Terrell Owens, a freakishly talented wide receiver, multi-millionaire, and titanically self-impressed ass-clown said this in November, and I'm paraphrasing but the jist is correct:
"The Philadelphia Eagles would be better off at the moment if former Super Bowl MVP Brett Favre were playing quarterback, instead of Donovan McNabb, who has, like, only one leg and frequently cries when he has hard bowel movements after eating mass-produced soups."
Full Story below...
http://sports.yahoo.com/nfl/news?slug=ap-eagles-mcnabbowensfeud&prov=ap&type=lgns
Donovan McNabb, a strong-armed quarterback, multi-millionaire, and titanically bad Chunky Soup commercializer, was on the cover of EA Sports' "Madden NFL 2006," and quickly fell to the Madden Curse. "The Madden Curse" refers to the past few seasons wherein whichever NFL Star… nay.. SUPER-Star is chosen for the cover usually has an injury befall him within the first 2 games of the season. 2004, it was Michael Vick, who broke his leg in Week One. 2005 was Ray Lewis, who had a torn hamstring or may have even stabbed someone. This year, McNabb got the spot and in the first game, against the Falcons, had a bruised sternum and soon after was felled by a sports hernia.
A Sports Hernia is a tear in the muscles and ligature between the abdomen and the pelvis. You know that "V" shape of the obliques that fitness models get as it disappears down their shorts into musky town? Yeah, McNabb TORE that. And he played through it for a couple weeks until he had too much trouble running around with his giant balls not being fully supported by his rock-hard abalones. He's a tough S.O.B. (Soup-lOving Baller)
So, Owens, the WR, says Favre (pronounced "Freebird") would have been able to lead the Eagles better than McNabb had been leading them. Hey, Owens, a lot of people could have led that team better simply by not having blown out their undercarriage. So why pick Favereer?
Favre, a 15-year vet of the NFL, MVP of the League and the Super Bowl, is a great QB. Any team would be happy to have him under center in a big game. He'll one day be in the Hall of Fame. And Brett Farevere is white. McNabb and Owens are both black. McNabb's response to Owens' comments?
"It was like, it's unreal," McNabb said. "That's like me going out and saying, `Hey, if we had Steve Largent. If we had Joe Jurevicius. It was definitely a slap in the face to me. It was a slap in the face because, as deep as people want to go into it, it was black-on-black crime."
He immediately received a call from multi-millionaire rapper Curtis Jackson, better known as the one-tempo lyricist "Silva Dolla," wherein Jackson told McNabb, "I feel you. This is like that time I got shot 9 times in the F*CKING FACE. How you holdin' up?"
Or the other gang beatings and killings that are commited in predominantly black neighborhoods, the ones that multi-millionaire athletes do not live in. Or it hurt like the many times Donovan was passed over for job interviews as a professional Quarterback, only to have a white QB step in and… what? That never happened? Oh…
I can understand Donovan's mindset, feeling that T.O. just MIGHT have mentioned Favrenugen's name because saying a White QB would be better than a Black QB would then speak down to ALL black QBs. That would be a really, really great move on Owens part. Owens has been nothing but a problem since he arrived in Philadelphia. The city, contrary to that angle, LOVES McNabb. He's up there with Rocky Balboa (a fictional character) and cream cheese (a delicious character). But a CRIME? Not to mention, a RACE-RELATED Crime!
While I appreciate that Donovan mentioned two Seahawks receivers as replacements for T.O., the comments Owens made were in NOVEMBER. McNabb is way overdue to respond to a loutish comment by a loutish receiver who is widely disliked. I can't speak to the sentiment of black culture, saying that a white person could have done something better than a black person. But that's a truly evil, racist, facist notion to put forth. I can see where it would hurt, deeply, because it cuts through the ability, humanity, and dedication of McNabb, saying those traits don't matter as much as the color of the skin of the person playing QB. Something about this issue really made me sick, as I've come closer to understanding how race is still an issue, as much as people being half-tard-assholes is still an issue... but it's not a crime.
Before you call Jesse Jackson, ask yourself THIS:
Is Terrell Owens SMART enough to put that much forethought into a slam on McNabb? It's not like Owens said "We'd be better off with Ryan Leaf." In my mind, it was a comment about ability, a shot at McNabb, and another low-class move by a nearly no-class athlete. By responding the way he did, nobody came out of this looking worse than McNabb.
==============
And before I go… Joey Porter can eat a bowl of Ass-Flakes with 1% Piss Milk. Talk all you wanna talk, you're gonna get cracked by Mack Strong in between cracks by Steve Hutchinson when you're not getting shit-canned by Walt. I can't wait to see Porter opening for Al Foxx on a speaking tour next year.
GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS GO SEAHAWKS
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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, February 02, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
The Vicious Circle
Only comics can judge other comics.
But if an audience loves a comic, that’s all that matters.
But if the audience isn’t particularly a “hip” or “smart” group, they shouldn’t be judging comics.
But the audience is who PAYS THE BILLS, and that matters more than anything else.
But you shouldn’t do it for the money.
But have we defined “judging” yet?
Okay, so only audiences can judge comics.
But audiences may not understand that "funny" comes from being able to interweave subtle nuances into a joke instead of having it spoonfed to them.
But it takes more talent and hard work to purposely write a joke that works on multiple levels. But it takes even more work to condense that joke from a big web with intricate details into a more recognizable form of hilarity.
But you should always and only write what's funny to you.
But the audience has to be laughing in order for the “funny” bar to be set.
But the audience doesn’t know what “funny” is the way that comics do.
It's settled then...
Only comics can judge audiences.
What's the point?
Because it's all subjective, and it's all from one's own perspective, comedy is nothing but laughter. Who am I to say what and how an audience "gets" a joke? Suddenly I, Geoff Lott, can read all of those minds at once, and visualize who got what and how? No, and I'd be a pompous ass to say I could.
It turns out a good friend of mine loves Larry the Cable Guy, whom many people cannot stand the sound nor existence of. She likes his "gimmick." She "gets the marketing." She knows he's not "real" and she's okay with that. She sees him as "if a redneck with almost no command of the English language were doing jokes, THAT is what he'd do." It's not serious. And that opened my eyes to all of it.
Comics work from their perspective as children, adults, jilted lovers, ex-spouses, specific ethnicities, ex-convicts, drug users, abstainers, happily married, happily divorced, parents, and - but not limited to - people who see the world differently than most of the people around them. All we want to do is get on stage, do our jokes, have integrity, and get big laughs. It doesn't always work that way.
The rest of it can, frankly, judge my f-hole.
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But if an audience loves a comic, that’s all that matters.
But if the audience isn’t particularly a “hip” or “smart” group, they shouldn’t be judging comics.
But the audience is who PAYS THE BILLS, and that matters more than anything else.
But you shouldn’t do it for the money.
But have we defined “judging” yet?
Okay, so only audiences can judge comics.
But audiences may not understand that "funny" comes from being able to interweave subtle nuances into a joke instead of having it spoonfed to them.
But it takes more talent and hard work to purposely write a joke that works on multiple levels. But it takes even more work to condense that joke from a big web with intricate details into a more recognizable form of hilarity.
But you should always and only write what's funny to you.
But the audience has to be laughing in order for the “funny” bar to be set.
But the audience doesn’t know what “funny” is the way that comics do.
It's settled then...
Only comics can judge audiences.
What's the point?
Because it's all subjective, and it's all from one's own perspective, comedy is nothing but laughter. Who am I to say what and how an audience "gets" a joke? Suddenly I, Geoff Lott, can read all of those minds at once, and visualize who got what and how? No, and I'd be a pompous ass to say I could.
It turns out a good friend of mine loves Larry the Cable Guy, whom many people cannot stand the sound nor existence of. She likes his "gimmick." She "gets the marketing." She knows he's not "real" and she's okay with that. She sees him as "if a redneck with almost no command of the English language were doing jokes, THAT is what he'd do." It's not serious. And that opened my eyes to all of it.
Comics work from their perspective as children, adults, jilted lovers, ex-spouses, specific ethnicities, ex-convicts, drug users, abstainers, happily married, happily divorced, parents, and - but not limited to - people who see the world differently than most of the people around them. All we want to do is get on stage, do our jokes, have integrity, and get big laughs. It doesn't always work that way.
The rest of it can, frankly, judge my f-hole.
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Sunday, January 29, 2006
Super Bowl XL... Holy Crap, The Seahawks Are In It!
I don't have a lot to say about the Seahawks being in the Super Bowl that hasn't already been drunkenly screamed into a women's bathroom from here to Steilacoom.
But I will say this. For his entire career, I have been a fan of Jerome Bettis, shown here leaving Cortez Kennedy in the gravy. Jerome will someday be in the Hall of Fame, I think, as one of the best running backs and men to ever work his way up the charts in the NFL. He was born and raised in Detroit. The Super Bowl is in Detroit. He may retire after the Super Bowl.
Mid-American, Hallmark-loving sentiment reeeeeeeeeeeeeally wants to see Jerome Bettis, RB for the Pittsburgh Steelers, go out with the biggest win of his career in his hometown in his last game. It's a good story line. And the Steelers, how much more American can you get than that gritty, intense, old-school persona in one team?
With all due respect, and for just this one game out of the hundreds he has played...
F*ck Jerome Bettis.
F*ck Sentiment.
F*ck the story lines.
F*ck the Steelers.
Ideally, Jerome Bettis will be tasked with winning the game on a 2-yard grind into the endzone, and will not only fumble, but Biblically shit-flood his pants as Lofa Tatupu falls on the ball with 3 seconds left in the game. That would be about 1,000,000 times more memorable than the "perfect ending" to the guy's career. Walter Payton never even scored a TD in a Super Bowl, and now...
Forget it. The right thing to do is to quit getting dewy-pantsed over the Disney-esque possibilities of the end of Jerome's career. No chance.
GO SEAHAWKS!!!
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But I will say this. For his entire career, I have been a fan of Jerome Bettis, shown here leaving Cortez Kennedy in the gravy. Jerome will someday be in the Hall of Fame, I think, as one of the best running backs and men to ever work his way up the charts in the NFL. He was born and raised in Detroit. The Super Bowl is in Detroit. He may retire after the Super Bowl.
Mid-American, Hallmark-loving sentiment reeeeeeeeeeeeeally wants to see Jerome Bettis, RB for the Pittsburgh Steelers, go out with the biggest win of his career in his hometown in his last game. It's a good story line. And the Steelers, how much more American can you get than that gritty, intense, old-school persona in one team?
With all due respect, and for just this one game out of the hundreds he has played...
F*ck Jerome Bettis.
F*ck Sentiment.
F*ck the story lines.
F*ck the Steelers.
Ideally, Jerome Bettis will be tasked with winning the game on a 2-yard grind into the endzone, and will not only fumble, but Biblically shit-flood his pants as Lofa Tatupu falls on the ball with 3 seconds left in the game. That would be about 1,000,000 times more memorable than the "perfect ending" to the guy's career. Walter Payton never even scored a TD in a Super Bowl, and now...
Forget it. The right thing to do is to quit getting dewy-pantsed over the Disney-esque possibilities of the end of Jerome's career. No chance.
GO SEAHAWKS!!!
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Friday, January 27, 2006
The Kind Of Decadence I Can Only Dream Of
With Lovely Woman in the house, there's a steady TV diet of the GNN (Gay-CNN/E!) and MTV reality shows that are unintentionally, and therefore 100-times more, funny. It is from the wafting noises of the programs on these shows I get a lot of info about the various "hot accessories" and "cool pubic hair styles" of the macro-biotic Kabbalah-brities in and around the Hollywood. My Aquarian nature shudders at the imbalanced lives they lead, falsely centering themselves in a made-up universe. My Aquarian nature is also equipped with a hollowed-out molar full of Dichotomy-G32, a chemical that immediately puts me in a pair of Prada slides, sipping freshly-brewed Chilean virgin-hymen Bubble tonics out of cups made especially for Whole Foods, and saying, "Yes, I can appreciate the beauty of that Louis satchel. It is right for the season. It is unique. This tonic is, golly, giving me half of an erection, but only on the left. Huh."
I'm very two-sided. Even with the strongest beliefs in a point of view, I am fully aware of the opposing view-point, and rarely see it as an antagonist. It's part of my nature, and often gets me into trouble. Some people believe that I'm being difficult, while some see me as being stubbornly difficult. Still others find me to be "fascinating" when I'm not "doing pushups during the sermon." Balance, I love it. Which is why I really love how some stars have found a way to balance their "Anybody Would Suck On My Body" status with accessories. And from there, it's all about how decadent you can get. The more decadent the accessory (UP), the more grounded you appear (DOWN).
For example, Paris Hilton had Tinkerbelle. Tink was a dog that could fit in Paris' purse, were it not for her pills. From there, she upgraded to not just a living mammal, but NICOLE RICHIE, who fits into most pill bottles now. Nicole was tired of being the third most-famous snatch on the show, so she chewed through her leash and nearly married a once-fat DJ, Howard Stern. Or not. Her dad is the very famous BB King?
How do you top a dog, and a chihuahua? TWO CHIHUAHUAS... DOY. How the hell do you top that?
Look no further than Angelina Jolie. She's got a Cambodian kid, AND Brad Pitt. AND another baby from Africa. Where does it end? Olsen Twins BackPacks by Labor Day, that's where.
Now those are the kind of accessories that make a dude say "Women ARE from Venus!"
============
Speaking of Books and Decadence, I think it's great that Oprah, who was once making a fat red penny off of her goy-toy James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces," and never questioned, but instead CHAMPIONED, the tale his "memoir" told has come out to say she feels like she was duped. I was worried for a while that Oprah, who is AT THIS MOMENT, simmering in a pan of her own HARPO juicey-juice, wouldn't give a shit about the lies.
Isn't it great that she's thought about contemplating the possibility of giving to charity all the money her book club made from pushing the book?
What a saint that disgustingly "rich for no reason" that woman is. I hope she recovers from her dupey-ness!
===
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I'm very two-sided. Even with the strongest beliefs in a point of view, I am fully aware of the opposing view-point, and rarely see it as an antagonist. It's part of my nature, and often gets me into trouble. Some people believe that I'm being difficult, while some see me as being stubbornly difficult. Still others find me to be "fascinating" when I'm not "doing pushups during the sermon." Balance, I love it. Which is why I really love how some stars have found a way to balance their "Anybody Would Suck On My Body" status with accessories. And from there, it's all about how decadent you can get. The more decadent the accessory (UP), the more grounded you appear (DOWN).
For example, Paris Hilton had Tinkerbelle. Tink was a dog that could fit in Paris' purse, were it not for her pills. From there, she upgraded to not just a living mammal, but NICOLE RICHIE, who fits into most pill bottles now. Nicole was tired of being the third most-famous snatch on the show, so she chewed through her leash and nearly married a once-fat DJ, Howard Stern. Or not. Her dad is the very famous BB King?
How do you top a dog, and a chihuahua? TWO CHIHUAHUAS... DOY. How the hell do you top that?
Look no further than Angelina Jolie. She's got a Cambodian kid, AND Brad Pitt. AND another baby from Africa. Where does it end? Olsen Twins BackPacks by Labor Day, that's where.
Now those are the kind of accessories that make a dude say "Women ARE from Venus!"
============
Speaking of Books and Decadence, I think it's great that Oprah, who was once making a fat red penny off of her goy-toy James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces," and never questioned, but instead CHAMPIONED, the tale his "memoir" told has come out to say she feels like she was duped. I was worried for a while that Oprah, who is AT THIS MOMENT, simmering in a pan of her own HARPO juicey-juice, wouldn't give a shit about the lies.
Isn't it great that she's thought about contemplating the possibility of giving to charity all the money her book club made from pushing the book?
What a saint that disgustingly "rich for no reason" that woman is. I hope she recovers from her dupey-ness!
===
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Monday, January 23, 2006
More to come... but...
In this morning's blog, my friend Killorn, when referring to her drive to dial-back the veracity of her laugh, used the term "Throat the beast."
Google that, and get back to me on how many returns you get for semi-legal sites in Scandinavia.
==========
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Google that, and get back to me on how many returns you get for semi-legal sites in Scandinavia.
==========
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Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Taste The Future, Again
Last year I did a prediction blog, linked up to your visual cortex RIGHT HERE. My comedy prediction is sadly coming true.
I should do this for a living.
"This" = leering at your mom in her aerobicize unitard. What's up Mrs. Cundiff? Need help with those groceries?
================
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I should do this for a living.
"This" = leering at your mom in her aerobicize unitard. What's up Mrs. Cundiff? Need help with those groceries?
================
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Name Your Kid For Criminal Success
Naming a child is giving them the identity they will carry through their life. I'll keep this short.
If you want your child to grow up to be a criminal, like a "killed by the authorities" criminal, give him a middle name of Ray. Another one was taken down last night in California. He was 76, and this was the first ever execution by "BOO!"
If you're looking more at your garden-variety assault and burglary, just go for the initials. JT. TJ. RJ. JD. BO. It's cute when he's getting his pictures at Sears, but it's sad when he's there changing tires.
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If you want your child to grow up to be a criminal, like a "killed by the authorities" criminal, give him a middle name of Ray. Another one was taken down last night in California. He was 76, and this was the first ever execution by "BOO!"
If you're looking more at your garden-variety assault and burglary, just go for the initials. JT. TJ. RJ. JD. BO. It's cute when he's getting his pictures at Sears, but it's sad when he's there changing tires.
===========
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Monday, January 16, 2006
You Can't Sue Mother Nature
27,000 new homes built into area hillsides, once covered with trees.
270,000 trees removed from those hillsides.
27 days of rain.
2,700,000 pounds of mud sliding down those now-rootless hillsides, into backyards, living rooms, reflecting ponds, zen-gardens, and garages.
2 turds given by nature when the mud covers the new Acura and dislodges a baker's-dozen of townhomes.
1 very upset cougar in the living room wondering where it's home went. (Cougars have traditionally low credit ratings)
Zero sympathy to muster. But hey, I have a leak in the living room, and I have to deal with the Property managers now, so I am NOT HAPPY.
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270,000 trees removed from those hillsides.
27 days of rain.
2,700,000 pounds of mud sliding down those now-rootless hillsides, into backyards, living rooms, reflecting ponds, zen-gardens, and garages.
2 turds given by nature when the mud covers the new Acura and dislodges a baker's-dozen of townhomes.
1 very upset cougar in the living room wondering where it's home went. (Cougars have traditionally low credit ratings)
Zero sympathy to muster. But hey, I have a leak in the living room, and I have to deal with the Property managers now, so I am NOT HAPPY.
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Saturday, January 14, 2006
A Sure Way To Beat the Rap
Also, if you've ever wondered how to define the term "Preferential Treatment," look no further than the case of Washington Redskins safety Sean Taylor. Taylor was arrested last year for pulling a gun (F*CK WHAT???) on somebody during an altercation. Taylor, who stands 6'4'' and tips the scales at 225+ lbs basically threatened to kill someone with a gun. His hearing was last week, prior to the 'Skins playing in Seattle.
The hearing, held in Dade County, FL (where Sean Taylor attended the University of Miami), resulted in the Prosecutor's request for No Special Treatment being denied, as Taylor's absence from the Redskins game would have caused hardship on both Sean Taylor AND the Redskins, so sayeth Judge Mary Barzee.
The group he was with during the fight in question was fighting another group... over an All Terrain Vehicle.
Since it's all "alleged" behavior, Taylor has not yet sat down for the standard Athlete In Trouble Tattoo, a.k.a "Only God Can Judge Me." Too bad God has all the ATV's He needs, and is not elected to His post by the voters and boosters near the University Of Miami.
Sean Taylor: Professional Ass-bag.
Happy Martin Luther King Day!
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The hearing, held in Dade County, FL (where Sean Taylor attended the University of Miami), resulted in the Prosecutor's request for No Special Treatment being denied, as Taylor's absence from the Redskins game would have caused hardship on both Sean Taylor AND the Redskins, so sayeth Judge Mary Barzee.
The group he was with during the fight in question was fighting another group... over an All Terrain Vehicle.
Since it's all "alleged" behavior, Taylor has not yet sat down for the standard Athlete In Trouble Tattoo, a.k.a "Only God Can Judge Me." Too bad God has all the ATV's He needs, and is not elected to His post by the voters and boosters near the University Of Miami.
Sean Taylor: Professional Ass-bag.
Happy Martin Luther King Day!
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Thursday, January 12, 2006
Geoff Lott... Dead To Comedy?
Rumors of my demise have been greatly and masturbatorily exaggerated.
Last night I started my week of the Giggles Laugh-Off. This competition, like any comedy competition, is as weirdly judged with skewed voting practices as picking "the most F'ed-up Jackson." I was pitted against 15 year-old Ryan Cuddihy, who, when I started comedy, had no idea that some day he would meet, and later beat, me in a comedy showdown.
I will spare the details because comedy competitions aren't about details, and it wouldn't sound gracious, anyway.
I won't be making any wine from sour grapes, either.
What I will say is this:
Ryan had a very good set last night.
I had a very good set last night.
In the end, he had more votes than I did.
The tabloids would have you believe it matters, but like I said last night, votes don't count, not in comedy, not in politics. Not when we're all pawns in the power struggle between the ghost of Jimi Hendrix and the slowly gathering dolphin army.
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Last night I started my week of the Giggles Laugh-Off. This competition, like any comedy competition, is as weirdly judged with skewed voting practices as picking "the most F'ed-up Jackson." I was pitted against 15 year-old Ryan Cuddihy, who, when I started comedy, had no idea that some day he would meet, and later beat, me in a comedy showdown.
I will spare the details because comedy competitions aren't about details, and it wouldn't sound gracious, anyway.
I won't be making any wine from sour grapes, either.
What I will say is this:
Ryan had a very good set last night.
I had a very good set last night.
In the end, he had more votes than I did.
The tabloids would have you believe it matters, but like I said last night, votes don't count, not in comedy, not in politics. Not when we're all pawns in the power struggle between the ghost of Jimi Hendrix and the slowly gathering dolphin army.
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Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Resolved
I awake full of zest, marvelling at the world. Eyes lit with the fires of eons past, as my first conscious breath of the morn pierces the veil of darkness.
Am I awake?
Is this Heaven?
Can I create my own Valhalla right here in this world?
I know the scythe and plow await me, and all I need is to rise, rise to the moment and let the chill of my skin play against the sun warming my sinew.
Will the Universe conspire with me... BRAAAAAAP... WOO, morning gas, what is UP mi amigo? Who's been eating broccoli again? THIS GUY, that's who.
What was I saying? OH RIGHT, the New Year hype.
Perhaps I'd be more into it if I didn't have the notion that the New Year is just a way to remember that you need to buy a new Shetland Pony/Firefighters/Carmen Electra's Pussy calendar.
Perhaps the attitude I carry is the one that numbs it down for me. I want to believe things are renewed. I wish I could look back and close the book on 2005. But I'm not going to do that until my creditors do.
Perhaps I get sick at the dewy-eyed, cocked eyebrow, distance-staring pseudo-philosoBloggers who can't figure if they're trying to make the reader reflect on the previous year (which is summarized perfectly by actions in the month of December), or if those writers just enjoy the smell of their own rose-colored e-turds.
I once wrote in this column that I had hoped to never write something here that was a waste of time to read. I aim, still, to never write anything that is not a reflection of what I'm feeling. And if I have nothing to express, or have to force it, I keep it inside until it's fully bound together and packaged for a drop-ship, steaming, onto the chest of readership.
So as we move into the New Year, I'm going to make a resolution to myself:
Do not be fooled by the marketing, the hype, nor the self-aggrandizing stew that many a human hambone loves to simmer in.
oh...
and stop expecting so much from Owen Wilson's squinty-eyed acting.
Serious gas here, people.
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Am I awake?
Is this Heaven?
Can I create my own Valhalla right here in this world?
I know the scythe and plow await me, and all I need is to rise, rise to the moment and let the chill of my skin play against the sun warming my sinew.
Will the Universe conspire with me... BRAAAAAAP... WOO, morning gas, what is UP mi amigo? Who's been eating broccoli again? THIS GUY, that's who.
What was I saying? OH RIGHT, the New Year hype.
Perhaps I'd be more into it if I didn't have the notion that the New Year is just a way to remember that you need to buy a new Shetland Pony/Firefighters/Carmen Electra's Pussy calendar.
Perhaps the attitude I carry is the one that numbs it down for me. I want to believe things are renewed. I wish I could look back and close the book on 2005. But I'm not going to do that until my creditors do.
Perhaps I get sick at the dewy-eyed, cocked eyebrow, distance-staring pseudo-philosoBloggers who can't figure if they're trying to make the reader reflect on the previous year (which is summarized perfectly by actions in the month of December), or if those writers just enjoy the smell of their own rose-colored e-turds.
I once wrote in this column that I had hoped to never write something here that was a waste of time to read. I aim, still, to never write anything that is not a reflection of what I'm feeling. And if I have nothing to express, or have to force it, I keep it inside until it's fully bound together and packaged for a drop-ship, steaming, onto the chest of readership.
So as we move into the New Year, I'm going to make a resolution to myself:
Do not be fooled by the marketing, the hype, nor the self-aggrandizing stew that many a human hambone loves to simmer in.
oh...
and stop expecting so much from Owen Wilson's squinty-eyed acting.
Serious gas here, people.
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Friday, December 30, 2005
Be Nicer, Damn It!
2005 was the year of unrealized Self-Empowerment, a movement that, like most weapons, is going off at all the wrong times. People have mistaken "rightful place in the kingdom of God on Earth" for "I don't gotta say no 'Thanks' or no 'Please' to nobawdy! I'll finish this phone conversation where the hell ever I wanna, you be a ho!"
General rudeness has replaced basic courtesy. I open doors for people, or hold them open, on a semi-regular basis. But I also have about a 2 to 3-second window for people to get in through tat door. I have no idea if it's all the energy drinks on the market, the alley-grade oxycontin, or the fact that people are "living in the moment, like today is the last day of their lives." It's annoying. It has to stop.
So I've come up with a 2-point plan for getting back on the Manners Mobile. I highly suggest anybody adapt it to their own lives (I know I will), and share it with others.
FIRST:
Repeat this phrase to yourself: While I am important, I'm not the only person _____BLANK #1_____
SECOND:
Follow it with this phrase: ... and therefore, I shall not _____BLANK #2_____ because that would be inconsiderate to the world around me, which does not revolve around me, but instead, exists for my benefit, and not vise-versa. And that goes double for ______BLANK #3_______
THE BLANKS!
Blank #1: fill in the blank with the name of whatever FridayOliveCakeChiliBirdFactory you happen to find yourself at after a long night of blowing truckers. Same thing can be used if you find yourself at the grocery store while taking a break from your favorite sport, Booger Rolling.
Blank #2: this is where you are conscious of what you're doing at that moment, whether it be NOT BLOGGING even though you're cluttering the net with your blank archives of banal horseshit and/or "Dreams." It also encompasses elevator farting, blowing salami burps, or not leaving a store when you think getting a better deal on cereal is more important than other people not hearing your 5 year old scream for a coloring book.
BLANK #3: "my (SEX ORGAN YOU WERE BORN WITH THAT GETS YOU IN TROUBLE THE MOST... which for me is my brain)!!!"
See, it's simple. Be in the moment, realize you're not the king of the queen of the MeyerTargetSafeLarry's, and say "Thanks!" when I hold the door open for you. Or you WILL be sorry the next time we're in the elevator together.
Happy New Year? I'll be the judge of that.
By the way, my girlfriend and I have quit smoking, and things are on edge around here. Come by and make sure we're not wearing each other as suits. DO NOT KNOCK, YOU COME IN AND YOU BRING ICE CREAM.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
General rudeness has replaced basic courtesy. I open doors for people, or hold them open, on a semi-regular basis. But I also have about a 2 to 3-second window for people to get in through tat door. I have no idea if it's all the energy drinks on the market, the alley-grade oxycontin, or the fact that people are "living in the moment, like today is the last day of their lives." It's annoying. It has to stop.
So I've come up with a 2-point plan for getting back on the Manners Mobile. I highly suggest anybody adapt it to their own lives (I know I will), and share it with others.
FIRST:
Repeat this phrase to yourself: While I am important, I'm not the only person _____BLANK #1_____
SECOND:
Follow it with this phrase: ... and therefore, I shall not _____BLANK #2_____ because that would be inconsiderate to the world around me, which does not revolve around me, but instead, exists for my benefit, and not vise-versa. And that goes double for ______BLANK #3_______
THE BLANKS!
Blank #1: fill in the blank with the name of whatever FridayOliveCakeChiliBirdFactory you happen to find yourself at after a long night of blowing truckers. Same thing can be used if you find yourself at the grocery store while taking a break from your favorite sport, Booger Rolling.
Blank #2: this is where you are conscious of what you're doing at that moment, whether it be NOT BLOGGING even though you're cluttering the net with your blank archives of banal horseshit and/or "Dreams." It also encompasses elevator farting, blowing salami burps, or not leaving a store when you think getting a better deal on cereal is more important than other people not hearing your 5 year old scream for a coloring book.
BLANK #3: "my (SEX ORGAN YOU WERE BORN WITH THAT GETS YOU IN TROUBLE THE MOST... which for me is my brain)!!!"
See, it's simple. Be in the moment, realize you're not the king of the queen of the MeyerTargetSafeLarry's, and say "Thanks!" when I hold the door open for you. Or you WILL be sorry the next time we're in the elevator together.
Happy New Year? I'll be the judge of that.
By the way, my girlfriend and I have quit smoking, and things are on edge around here. Come by and make sure we're not wearing each other as suits. DO NOT KNOCK, YOU COME IN AND YOU BRING ICE CREAM.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
The Gifts Of Christmas Past
THE Holiday has come and passed, and I hope you each got something easily returnable. The fact of the matter is that very few people can shop for us as we get older, unless the shopper keeps an ear and a keen eye open to your style and suggestions. You may need running shoes (turns out I'm a supinating ball-striker), some fierce tops (if you've got good bottoms), or a new gadget that turns on the music, and turns off the rest of your social circle.
A pervasive feeling overcomes many people about 2.5 weeks into December, that harrowing "a Christmas party… a bathroom… a thong… balls?" feeling. This is preceded by wanting to get "something" for "so & so," but you're not sure what to get, and don't want to appear thoughtless by handing over the dollar amount in the form of a giftcard. Instead, your mind plumbs its resin & hops-glazed depths for a twinkling of their personality so you can get them an appropriate guilt trip. Er, gift.
Anywho, I wish I had more to say about all this but I have to go write my "Christmas Is Too Commercial" blog for the Pepsi website, sponsored by Nike's LiveRad campaign to fight obesity in our endangered species.org. Right after I return this "Babe Ruth" baseball card. Hello? I'm 31. I SAID BOOOOOZE, Mother.
Confidential to Steve:
Just because there's less blood in it does NOT mean "it's breaking up." Go home.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
A pervasive feeling overcomes many people about 2.5 weeks into December, that harrowing "a Christmas party… a bathroom… a thong… balls?" feeling. This is preceded by wanting to get "something" for "so & so," but you're not sure what to get, and don't want to appear thoughtless by handing over the dollar amount in the form of a giftcard. Instead, your mind plumbs its resin & hops-glazed depths for a twinkling of their personality so you can get them an appropriate guilt trip. Er, gift.
Anywho, I wish I had more to say about all this but I have to go write my "Christmas Is Too Commercial" blog for the Pepsi website, sponsored by Nike's LiveRad campaign to fight obesity in our endangered species.org. Right after I return this "Babe Ruth" baseball card. Hello? I'm 31. I SAID BOOOOOZE, Mother.
Confidential to Steve:
Just because there's less blood in it does NOT mean "it's breaking up." Go home.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Merry Christmas, And Other Offensive Words
So far, nobody has told me directly that they have any problem with me wishing them a Merry Christmas. I wonder if it's all propaganda created by the Reich Wing to drum up religious fervor.
For those who are completely against religion, that's fine, that's your decision.
You have to work the weekend. No days off in the Agnostic calendar, 'cept the National Holidays. If you truly want separation of Church and State, you cannot say "The government said I can take this day off," because that would be observing a Religious Holiday, and my tolerance ends at your hypocrisy.
And I'm reminded again this year that once a year is not enough to do nice things for those you care about. Don't save it up. Give a little bit all year. When it comes this time of the year and I don't get gifts from people, I don't feel bad because I know that I did some other nice stuff for them through out the year. Seriously though, when in doubt, just give me a gift card. I would rather write a "Thank You" card instead of an "Oh, THANKS" card.
Also, if you're sending a card just to send a card, "because that's what you DO," I am okay with being left off the list. Getting one of what was likely 50-53 cards with your quickly-sprawled signature in it makes me feel less like a SugarPlum and more like a YuleLog. E-mail me a "Hi!" and a digital photo of a naked elf. Unless you are giving us original photos on the cards, something cute or funny, no, REALLY, save it!!! What you see as a gesture of kindness I see as tree death and mantle clutter.
I'm happy to be thought of, but try to think when thinking of me. Put some thought into it. Five $100 gifts are better than 500 $1 gifts. Quality, not quantity, unless you're trying to break the "Gifts That Were Laying Around That Fit In Boxes That Were Laying Around" record. Don't be a nutlog and give me clutter. I wouldn't do that to you. I'd help you move your crap, and you repay me with a Jack Osborne bobble-head...
Gawd, people take all the fun out of Christmas.
Only 2 more shopping days left.
F*ck.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
For those who are completely against religion, that's fine, that's your decision.
You have to work the weekend. No days off in the Agnostic calendar, 'cept the National Holidays. If you truly want separation of Church and State, you cannot say "The government said I can take this day off," because that would be observing a Religious Holiday, and my tolerance ends at your hypocrisy.
And I'm reminded again this year that once a year is not enough to do nice things for those you care about. Don't save it up. Give a little bit all year. When it comes this time of the year and I don't get gifts from people, I don't feel bad because I know that I did some other nice stuff for them through out the year. Seriously though, when in doubt, just give me a gift card. I would rather write a "Thank You" card instead of an "Oh, THANKS" card.
Also, if you're sending a card just to send a card, "because that's what you DO," I am okay with being left off the list. Getting one of what was likely 50-53 cards with your quickly-sprawled signature in it makes me feel less like a SugarPlum and more like a YuleLog. E-mail me a "Hi!" and a digital photo of a naked elf. Unless you are giving us original photos on the cards, something cute or funny, no, REALLY, save it!!! What you see as a gesture of kindness I see as tree death and mantle clutter.
I'm happy to be thought of, but try to think when thinking of me. Put some thought into it. Five $100 gifts are better than 500 $1 gifts. Quality, not quantity, unless you're trying to break the "Gifts That Were Laying Around That Fit In Boxes That Were Laying Around" record. Don't be a nutlog and give me clutter. I wouldn't do that to you. I'd help you move your crap, and you repay me with a Jack Osborne bobble-head...
Gawd, people take all the fun out of Christmas.
Only 2 more shopping days left.
F*ck.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, December 19, 2005
Here, Please... Take My Shit
Nick and Jessica are in the process of getting divorced.
They are millionaires.
They have no children.
They are both moderately talented.
They have contributed to the retarding the legacy of American entertainment.
Supposedly, Nick deflowered Jessica.
Jessica, supposedly, thinks that's a gardening term.
Rumors abound of their dallying outside the bonds of marriage.
Dude, no shit. Who wouldn't mount that hot piece of ass. And her, too! HA HA, FAGTASTIC TURN OF A PUNCHLINE.
It has played out in the public eye, as was planned by Jessica's father, Adolf Mengala Simpsputin.
This way, they are always "so-&-so's ex"wife/husband, no matter how many of their movies go straight to DVD.
I don't pretend to think that anybody reading this was emotionally affected by the split in a negative way. Personally, I celebrated by farting. "Sorry" to the lady in the check-out line, not to mention the old man in the wheelchair I blamed it on. But that second one by the scratch-tickets was not me. I know my smell, that was something not of this earth, at least not of this diet.
As I understand marketing and celebrity life more and more, the more I want to be part of it, so that I can make fun of them publicly. Grand-scale publicly, is what I'm saying. Anybody who takes themselves so seriously in that they can't take a joke, refuse to be nudged by the elbow of comedy, well hey friend, YOU'RE IN THE CROSS-HAIRS. I find lacking a sense of humor about one's self to be a serious character flaw. Being humorless is one thing, but not being able to take a joke about your own clothing/glasses/haircut, or a myriad of other things, well my friend, you deserve to be teased until the scar tissue builds up and you start throwing turds back at the monkies.
In summation, I like dark chocolate, and have since long before anybody started their "antioxidants" campaign, likely the people at Big Antioxidant. If anybody thought that Nick and Jessica would stay married while living a life in the public eye, that person is not the kind of person I want to spend much time around. That's the kind of person who, for what they lack in general intelligence, makes up for in drug-trade promiscuity. And the world continues to turn.
Not that I care or nothin'.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
They are millionaires.
They have no children.
They are both moderately talented.
They have contributed to the retarding the legacy of American entertainment.
Supposedly, Nick deflowered Jessica.
Jessica, supposedly, thinks that's a gardening term.
Rumors abound of their dallying outside the bonds of marriage.
Dude, no shit. Who wouldn't mount that hot piece of ass. And her, too! HA HA, FAGTASTIC TURN OF A PUNCHLINE.
It has played out in the public eye, as was planned by Jessica's father, Adolf Mengala Simpsputin.
This way, they are always "so-&-so's ex"wife/husband, no matter how many of their movies go straight to DVD.
I don't pretend to think that anybody reading this was emotionally affected by the split in a negative way. Personally, I celebrated by farting. "Sorry" to the lady in the check-out line, not to mention the old man in the wheelchair I blamed it on. But that second one by the scratch-tickets was not me. I know my smell, that was something not of this earth, at least not of this diet.
As I understand marketing and celebrity life more and more, the more I want to be part of it, so that I can make fun of them publicly. Grand-scale publicly, is what I'm saying. Anybody who takes themselves so seriously in that they can't take a joke, refuse to be nudged by the elbow of comedy, well hey friend, YOU'RE IN THE CROSS-HAIRS. I find lacking a sense of humor about one's self to be a serious character flaw. Being humorless is one thing, but not being able to take a joke about your own clothing/glasses/haircut, or a myriad of other things, well my friend, you deserve to be teased until the scar tissue builds up and you start throwing turds back at the monkies.
In summation, I like dark chocolate, and have since long before anybody started their "antioxidants" campaign, likely the people at Big Antioxidant. If anybody thought that Nick and Jessica would stay married while living a life in the public eye, that person is not the kind of person I want to spend much time around. That's the kind of person who, for what they lack in general intelligence, makes up for in drug-trade promiscuity. And the world continues to turn.
Not that I care or nothin'.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, December 15, 2005
This Ought To Cover It
There's a "code" on the street about telling people what you're into without having to vomit onto your MySpazz page about it.
It's called
"THE HANKY CODE"
This chart tells you what, and where, the meaning of a hanky is.
http://alt.xmission.com/~trevin/hanky.html
I keep my setlist in my back left pocket. Apparently that makes me an "Aggressive baby head into night farting and getting verbally steamered." Paraphrasing, of course.
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My Blog About My Dad
It's called
"THE HANKY CODE"
This chart tells you what, and where, the meaning of a hanky is.
http://alt.xmission.com/~trevin/hanky.html
I keep my setlist in my back left pocket. Apparently that makes me an "Aggressive baby head into night farting and getting verbally steamered." Paraphrasing, of course.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
EggNog Recipe
This is the universal recipe for eggnog:
1 Gallon 2% Milk From A Harbor Seal
3 Cups Maple Syrup
1 Pint of Elf Tears
6 Egg Yolks
1 Nightmare involving a Clown (or a jellyfish, for the non-drinkers)
750ml of Rum to wash the taste out
Garnish with bad breath
Enjoy the Taste Of The Holidays, AND The Taste Of Diabetes!
=================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
1 Gallon 2% Milk From A Harbor Seal
3 Cups Maple Syrup
1 Pint of Elf Tears
6 Egg Yolks
1 Nightmare involving a Clown (or a jellyfish, for the non-drinkers)
750ml of Rum to wash the taste out
Garnish with bad breath
Enjoy the Taste Of The Holidays, AND The Taste Of Diabetes!
=================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, December 05, 2005
Just An Idear
Saddam said in court today that he’s not afraid of execution. The former dictator of Iraq, a sadistic, torturing, madman, who is sure to have Hell waiting for him, is not afraid of to die. He basically is daring them to kill him.
They should not do that. Do not kill Saddam Hussein. In fact, they should start talking to him about what kind of reparations he could make in order to go free. They need to ask him why he thinks he should not be punished. And let him plead that case. And nod along, make notes, nod, note, nod, note. They should bring up the numerous charges of torture, murder, corruption, and scandal, and let him rebut against each charge. And when the talking’s done, they should deliberate for a day or two.
After this deliberation, they should call Saddam back to court, and say “Hey man, you weren’t a very benevolent leader. You did some really awful things. Most of the rest of the world hates you. But some people love you, and would love to harbor you upon your release. So we’re going to release you, and let you fend for yourself.”
Then, as he heads back to the jail to sign the paperwork, he’s greeted by many people on roadside holding signs of praise for him. He gets to the prison, signs his paperwork, and heads for the door.
Which is when the tribunal council says “Nah, we change our minds. We’re going to torture you. Death’s too good for you. We’ll webcam the whole deal, too. Hell, we’re going to have people e-mailing what we should do to you next. High-bidders will be able to tazer you from time to time. You're not gonna Hitler your way outta this one. Buckle up, it’s gonna be a while.”
OR, he can toss salads every day for a month.
The Geoff Lott Administration has begun.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
They should not do that. Do not kill Saddam Hussein. In fact, they should start talking to him about what kind of reparations he could make in order to go free. They need to ask him why he thinks he should not be punished. And let him plead that case. And nod along, make notes, nod, note, nod, note. They should bring up the numerous charges of torture, murder, corruption, and scandal, and let him rebut against each charge. And when the talking’s done, they should deliberate for a day or two.
After this deliberation, they should call Saddam back to court, and say “Hey man, you weren’t a very benevolent leader. You did some really awful things. Most of the rest of the world hates you. But some people love you, and would love to harbor you upon your release. So we’re going to release you, and let you fend for yourself.”
Then, as he heads back to the jail to sign the paperwork, he’s greeted by many people on roadside holding signs of praise for him. He gets to the prison, signs his paperwork, and heads for the door.
Which is when the tribunal council says “Nah, we change our minds. We’re going to torture you. Death’s too good for you. We’ll webcam the whole deal, too. Hell, we’re going to have people e-mailing what we should do to you next. High-bidders will be able to tazer you from time to time. You're not gonna Hitler your way outta this one. Buckle up, it’s gonna be a while.”
OR, he can toss salads every day for a month.
The Geoff Lott Administration has begun.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
The Truth Is...
No matter how thin you slice it, that is still baloney.
Even a blind squirrel gets a nut eventually, if he doesn't die of starvation first.
Love conquers all things, but cannot be trusted with a long-sword.
The best job in the world is not job, but instead, a pastime that brings you money.
The Holiday Season is the only time of year you're not weird for wearing a Santa Hat to an orgy.
The Holiday Season is the only time of year you're not weird for looking like Santa Claus, Mr. FattyBeardy.
Drugs can simulate the feeling of love, but not the special moment of the first fart in front of each other.
Farts can simulate the feeling of relief, but not the special moment of gambling, losing, and "touching cotton."
The Toyota Camry is how you tell traffic "I stopped caring about progress long ago."
The elderly are bad drivers because they appear to not actually know they are driving.
I don't talk about politics for the same reason I broke up with Kelly Jo Hanratty in 2002: They both screwed my Cousin Richie.
Even if Richie and I look alike in a drunken haze in a dark room, you think she'd have noticed his wheelchair.
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I'm not sure if that's a double-negative or a call to arms. I'm afraid I'm confused again.
I wish I had the blind drive of confidence found only in the cognitively delayed and in bad comics.
The Backwards baseball cap is how you tell the party "First to pass out gets touched."
You can't choose the branches of your family tree, and you can't set one on fire without the whole thing going up. A little sun, a little water, and hopefully it'll break off under it's own alcoholism. Um, LACK OF DESIRE TO GROW, I mean.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Even a blind squirrel gets a nut eventually, if he doesn't die of starvation first.
Love conquers all things, but cannot be trusted with a long-sword.
The best job in the world is not job, but instead, a pastime that brings you money.
The Holiday Season is the only time of year you're not weird for wearing a Santa Hat to an orgy.
The Holiday Season is the only time of year you're not weird for looking like Santa Claus, Mr. FattyBeardy.
Drugs can simulate the feeling of love, but not the special moment of the first fart in front of each other.
Farts can simulate the feeling of relief, but not the special moment of gambling, losing, and "touching cotton."
The Toyota Camry is how you tell traffic "I stopped caring about progress long ago."
The elderly are bad drivers because they appear to not actually know they are driving.
I don't talk about politics for the same reason I broke up with Kelly Jo Hanratty in 2002: They both screwed my Cousin Richie.
Even if Richie and I look alike in a drunken haze in a dark room, you think she'd have noticed his wheelchair.
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I'm not sure if that's a double-negative or a call to arms. I'm afraid I'm confused again.
I wish I had the blind drive of confidence found only in the cognitively delayed and in bad comics.
The Backwards baseball cap is how you tell the party "First to pass out gets touched."
You can't choose the branches of your family tree, and you can't set one on fire without the whole thing going up. A little sun, a little water, and hopefully it'll break off under it's own alcoholism. Um, LACK OF DESIRE TO GROW, I mean.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
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