Birthday Blog

As of 21 minutes ago, I'm officially 31 years old.
I'm happy to have made it, and look forward to the next 31 minutes which will entail one of my last-ever cigarettes (not smoking around smokers = rebellion), a big glass of water, and falling asleep. One thing I've learned as I've matured, and I share this mainly to help out the men. Pay attention fellas:
THREADCOUNT
THREADCOUNT
THREADCOUNT
If you're sleeping on Bed-In-A-Bag, give it to a comic, now, and hit a sale for something 300-sateen or higher. Spring for it. You and your itchy back skin will appreciate it, and eventually so will that girl who's getting naked in your bed with your roommate. If you have Bed-In-A-Bag, you probably still got a skeezie roommate, too.

31. It's a 4 year for me, and a 7 in the 9 year cycle, I think. Oh crap, it's frigging ON!

When I wonder about how far along I am in my life, I remember that I've had some lessons to learn on my own and those took me a couple extra months here and there. I didn't follow the directions, even though I had a map.
I don't see myself as a loser, nor even being on the same bus route with losers. And, as perspective, Mike Aivaz is thinking of looking for a job.
Mike Aivaz is a 42 year-old, marijuana smoking, porn-broadcasting dingleberry pie with feet. He's been running clips of pornographic films on his late-night cable-access show "Mike Hunt TV," channel 77. Wednesday nights... 1am. It goes like 2 hours and he... yeah, I have heard of it. SCAN-TV, the cable access station, is debating the ethical/prurient interest of broadcasting the disgusting, ferociously stomach-turning footage of Aivaz.
He's 42. Unemployed. Long hair. Long BEARD hair. Unkempt. Unemployed. And he's got a sweet-ass lithp.... littththth... LISP. So while he's got his bong in hand, dozens of hundreds of men have their hands half-full as Aivaz's horrific Homeless 'Squatch face takes a rip from his bong. YAY, porn and pot on TV. Two more things YOU CAN'T HAVE.

Put a stop to Mike Aivaz. He's ugly. And he's got no job.
=-=-=--=
Moser, Brousseau, and I had to get a group photo for some shows we're doing. Whatcha think?

I'm in the middle, affecting "Concern."












HA HA HAAAAA, MONKIES!
not reprinted with permission, sorry about that.

So THAT's What A Lack Of Oxygen Will Do...

Literally, Drunk Off His Ass:

LAKE JACKSON, Texas - A woman has been indicted on negligent homicide charges for allegedly giving her husband a sherry enema that killed him.

Michael Warner, 58, died last May after the enema caused his blood-alcohol level to rise to .47 percent.

"That's extremely high," Detective Lt. Robert Turner said. "You're either going to be in the hospital or the funeral home with that much alcohol."

(yeah, or at a KICK ASS mitzvah. Dude, who's next for the butt bong?)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

True story from my workplace:

• Manager1 asks me to get data on a survey I handed off over a year ago to a teammate. CC'ed on the email were Manager2 and Ex-Manager.
• Ex-Manager replies by telling Mgr's 1 & 2 that I no longer handle the survey.
• I reply by telling Mgr's 1 & 2 and Ex-Mgr that I no longer handle the survey, but also call the Poor Bastard who does to notify him of an impending 'tard storm. PB says "oh, thanks for calling..." then it gets more and more uncomfortable as I try to get off the phone while hearing him breathe, his mind fixated on his monitor, his hand not yet putting down the phone. I told him "I'll be supporting, but you're the man with the knowledge. I figured I'd let you know ahead of time what's going on here." He replies with "(exhale)....... (exhale)...... Okay, thanks." He wasn't really even there, not even when I blew a butt trumpet solo into the phone. Pay attention, I'm seriously NOT "whistling Dixie" over here.
• For those of you drinking at work: At that moment, all parties have been notified that I'm not the person to be taking lead on the project. I have the next-to-least information on the survey, next to the guy who likes taking surveys and just under the guy who demands that I call him "Bobbly Nannering," who doesn't even work the f*ck for this company.
• An hour later, Mgr 2 gets his henchman to call me about the survey, regardless of the fact I have no input, information, interest, or influence regarding said survey. Henchman could have been calling to tell me why he prefers women's panties to men's boxers, for all I care, but I'm glad he didn't do that because I have a vivid imagination.
• Mgr 1 disappears. Must have been a sale at Linens & Shit.
• Ex-Mgr calls to tell me "good luck. You've got a 'tard storm on its way." She's speakin' my language.
• PoorBastard, Henchman, and MuffinTop (me... what?), are "invited" to a conference call tomorrow morning at 9am. Tomorrow's my 31st birthday. I was going to work from home, which would entail logging on and then doing as many pushups, situps, and lunges as I can until the guy from JetCityPizza shows up with my pie and ice cream, because I ain't taking no call on my birthday, CrapNozzle, I just ain't.
• Then I wrote this.

My new boss has a degree in psychology, and is very intelligent. On the flip side, I wonder if he's running an experiment to see how many licks it takes to get to the center of my TootsiePop, which is not a gay reference, as much as it is filled with an expletive-laced poem unleashed during a forthcoming 9a-motherflapping-m conference call DICKEYES!

FAWK!

===================

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Hell Core Blistered Heart (My Damn Nation)

Hey look, apparently This Guy's comedy notebook was found in Nebraska, of all places. The foreground produced the background. This thing's been smoldering hot since it combusted late last year.



With my birthday coming up, I decided I'd go decadently into that good menu and pick something extravagant... that was queeeer... for dinner. I decided on...


=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I asked my friend which of these he'd rather have, a million dollars or a kick in the face from KOMO-4 NewsAnchors Dan Lewis & Kathy Goertzen. He took the kicks, since he'd be able to sell pictures of the kicking on a website for people who get their kicks by getting face-kicked by newscasters. Sales could go on forever. Brilliant.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ever look back at a period of your life and ask "Honestly, Me... what the corn were you thinking? You know better than that. You know you wear one of those things to prevent that. You know you have to go to the doctor a lot after that since you didn't wear one of those things. You're really dumb. All those doctor trips weren't worth those few seconds, were they? Next time, you wear one of those things." Ever get that feeling about your career in rodeo? Yeah. Me, too.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ever look back at a period of your life and wish you could totally erase someone from your memory banks? Join the rodeo.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Whatever just happened, it's probably your boss' fault.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I'm lucky to say that I have 3 best friends, people I could hang out with anywhereS doing anything at anytime.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I'll be 31 on Friday. I looked in the mirror today and said, "31 years. I can't believe most people had me at 24 in the Dead Pool. That explains the psychotic motorcyclist on Sept. 10th, 1998... I knew they were out to get me. Never send a motorcycle to do a bengal tiger's job." Then I painted my face and cleaned my .50cal wearing only a loincloth.
Man, it was totally like that movie "Groundhog's Day."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Yeah, Well... Thank You, TOO!

You know what I can't stand, that I'm hearing a lot of lately? People answering their own questions.
= = =
The toughest jury duty will be placed on the shoulders of the folks hearing the Michael Jackson trial that kicks off today. They will have to return a verdict of either "Guilty" or "Holy CRAP This Weirdo's Guilty!"
= = =
Something for all comics and speakers to be conscious of when using a microphone:
Use of "uh," and "ya know." The more I perform and write the more I realize how strong communication is when it's clear and minimalized. Set-up, Punchline, Tag, NEXT. I just heard 4 guys who are professional broadcasters interview Terrell Owens of the Philiadelphia Eagles on Media Day prior to Sunday's Super Bowl. The interviewers threw in "uh" 38 times in 7 questions. Terrell Owens, who is a professional athlete, so... yeah... answered with at least 24 "ya know"s over a period of 3 minutes of speaking. Why don't those ever show up in the paper?
= = =
Talking, Walking, Balking

This past weekend's showdown of comedic giants went to Drew Barth, your 8th Annual Giggles Laugh-Off Champion. I came in 3rd. Second place went to the same guy who got 2nd last year. I can't really complain. The truth is that if any of us were that consistently great, he wouldn't have gotten 2nd, nor been in the Finals at all. I went out and did the best I could with the material I love the most. Friday night's first set was a monster. My recording of it was great. My second set followed Mr. 2nd Place's "3rd Annual Ballot Tantrum," and my telling him and another comic to quit fighting, and quit comedy if they weren't going to enjoy doing it. After that I was holding back from telling the crowd about all the BS that just happened between the 2 guys they'd see after me. I chose against it. It roiled inside of me, but I went with my material instead of making fun of the guys who turned a comedy club into a high school locker room. I was hoping they would just start kicking each other in the prop bags. It was the least fun I've ever had in comedy.

If you can't laugh at yourself, especially as a comic, then others will laugh at you. Saturday night we were talking about how it's more difficult for us (comics) to accept compliments than derision. Perhaps we're masochistically inclined, and getting laughs is our way of proving wrong those who doubt us. I think it's quite funny when I hear the flap someone has said of me. I'm far from a perfect person, but sometimes it's just a matter of accepting that others will say what they like, as opposed to accepting what they're saying. It's often much easier to drop a put-down than it is to pay a compliment, for whatever reason. I wonder if the negativity of the masochism allows incoming derision to roll off, much like similar polarities. The negativity of machismo, on the other pinky-ringed hand, allows for positive things like laying down a good dis or cooking my tires at stop signs. Or perhaps it's that we don't care about who puts us down, since it's usually those we already have little to no respect for, negating the substance of their speech.

My previous blog had some comments to it that were solid, but one that I disagree with, in part, is that it is the "nature of comics" to "talk shit." I would say it's in the nature of insecure people, a group that certainly counts a number of comics in the roster. Considering it's easier for us to accept a put-down, maybe that's how we talk to each other?
I'm positive I have done it, sometimes in Blog format. I've probably hurt some feelings, too, and that's a crappy thing for me to do. If you can't say anything nice, blog it? It is my shortcoming, as opposed to my nature, to speak in such a manner. It's a decision I usually DON'T make that leads to my speaking poorly of others, as opposed to an involuntary action like the smoking and drinking. The thoughts may be there, but the conscious decision to verbalize a negative thought is one that I have the maturity, and wisdom, to decide against. I've certainly been teased and picked on enough in life to know better. Ribbing my buddies is one thing, we know we mean nothing by it and the intent is the laugh. Talking shit about strangers and non-enemies is old school, as in Jr. and High.

I'm actively trying harder to hold it back, because it's a situation of running up some Karmic debt, and I'd rather concern myself with my own act. I hope that it's an arrow that eventaully falls out of my quiver. It's not as if being critical of acts that don't hack mine or bump mine from important shows gets me anywhere or makes me look cool. I don't have to love or like everyone, and I accepted a long time ago that more than a few departments of people don't jibe with me. Instead of "picking my battles," I find it better to not engage on battlefields where there's nothing of value to be won. Not every call-out has a point. Some folks just like to hear themselves talk. Plus I'm 31, and I want to keep becoming the kind of person I would like to hang out with, as long as I quit borrowing money from myself.

Here's a shocker: The universe runs on action-reaction. Deny that, and you may as well deny that you are currently breathing or doubting your own existence. Ping. Pong. Right. Left. Setup. Silence. Save. Laughter. What I consistently do is who I am. Okay, I black out during every full moon and wake up in tattered clothes near an empty, bloody chicken coop, but I am conscious of it. Sometimes it's what I decide to NOT do, like deride a non-influential person, or win a comedy competition, or wear that shirt with those chaps, that teaches me the lesson I needed to learn. I'm not too old to learn new tricks.

Speaking of new tricks, here's a funny one. In spell-checking this entry, Blogger.com's spell-check tool returned "blog" as an unknown word. The machines have yet to become self-aware. Thank you T2 and young John Connor... Thank you.
---------------------------------------
Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

I'm A Little Tense About the Voting

The past 6 months have not bode well for elections. Whether it's Ohio's hog-tied Reddening or Chris "6 Years And I'm Outta This Closet!" Gregoire's arguing that NO NO NO SHE IS THE GOVERNOR, Democracy has been kicked gut-flush. Sunday will mark Iraq's election, and their voter turnout, much like ours, is going to be violently dictated by a radical religious regime known as Hollywood. Sorry Dems, we lost because Kerry wasn't ready to be President, but nobody told him that. And for crying out loud.... Jackson Browne???

ANYway, tonight and tomorrow are the last 2 nights of the Giggles Laugh-Off. I made the finals, as did Brad Brake, Scott Black, Geoff Brousseau, DL, Andy Peters, Owen Straw, and Drew Barth. With all these candidates, we're all running on different platforms. Turns out that some of those platforms aren't funny as far as funny pertains to originality and ability. So I figure it this way... I'm not doing the contest. I'm going to do comedy. I am bringing a good attitude to it, and I'll go with the flow of the night. Besides, being judged by a roomful of half-drunk strangers who don't see the nuances of a good performance reminds me too much of family reunions. The nuances, by the way, can be found tucked between the knacks and the vigor.

Good Comedy tells ya what's going on without telling you what's going on. It's all pulled from a section of life and hopefully, if the comic's any good, there's a new perspective on it. And if not, well, it takes all kinds, even if they use unscientific terms to relate tales of bodily functions.
========
In response to Anonymous:

Your self-diagnosed paranoia is well-founded. People are talking about you when you're not around. They're saying you are paranoid, as you hot-stack it with unearned self-righteousness. And from all accounts, you are continuing to talk about others in modes of gossip and half-truths, so you've again proven yourself as little more than a mosquito.
Rumors, gossip, half-truths, politicking, whatever it's called, it's really odd to hear about. I'm not sure what it is because I, and most others, have quit watching a while ago.
Insanity: Repeating behavior patterns while expecting different results each time.
Good luck with that.
========
Another good way to make it look like you earn too much money is to send e-mails like the one I received from a "manager" yesterday at 4:30pm:
Hi Goeff!

Could you send me by tomorrow a list of the techs for Call Centers in 2004? I want to show our coverage for the work we did in 2004 by the techs for Call Centers! And can I get that by tomorrow afternoon?

Thanks!

Now, I have edited out some of the more work-propietary stuff, but the rest of this communiqué met the sender's standards for requesting information. My name's misspelled (even though it's in the address line and we've worked together before), we have 5 types of Call Centers, and "tech" is a title bestowed upon employees in no less than 15 different teams. "Afternoon" means WHEN, exactly? Redundancy aside, I hope you can understand what kind of people it takes to run a company directly into the ground.
==========
In the meantime, Tony Moser finds his muse.
==========
Is anybody blogging anymore? So much for creativity.
==========

ake Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

I Think I Have It Figured Out. Don't Move...

Calling someone an "asshole" is appropriate when they are full of crap or hot air.

If you're thinking you don't have to cooperate with the police, here's what fun is in store for you. And yeah, it's funny

Jet propulsion works by sucking air in, heating the bejeezus out of it, and forcing it out the back end. The expulsion propels you forward at anywhere from 4 - 2,100 mph. I want a little jet engine on my car, along with Venturi channels to lower the CG through turns.

You can't hire robots to do your work. Robots don't interview well, and forget trying to get them to do paper work.

You're going to have a bad day if the first words of the morning are "Man... that's a lot of throw-up."

The term "ass-less chaps" is both egregious and incorrect. All chaps are "assless." That's what makes them chaps. Otherwise, thems are pants. Okay, pants with the front cut out, but nobody talks about "crotchless chaps." If you're willing to wear chaps, you don't care if you get some sun on the groceries, eh fella?

Ashlee Simpson is an amazingly well-trained karaoke talent, with sub-par looks and no natural ability. I bet part of her brain complains that she "has to work all the time" while her friends have it easy going to college. She's a pack of Kools away from a brutish parking-lot tongue-bath at the whim of Lil Bow-Wow. I don't want her to die, just to lose the ability to vocalize anything.

Magnetic propulsion, people... keep your eyes and stock options on it. Bullet trains. Bullet cars. Bullet... shoes? Well, whatever it is, someone will try and sell you a blinking battery for it.

I saw a sticker on a car this morning that made me want to wretch after throwing poop on the car after wretching on it. The car is a black, 1996-98'ish BMW 540i, driven by a co-worker whom I happen to know is 25 at the most. It is parked far away from other cars in the lot, which only entices me to park as close to is as I possibly can.
His sticker is a black background, with a 2"-high, white W, with smaller letters beneath it that say The President.
This is the same guy who got his initials tattooed on his ankle when he was 20.
At first I thought the guy was just another parentally-blinded Republican who is worried about his inheritance more than his individuality. I know him well enough to tell you that he knows less about politics than your average devotee of "The O.C." He wears shirts buttoned to his Adam's Assle - even without a tie - accompanied by a pretty sweet bracelet. I was dead sure this guy was buying his personality out of a 1999 issue of "Future PromiseKeepers Monthly."
Then I realized, no, I just hate grown men who go by their initials.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers are a great band. I like the music of theirs that I don't even like. "Knock Me Down" was my introduction to them. I heard "Scar Tissue" this morning. I think it would be enlightening to play music with them or surf with Anthony Kiedis for a day.

I wish I could surf. I'll have to find another way to bait sharks and bank robbers who don masks of former Presidents.

The Violent Femmes are the most over-rated band of all time. Each time I hear the de-tuned plunking of "Blister In The Sun" I want to leg-sweep every ''WOOOOO''ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 23 year-old "rebel" chick with the fervor of every "YEAAAAH"ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 32 year-old "artsy" guy trying to slip inside that sleeping bag. If you like the Violent Femmes, you can look forward to acid flashbacks and a lot of slimming clothes, at least in color.

Quick question... Should I still be Raging against The Machine, or are we cool? I figured my rage would draw attention to me, making it more difficult to bring it down with subversion... so... yeah. RAAAAH and what-not. Rage. Grr.

I was asked to perform comedy at a High School, and I couldn't do it. There's no way I could go in there and not launch into a speech about how every single one of those kids should get their GED and leave behind the BS that is High School. But then the teachers would be pissed at me for emptying their dating pool.

Dat Phan isn't funny.
Margaret Cho isn't funny.
Tina Kim isn't funny.
But I repeatedly repeat myself...

Opinions are like assholes. They are easily defeated when empty and weak.

The more I hear Mitch Hedberg's jokes, the more I realize how easy it is to write in that style of comedy. There are a couple Seattle guys straight-copping Hedberg's act. I can't wait for their chasing of the dragon while making $150 every two weeks as a feature. Is Hedberg washed up? I shouldn't comment as to his cleanliness, but let's hope he takes care of himself long enough for his stellar "Clean & Sober-er Tour" to get cut short by a kite-high feature shooting him in the foot.

According to all eye-witness accounts, Michael Jackson is truly a Smooth Criminal. How F'ed up is that guy? He's Biblically F'ed. Thrown from the mountain F'ed. "Jesus Juice?" How dare he use the name of Jesus to take advantage of young boys. I sure hope he's sought counsel with a priest.

For about 30 minutes this morning I forgot what day it was. I couldn't remember if it was the 27th or the day I swap the neighbor's morning paper with a Polaroid of my exhaust pipe. I know he loves my car, so I toy with him. (see, Hedberg jokes ain't hard)

A guy I work with, who would make David Brent look like William Wallace, apparently has a girlfriend in Bangkok, Thailand. I asked him how she fared with the tsunami, and he said she was fine, and that he's going to visit her in a week, and that he was going to ask her to marry him. I think that's a little weird, but apparently proposing is formality with these mail-order brides. (the first half of the story is totally true, the second half is the mind-crossing thought I had when he mentioned proposing marriage. It's also how my jokes about the tsunami were born. now go back, and close the curtain behind you)

Everyone's got a little kink to 'em, something that turns them on in a way they cannot and should not explain. You'll know what I'm talking about the next time you see someone staring at a sign. You may see "Watch Your Step," but in their head, that person's sucking Rosie O'Donnell's big toes. (thus concludes a thought that grosses-out Chad Roberts on two levels)

Seriously, Alicia, I see a great future for us. I love you, like, ACTIVELY Love you, I can feel it happening as real as I can feel my muscles growing larger than Tony Moser's again. I know my birthday's coming up, but I already have you and I'm so happy, I really can't think of anything else I want. Sorry for cutting the queso in Mexico. And on the phone. These things happen, but let's get past them. That's why I bought those candles :^) I know you say it all the time, but yes, I know that I am all kinds of charming. Really though, I LOOOOOVE You.

Space may be the final frontier, but it's made in a Hollywood basement,
and Cobain can you hear the spheres singing songs off station-to-station,
and Alderaan's not far away, it's Californication.
Star Trek. Kurt Cobain. Princess Leia's home planet. All in 7 seconds of a Chili Peppers song.

The best suggestion I've yet to hear regarding late-Spring activities:
Pony-keg and Kickball in FreBall field on 4th and 43rd. Guys kick opposite foot, 5-innings.
And don't crowd the plate, fruity, I'll buzz your tower.

Killorn O'Neill is, at best, an average from-scratch cake baker, but a kick-ass fount of egregiously hip pop culture knowledge. Good enchiladas, though. Hello crazy dreams.

Geoff & Alicia sittin' in a tree... YOU KIDS QUIT TRYING TO LOOK UP HER SKIRT!!!

My girlfriend teases me a lot because she knows I don't hit women.

Have you ever heard of this guy? Neither has he.

I'm out. See ya.
================
Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Of Love And Luck

I can't think of anybody other than my girlfriend that I would rather spend time with. If I had a full day to spend with someone I would make arrangements to make sure she was free for the whole day, and that we did whatever we felt like doing.

She is a very hard worker, putting in time with 3 companies and taking a Statistics course, not to mention putting up with my weirdness. She was volunteering until recently, also, as well as moving in with a couple of friends who also happen to be comics. Her time and patience ought to be red-lined, but she trudges on.

I do what I can to make her days easier, whether it's a quick breakfast or leaving the room on a weekend morning and reading on the couch, just so she can sleep in. She challenges me to better myself in ways that will benefit my peace of mind. She sees in me something I don't always see in myself. She appreciates me and all my foibles, which are sometimes loud and corrosive to good moods and bedspreads.

This must be that feeling of "simply knowing" who I am supposed to be with for the rest of my life. It's both a calming and exhilirating feeling, making me want to work harder to provide many great moments in our lives, and realizing that Life can't stop for anyone, so it's time to kick close the doors of the past, and enjoy the game of Chutes and Ladders ahead.

ALS, I love you. Thanks for giving us a chance!
===
"Of course I believe in luck. How else can I justify the fortunes of those I dislike?"
~Old dead guy

I included the above quotation for any number of reasons. Mostly because I'm learning to appreciate all I have gained and been given. I try to leave others to their own lives. They don't need my input to screw it up. They'll do it on their own.
==

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Good Reasons To Defraud A Corporation

As part of most employment packages for full-time workers, and the less-than-part-timers on salary (wheeee!), a company frequently pays the premiums for its employees health care coverage. This includes medical, dental, vision, psychological (underutilized), nutritional (right), and often some "alternative therapies," such as chiropractic and massage ("happy endings" available only with a co-pay).

These benefits are mainstays of a "good job." You work full time, the company gives you a health care coverage bundle, and perhaps some stock options to go along with your raping the company of it's operating capital because you and the other dipshits made every wrong decision when it came to forward-thinking strategies in technology... I'm sorry, that's not you, that was John Zeglis, former CEO of AT&T Wireless who walked with a severance package in excess of $15,000,000. Got that? He ruined a company and made off with, and I can't say this loudly en-MF'ing-nuff... in EXCESS of FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS.

John Zeglis lacked foresight (it was removed at birth) which left AT&T Wireless quacking indignantly around the shallow pond of wounded companies, wings broken, trying still to light to the wind. Every flap caused greater internal damage, while the signals to stop and fix things never got through to the brain, which was lodged ass-wise in the lame duck. Eventually the whole carcass was picked up by Cingular, the Dr. Frankenfurter of wireless communication, for experiments in torture and/or bureaucratic horse-pulling. What's next? Why, the sweet relief of a Layoff, if you're lucky.

People who did a lot of hard work to make a situation better are being let go due to a decision forced down the throats of managers with employees with stellar performance results. Those being layed-off are lucky. A lot of people are getting their walking papers right now, with a hefty chunk of change and their benefits to hold them over for a few months. Play it right and these folks wouldn't have to work for about a year, while their health coverage steps in when needed.

But what if health coverage was no longer there? Get used to this idea, because I believe the health care industry is eating itself from the outside in, which will affect all of us sooner or later. Major corporations dump tons of cash into the health insurer's coffers every year as premiums for their employees. Health care costs are on the rise again. Employees rarely use their benefits to full extent, opting instead to wear their hideous glasses for another presidential administration. If you are the kind of dedicated worker who comes into work even when you're very ill, I thank you for this:
* By not going to the doctor and staying home for one day to rest, and spare your physically if not emotionally healthy co-workers from contracting your wet-coughing/sinus-clogging/nipple-blistering catfish flu, you saved your company $250!
* On the flip side, four co-workers said "F this, I can't work with nipple-clogging sinus-blisters!" and took two days off each to see doctors. (4 co-workers X 2 Missed days) X $250/day = $2,000! Luckily, you were there to forward another round of jokes to your missing co-workers, all while continuously sneezing, coughing, and dripping on every 3rd surface you touched. With your lack of intelligence, your illness could live on forever!

The alternatives the corporations begin to wonder about - and anytime money is involved, corporations start a-wond'rin' - will likely include the following, when it comes saving money on health care costs for employees:

1. Get rid of employees. Go all-contracted work, which would probably violate some sort of anti-something laws. I know one large software company that has had tons of problems with contractors not getting a fair shake over the years. So, no contractors.
2. Robots! Finally, metal humanoids or possibly dolphins or an octopus will be doing our work, controlled at the push of a button. They will work all night and all day, never needing rest or doctors visits! BOO-AH HA HA HAAAAAAA!
   OH CRAP, computers are robots, and they never fail, huh? So maybe that's not a good idea. Unless the company pays 3-5 men with cinch-waisted black leather jackets to park their Chrysler PT Cruisers out front and their Robot-loving carcasses inside to work on whichever unit breaks down. They'll know a lot about the technology, and won't be caught up in any kind of relationship.
3. Monkies! I've seen any number of Project Managers at my company who could not handle the daily schedule of a prairie dog, let alone the negotiation and coordination of getting 3 people together for a company-paid lunch. But let's see a bonobo whip out a 47,000 record pivot table and graph in under 10 minutes, while NOT whipping turds into the other cages.
   Seriously, that would be rather grand.
   
4. NO MORE BENEFITS! You heard me, no more benefits! Sorry, you don't get 'em. You'll have to go through an insurance broker. And you'll find that you pay about $75-$200 a month to cover your needs. And you'll be fine. When's the last time you went to a doctor? Okay, BESIDES for the baby and those sores? Exactly. Get ready. Your company doesn't care about you.

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog

Good Night, Johnny.

Yesterday morning, the world lost one the best entertainers in human history.
Johnny Carson passed away at the age of 79 after battling emphysema. He retired over a decade ago, appearing on our televsion sets only in commercials for bundled, revisionary sets of his manically popular "Tonight Show." He made it his after taking over for Jack Parr, and never once did his hosting of the show feel despotic. Johnny's charm and hipness made it proper for people of all ages to stay up later than they'd planned on, and Johnny's show always delivered laughs and music to send you to bed.

Johnny Carson was an inspiration to countless stand-up comics. He was the pinnacle of talk show hosting prowess. He was a man who was always known as kind, caring, and generous. He had a stellar sense of humor about everything, especially himself. He could have a very funny guest on, and his ego was put aside so the guest could have the spotlight, and Johnny could always laugh at his own shortcomings, making his humanity the punchline. And if you can't laugh at yourself, you cannot truly laugh at anything. Such as it is with all the best things in life, from love to forgiveness.

I imagine Johnny hosted an impromptu "Eternity Show" in the Great Beyond with musical guest John Lennon, and the comedic stylings of Bill Hicks. All three of these entertainers had one great message: We're human, we may do stupid things with great aplomb, and great things with simple intent, but if we do it with a feeling of love we can't ever be questioned as to why we do it. Because the Love told us to, and we love those who share it like that. You don't know it's love, but you know you enjoyed being a part of it and in a weird way, miss the cruise control that Johnny and his gang could lock the FunMachine on. What a great ride it was.

Like begets like. And there's never been, nor will there ever be, another like Johnny Carson. We were very lucky to see and hear the best of his talents. He wanted his viewers and audiences to take it easy, even if it wasn't until the last waking hour of our day, which could keep us laughing for a week.

Thank You, Johnny. I'm sure you got the wave to the big couch in the afterlife.
=+=+=

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Hammer-Strike Lightning (Strawberry Tongues)

Monday. I have a pretty good attitude today. On Saturday night, in between sushi & sake with my lovely girlfriend who is way more awesome than I can comprehend, she reminded me that as I write a lot, it's likely that I can start pushing that side of my life towards a career. Using one's talents to make a living is a dream of most people's. To be my own boss, as oddly egotistically Catch-22 as that is, is a drive. As we concluded, my mind was trying to erase old & useless information (goodbye, real names of professional wrestlers) for new topics I could write about. So as I have that to look forward to, I decided that Monday would not be the day I power-vomit on co-workers for, you know, kicks.

Today is apparently the most depressing day of the year. There's even mathematical evidence, for you sayers of nay, doubters of the Thomas strain. Dick holes.
And I feel pretty dang good. I bet the really depressed people are even MORE depressed today, because they hate Mondays and because they have a sense of their depression, as opposed to someone like me, who denies depression any shelfspace in my life by not being an over-intense asspipe about how other's live their lives. I don't get overly concerned on days I feel a bit down, and on days I feel great, I keep it going by heaping insults on people I could give two bile-churros about. I find a balance between being at peace and speaking my mind when there's an actual reason to airing it out. Otherwise I sit back and observe and relax.
I'm not better than anyone else, and some people I know are way worse than they believe they are. They'll tell you they dwell in reality, but for the most part they are characters in a one-person show called "This Goes On Forever And I Keep It From Being Fun."
Protect ya neck.

What's In A Name, Besides Personal Identity and Precursors of Success?
MSN posted the Top 10 Baby Names given by parents who like the "sound" of things more than any specific weight. After reading these names, try and guess how many of these dads have tribal arm-band tattoos, while mom's still sporting "The Rachel" cut?

Top 3 for the female chi'dren were as follows:
1: Emma 2: Madison 3: Emily.
These names do not, in my mind, denote any sort of strength, and will look really odd in a small-town Police Blotter under "Public Drunkenness" in 18 years.
Emma evokes Victorian collars and pale skin, cheeks reddened by the touch of a brisk autumn morn, stabling a slightly-built dervish of a mare, "Threshold" after a ride to the swelling river with Aidan (#2 for the boy's names), an intense man 6 years her senior, raven haired and steel-eyed, his chest hair cradling his saintly, buried mother's crucifix, wafting forth the musky dew of saltpeter, tobacco, and other masculine pursuits.

Unless she opens a baby boutique, "Emma" will likely NOT be hittin' the Business Announcements under "New CEOs!"
Baby naming is very important.
Ever seen the website www.Kabalarians.com? Well, now you have access to it. Basically it's a name-checking site that tells you the key characteristics of a person with your name (for Larry's sake, they even have "Shaquille" and "Kelis"). Here's what I dug up for "Madison."
Madison: Your first name of Madison has made you happiest when you are expressing in some creative, artistic way, and not conforming to strict routine. In a large group of comparative strangers, you are quiet and rather shy, unable to express yourself, not really wanting to become involved in conversation. On the other hand, among friends with whom you feel at ease, you are expressive, witty, and quite charming. These contrasting natures make it difficult for people to understand you and can lead to friction in your personal life. You are deep, philosophical, and refined, but your extremely sensitive nature causes you to become depressed and self-pitying over any real or imagined slight.
Luckily for thee, Madison, Connor(#10) Forthright Dalrymple IV has taken a fancy to you. Of course, with a disposition such as yours, you'll likely bear girl child after girl child into the House of Dalrymple, and befall a great illness of the humours that will drive Connor into the arms of the town whore... YOUR OWN SISTER, CINNAMON FURBURGER!

Dream A Weirdass Dream

Had a dream the other night about being in a comedy club. Surrounded by a gaggle of comics. A few of them had their tongues cut out, and were bleeding but still trying to talk. A few others sported some major skin infections, and everything they touched became covered in a green, mold-like substance that launched spores into the air. At least one other comic was stumbling around with a gun, crying and making a lot of noise and threats. They faces were all people I see on a regular basis.

Did I mention that this weekend brings us to the Finals of the Giggles Comedy Club Laugh-Off?

The same women from a couple weeks ago are again talking child-rearing, which they seem to believe should include spanking. After a look at these gals, yeah, go ahead and spank your kids. The way most of these families are going, Jerry Springer AND Open Mics will never be low on people looking to get on stage. This must be why many men would like to see mothers working only at home. I've heard more stories about this ho-tard's episiotomy than I've heard dick, black hack, or drug side-effect jokes at open mics.
===============

SCORE!

Everybody have a great Monday.
~ Geoffrey Diane Lott

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Fire Eats Phoenix (Rising Blood Moon)

It's Friday night, 8:21 as I start this, and I have no desire to do anything. I think it's either that I have a cold coming on or just can't stand to be in a comedy club tonight. I'm out of it. I'm grumpy but properly hydrated and fed, so my glucose levels should be okay. I'm going to chalk it up to general malaise.

I'll be 31 in 2 weeks, and I always have this dilemma around my birthday of what to do and whom it should be done with. I love just hanging out with my friends, and lucky for me, this year, my birthday's on a FRIDAY. I'll likely just have a quiet night in with a couple of chardonnays and the latest Harry Potter on audio CD.

Perhaps my state of blahness is from overtraining. In the past 21 days I've worked out 18 times, either doing at least 30 minutes of cardio or 20 minutes of weights with 20min of cardio to cap it off. I could be exhausting my body overall... Perhaps. It's a friggin' nightmare, however. I've been watching what I eat, really trying to stay away from the bad stuff like sugar-coated sugar balls made with butter and bacon-sugar fritters. And I've plateaued at a loss of 4lbs. That's nothing, that's like drinking one less bottle of water each day. I have the metabolic rate of a caffeinated Marlon Brando. And getting older probably isn't helping. I have no clue what else to do, except go to a nutritionist to see if they can set me straight. They'll likely tell me I have to start a more vegetarian lifestyle, which I've tried, and it didn't work. It made me very docile and depressed. So Western Medicine just is not all it's cracked up to be.

There was a time in comedy when you saw a comic lose weight and the whispers of a heroin or coke habit wafted like so much second-hand freebase smoke. Drop 10lbs now and everyone mutters "Atkins, huh? That's rough on you." I think I need some carbs of some sort. If anyone's got some blow, lemme know. I'll bring the strobe light.

BTW, Tony Moser is the hackiest black comic around. Wow, stereotypical "White people" this and "Cracker" that. Brilliant.
========
Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Son Of Abyss (Mornok's Robe)

Brazilian Woman Gives Birth To Giant Baby:
Baby last seen squeezing toy cow... no, actual cow
This story's been all over the news wires this morning. See if you can find a pic of this man-child. The kid is scary monsters big.
He's 16.7lbs, the size of a normal 6 month old. Luckily for mom - and dad, to some extent - the baby was born via C-section. Mom's a damn turkey bowler. Brazil is a microcosm of monstrous evolution, where anacondas get so big that they make terrible movies, and pirahahanas can skin a goat faster than I can.
MOOOOOOOO

Now It's Time For A Rhyme On The Way I Say What I Think Today
People say success of mine comes from my intelligence.
No, it's 'cause I'm dope, if I was whack I'd be irrelevant.
And you think it's never over when it's over then I know you
to be common to the lowest denominator
hate her even more than you think you love yourself
and you'll soon understand why you have enough room on the shelf
no snapshots of those who tolerated your act
only one seat in your pity party, the fact is this,
just your trophy as the greatest little person of all.
SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU WHEN I'M THIS MOTHERF*CKING TALL.
Because I was born a Giant Baby.
- - -
Man, the rap game come easy to me.
- - -

OH HELL YEAH
Thanks to The Sun, the best newspaper in America even though it's British, I have a reason to look forward to movies in the year 2006.
David Duchovny was quoted to say there's another X-Files movie in the works. TV hasn't been the same since Mulder went his own way, sorry T2 guy. I'm really looking forward to the movie because the series left a lot of questions unanswered, such as:
1) Is The Smoking Man responsible for the disappearance of Samantha Mulder?
2) Isn't "Samantha Mulder" a kick-ass nod of a name for an adult film weiner bucket?
3) What's with the bees? The Africanized bee is more aggressive, sure, but to purport that the bee could deliver a virus that would gestate into the gut-dwelling alien puma is way over-complicated. Why not just put it in the water supply? What am I thinking... that was a plan hatched by the government, of COURSE they use the most expensive manner possible.
4) Which planet it Vice President Cheney from?
5) What did Mulder do with his adult film collection? Was he looking for his sister in those tapes?
As you can see, the number of dumb questions can go on for practically 100 or 2 more lines. Keep your fingers crossed. Helps ya stop picking inside of your nose.

For Killorn
Science be all up on ya now.

I'm out.

Fire Field On A Black Moon (Sword Of Horus)

FINALLY I have found a FTP program that is free and kicks ass from the inside out.
I hope to have my website re-designed soon, as soon as I figure out this "Website Making For Dipass MoFo's" tutorial.
I'm hoping it will look like a men's mag, like Esquire meets Weekly World News after a Guns & Ammo singles mixer.
Until then, you need to stop saying you're "gonna go" and friggin' "GO" see some live comedy. You don't like to laugh? Then why the cheese are you reading this?
=

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

Lucky For Some, Talent Is Not Necessary

COME TO THE COMEDY UNDERGROUND TONIGHT FOR THE "HIGH CONTRAST COMEDY" SHOW!
I, Lizzy Pilcher, and Blaine Reeder will each be performing for 20 minutes. At the end, we battle to first blood. Cost is $6, show time is 8:30pm. COME ON DOWN!

NEVERMIND... you missed it... GAWSH

TONIGHT, Wed., 1/19/05: Divine Sucrets of the Ha Ha Sisterhood and Copyright Twins. 8:30pm:
KILLORN O' will be performing, and you need to laugh, so GO.
=============

Tonight marks the 4th season of "American Idol." The auditions are over. Some dreams are going to be realized. Some are going to be crushed, then revived when the dreamer is seen as a novelty, an imp, a "freak" if you will, and people can make money exploiting their lack of talent.

Most of us know the tale of William Hung, a mildly disfigured boy who never says "I quit," and never says "Yes" to orthodontia. His audition for last season's Idol was an enthusiastic but spastic rendition of "She Bangs" by Ricky "Livin' La Vida Retardo" Martin. It was uncomfortable to watch, but he went for it. He did the best he could, and isn't that what counts?

No.
What counts is that the guy caught a break. He did not get to where he is because of talent. Talent is an endowment, a gift, the "it" that seperates the learned from the blessed. However, some people train their skills beyond some other people's natural talents. The human mind can fathom a great number of scenarios (see: Tool Videos or LSD), but the human Spirit is the ultimate catalyst. William Hung has the "it" that a lot of people miss: He cares about what he does, and has fun doing it. He is talentless, but he is not driveless.

And when it comes to talentless puddles of ass-sweat, Ryan Seacrest trails only Carson Daly for "King Dampspot." Carson Daly answers the question "Has any human ever successfully mated with a Furby?" See for yourself.





To get to the point, FINALLY, I have seen a great number of performances on comedy stages lately that make me cringe. These are performances by comics who have been going at it a while, yet are stuck in the wake of the U.S.S. Apathy. These are a few rules I try to follow when I step on stage, so that I give of myself fully and don't blame or assault the audience for lack of response.

* A joke falls flat, and is followed with "I think that joke's funny." Then I should have kept it to myself, or tried it out a few times before dropping it on the crowd, working the rough spots out. There's a big difference between being able to write a good joke that everyone laughs at and whoring yourself for a laugh.
* Asking "Ya know what I mean?", "Know what I'm saying?", or "Right?" As a performer, it's my duty before taking the stage to believe in myself without the need for the audience's agreement that what I'm doing is acceptable. More than that, I would have ceased being connected with my words and I amthen no longer present, but going through the motions.
* Single-phrase joke structure. I see a lot of hacky, offensive comics do this. I have a couple of small jokes that started with a funny idea, a word or two in my head, and I tried to build up the idea around them. There ought to be a few licks before ya get to the center of that funny Tootsie Pop.
* Going over time. We all only get so much time to perform, both on-stage and in life. Every performance of mine should have SOMETHING of benefit, even if it's just for me. Zero growth = additional death. When the time is up, sticking around just bothers everyone who needs to move up a notch. Finish the will, and head for the great green room in the sky. Know what I'm saying?
(I kind of did this last night at the show, sorry guys)
==========


offensive things Take Me Home My Non-Funny Blog.

The Laughs Are Always Louder For The Other Guys

I'm a contestant in the Giggles Laugh-Off. Matt Schmidt's also in it, and many of his sentiments are echoed by any comic who has ever been in any sort of competition.
Comics are a very different breed of performer. I don't know if the composers of classical music way the F-sharp back in Vienna rode the same largely fluctuating highs & lows that comics do. I can't imagine they did, seeing as how opiates were in high supply and legal back then. Then again, there wasn't much else for people to go see as far as theater went. Shakespeare had died hundreds of years before, so it's not like people were bastardizing his work for a sequel. If you wanted to see some live music, you hitched up the fanciest pantaloons you had, silk-stockinged your gout-aching feet, tucked a flask of Absynthe under your powdered wig, and called for a carriage to take thee to the recital hall where emotional movements of deeply layered genius rang about your ears, and everyone looked like a woman.

No matter how I do in these competitions, I have a little voice in my head that is scheming for a way to boost my performances. This time around I included three jokes that were less than 3 weeks old. During my last set on Saturday night I was pretty much forced to verbally address some dumbass in the 2nd row who couldn't figure out that she was bothering everyone. My first thought was that she was ordering a drink. But then I realized that Giggles doesn't sell a drink called a "My Daddy Didn't Give Me Enough Attention," so I gave one hot look to the chatty section.

Knock-knock!
Who's There?
Quiet down.
Quiet down, who?
QUIET DOWN, WHORE.

I attacked her clothes, her looks, her future as a woman, her reputation, all to a certain delight in my head that sat in the massage chair but had it's feet on an ottoman made of broken glass. I didn't want to take time out of my set to deal with that chick, but an instance like that requires the performer to address it. So I did. And I got a great response. The crowd was with me the whole way, and the more cutting my words, especially "You need to work things out with your dad," the louder the crowd responded.

It's in those moments that a comic is either acting, bullying, or accessing a part of their personality. Acting can be sniffed out in a heartbeat. Bullying would imply that the comic goes after the person FIRST, to draw them into the firefight because the comic has nothing to say about what is, a deeply boring and very happy world. But that part of my personality that was fed up with this drunk monkey's antics really enjoyed coming out to play. I can see why some people try to intimidate others all the time; it's very empowering to stand on a stage and have a large group voice their support of your sentiments.

That's probably also the area of my brain that would have been angered had I not been doing well in the competition. This is my 3rd comedy comp., and the overall attitude of the comics is great, which will likely help. But next week a guy will be returning to the contest, after having been tossed out last week, and he'll be overly-serious about the whole thing. When you take anything too seriously, be it yourself or your love of ferret rescue, you get dangerously close to being ridiculed. If you can't laugh at yourself, don't worry, everyone else can and will.

I'd rather be at home watching the rest of the special I started last night regarding the "Da Vinci Code"s references. It's far more interesting than listening to the wingnuts here talk about it as if they're 6th-level Freemasons. If it weren't for my co-workers, a lot of bad coffee would never get made. Overall, today, I'm really F'ing bored with this job.

=================
Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

His Reality Check Bounced, Non-sufficient Funny

It's Friday, and it's time to recap all the issues most-pressing to us as internet users and people who like to dish the dirt. Thanks to the internet, information and half-truths spread faster than ever. And if you have one spread about YOU, well then, REBUT AT THE SPEED OF THOUGHT, or faster, in most cases. But let's go over what's most important to our society these days: Entertainers.


Stick It To The Man
Last night was the first night of the Giggles Laugh-Off, and already there's drama. One of the performers, who is NOT a comic in the truest sense of the art, got pissed off about how things were set up.
This guy has been in the finals each year of the contest by loading the Seattle gigs. That is, he's not funny, but he invites an assload of his friends and family and business contacts to the shows to vote for him. There's always a little different vibe for a performer's friends when their friend is on-stage. Even if the guy's not funny, which this guy is NOT, the performer gets a bigger laugh and sigh from their friends who "cannot believe that's [idiot's name here] up there!" As long as the performer doesn't totally black out and tumble into the second row, taking out the "Babies With Rabies" section, the performer gets off scott-free with a high score from their comedy-illiterate friends. There's usually more unfunny in his "hact" than you can shake the stick at, so I am pretty happy he's gotten on with his life.
His absence legitimizes the contest a wee bit more, but still, it's a contest, and these things are so subjective when you're a moderately insecure comedian. Is it legit to even do a contest, as a performer, where you'd be judged by people who really don't know any better about how you do what you do? Come out to Giggles and find the answer!
(the performer in question is, from what I understand, now BACK in the Giggles Laugh-Off.)

Contests are the only way comics will ever know if they are truly funny. Laughter, respect, and gigs aren't good enough for some of us. No, you have to place well in a contest to be considered a comic.


GW Bush. FUNNY!
READ THIS ARTICLE!!!
That article, for those who have skipped ahead, recounts President Bush's verbal missteps in the almost comprehensible words of the President himself. He's like Yogi Berra without the pesky humanity. I worry that the President has come out to defend himself for things he has said "from the cuff," as it are. He is the President of the United States of America, the best country with America in the name, the 2nd best nation in the continent, and he's reticent over a few things he's blurbled. This is really not the time to backtrack on a few goofy quotes as if atoning for your inability to speak without Cheney's hand pulling the string. He's not a boring President, that's for sure. I don't think anybody is going to be sipping a Roofied "Vodka & RedStates" any time soon, lulled into a false sense of democracy.
Keep 'em coming, George. We'll be there to hear what you write.

Who's That... Girl?
As Madonna has crossed over into 46 human years, she's perhaps showing some signs of age. If you want to see them you'll have to get reeeeeally close to the "leftovers" tray at a doctor's office. The Material Shiksa appears to have been taken by surprise in this new Versace ad. Notice the blonder mane, widened eyes, and stronger jaw-line. Like a fine wine, Madonna is at her best right after she gets a little air.


I pondered the notion of cosmetic surgery the other day, eye's wide as I noticed a couple of now-prominent tributaries at the corners of my eyes. On Feb. 4th I'll be 31 years old, and I see pictures of myself from 5-6 years ago, and I think... "What happened?"
Comedy, for one. A trip to Ireland, for two. Mexico, por tres. I've undergone more free radical intake than a Cuban whorehouse.
Besides, if men really wanted to feel younger, they'd buy their girlfriends SMALLER boobs.

Co-worker update
~ You can't spell "No Makeup Sandie" with out "DIE, PUKE MAN."
~ The conversation two doors away regarding a mother's convo with her kid about what gender of baby the kid wants "mommy to have" this next time around is too loud, too long, and too lame to allow it to continue. I'm going to go close their door.
~ Closing a stranger's door at work will get you some funny, self-important looks. Working with women can really f*cking blow. In this office, at least, men gather around to talk sports in the lunchroom, or talk IT nerdball crap at their desks. 17 minutes now of divorces, kids, lawyers, C-sections, and nursing, and I don't mean the E.R. kind.

Cognitive Slowdown
A number of advocates... oh how I despise advocates... are asking the department of transportation to lower the speed limit on the Alaskan Way Viaduct from 50 to 35. This is after a motorcyclist was killed in a collision with an SUV this past Monday.
Lowering the limit will not save lives, as lives are taken not by speed but by careless driving. Whether the limit is 35 or 350, there will be a few people who aren't paying attention to their surrounds, lost in their own stratocruisers (I think that's Lincoln's next SUV). It provides law enforcement with more opportunities to nail speeders at 51 who are just trying to get to featherplucking work after being held up by a fatality accident all morning.
* Some people are distracted by phones or DVD players in their cars. This is going to cause a lot of accidents until we all get DVD players and learn to drive the way we will in the future: Unattentive and hungover from all the parties to repopulate earth.
* Outlaw motorcycles, unless they are in a cage going around and around to the death. Make the death fiery! Make the cage small enough to fit on top of an SUV.


I'm outta here. Have a good Friday.



Take Me Home My Non-Funny Blog.

Best of 2005

The List! You've heard of it. It's everywhere. Everyone seems tohave a list. Top 10 Eyeshadows That Are Not Blue. Best 178 Moments In Zydeco. 3 Celebs To Watch Go In The Tank in 2005 (Ashlee, Hedberg, Kilborn). It's all opinion and bluster, unimportant rankings made by someone who just wants to get some recognition for loving, hating, or shrugging-off someone, something, or Sum 41. These are popular now, and will be for about another 3 months, until even the new open mic'ers start doing jokes about them. Then, ploop, a headliner will swing through town and take the best of the list jokes on the road with him, opening for irrelevant musical acts while getting re-booked for Leno. Yeah, THAT guy.

So far this year I've had a good time. Things have been on the high-side of decent. It doesn't seem like I've done much comedy, but I don't remember having any bad sets... yet. Work stinks, but that's what it's supposed to do. I will soon make the necessary moves to get my own business going. Those moves include my nervous hands plunking down a little start-up capital and loosening my pants to a comfortable size to accomodate the huge balls I think I'll need to swan-dive off the Corporate Crossover bridge and into Independence River. It will be a Top-3 moment in my life to do this, punctuated by personal letters delivered to each person who has bothered me beyond reason while I have been at this company. I know, what goes around comes around, but my Credit Kardma has a zero balance. What if nobody ever told you what you do to bother everyone? Well then, you'd be the prettiest, most popular girl in your high school, and therefore your life will be very easy and perfect.

I'm really enjoying the planning stages I'm in right now. I feel like I have been on a really aggressive timetable since December. I turn 31 in 3 weeks, so I'll be officially "in my 30s," and that's doing things with my head. I have to buy a house. I have to pay off my car. I have to get married. I have to start a family. I have to make my first million dollars. I have to. I have. I. . . Correction.
I, nor you, nor the prettiest girl at your alternative high school, will HAVE TO do any of that. It's not a recipe for being happy. Find what makes you happy, and do what you can to include some of it in between crying and waiting for the gin to kick in. And ask yourself what you really do want out of life. So few people seem to know.
"A good job." Define "good."
"A husband/wife." If you're unmarried and looking for a spouse, you'll probably find one. And THEIR spouse will be PISSED, so keep your eyes open for the "right person," preferably one with good credit, if you happen to be a black comedian.
"A black comedian." Congrats on the credit score.
"More money." Yeah, but HOW will you get it. If you want more money, you may very well get a check cut for you from your recently-deceased favorite uncle's insurance company. Enjoy it, and don't ask questions about the explosion at the carnival.
"A new car." Okay, so a NEW new car, or just some new wheels? I highly advise NOBODY buy a NEW new car. A necessity for 99% of us, it's also a constant expenditure, counting costs for gas, insurance, oil change every 7300 miles (whether you need it or not), delousing, kick-ass stereo that keeps getting jacked, and hypnotism to rid you of the need for a stereo that jack-worthy. You're looking at dropping like HUNDREDS of dollars in most cases. Keep what you have in good shape. Before it's absolutely time or a new one, shine yours up and trade it in to start with. Just like your first marriage.
"A 6-inch Black Angus Steak Sandwich from Quiznos, no onions, extra mushrooms, double the horseradish." Well said. That's a clearly defined desire. So shall it be given.
"To know what Love is." I want you to show me. And I want to feel... I want to feel what Love is. I want you to show me.
"Candy." Nope, sorry. Not until you've finished your induction.
"Please?" You asked me to keep you honest, and I want to see you succeed. Now let go of that, that is not yours and it's starting to turn purple.
"To write a good joke about lists." Good luck with that. Some things just aren't funny, like being a lazy stoner comic or a hyper stoner comic or a stoner comic or somebody who isn't clever enough to hide a list in their blog.

So whatever you want to see happen in your life this year, tell yourself it WILL happen. If you WANT it to happen, the only thing that will happen is WANT. And be prepared for whatever it is. In that case, I better go say goodbye to Uncle Larry and hope to Kilborn he hasn't willed me something crappy, like a clown statue or a good job.

I am OUT. See you in Olympia, gorgeous.
==================================
Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

This Is What I Feel Like Blogging About: NEW CONTENT ADDED!!!

It's Wednesday and I'm doing whatever I can to stay mentally occupied, short of tripping on Omega-3 fatty acid. I've updated my resumé, which is literally a retarded thing for me to do. I have as much desire to work for another corporation as I do to listen to people repeat their favorite lines from Napoleon Dynamite for an entire open mic. Right, right, MY mom goes to... got it.

NEW CONTENT:
This is my problem at the moment. When I'm at work, all I want to do, and apparently am very efficient at, is surf the internet for tales of human woe and weirdness in order to make jokes or blogs out of it. The internet is great for finding stories of a nature that you would never think could involve people. But next thing ya know some stoner's celebrating the holidays by going "down the chimney" on a robotic sheep at a Nativity Scene, AND suing the people who erected it for not putting up a warning sign. Apparently he broke away from the other Wisemen...

When I'm at work, I don't feel like working. It's in my nature to do what someone tells me specifically NOT to do, but I'm still an adult and accountable enough to handle my responsibilities. So I figure that while I'm at work I will have to move things around in the fridge so people panic as the though crosses their mind "WHAT THE FAWK?!?! WHERE'S MY TUNA TERYIAKI FROM LAST THURSDAY?"

I have an innate sense of going against orders, especially if they are absurd, like "Shovel the sidewalk" or "Don't bury me here!" But when at work, I have to perform tasks in order to keep my job, so you can see my dilemma. Work, boring. Surfing, fun. When I'm not at work, surfing, boring. Work, more boring. My life is great, I love it. I need to find a new mode d'emploi.
=====
Things are getting really weird in my apartment complex. The other night my neighbor was walking around in her underwear, like "no biggie, it's not cold out." The guy across the parking lot was watching porno all night. The couple in F-304 were fighting for a good two hours on Sunday night. I think they were, anyway. That's how it seemed through the telescope.
=====
This is the perfect shirt for this story.



I encourage you to falsify a resumé based on a company's outlandish requirements for a job. Make up terminology that refers to duties of a totally non-existent job. When you get the interview, you have to be a little early, well-dressed, and ready to impress. After you get hired, work a couple of days to get a paycheck, then walk into your new boss' office and say
"I probably should have told you this before I got hired. I'm really not qualified for this position. The company across the street is under surveillance by an unofficially government-funded agency known as SquidJigger. I am here as a decoy for the SJ to observe. I cannot stress to you how important it is that nobody else knows of this."
The next day, wear sunglasses all day, and skip meetings. Sleep under your desk. When you receive your first paycheck, tell your boss that everything's under control. Never show up again. Leave behind a Polaroid of yourself holding a Bowie knife and a bloody wig.
Honestly who gives a shit? You walk with a couple grand in your pocket, and you are totally untraceable.
That went on WAY too long to be that unfunny.
==============

The Pot Calling the Kettle "Diverse"

While I mull over a few options of things to blather on about, you need to take your lilly-white can to The Onion and see what's up in the world. You think you know, but you have no idea.

And thanks to a seed-based hot sauce condiment on my omelet this morning, I'm the one with the coughing fit. I picked this sauce up at Lenny's in Cabo. It's got a mustard seed base, then is built upon with Worcestestestshoozle, vinegar, chipotle ("chi-poh-fawk that's good"), and black pepper. As far as hot sauces go, it is a great paint stripper. I've got some rad hacks happening every few minutes now. I plan to sit and rack my diaphragm all eucalyptis morning, stopping only to projectile vomit and/or regain consciousness.

I f*cking love you guys.
============
Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.

The Revolution Will Be TiVo'ed!

I had a kickass blog going, but some MF'ing TCP connection went chips-up. And, btw, the blog was about how F'ed up Technology is making the human race.
So once again, if THIS makes it past the Matrix, Technology is the new Religion. You might read it here first, before it's beamed into your optical nerves between commercials for CocaCola capsules and Hungry Man TV Dinner Pills.

And the guy I followed last night IS from the center of the Earth.

And Mickey should be up at every open mic. That guy makes me laugh my nerves off.

Take Me Home

My Non-Funny Blog.