveless attire while lacking muscle tone. Were it not for my sureness that he was packing a bootknife, I probably would have had a go at him. Anyway, in the lobby of SCAN is an article about that same guy, Major, having his own TV show on SCAN a while ago. Anybody can do it. Sadly, anybody will do. We want ours to be the Joe Millionaire of Public Access. A 1-season phenom that launches us all into stardom. Mercedes E55, here's I come.
Back now:
Football & It's Affect on Dating.
I didn't watch a lick of Seattle football this weekend. I watched a ton of other teams and schools go at it, but the Huskies are really bad this year, and the Hawks are really good. Besides, I had a hot date on Sunday afternoon, and she was far more interesting than the 'Hawks 34-0 Dirty Sanchez'ing of the Niners. Until the Oh! network (that sounds hawt) starts a Dating Highlights show, I feel okay about skipping the game now and again. "As you can see here, Lott jumps the count and goes right for the flank, but comes up short after being brought down by a facemask. He was carted off with an embarrassed libido and later traded for a man with all his hair and a leased 325ci."
I realize, also, that it's quite impossible for me to date someone more than 5 years younger than me. Not that women aren't beautiful in their own ways at all ages, but damn, there's just no shared experiences there. That's the way this wheel keeps rolling, though.
I'm thinking it's time for a good practical joke to be played at the office. I want to try the old "free pizza and donuts" e-mail, then leave empty boxes of each in the lunchroom, except for one of each with bites out of them, then see if anyone takes it. Perhaps sugar cookies where the sugar is actually salt? Out of Order signs on the Fridge? Somebody's been taking food out of the refrigerator again, so perhaps it's time for a booby-trapped item? "Oh my, I've never seen a California Roll just catch on fire in someone's mouth like that." Anybody got ideas?
I gotta get back to work now. Have a good Monday. Check out my schedule, btw, as I'll be headlining Laughs soon, and also, there's a hellacious weekend of comedy coming up. Where do we go? Where do we go now?
--------------------------
Take Me Home Tonight, I Don't Wanna Let You Go Till I See The Light
My Non-Funny Blog.
Oh dear gawd, it's Mon-F*cking-day already. The only way for me to start this week is as I'm doing it right now, manipulating the lettered buttons of this "board" to produce words that form recognizable structures of communication in your friggin' brain. Dig my technological advances with a side of honey mustard ass-kicking sizzauce. Go ahead, dip & lick yer fingers. Enjoy.
I just watched the weirdest Aqua Teen Hunger Force ('toon network, look it up) of all time. In an effort to get Meatwad to lose weight, Frylock attempts to put him on a diet. Carl gets involved by using the South Bronx Paradise diet candybar, which helps him lose weight by the handful, including his ass-deposited liver, over a few hours. "I thought I felt somethin' slip," says Carl. Turns out it was the South Bronx ParaSITE diet, so you can imagine the extreme effects. In the meantime, MasterShake is making Funnel Cakes and brownies to get Meatwad fatter, so that MasterShake can win. 'Shake's secret strategy? Sticking a shop-vac into his straw right before weigh-in (it kills him). Carl wins the contest when a giant millipede erupts from his gut and drags Carl's body onto the scale, chanting in the voice of Emmanuel Lewis from "Webster," "I WIN! I WIN!"
(If you have no frigging clue what I'm talking about, that's what it's like to talk to a woman who tells stories about her friends you've never met. Everyone's losing weight, and one's got a virus inside of her.)
I got really bad food poisoning last Thursday. That's the last time I eat vending-machine Sushi.
HAX-TV will return next week on 10/05/04, with new sketches and a fresh outlook on life. A couple weeks back I did a candid review of the Open Mic Comedillio at the Underpants, and one of the performers from that night & review was a pile by the moniker of "Major." Generally a guy who is trying to be the life of every party, even if it's a wake, he's got a false confidence that comes from being 6'3'' and 300lbs, sporting a really intricate tattoo (read: covering up something embarrassing, like a guy's name or a swastika), and donning sleeveless attire while lacking muscle tone. Were it not for my sureness that he was packing a bootknife, I probably would have had a go at him. Anyway, in the lobby of SCAN is an article about that same guy, Major, having his own TV show on SCAN a while ago. Anybody can do it. Sadly, anybody will do. We want ours to be the Joe Millionaire of Public Access. A 1-season phenom that launches us all into stardom. Mercedes E55, here's I come.
Back now:
Football & It's Affect on Dating.
I didn't watch a lick of Seattle football this weekend. I watched a ton of other teams and schools go at it, but the Huskies are really bad this year, and the Hawks are really good. Besides, I had a hot date on Sunday afternoon, and she was far more interesting than the 'Hawks 34-0 Dirty Sanchez'ing of the Niners. Until the Oh! network (that sounds hawt) starts a Dating Highlights show, I feel okay about skipping the game now and again. "As you can see here, Lott jumps the count and goes right for the flank, but comes up short after being brought down by a facemask. He was carted off with an embarrassed libido and later traded for a man with all his hair and a leased 325ci."
I realize, also, that it's quite impossible for me to date someone more than 5 years younger than me. Not that women aren't beautiful in their own ways at all ages, but damn, there's just no shared experiences there. That's the way this wheel keeps rolling, though.
I'm thinking it's time for a good practical joke to be played at the office. I want to try the old "free pizza and donuts" e-mail, then leave empty boxes of each in the lunchroom, except for one of each with bites out of them, then see if anyone takes it. Perhaps sugar cookies where the sugar is actually salt? Out of Order signs on the Fridge? Somebody's been taking food out of the refrigerator again, so perhaps it's time for a booby-trapped item? "Oh my, I've never seen a California Roll just catch on fire in someone's mouth like that." Anybody got ideas?
I gotta get back to work now. Have a good Monday. Check out my schedule, btw, as I'll be headlining Laughs soon, and also, there's a hellacious weekend of comedy coming up. Where do we go? Where do we go now?
--------------------------
Take Me Home Tonight, I Don't Wanna Let You Go Till I See The Light
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
HAX-TV Makeover Episode
Last night was our 6th episode of HAX-TV, the Hostile Makeover show. With the help of Pinky Murdero and Tony "Thigh Meat" Moser, there was a great segment wherein Tones was given a fashion update. He has since abandoned the look in favor of his "Street Tough Charlie Brown" look. Damn if that guy ain't funny. Damn if that guy ain't got a talent for the comedy.
Damn.
Tony's rap video was tight, fresh, and fly. He gots mad love from tha streetz. Yeuh, Tone, whaddup Playah? Whaddup Pe-imp? YEUH BOY! No seriously, what's up? You left in a huff last night. What's up?
Luckily for us, it was dress rehearsal. Brousseau's intensity was key, he made us feel as if there were people watching. I need to be more tuned in for that stuff. He's good at what he does. And what a glorious head of hair.
We have a regular caller named Willie G who, for some reason, is obsessed with baby nuts and smoking pot and pants-pooping. If anyone knows a cop or a member of the FBI, let's get a trace on this Willie guy next time. I'm pretty sure you can find some Columbine plans and and underage alternative school chick in his parent's basement/apartment.
Overall the show was probably one of our best. And we didn't tape it. If you happened to tape it, pleeeeease let me know and I'll make you dinner for a copy. Dinner will consist of refried black beans, pulled-pork sandwiches, garlic fries, and soy ice cream.
HAX is back on the air in 2 weeks!
-----------
Must Be This Tall To Mustache Ride
Mustache Rides. That is f*cking FUNNY.
-----------
Funny Bad Story of the Week
A 19 year-old woman with brain damage was reported missing last week after leaving an argument with her mother during the Styx concert at the Puyallup Fair.
My Non-Funny Blog.
Last night was our 6th episode of HAX-TV, the Hostile Makeover show. With the help of Pinky Murdero and Tony "Thigh Meat" Moser, there was a great segment wherein Tones was given a fashion update. He has since abandoned the look in favor of his "Street Tough Charlie Brown" look. Damn if that guy ain't funny. Damn if that guy ain't got a talent for the comedy.
Damn.
Tony's rap video was tight, fresh, and fly. He gots mad love from tha streetz. Yeuh, Tone, whaddup Playah? Whaddup Pe-imp? YEUH BOY! No seriously, what's up? You left in a huff last night. What's up?
Luckily for us, it was dress rehearsal. Brousseau's intensity was key, he made us feel as if there were people watching. I need to be more tuned in for that stuff. He's good at what he does. And what a glorious head of hair.
We have a regular caller named Willie G who, for some reason, is obsessed with baby nuts and smoking pot and pants-pooping. If anyone knows a cop or a member of the FBI, let's get a trace on this Willie guy next time. I'm pretty sure you can find some Columbine plans and and underage alternative school chick in his parent's basement/apartment.
Overall the show was probably one of our best. And we didn't tape it. If you happened to tape it, pleeeeease let me know and I'll make you dinner for a copy. Dinner will consist of refried black beans, pulled-pork sandwiches, garlic fries, and soy ice cream.
HAX is back on the air in 2 weeks!
-----------
Must Be This Tall To Mustache Ride
Mustache Rides. That is f*cking FUNNY.
-----------
Funny Bad Story of the Week
A 19 year-old woman with brain damage was reported missing last week after leaving an argument with her mother during the Styx concert at the Puyallup Fair.
- Brain damage
- Styx concert
- Puyallup Fair
It kind of writes itself. It's got more arms than the Octopus Ride she was found taking tickets for 30 mintues later.
-------------------
Parenting Skills
The other day at the store I told a woman to tell her child to be quiet. I could actually feel every word coming out of my mouth. They were like hiccups, as if I couldn't control them but I was powerless to the forced contractions of air through my vocal chords, so are the days of my life. Her daughter, about 2-3 years old, was yelling and screaming while walking down the aisle, away from her mom's cart. The kid would run away from her mom, who never hung up her call, and mom would leave the cart or try and back the cart up with one hand and gaff the kid free-hand.
It dawned on me that the mom's convo was more important than A) her child's welfare, B) getting her shopping done in a timely manner, and C) the generally calm demeanor of the grocery store. I don't know what the call was about, but unless it was a negotiation with an East Timor child-labor sweatshop, it wasn't worth disrupting an entire store. So as the kid came running near me and I played soccer goalie, dancing back and forth to corral the chumpkin. I think she quickly realized I wasn't her dad and could therefore not be investigated for child abuse should she take a fall, so she stopped and looked up at me, silently. Her mom had yet to hang up. Mom looks at me like "isn't she a turd? I'm frustrated, too" and grabs her kid, with no "thanks" or "sorry" or anything, as if I was some metaphorical condom who's job it was to stop unwanted kids traveling up the tea/coffee/cereal tubes.
So as she grabs the kid by the hand, I say "You're not paying enough attention to your kid," and walk on down the aisle past her. I don't know if she heard me. I hope she realizes that a kid running around in a crowded store is not the safest little poopsie. People talk about "parenting" and "having kids" as being really hard. It would seem that you love them a lot and use common sense, and realize that YOU ARE THE BOSS OF THEM, and they will do what you say, not by reason, but by respect. So you choke-collar the antsy on for a few years, they'll learn. If you want to bring a kid into public and you can't control it, someone has to. If you can't control a loud 2 year-old, you better start saving their college money in a bail fund.
-----------------------------------
"Not Everyone Believes In Travis Simmons, It's a Fact."
Take Me HomeMy Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Perhaps I'm Just a Prick. (insert emoticon here)
I was reading Blaine's blog earlier and it opened my eyes to a number of things. A few comics I'd never heard of, an update on our friend Meghan's trip through the San Fran Comedy Competition, and a statement at the end about heckling loudly at the open mic. It made me think if I did that last night. I know I've done it before, so I guess I am, or at least have been, a prick, as he put it. I actually try to let go of that whole deal, to just let people go on stage and do whatever it is they do. And the stupid thing is that a day later I rarely remember what it was they said that may have made me heckle prickishly. In that sense, why the hell would I even do it? It's not a comic's intent to drill one in my wheelhouse and attempt to offend just me, and if I get offended, that's really just my peccadillo to bear.
To be honest, I can't justify sitting in the back of a comedy club and heckling. Not loudly, anyway. Lord knows I wouldn't want anyone doing it to me, throwing some verbal comedy gauntlet in my grill. And what's meaner than knowing something is mean and doing it anyway? That's actually kind of evil. That's like talking down to a person you know is insecure, or manipulating someone to tell you something they probably don't feel, just so you can feel the throb of your own ego. Meanness can't be justified, unless the person getting meaned on was a dick to begin with. Whatever is in you is going to come out, sooner or later. If you're a dick, it will show. If you're a good person, you won't be able to hide it. If you're partial to telling others what's wrong with their judging of others, well you're an oxymoron. And the horse you rode in on.
I wish there were comedy classes for people to take to remind them of some basic trouble spots:
* Rhetorical Questions on stage. Find another way to phrase the idea, but don't quiz the audience. Ask a question, and someone will answer.
* Addressing an audience as "You." What "you" don't know is that "you" are not as smart as the person telling "you" all about how to solve the world's political strife, an idea derived from sleep deprivation, weak weed, and too many viewings of "The Daily Show."
* Giving two shits about what others say. If that person's a friend of yours or has decision-making authority over your paycheck, that carries clout. Other than that, that person's pointing a finger with suspect aim. Repeat this phrase: "Thanks. The line to blow me forms in front of the Anacortes Quizno's."
* Thinking I am good. Good is mediocre with a sunny disposition. I want to be one of the best. If I don't want that I'm just wasting my time in this.
* Seeing both sides of an argument. It's better to be completely entrenched in one school of thought, staunch to a cause and blind to counterpoints. Build your walls. You need them.
As Tracy reminded me last night when someone mentioned the Blue Collar Comedy phenomenon sweeping the country, "Don't worry about them. There's enough room for everybody." I have to remember that I should do what counts when it matters. My act is up to me, and that's the only act I need to worry about.
Blaine's got a point. Why heckle at an open mic, if at all? It would be childish to trudge on in the same fashion, bullying the open mic'ers with loud heckling, just to spite them or Blaine's protection of them. I guess I'll have to do it because it's fun.
----------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I was reading Blaine's blog earlier and it opened my eyes to a number of things. A few comics I'd never heard of, an update on our friend Meghan's trip through the San Fran Comedy Competition, and a statement at the end about heckling loudly at the open mic. It made me think if I did that last night. I know I've done it before, so I guess I am, or at least have been, a prick, as he put it. I actually try to let go of that whole deal, to just let people go on stage and do whatever it is they do. And the stupid thing is that a day later I rarely remember what it was they said that may have made me heckle prickishly. In that sense, why the hell would I even do it? It's not a comic's intent to drill one in my wheelhouse and attempt to offend just me, and if I get offended, that's really just my peccadillo to bear.
To be honest, I can't justify sitting in the back of a comedy club and heckling. Not loudly, anyway. Lord knows I wouldn't want anyone doing it to me, throwing some verbal comedy gauntlet in my grill. And what's meaner than knowing something is mean and doing it anyway? That's actually kind of evil. That's like talking down to a person you know is insecure, or manipulating someone to tell you something they probably don't feel, just so you can feel the throb of your own ego. Meanness can't be justified, unless the person getting meaned on was a dick to begin with. Whatever is in you is going to come out, sooner or later. If you're a dick, it will show. If you're a good person, you won't be able to hide it. If you're partial to telling others what's wrong with their judging of others, well you're an oxymoron. And the horse you rode in on.
I wish there were comedy classes for people to take to remind them of some basic trouble spots:
* Rhetorical Questions on stage. Find another way to phrase the idea, but don't quiz the audience. Ask a question, and someone will answer.
* Addressing an audience as "You." What "you" don't know is that "you" are not as smart as the person telling "you" all about how to solve the world's political strife, an idea derived from sleep deprivation, weak weed, and too many viewings of "The Daily Show."
* Giving two shits about what others say. If that person's a friend of yours or has decision-making authority over your paycheck, that carries clout. Other than that, that person's pointing a finger with suspect aim. Repeat this phrase: "Thanks. The line to blow me forms in front of the Anacortes Quizno's."
* Thinking I am good. Good is mediocre with a sunny disposition. I want to be one of the best. If I don't want that I'm just wasting my time in this.
* Seeing both sides of an argument. It's better to be completely entrenched in one school of thought, staunch to a cause and blind to counterpoints. Build your walls. You need them.
As Tracy reminded me last night when someone mentioned the Blue Collar Comedy phenomenon sweeping the country, "Don't worry about them. There's enough room for everybody." I have to remember that I should do what counts when it matters. My act is up to me, and that's the only act I need to worry about.
Blaine's got a point. Why heckle at an open mic, if at all? It would be childish to trudge on in the same fashion, bullying the open mic'ers with loud heckling, just to spite them or Blaine's protection of them. I guess I'll have to do it because it's fun.
----------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Better, Closer, Funnier
Last night's Underpants Open Mouth was as close to stellar as I've ever seen. The good comics got great responses, the newer guys who tried got good responses, and the Bellevue Salad Dressing of the comics got stared at or tagged on by the MC, Jeremy Whitman. Jeremy then had a big debate afterwards over his Rick Astley-ness.
Theme of the Night That Played Itself Out None Too Soon:
Rodger Lizzaola's Latino heritage. It almost got a head of steam, but as is prone with this kind of stereotyping, it stopped working early on.
Best Bald Comic:
Killorn O'Neill. That's a wig, has to be. Scott Meyer also RULED for like 10 minutes after his 3 minutes. To quote Scott: 'MONGO HAS A HAMMER?'
Best Resurrected Bit:
Duane Goad's revisitation to "The Stalker." That's all I'm saying.
Best Misuse of Stage Time: (TIE)
1) Stay positive... okay... I saw a guy go 0-for-6 on the joke scoreboard. Uncomfortable. And he's been doing it for a while, which is even more reason to quit. Pandered for a laugh to close on, got a round of stares. Poor bastard.
2) I won't drop a name here, keeping it postitive, but when starting your act with "I know what you're thinking... just another brown guy in a FUBU jersey," you kind of open yourself up for slagging. I don't understand why comics of skin color darker than off-white want to perpetuate divisive stereotypes through their material. Also, if you're going to set-up a tag line with "Oh, you may laugh..." make sure that people were, you know, laughing.
Best Post-Set MC Tag:
Jeremy tagging #2 above, who ended on a joke about not being allowed to wear adult diapers for fear of being teased. "See, you CAN shit on yourself in front of your friends." Jeremy is aaaawwwesoooooome. Dingly dangle doo.
I think that's enough out of me. I'm off to do whatever it is I do when the system's up and running here. It's not running, but I have screensaver I slapped together that looks like I'm working. Desk nap #2, on the way.
HAX-TV tonight! 10pm, Channel 77. Be there. Please?
-------------
"It's funnier when you don't screw it up."
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Last night's Underpants Open Mouth was as close to stellar as I've ever seen. The good comics got great responses, the newer guys who tried got good responses, and the Bellevue Salad Dressing of the comics got stared at or tagged on by the MC, Jeremy Whitman. Jeremy then had a big debate afterwards over his Rick Astley-ness.
Theme of the Night That Played Itself Out None Too Soon:
Rodger Lizzaola's Latino heritage. It almost got a head of steam, but as is prone with this kind of stereotyping, it stopped working early on.
Best Bald Comic:
Killorn O'Neill. That's a wig, has to be. Scott Meyer also RULED for like 10 minutes after his 3 minutes. To quote Scott: 'MONGO HAS A HAMMER?'
Best Resurrected Bit:
Duane Goad's revisitation to "The Stalker." That's all I'm saying.
Best Misuse of Stage Time: (TIE)
1) Stay positive... okay... I saw a guy go 0-for-6 on the joke scoreboard. Uncomfortable. And he's been doing it for a while, which is even more reason to quit. Pandered for a laugh to close on, got a round of stares. Poor bastard.
2) I won't drop a name here, keeping it postitive, but when starting your act with "I know what you're thinking... just another brown guy in a FUBU jersey," you kind of open yourself up for slagging. I don't understand why comics of skin color darker than off-white want to perpetuate divisive stereotypes through their material. Also, if you're going to set-up a tag line with "Oh, you may laugh..." make sure that people were, you know, laughing.
Best Post-Set MC Tag:
Jeremy tagging #2 above, who ended on a joke about not being allowed to wear adult diapers for fear of being teased. "See, you CAN shit on yourself in front of your friends." Jeremy is aaaawwwesoooooome. Dingly dangle doo.
I think that's enough out of me. I'm off to do whatever it is I do when the system's up and running here. It's not running, but I have screensaver I slapped together that looks like I'm working. Desk nap #2, on the way.
HAX-TV tonight! 10pm, Channel 77. Be there. Please?
-------------
"It's funnier when you don't screw it up."
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Wow, So Glad I Got Up Today
Last night I did a show in Bellingham with Shoogs B. The 'Ham is a good hour and twenty from Lott's Love Lair and Lasagna Lanai, and we got home close to 1 in the ay-em. My brain was going about a killion miles a minute when I got home, as G-Bro and I had a great talk about our goals in comedy, life, women, and overall ripplage of musculature. See, guys can talk about things! Ha! I have debunked yet ANOTHER premise!
I finally crash out hard around 1:30, alarm set and off to sleepytown. I have a tendency to sleep on my right side, which, if you've ever read about a sleeping position's effect on dreaming, the right side can be very intense. It's the creative side of the brain, so as you can imagine, forced therapy via dreamland can turn into "Fantasia" before the talking monkey flips you the bird. I eventually forced myself out of a dream that involved a date from hell with a woman who wanted me to drive to her dad's house and help her kidnap him to prove my affection for her, but she wouldn't let me drive without trying to take the wheel. I took it as another sign that issues with your opposite-sex parent play out in your relationships, and those are really heavy, unfair bags to carry and trip over. I carry bags, too, but they're more like book-bags now. I lost that steamer trunk about 2 years back, that felt good. It's always a good thing to hear that my friends are going to try some therapy. FINALLY we can both admit how gloriously F'ed up you can get those first 30 years of your life. Freedom lies on the other side of baggage claim, courage propels you to try to pack lighter. Anyway, I slept on the couch to prevent rolling to my right for a second date.
I flop to the floor around 7:45 this morning and, lacking the strength to carry myself, seal-crawl to the first of three Monsters for a shot to the heart... and you're to blame. Eventually I muddle through the morning and get to work. I'm actually excited as I slide through the door, waving my security badge by the scan plate and never breaking stride. I felt pretty Mentos. I sit at my desk, ready to take on the day. I had a new Macro in mind I was going to write for a large reporting system, to save myself about 15 minutes per report, which comes out to saving an hour each day. Eventually I will have to work backwards to even out the time I'm saving by being tech-savvy. ANYhoot, I'm tired, invigorated by my declaration to not date women who don't like their dads, back-ached from couch sleeping, and excited to save some time while on the clock...
AND THE FRIGGING REPORTING SYSTEM IS BROKEN, THANKS TO THE PROGRAMMING SKILLS OF A CONTRACTOR WHO HAS NO VESTED INTEREST IN THE DAILY WORK OF THIS COMPANY. See, he gets paid by the hour. If he messes up, he simply must fix it. In effect, he doubled his pay for the week thanks to his own incompetence.
But don't worry. Offshoring is good for the economy. I think I will start selling "What Would Vishnu Do" bracelets. Packs of 8, natch. Welcome to America, enjoy the chintz. Time for a car nap. If I'm not back in 2 hours, my Lotto numbers came up, and I'll never see you again.
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Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Last night I did a show in Bellingham with Shoogs B. The 'Ham is a good hour and twenty from Lott's Love Lair and Lasagna Lanai, and we got home close to 1 in the ay-em. My brain was going about a killion miles a minute when I got home, as G-Bro and I had a great talk about our goals in comedy, life, women, and overall ripplage of musculature. See, guys can talk about things! Ha! I have debunked yet ANOTHER premise!
I finally crash out hard around 1:30, alarm set and off to sleepytown. I have a tendency to sleep on my right side, which, if you've ever read about a sleeping position's effect on dreaming, the right side can be very intense. It's the creative side of the brain, so as you can imagine, forced therapy via dreamland can turn into "Fantasia" before the talking monkey flips you the bird. I eventually forced myself out of a dream that involved a date from hell with a woman who wanted me to drive to her dad's house and help her kidnap him to prove my affection for her, but she wouldn't let me drive without trying to take the wheel. I took it as another sign that issues with your opposite-sex parent play out in your relationships, and those are really heavy, unfair bags to carry and trip over. I carry bags, too, but they're more like book-bags now. I lost that steamer trunk about 2 years back, that felt good. It's always a good thing to hear that my friends are going to try some therapy. FINALLY we can both admit how gloriously F'ed up you can get those first 30 years of your life. Freedom lies on the other side of baggage claim, courage propels you to try to pack lighter. Anyway, I slept on the couch to prevent rolling to my right for a second date.
I flop to the floor around 7:45 this morning and, lacking the strength to carry myself, seal-crawl to the first of three Monsters for a shot to the heart... and you're to blame. Eventually I muddle through the morning and get to work. I'm actually excited as I slide through the door, waving my security badge by the scan plate and never breaking stride. I felt pretty Mentos. I sit at my desk, ready to take on the day. I had a new Macro in mind I was going to write for a large reporting system, to save myself about 15 minutes per report, which comes out to saving an hour each day. Eventually I will have to work backwards to even out the time I'm saving by being tech-savvy. ANYhoot, I'm tired, invigorated by my declaration to not date women who don't like their dads, back-ached from couch sleeping, and excited to save some time while on the clock...
AND THE FRIGGING REPORTING SYSTEM IS BROKEN, THANKS TO THE PROGRAMMING SKILLS OF A CONTRACTOR WHO HAS NO VESTED INTEREST IN THE DAILY WORK OF THIS COMPANY. See, he gets paid by the hour. If he messes up, he simply must fix it. In effect, he doubled his pay for the week thanks to his own incompetence.
But don't worry. Offshoring is good for the economy. I think I will start selling "What Would Vishnu Do" bracelets. Packs of 8, natch. Welcome to America, enjoy the chintz. Time for a car nap. If I'm not back in 2 hours, my Lotto numbers came up, and I'll never see you again.
------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
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