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.
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.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
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
======================
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.
=========
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.
************
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.
=========
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.
=========
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.
==================
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?
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Take Me Home Tonight, I Don't Wanna Let You Go Till I See The Light
My Non-Funny Blog.
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