The Grocery Line Publications, Seattle Comedy Edition
The comments on Blaine's recent blog seem to have spiraled out of order. There is no real control over them, it's an e-graffiti artist's "Field Of Wet Dreams." Offer it, and they will comment. Cripes, I commented twice myself. I used my name in both of them. It's about as "in ya grill" as one can get in the tablogs, until I perfect my "ThyroidPunchAnonymousPost.exe" program. So we see that a couple of Anonymous (read: cowardly) posts took the boat ride from good-natured ribbing the equivalent of elevator farting: Your intent is as pointlessly annoying as your action. To find you would be both exhilirating and anti-climactic.
Truly F'ing stupid stuff written there. A descent into the lowest Clown Posse denominator, Ted Bundy'ism minus the charm and day-planner. The anonymous posting party, using a toilet-streak vocabulary to express, with dive-bar graffiti spell-check, a generally stunted view of women. Dude... tit-pumping? You couldn't find a thesaurus among your ever-expanding coffee table-legs of True Crime novels. Do you even realize that so far I have totally kicked your ass with what I've written? And it's almost 2 in the morning, kiddo, I gots game.
So why would I write this bash of an anonymous coward? First of all, because I can. Second, it's entertaining me to do so. Third, because it should be done. Fourth, because I've had too much RockStar energy drink to stop. I have a titanium rod in my leg that is vibrating right now. Until that or the alien voice goes away, the typing must go on.
The fifth reason is that I want to defend my good friend Killorn, for whom I would lay down in traffic or the ping-pong table at Teddy's to help. I know she'd do the same for me. She and I are fully aware of the rumor mill's whispered variatons of our co-mingling. To be honest, I find it best to paraphrase Jesus: "Unless you have a vested interest, it's none of your f*cking business. This is threats Pimp, I'm serrious. I chop you up putcha inna trunk." Nah, not that bad. But if it were going on like that, then what? People who wonder about who's doing what to whom are the same screen-shouters laying bets on which computerized hydroplane is going to win at a Mariner's game. You call "RED, RED, RED!" Green wins. And? Exactly. You're proven wrong on a question that never need be asked.
Next to that, there are so many back-of-the-schoolbus rumors about "who's got a punchline for so&so's set up" that I totally see where The Commander hits the 10-penny with the term "Comedy High School." I can't stop idiots from talking about things they know nothing about, whether it's about me, Killorn, Shoogs, who's funniest, or who should be JFK'ed at Open Mic. To each their own. I cannot defend freedom of speech and censorship at the same time. It's like seeing a man in an Armani suit, with a half-staff hanging out his fly; he almost had it together, then he threw the dick into it.
To stand back and let anybody attack my friends, of any gender, would be cowardly. I've learned enough to know that when somebody wades honestly into the crowd and is hit with a flying, spent Kokanee, it's important to fire one back in the direction of launch. Perhaps you hit the crow's nest, perhaps you ricochet off a few rooftops, but you return fire. Or perhaps it's better to express that the whole thing is so far beneath the true nature of 95% of the people involved that we accept the anonymous posting person as a coward, a simpleton, and a wee-spirited human of low character and even lower ability to entertain in pretty much any form of media. I'm betting they are 0-for-3; stand-up/internet/cruising Hillary Duff chat rooms for local a-cuppers.
To be anonymous is to lack any real sense of self, and have not enough bag to bring themselves into the light. And even if they DID expose themselves, who the hell would believe it? This is how terrorism works: Who hates who? Why? But folks that's some harmless, pointless banter by a tiny bug on the zit of an ass of a dead career. This is all they got... and it's squat. I'm not resorting to posting a "Posting By Anonymous Alert Level" color code/mood-ring. Rumors are just lies the liars are jealous to be left out of. Make up your minds, then forget what you know.
Oh right, we can also track down who posts what, regardless of name, thanks to computer know-how and a little thing called an IP address. I almost forgot that part. I'm-a go make day-glow vitamin water. I have a gig tomorrow for a large software corporation. Think I'm a whore? Get it right: HIGH CLASS WHORES MAKE BANK. And I'll sleep on that tonight, knowing that Anonymous Posting is forever a nervous man with IBS in the back of an elevator: Annoyingly entertaining.
================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Comment Card
These are some comments I heard recently after a show. I am not making these up.
"Dude, you are really funny. Why aren't you headlining?" ~ male, 40-ish, drunk
"Bye-eee!" ~ female, 25-ish, blond
"We should go next door where that blond chick's going." ~ male, 20-ish, drunk
"So where do you perform?" ~ female, 20-ish, drunk
"Where's the gawddamn waitress, shit!" ~ male, 30-ish, Kid Rock t-shirt... drunk
"Oh yeah, I'd totally stick it in her." ~ same dude, about the 1st gal
"I love your humor, you were way better than that first guy, was he retarded?" ~ female, 25 (confirmed later on, wink wink), brunette, (he was not retarded, he was Mexican)
"Are you parked close by?" ~same woman
"Great shirt, I love it." ~ male, 30-ish, drunk, drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade
"So you're gonna be famous some day, right?" ~ the woman from two comments ago
"The last guy was really good. Was he retarded?" ~ male, 20-ish, drunk (he was not retarded, he was very short)
"Lemme as... lemme as... ask you. Was that guy after you retarded?" ~ female, 40-ish, plastered (he was not born retarded, but he is now retarded)
"Oooh, leather seats! Come here!" ~ the woman from three comments ago
"Excuse me, do you have a card? I'd like to book you for a corporate gig." ~ female, 40-ish, naughty school teacher thing going on
"Step out of the car, sir. Miss, I'll need to see your I.D. Is this your letterman's jacket?" ~ Wal-Mart security officer... nevermind
----------
Suicide Pie Bake Sale
A week from tomorrow, Wed. September 8th, 8:30pm there's a great show to be seen at The Comedy Underground. Friend and uber-comedienne, which is a French-sliced comic, Meghan Hounshell, is heading to the San Francisco Comedy Competition in a few weeks. In order to pay for all the expenses, she needs a few bucks. I hope you can all come down and catch the show. For reasons why you should come down, check THIS out. Also, read below:
If you haven't been to a comedy show in a while, this is a good one to see. These are all local acts, many of whom will be famous some day. This is the night you'll remember, when they are famous, that you can tell your friends that you got it on with So & So, even if So & So was passed out when you did it.
I just can't write funny shit here anymore. I don't know why. I try, but it's the fact that I try that kills me. I have no topics, really, just whatever falls out of my fingers. It's droppings, okay? I can admit that. So whatever. I'm outta here.
----------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
These are some comments I heard recently after a show. I am not making these up.
"Dude, you are really funny. Why aren't you headlining?" ~ male, 40-ish, drunk
"Bye-eee!" ~ female, 25-ish, blond
"We should go next door where that blond chick's going." ~ male, 20-ish, drunk
"So where do you perform?" ~ female, 20-ish, drunk
"Where's the gawddamn waitress, shit!" ~ male, 30-ish, Kid Rock t-shirt... drunk
"Oh yeah, I'd totally stick it in her." ~ same dude, about the 1st gal
"I love your humor, you were way better than that first guy, was he retarded?" ~ female, 25 (confirmed later on, wink wink), brunette, (he was not retarded, he was Mexican)
"Are you parked close by?" ~same woman
"Great shirt, I love it." ~ male, 30-ish, drunk, drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade
"So you're gonna be famous some day, right?" ~ the woman from two comments ago
"The last guy was really good. Was he retarded?" ~ male, 20-ish, drunk (he was not retarded, he was very short)
"Lemme as... lemme as... ask you. Was that guy after you retarded?" ~ female, 40-ish, plastered (he was not born retarded, but he is now retarded)
"Oooh, leather seats! Come here!" ~ the woman from three comments ago
"Excuse me, do you have a card? I'd like to book you for a corporate gig." ~ female, 40-ish, naughty school teacher thing going on
"Step out of the car, sir. Miss, I'll need to see your I.D. Is this your letterman's jacket?" ~ Wal-Mart security officer... nevermind
----------
Suicide Pie Bake Sale
A week from tomorrow, Wed. September 8th, 8:30pm there's a great show to be seen at The Comedy Underground. Friend and uber-comedienne, which is a French-sliced comic, Meghan Hounshell, is heading to the San Francisco Comedy Competition in a few weeks. In order to pay for all the expenses, she needs a few bucks. I hope you can all come down and catch the show. For reasons why you should come down, check THIS out. Also, read below:
If you haven't been to a comedy show in a while, this is a good one to see. These are all local acts, many of whom will be famous some day. This is the night you'll remember, when they are famous, that you can tell your friends that you got it on with So & So, even if So & So was passed out when you did it.
I just can't write funny shit here anymore. I don't know why. I try, but it's the fact that I try that kills me. I have no topics, really, just whatever falls out of my fingers. It's droppings, okay? I can admit that. So whatever. I'm outta here.
----------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, August 30, 2004
"Yo, Scott Weiland!"
Today we introduce a new weekly feature, where Scott Weiland, heroin addict and former Stone Temple Pilots frontman, answers your questions on life, love, cooking, fashion, and addiction. Please send all questions to Yo, Scott Weiland!
----------------------
Yo, Scott Weiland,
I work next to a very short man who constantly makes noise. Topping the charts at 5'4", he is always whistling, sniffling, talking on his speakerphone, or tapping his fingers on his desk. It's like his lack of stature is being compensated for in the form of noise, taking up as much space as he can by being loud instead of neighborly productive. I've told him a couple times that his noise is too much for the office, and it's driving me up a f---ing wall! What can I do?
~ Short People Got No Reason
How the f*ck do I answer this sh*t?
Look, I've been in plenty of crowds where I've been making noise, but mostly because I was flying on Dust or some sh*t. Look, the guy is short, so he's got this notion that he's not good enough to do his job. He's overcompensating for his shortness by doing drugs, which causes him to be so twitchy. Have you ever seen someone on blow? Yeah, well it's basically watching someone do aerobics with no music. If he's really skinny, then yeah, that dude's f*cked up on something. If he's not, then he's just doing it for attention. I'd tell your boss that you saw him doing blow in the ladies' sh*tter, and get him fired or whatever. And you should try H, you need to cool your burners.
-------
Yo, Scott Weiland,
So far this year I've had sex with 19 guys, none of them repeats. I still don't feel like I'm fulfilled. I'm empty inside emotionally. I want something to fill me up. I don't have any money, because I'm only 17, so I usually let the guys inside me without a condom so I can have a baby and be happy to be loved totally by someone. So far I haven't had a baby, just a couple of missed periods and really bad stomachaches. How can I have a baby?
~ Mass Needing Love
I think I got this.
Dear Mass Needing Love,
You're doing the right thing to make a baby by not using condoms, that's key. Now, it's important that you're going to the doctor on a regular basis, also. You've taken a lot of loads, and averaging 2 loads per partner, you're probably at risk for some kind of itching or WHY ARE THERE BUGS ON ME WHY ARE THERE BUGS IN MY EYES WHERE IS THE MUSIC COMING FROM STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP I AM I AM I AM I SAID I WANNA GET NEXT TO YOU
Keep on f*cking sister, you may need the right load to really set your body in motion. Try some BlackTar. What city are you from? I'm on tour right now and always looking for a place to put my cock, if you know what I mean.
- - - - - -
Yo, Scott Weiland,
Don't you think that you'll get sued for having this column in an unofficial, totally humorous, not at all really referring to yourself kind of format?
(Mr. Weiland was unable to finish answering questions this week due to a violation of his probation, namely telling a 17 year-old girl to get pregnant by increasing her intake of loads. He then ate half his shirt and slid through the bars of his holding cell. He will return next week)
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Today we introduce a new weekly feature, where Scott Weiland, heroin addict and former Stone Temple Pilots frontman, answers your questions on life, love, cooking, fashion, and addiction. Please send all questions to Yo, Scott Weiland!
----------------------
Yo, Scott Weiland,
I work next to a very short man who constantly makes noise. Topping the charts at 5'4", he is always whistling, sniffling, talking on his speakerphone, or tapping his fingers on his desk. It's like his lack of stature is being compensated for in the form of noise, taking up as much space as he can by being loud instead of neighborly productive. I've told him a couple times that his noise is too much for the office, and it's driving me up a f---ing wall! What can I do?
~ Short People Got No Reason
How the f*ck do I answer this sh*t?
Look, I've been in plenty of crowds where I've been making noise, but mostly because I was flying on Dust or some sh*t. Look, the guy is short, so he's got this notion that he's not good enough to do his job. He's overcompensating for his shortness by doing drugs, which causes him to be so twitchy. Have you ever seen someone on blow? Yeah, well it's basically watching someone do aerobics with no music. If he's really skinny, then yeah, that dude's f*cked up on something. If he's not, then he's just doing it for attention. I'd tell your boss that you saw him doing blow in the ladies' sh*tter, and get him fired or whatever. And you should try H, you need to cool your burners.
-------
Yo, Scott Weiland,
So far this year I've had sex with 19 guys, none of them repeats. I still don't feel like I'm fulfilled. I'm empty inside emotionally. I want something to fill me up. I don't have any money, because I'm only 17, so I usually let the guys inside me without a condom so I can have a baby and be happy to be loved totally by someone. So far I haven't had a baby, just a couple of missed periods and really bad stomachaches. How can I have a baby?
~ Mass Needing Love
I think I got this.
Dear Mass Needing Love,
You're doing the right thing to make a baby by not using condoms, that's key. Now, it's important that you're going to the doctor on a regular basis, also. You've taken a lot of loads, and averaging 2 loads per partner, you're probably at risk for some kind of itching or WHY ARE THERE BUGS ON ME WHY ARE THERE BUGS IN MY EYES WHERE IS THE MUSIC COMING FROM STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP I AM I AM I AM I SAID I WANNA GET NEXT TO YOU
Keep on f*cking sister, you may need the right load to really set your body in motion. Try some BlackTar. What city are you from? I'm on tour right now and always looking for a place to put my cock, if you know what I mean.
- - - - - -
Yo, Scott Weiland,
Don't you think that you'll get sued for having this column in an unofficial, totally humorous, not at all really referring to yourself kind of format?
(Mr. Weiland was unable to finish answering questions this week due to a violation of his probation, namely telling a 17 year-old girl to get pregnant by increasing her intake of loads. He then ate half his shirt and slid through the bars of his holding cell. He will return next week)
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Cap It All Off
All kinds of things going on right now. I'm being paid at work to do little more than color. I kid you not, I am formatting spreadsheets for the right color scheme because that's what the cockholsters want. PigTit wants it that way, and from what can only be a serious lack of oversight, or a serious and untreated head injury, PigTit has attained of level of authority at the Death Star. Like most of the management around there, he was handed his job as a reward for, you know, not generally bothering anyone. The squeaky wheel gets the shift-supervisor position. The bulbous, pink wheel gets the better money and a full meeting schedule. And he gets to smell like pennies and eat with his mouth open at the age of 46. Oh why not... I wasn't hungry anyway.
I think it's funny to see how things have changed in the past year. I've spent another year on the path of self-enlightenment, learning more about myself through comedy than anywhere else. I need to watch my sets again, open minded, so that I can hear what I'm saying and see if there's a tag-line or 19 I can come up with. Also, it's important for me to judge myself. It seems redundant, I mean, 200+ peeps laughing at and hooting for my humor stylings, that seems like enough justice for a comedian. But if you're cheating the Man In The Mirror, you have to ask yourself why you're playing Backgammon against yourself. Get a date, with anyone, even if they're ugly. Or if you want REAL fun, e-mail me and we'll go down to the Open Mic on Monday night, sit in the back and rip on crappy comics. That's about as much fun as you'll ever find. Some things never change.
The first half of this year treated me like it caught me fingering its daughter in the hut tub. That's wrong. Hot tubs are bad places for sex. Good for the rev-up, bad for popping the clutch. Mostly though, I had some times there where I felt like I was running just fast enough to not get caught by Life's Camaro, barrelling down on me with BTO blaring - B-b-baby you just ain't seen nothin' yet... It wasn't always so horrendous. There have been a lot of moments I barely remember with some great people that I will never forget. But between the news of my dad, the tribulations of my friends, and getting out of a relationship I had stress with a capital "WHAT THE FAWK?" But things are turning around, and I'm staying off drugs. Only caffeine, alcohol, and whatever the doctor prescribed my downstairs neighbor who leaves her door unlocked when she goes to the mailbox. Side effects be damned, I was figuratively backdoored by the Fates! I don't know what she was prescribed but it's regulating my flow. Tender nip-nips, though.
It's really nice to get things wrapped up, though. I've recently taken to Feng Shui, which a lot of folks think is simply a crap-ton of lies and sage-scented hooey. The real deal is that anybody with a few positive thoughts and the right mindset will be able to generate the right areas in their lives. Or if you think that you're someone who always gets screwed over and the world is out to get you, you'll eventually behave in a way that makes people bail or dump on you. I know that I can only take so much arm-punching and put downs before the I show someone the door while kicking 'em into it. Then you Feng Shui that door, likely in your "Helpful People and Travel" gua (area, in New Age Hype) and if you get things in order, there will be more order in your life. And if you step to me right now, I have all the means and reason in the world to show you how animals take dominance in the wild. Marking my territory? Yeah... violently. Just ask the woman downstairs who tried to take her pills back. Caught me on the come-down.
Have you ever seen a woman sit on a balloon? Mmmmm, now we're talkin'.
That was weird.
Yesterday, a bus in the Dave Matthews Band caravan pooped in the Chicago River. Perhaps this is the beginning of a new DMB. Finally shedding their envi-rock-mental poncho in favor of hip-hugging leather pants and scat shots. Still, they'll never match Led Zeppelin at the Edgewater Hotel. What, you haven't heard about that? Oh crap, look it up! Off to my parent's gua. I'll be over at Laughs tonight. Damn, you are gorgeous.
Let's make oat.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
All kinds of things going on right now. I'm being paid at work to do little more than color. I kid you not, I am formatting spreadsheets for the right color scheme because that's what the cockholsters want. PigTit wants it that way, and from what can only be a serious lack of oversight, or a serious and untreated head injury, PigTit has attained of level of authority at the Death Star. Like most of the management around there, he was handed his job as a reward for, you know, not generally bothering anyone. The squeaky wheel gets the shift-supervisor position. The bulbous, pink wheel gets the better money and a full meeting schedule. And he gets to smell like pennies and eat with his mouth open at the age of 46. Oh why not... I wasn't hungry anyway.
I think it's funny to see how things have changed in the past year. I've spent another year on the path of self-enlightenment, learning more about myself through comedy than anywhere else. I need to watch my sets again, open minded, so that I can hear what I'm saying and see if there's a tag-line or 19 I can come up with. Also, it's important for me to judge myself. It seems redundant, I mean, 200+ peeps laughing at and hooting for my humor stylings, that seems like enough justice for a comedian. But if you're cheating the Man In The Mirror, you have to ask yourself why you're playing Backgammon against yourself. Get a date, with anyone, even if they're ugly. Or if you want REAL fun, e-mail me and we'll go down to the Open Mic on Monday night, sit in the back and rip on crappy comics. That's about as much fun as you'll ever find. Some things never change.
The first half of this year treated me like it caught me fingering its daughter in the hut tub. That's wrong. Hot tubs are bad places for sex. Good for the rev-up, bad for popping the clutch. Mostly though, I had some times there where I felt like I was running just fast enough to not get caught by Life's Camaro, barrelling down on me with BTO blaring - B-b-baby you just ain't seen nothin' yet... It wasn't always so horrendous. There have been a lot of moments I barely remember with some great people that I will never forget. But between the news of my dad, the tribulations of my friends, and getting out of a relationship I had stress with a capital "WHAT THE FAWK?" But things are turning around, and I'm staying off drugs. Only caffeine, alcohol, and whatever the doctor prescribed my downstairs neighbor who leaves her door unlocked when she goes to the mailbox. Side effects be damned, I was figuratively backdoored by the Fates! I don't know what she was prescribed but it's regulating my flow. Tender nip-nips, though.
It's really nice to get things wrapped up, though. I've recently taken to Feng Shui, which a lot of folks think is simply a crap-ton of lies and sage-scented hooey. The real deal is that anybody with a few positive thoughts and the right mindset will be able to generate the right areas in their lives. Or if you think that you're someone who always gets screwed over and the world is out to get you, you'll eventually behave in a way that makes people bail or dump on you. I know that I can only take so much arm-punching and put downs before the I show someone the door while kicking 'em into it. Then you Feng Shui that door, likely in your "Helpful People and Travel" gua (area, in New Age Hype) and if you get things in order, there will be more order in your life. And if you step to me right now, I have all the means and reason in the world to show you how animals take dominance in the wild. Marking my territory? Yeah... violently. Just ask the woman downstairs who tried to take her pills back. Caught me on the come-down.
Have you ever seen a woman sit on a balloon? Mmmmm, now we're talkin'.
That was weird.
Yesterday, a bus in the Dave Matthews Band caravan pooped in the Chicago River. Perhaps this is the beginning of a new DMB. Finally shedding their envi-rock-mental poncho in favor of hip-hugging leather pants and scat shots. Still, they'll never match Led Zeppelin at the Edgewater Hotel. What, you haven't heard about that? Oh crap, look it up! Off to my parent's gua. I'll be over at Laughs tonight. Damn, you are gorgeous.
Let's make oat.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
New Feature on Sunday!
Hey kids, make sure you tune in for the first installment of a new feature, "Yo, Scott Weiland!"
The drug-abusing, mascara-wearing, stage-slithering lead singer of Velvet Revolver and formerly of Stone Temple Pilots and I sat down for tea last week. Turns out that Scott, or "S-Dub" as he hates being called, loves my blog. But he's not allowed to use the internet very often, and wants to share his message of love, hope, and reality-skewing with the world. So if you have any questions you'd like to ask Scott, email him Right Here, and I'll post his answers on this site. I'm positive that Scott Weiland is going to answer your questions.
Hey kids, make sure you tune in for the first installment of a new feature, "Yo, Scott Weiland!"
The drug-abusing, mascara-wearing, stage-slithering lead singer of Velvet Revolver and formerly of Stone Temple Pilots and I sat down for tea last week. Turns out that Scott, or "S-Dub" as he hates being called, loves my blog. But he's not allowed to use the internet very often, and wants to share his message of love, hope, and reality-skewing with the world. So if you have any questions you'd like to ask Scott, email him Right Here, and I'll post his answers on this site. I'm positive that Scott Weiland is going to answer your questions.
(Internet Owner's Note: This sounds like a crap-ton of crap, but hey, keeps the kid off the street. Help him out.)
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Hit The Showers
Nice weather, huh? I love this crap. We need it, that's for sure. If you look around you'll notice that our streets were looking a little bad, our forests were in need of moisture, and for the sake of cheese, did you smell the drifters? I'd call them homeless, but that's like saying they're looking for a permanent residence at the time. Nah, they want beer and to street-pee. Who doesn't? Public urination is a privilege afforded to those who sleep in their own filth. Don't take EVERYTHING from them.
The rain has helped me sleep. For the last two weeks, while it was Africa hot out, I was fighting this MF'er of a chest cold. It was hard enough to breathe without the dry air spackling mucous to my bronchii. So then it starts to rain and BINGO I'm over it. I'm not telling my doctor, though. My cough meds have codeine in 'em! Another SlackLung & Rum Punch, por favor. And now it's pouring out. It's actually motivating me to write more jokes. Or join the Merchant Marine... steal away on a gunship, a barkentine. Something heady, square-rigged to the fore and aft, half-rigged at the main and the mizzen, cut from steel and forged from the hearts of angels... what the f*ck am I talking about?
I had a great weekend. Thursday at the Moonraker in Kent. Great f*cking set there. Monster set. Friday in Everett, opening for Brett J - "Playin' the Hits." There's an understood idea within the African American comedy community that it's okay to perform "Street Jokes," those that we tell each other "on the street" or are found more on the internet these days. Watch any comedy show on BET, it's all over the place. Makes me ill, frankly. Anyway, did that, it was fun, made a couple extra dollhairs.
Spent a few hours on the town, realizing that the bar scene is a game for men who have no idea what the bar scene is about. It's actually kind of sad to see a guy in his 30s working at a bar he doesn't own. That's my take on it. Unless the guy has major respect from the industry, such as Murray at ZigZag, widely believed to be the best 'tender in Seattle, then a 33 year old tilting his head and raising an eyebrow when a girl asks for yet ANOTHER LemonDrop is creepier than a Jeffrey Dahmer cookbook. Fonzie was a molester, but at least he was fictional.
Content removed.
I'm off to an acupuncturist today. I'll tell you about it when I can feel me eyes again. Let's make out.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Nice weather, huh? I love this crap. We need it, that's for sure. If you look around you'll notice that our streets were looking a little bad, our forests were in need of moisture, and for the sake of cheese, did you smell the drifters? I'd call them homeless, but that's like saying they're looking for a permanent residence at the time. Nah, they want beer and to street-pee. Who doesn't? Public urination is a privilege afforded to those who sleep in their own filth. Don't take EVERYTHING from them.
The rain has helped me sleep. For the last two weeks, while it was Africa hot out, I was fighting this MF'er of a chest cold. It was hard enough to breathe without the dry air spackling mucous to my bronchii. So then it starts to rain and BINGO I'm over it. I'm not telling my doctor, though. My cough meds have codeine in 'em! Another SlackLung & Rum Punch, por favor. And now it's pouring out. It's actually motivating me to write more jokes. Or join the Merchant Marine... steal away on a gunship, a barkentine. Something heady, square-rigged to the fore and aft, half-rigged at the main and the mizzen, cut from steel and forged from the hearts of angels... what the f*ck am I talking about?
I had a great weekend. Thursday at the Moonraker in Kent. Great f*cking set there. Monster set. Friday in Everett, opening for Brett J - "Playin' the Hits." There's an understood idea within the African American comedy community that it's okay to perform "Street Jokes," those that we tell each other "on the street" or are found more on the internet these days. Watch any comedy show on BET, it's all over the place. Makes me ill, frankly. Anyway, did that, it was fun, made a couple extra dollhairs.
Spent a few hours on the town, realizing that the bar scene is a game for men who have no idea what the bar scene is about. It's actually kind of sad to see a guy in his 30s working at a bar he doesn't own. That's my take on it. Unless the guy has major respect from the industry, such as Murray at ZigZag, widely believed to be the best 'tender in Seattle, then a 33 year old tilting his head and raising an eyebrow when a girl asks for yet ANOTHER LemonDrop is creepier than a Jeffrey Dahmer cookbook. Fonzie was a molester, but at least he was fictional.
Content removed.
I'm off to an acupuncturist today. I'll tell you about it when I can feel me eyes again. Let's make out.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself
Man, this guy's got the right idea.
I'm a dick.
===============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Man, this guy's got the right idea.
I'm a dick.
===============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, August 20, 2004
Oh Holy Crap
So I've been ruminating over the case of poor 8 year-old Haley Waldman today. Haley was born with a rare digestive disorder that, if she eats wheat, can cause "blocking (of) nutrient absorption and leading to vitamin deficiencies, bone-thinning and sometimes gastrointestinal cancer."
In order to not, you know, get gut cancer, but still take her first Communion in the Holy Church, Haley ate a rice-flour wafer instead of the classic wheat-flour wafer. The rice-flour will not cause, you know, bone-thinning and GI cancer in this 8 year-old girl.
However, Haley's communion got DQ'ed by the church due to the lack of wheat in the sacrament. First of all, this is a group of people denying this girl's right to a life free of, you know, cancer at the age of 8, because of what it says in the Bible. "There must be some unleavened wheat in the wafer for it to be God-worthy of consumption. Is anybody else asking themselves "Art thou kidding the f*cketh out of thee?"
So here we have a girl who was brought to church by her family from an early age to have religion thrown all up in her head. She doesn't really get to choose, she's likely following whatever her parents say as a way of making them happy and hanging with some of the neighbor kids who'd rather be sleeping than coloring yet ANOTHER Jesus/Mary/Donkey activity page. Connect the dots, receive salvation. Amen.
This same church now denies that she is saved by the taking of Communion, as it was INVALID. Do they think she was pulling an end-around on the Holy Spirit? I don't want to speak for God, but I doubt God cares if an 8 year-old eats a wafer made of rice, wheat, or goat-meal. In her heart she's just trying to show God that she's aiming for the best and brightest she can be. And these Holy Ghostbusters of her local church crossed their beams and put her salvation in the containment unit of eternity due to what is essentially a Birth Defect.
How about instead of metaphorical spiritual regurgitation, these High (ass)Holy fruitcakes pray that Haley's condition be reversed so that she may play eat by their rules? OR, how about forcing Haley to eat the wafer, then promising, PROMISE PROMISE PROMISING that they'll pray for her when her body turns on itself due to the sacrament of the Christ which she partook in? So are they creating one more Bible-thumper, or one more group of people who decided, like me, that the biggest problem with any Religion is the Religious?
This girl is already in the Good Book at the gates just for putting up with these Holy Waterbrains. I hope these f*cks are sent to hell and continually ass-pillaged by demons with 6-cocks made entirely of 7-grain wild rice. Raise thine hands to the Lord above, you wafer whores. Here comes your San Francisco treat.
DING DING.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
So I've been ruminating over the case of poor 8 year-old Haley Waldman today. Haley was born with a rare digestive disorder that, if she eats wheat, can cause "blocking (of) nutrient absorption and leading to vitamin deficiencies, bone-thinning and sometimes gastrointestinal cancer."
In order to not, you know, get gut cancer, but still take her first Communion in the Holy Church, Haley ate a rice-flour wafer instead of the classic wheat-flour wafer. The rice-flour will not cause, you know, bone-thinning and GI cancer in this 8 year-old girl.
However, Haley's communion got DQ'ed by the church due to the lack of wheat in the sacrament. First of all, this is a group of people denying this girl's right to a life free of, you know, cancer at the age of 8, because of what it says in the Bible. "There must be some unleavened wheat in the wafer for it to be God-worthy of consumption. Is anybody else asking themselves "Art thou kidding the f*cketh out of thee?"
So here we have a girl who was brought to church by her family from an early age to have religion thrown all up in her head. She doesn't really get to choose, she's likely following whatever her parents say as a way of making them happy and hanging with some of the neighbor kids who'd rather be sleeping than coloring yet ANOTHER Jesus/Mary/Donkey activity page. Connect the dots, receive salvation. Amen.
This same church now denies that she is saved by the taking of Communion, as it was INVALID. Do they think she was pulling an end-around on the Holy Spirit? I don't want to speak for God, but I doubt God cares if an 8 year-old eats a wafer made of rice, wheat, or goat-meal. In her heart she's just trying to show God that she's aiming for the best and brightest she can be. And these Holy Ghostbusters of her local church crossed their beams and put her salvation in the containment unit of eternity due to what is essentially a Birth Defect.
How about instead of metaphorical spiritual regurgitation, these High (ass)Holy fruitcakes pray that Haley's condition be reversed so that she may play eat by their rules? OR, how about forcing Haley to eat the wafer, then promising, PROMISE PROMISE PROMISING that they'll pray for her when her body turns on itself due to the sacrament of the Christ which she partook in? So are they creating one more Bible-thumper, or one more group of people who decided, like me, that the biggest problem with any Religion is the Religious?
This girl is already in the Good Book at the gates just for putting up with these Holy Waterbrains. I hope these f*cks are sent to hell and continually ass-pillaged by demons with 6-cocks made entirely of 7-grain wild rice. Raise thine hands to the Lord above, you wafer whores. Here comes your San Francisco treat.
DING DING.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Sorry, I'm All Out Of Rat's Asses
My gawd... last night I had one of the best sets of my life at The Moonraker in Kent, WA. This is a bar that knows how to do comedy. People pay a couple bucks to get in after 8pm. The soundsystem is great. the room is big. They did a great job. And they said the 3 little words every comedian loves to hear:
"We Pay Cash" AND HOSANNAS RANG DOWN FROM THE HEAVENS!
Tonight I'm working Danny's Campus in Everett. They have a key element to them that will make the show fun. "THEY PAY CASH." OH CRAP, is the IRS reading this?
Wednesday night I had my lungs handed to me by whatever alien spawn illness I've contracted from Hoorleen McCracken. Transfers happen between how many hugs, high-fives, and handies? All I know is that it's about 10 days of the phlegmish inquisition, and I'm about to give in. Robitussin is a MF'er, too, I've ingested from the incidental chew spit-can and felt better about the effect on my body. And I have all the bedside manner for myself of Buffalo Bill in the "Lambs Be Quiet." 'IT STOPS COUGHING OR IT GETS THE PEPPER SPRAY. IT STOPS COUGHING OR IT GETS THE TABASCO HIGH-COLONIC.' I'm a total homeopath.
If you want to see why people hate the Church, check out this story. Besides all the kid-touching that the priests were up to, and it goes further than we know, now the Church has negated this little girl's communion due to a technicality in the wafer department. LIKE GOD GIVES A SHIT ABOUT THE WAFER!!! I hope they're happy... they just created one less Christian and one more Libertarian.
Not funny. Better go before this gets worse.
Love you. Touch the goods.
G
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
My gawd... last night I had one of the best sets of my life at The Moonraker in Kent, WA. This is a bar that knows how to do comedy. People pay a couple bucks to get in after 8pm. The soundsystem is great. the room is big. They did a great job. And they said the 3 little words every comedian loves to hear:
"We Pay Cash" AND HOSANNAS RANG DOWN FROM THE HEAVENS!
Tonight I'm working Danny's Campus in Everett. They have a key element to them that will make the show fun. "THEY PAY CASH." OH CRAP, is the IRS reading this?
Wednesday night I had my lungs handed to me by whatever alien spawn illness I've contracted from Hoorleen McCracken. Transfers happen between how many hugs, high-fives, and handies? All I know is that it's about 10 days of the phlegmish inquisition, and I'm about to give in. Robitussin is a MF'er, too, I've ingested from the incidental chew spit-can and felt better about the effect on my body. And I have all the bedside manner for myself of Buffalo Bill in the "Lambs Be Quiet." 'IT STOPS COUGHING OR IT GETS THE PEPPER SPRAY. IT STOPS COUGHING OR IT GETS THE TABASCO HIGH-COLONIC.' I'm a total homeopath.
If you want to see why people hate the Church, check out this story. Besides all the kid-touching that the priests were up to, and it goes further than we know, now the Church has negated this little girl's communion due to a technicality in the wafer department. LIKE GOD GIVES A SHIT ABOUT THE WAFER!!! I hope they're happy... they just created one less Christian and one more Libertarian.
Not funny. Better go before this gets worse.
Love you. Touch the goods.
G
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
I'm Awake, Might As Well...
It's just getting into Thursday 8/19 as I write this. I'm on the backside of a MF'er of a chest cold, my 3rd this year. I just quaffed some NightTime Cold Medicine/Fever Dream-inducer, in Cherry, thank you. I love cuttin' it with some tonic, make a party out of it. It's like a foam party in my bronchii! Note the operational cigarette in-hand. Yeah, it's that great.
I have a gig later today/night in Kent at The Moonraker, a bar I used to drink at when underage. It should be an interesting homecoming of sorts. I hope/plan to see at least a few people I did time with in the Tahoma School System. Man, what a boring-ass life that was. I think I was the blackest kid in school.
The TV show, if anyone caught it on Tuesday night, WOW, can you say "FusterCluck?" I learned a lot though, about communicating with the dudes in the booth to make sure we're all on the same page. We're doing our Christmas Special next week, so tune in! Tuesday night, 9pm. I thought Shoogs did a great job holding it together. How often does a co-host have to leave the studio while On-Air to go outside and retrieve his once locked-in keys? Yep, I did it, got 'em back, and in the end it looked like we were barely trying, huh? Dig it. Tune in next week. Please.
Y'ever get that feeling that something is gonna go amazingly well? Like if you could just hold the stick in place, keep your airspeed up and stay on-target, you're gonna land this baby like you were born to do just that? I'm having that feeling lately. I've shed negative bullcrap and the people who fling it from my life, and that feels great. I know my ride will be bumpy from time to time, turbulence and bad coffee and some dip-ass charging the cockpit to take over the flight and bring 'er in. But that person better be wearing Kevlar and/or a cup. I've got every reason to swing this battleaxe for all I'm worth.
"Open Up Our Eyes, And Realize We're One." That's a quote from a song by "Heartbridge" or Jug of Creed or whomever the new incarnation of Creed is. Are they TRYING to write songs that not even 'The O.C.' will take? That line is CRAP, not to mention way pussy. My gawd, that is geared toward every Young Life devotee from here to Mecca, and even those kids wouldn't listen to it during a good dry-hump session. "If it's not in, it's not a sin." I just made that up, and I'm gonna make t-shirts of it. COPYRIGHT, COPYRIGHT! I win again. In the meantime, Creed, the members of Creed, and bands that sound like Creed give me ass burn. They should die and give me their money.
If you like Anime, you're a retard.
The Cherry Dream & Tonic is kicking in. If anyone calls I'll be in the tub.
laters
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
It's just getting into Thursday 8/19 as I write this. I'm on the backside of a MF'er of a chest cold, my 3rd this year. I just quaffed some NightTime Cold Medicine/Fever Dream-inducer, in Cherry, thank you. I love cuttin' it with some tonic, make a party out of it. It's like a foam party in my bronchii! Note the operational cigarette in-hand. Yeah, it's that great.
I have a gig later today/night in Kent at The Moonraker, a bar I used to drink at when underage. It should be an interesting homecoming of sorts. I hope/plan to see at least a few people I did time with in the Tahoma School System. Man, what a boring-ass life that was. I think I was the blackest kid in school.
The TV show, if anyone caught it on Tuesday night, WOW, can you say "FusterCluck?" I learned a lot though, about communicating with the dudes in the booth to make sure we're all on the same page. We're doing our Christmas Special next week, so tune in! Tuesday night, 9pm. I thought Shoogs did a great job holding it together. How often does a co-host have to leave the studio while On-Air to go outside and retrieve his once locked-in keys? Yep, I did it, got 'em back, and in the end it looked like we were barely trying, huh? Dig it. Tune in next week. Please.
Y'ever get that feeling that something is gonna go amazingly well? Like if you could just hold the stick in place, keep your airspeed up and stay on-target, you're gonna land this baby like you were born to do just that? I'm having that feeling lately. I've shed negative bullcrap and the people who fling it from my life, and that feels great. I know my ride will be bumpy from time to time, turbulence and bad coffee and some dip-ass charging the cockpit to take over the flight and bring 'er in. But that person better be wearing Kevlar and/or a cup. I've got every reason to swing this battleaxe for all I'm worth.
"Open Up Our Eyes, And Realize We're One." That's a quote from a song by "Heartbridge" or Jug of Creed or whomever the new incarnation of Creed is. Are they TRYING to write songs that not even 'The O.C.' will take? That line is CRAP, not to mention way pussy. My gawd, that is geared toward every Young Life devotee from here to Mecca, and even those kids wouldn't listen to it during a good dry-hump session. "If it's not in, it's not a sin." I just made that up, and I'm gonna make t-shirts of it. COPYRIGHT, COPYRIGHT! I win again. In the meantime, Creed, the members of Creed, and bands that sound like Creed give me ass burn. They should die and give me their money.
If you like Anime, you're a retard.
The Cherry Dream & Tonic is kicking in. If anyone calls I'll be in the tub.
laters
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, August 16, 2004
Weekend Wrap-Up
I'll start back on Thursday night. I did a money gig for a buddy who needed a headliner at the Taster's Wok. As you have surmised, it's a Thai restaurant in Lynnwood that hosts a comedy night once a week to entertain people tired of yelling "GIT 'ER DONE!" at each other all night. Okay, you probably didn't guess what I'd writtend after "restaurant" but that's what it is. I did it solely for the money and to work on my crowd interaction chops. I followed local legend Heneghen who is able to riff off a crowd with razor-like intent and spoon-like precision. He gets going and can't stop, and he had the place ROARING with ha-has. Good thing, too, because he followed LD., who cramped my game from the get go. I sat at a table with LD and Didi M., another comic. I sat next to this woman who was way hot, and no ring in sight, so I'm thinking, "Well hello there," and "please let my zipper be up." I sit, LD launches into a barrage of stuff that neither concerns nor interests me. Her and I had our differences in the past, but fawk-a-duck if she doesn't know when to shut it. All I could do with the gal I WANTED to talk to was run my fingers on the inside of her elbow from time to time. She seemed cool with it, responding by pulling away and gagging a little.
LD goes up and does well for 3 of the 18 minutes she's up there. Heneghen kills for 20-25 ish. Next thing I know I'm 5 minutes in and riffing off the crowd, doing better than just my jokes, which seem to be falling out of my mouth. Blah blah blah: Summary: Heckled by fat divorced guy with white shoes and high-waters, bored dipschidt at bar shines a flashlight in my face, bar owner missing the sleeves off his favorite t-shirt, and I got out with my life, if not my dignity.
Yep, what a great F'ing weekend it was. I did time at Chuckle Bucket's on Friday and had a great set following an energetic, disjointed, and entertaining set by a Canadian Laugh Slut. The guy just would NOT get off stage. 7-10 minutes is not 7 & 10 minutes. BUT it allowed me to go up and address the time issue as well as launch into a new bit. I riffed through the new bit, nothing really prepared, but it went pretty darn well. I have to make sure that I keep my act tight, however, because eventually, when I'm really angling for TV spots, I can't be rambling as if I've never been behind a mic before. Small crowd, but really very into the show. Everyone had good sets, which was nice to see. There's funny to be consumed. LESSON LEARNED: Being yourself is always better than being what you think other people want to see, unless people did not want to see you.
Then I went over to The Comedy Book to catch Jim Gaffigan (gaff-again, NOT Ga-figgin, as I was repeatedly reminded by his manager, who happens to be an ASS). Accompanying me were my respiratory cold and Cistern O'Hanrahan. The place was packed, and good thing too as Jim was recording his Comedy Central CD. If you can't destroy a room like that as a comic, you quit, immediately, and hit your head on a hard-cover copy of "1,001 Tasteless Jokes" until you forget your act. But from what I heard everyone did really well. Jim did really well, too. He's got something good going there. So pale. So funny. So smelling of meringue.
The next day I sat at the Mermaid Coffee House, which has taken to hiring less attractive staff since their IPO, and got to the nitty of some client-specific jokes. I have a gig on Sept.1st for a large, local software design business, kind of a Mom&Pop thing, and I want to make sure I am giving my best. It's weird to "have to" write for a specific event, but I have had a couple of my best performances for such gigs. This will be a fun one at the Triple Door, performing with Kid Dynamite. It's gonna be fun. And YES, I will be wearing a suit. JEEZ. And besides, I've spawned a couple of really great bits, I think, that will carry over to my other comedy.
Yesterday I just bummed it with Chlorine O'Grady and Shoogs B, writing eating, and wallowing in the end stages of upper-respiratory congestion. These are two of my favorite people in the world. It's almost like we can read each other's minds, but choose not to out of respect. Killroy made rad Thai Peanut Chicken Satay, a.k.a. "Chicken Candy," as dubbed by G-Bro. Then we eventually ended up at open mic at The Comedy Track.
Performed well, going 2nd after Nate The Latest Great. He's 13 years old and doing really well on-stage. However, he's doing straight lifts of a well-respected national act, and therefore has started his comedy career on the wrong foot. I'd like to coach him a little by letting him know how vital it is that he learn to write and perform his own material, but at the same time, he's 13 and his dad's a lawyer. Maybe he picked this instead of Summer Camp. Regardless I don't need no boy crying "Wolf/MICHAEL JACKSON" when I'm just trying to expose him to... I mean show him the... trying to help. Regardless, I had a great set following him, including where some man-hater tried to heckle me and I addressed her comment by telling her that I heard it, I know why she said it and why she said it the way she did, and that I know the games, so save it. Afterwards she came up to me and said she thought I was the best performer of the night, then asked me if I ever give private shows. I wasn't sure what she meant, so I told her that I will tell jokes for free, but the sex will cost her.
Anyone know how to treat a leather burn?
--------------------
Got some stuff forthcoming. Until then, keep your pants off.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I'll start back on Thursday night. I did a money gig for a buddy who needed a headliner at the Taster's Wok. As you have surmised, it's a Thai restaurant in Lynnwood that hosts a comedy night once a week to entertain people tired of yelling "GIT 'ER DONE!" at each other all night. Okay, you probably didn't guess what I'd writtend after "restaurant" but that's what it is. I did it solely for the money and to work on my crowd interaction chops. I followed local legend Heneghen who is able to riff off a crowd with razor-like intent and spoon-like precision. He gets going and can't stop, and he had the place ROARING with ha-has. Good thing, too, because he followed LD., who cramped my game from the get go. I sat at a table with LD and Didi M., another comic. I sat next to this woman who was way hot, and no ring in sight, so I'm thinking, "Well hello there," and "please let my zipper be up." I sit, LD launches into a barrage of stuff that neither concerns nor interests me. Her and I had our differences in the past, but fawk-a-duck if she doesn't know when to shut it. All I could do with the gal I WANTED to talk to was run my fingers on the inside of her elbow from time to time. She seemed cool with it, responding by pulling away and gagging a little.
LD goes up and does well for 3 of the 18 minutes she's up there. Heneghen kills for 20-25 ish. Next thing I know I'm 5 minutes in and riffing off the crowd, doing better than just my jokes, which seem to be falling out of my mouth. Blah blah blah: Summary: Heckled by fat divorced guy with white shoes and high-waters, bored dipschidt at bar shines a flashlight in my face, bar owner missing the sleeves off his favorite t-shirt, and I got out with my life, if not my dignity.
Yep, what a great F'ing weekend it was. I did time at Chuckle Bucket's on Friday and had a great set following an energetic, disjointed, and entertaining set by a Canadian Laugh Slut. The guy just would NOT get off stage. 7-10 minutes is not 7 & 10 minutes. BUT it allowed me to go up and address the time issue as well as launch into a new bit. I riffed through the new bit, nothing really prepared, but it went pretty darn well. I have to make sure that I keep my act tight, however, because eventually, when I'm really angling for TV spots, I can't be rambling as if I've never been behind a mic before. Small crowd, but really very into the show. Everyone had good sets, which was nice to see. There's funny to be consumed. LESSON LEARNED: Being yourself is always better than being what you think other people want to see, unless people did not want to see you.
Then I went over to The Comedy Book to catch Jim Gaffigan (gaff-again, NOT Ga-figgin, as I was repeatedly reminded by his manager, who happens to be an ASS). Accompanying me were my respiratory cold and Cistern O'Hanrahan. The place was packed, and good thing too as Jim was recording his Comedy Central CD. If you can't destroy a room like that as a comic, you quit, immediately, and hit your head on a hard-cover copy of "1,001 Tasteless Jokes" until you forget your act. But from what I heard everyone did really well. Jim did really well, too. He's got something good going there. So pale. So funny. So smelling of meringue.
The next day I sat at the Mermaid Coffee House, which has taken to hiring less attractive staff since their IPO, and got to the nitty of some client-specific jokes. I have a gig on Sept.1st for a large, local software design business, kind of a Mom&Pop thing, and I want to make sure I am giving my best. It's weird to "have to" write for a specific event, but I have had a couple of my best performances for such gigs. This will be a fun one at the Triple Door, performing with Kid Dynamite. It's gonna be fun. And YES, I will be wearing a suit. JEEZ. And besides, I've spawned a couple of really great bits, I think, that will carry over to my other comedy.
Yesterday I just bummed it with Chlorine O'Grady and Shoogs B, writing eating, and wallowing in the end stages of upper-respiratory congestion. These are two of my favorite people in the world. It's almost like we can read each other's minds, but choose not to out of respect. Killroy made rad Thai Peanut Chicken Satay, a.k.a. "Chicken Candy," as dubbed by G-Bro. Then we eventually ended up at open mic at The Comedy Track.
Performed well, going 2nd after Nate The Latest Great. He's 13 years old and doing really well on-stage. However, he's doing straight lifts of a well-respected national act, and therefore has started his comedy career on the wrong foot. I'd like to coach him a little by letting him know how vital it is that he learn to write and perform his own material, but at the same time, he's 13 and his dad's a lawyer. Maybe he picked this instead of Summer Camp. Regardless I don't need no boy crying "Wolf/MICHAEL JACKSON" when I'm just trying to expose him to... I mean show him the... trying to help. Regardless, I had a great set following him, including where some man-hater tried to heckle me and I addressed her comment by telling her that I heard it, I know why she said it and why she said it the way she did, and that I know the games, so save it. Afterwards she came up to me and said she thought I was the best performer of the night, then asked me if I ever give private shows. I wasn't sure what she meant, so I told her that I will tell jokes for free, but the sex will cost her.
Anyone know how to treat a leather burn?
--------------------
Got some stuff forthcoming. Until then, keep your pants off.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Vegas Baby
So I didn't get the Vegas spot, but I was told that the judges "liked me a lot" and that I could have "done better." Doy, so could everyone except the person they picked. I heard that they picked a kid from Utah who makes faces.
1 - Would you pay to see that?
2 - I am happy to not be considered in the same breath as that type of comedy.
Because You Can't Have Sex ALL The Time
I ran into an old girlfriend recently, a woman who is probably as textbook attractive as possible. Auburn hair, bright blue eyes, tan, fit, perfect teeth/makeup/breath. She seems as if she craves only fruit and excretes biodegradable potpourri. Drives a Porsche, purchased with the money she made from investing in then selling Amazon stock before the crash. Lives in a posh condo near the Seattle waterfront. She's almost too gorgeous to look at.
And outside of her looks, there is not one interesting thing about her.
She had a truckload of nothing interesting to say, other than updating me on the goings-on of a couple mutual friends who she still hangs out with. Like I give a crap which stationery salesman is vying for a move to Medford, or how she and this guy and girl got SOOO drunk last weekend. Oh my Guinness, it was a record for useless information.
I only chatted with her for a moment, but it sparked me back to the conversations we had a long time ago when we first met. Sitting at a Happy Hour table with other good-looking friends (thanks to my humor I was included at this Last Supper of Blather) I looked around at these successful people and realized that, were it not for their looks, they would have jack shit to offer society. We'd all talk about work, slag on each other for the previous week's intimate co-minglings, see who is tapping which ass, and that was about it. For 3 empty hours.
One night I start talking with the ex, prior to our coupleage, and she asks me what I think of some dude who's been hanging in the group. I said that I subscribe to the "Saying nothing if nothing nice is to be said" school of chat. Then she asks "Why, did he say something to you?" Again, I told her that I didn't know the guy from Jeff Renner, so I really shouldn't say anything. I mentioned that he referred to every woman he used to date as "this one bitch," which seemed like something for shock value, showing me that he's got a front up. She says "No, I mean do you think he really drives a Honda?" I told her "No. I think he says that to appear humble so you'll f*ck him." Her reply? "Aaw, that's so sweet." Just be pretty, darling. Just be pretty.
I dated this woman for about 2 months a few years back. She was truly sweet-natured, but so incredibly insecure about her looks and her interpretations of my compliments that I felt like I was tripping over her Gucci emotional baggage. I had to call BS on it, because it wasn't anything I had packed for the trip. In a way, I was encouraging her to pick the bags up and figure out why they were so heavy, but her own past made her feel like she was in trouble, as if I was her father and the toys needed to come up off the Twister mat that her step-m0m and I and the Klobusnick's were gonna need later that night. I was looking for something more inside of her... pardon the pun... and I came up empty... to repeat myself...
Do looks matter when you're looking for a mate? Yeah, they do, and anybody who says they don't is a gorgeous liar. Everything fades. You can't look at anything, perfect or otherwise, for long without wondering what else there is to it. Looks matter. My looks matter to me, most of all, so I'm responsible for how I feel about me. But what matters more? That I left a good picture behind, or a thousand memorable quotes that make people laugh and learn and make out?
She was a gorgeous woman, and a hideous person. Too bad, too. Oh well, at least we did it.
You know who you are.
---------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
So I didn't get the Vegas spot, but I was told that the judges "liked me a lot" and that I could have "done better." Doy, so could everyone except the person they picked. I heard that they picked a kid from Utah who makes faces.
1 - Would you pay to see that?
2 - I am happy to not be considered in the same breath as that type of comedy.
Because You Can't Have Sex ALL The Time
I ran into an old girlfriend recently, a woman who is probably as textbook attractive as possible. Auburn hair, bright blue eyes, tan, fit, perfect teeth/makeup/breath. She seems as if she craves only fruit and excretes biodegradable potpourri. Drives a Porsche, purchased with the money she made from investing in then selling Amazon stock before the crash. Lives in a posh condo near the Seattle waterfront. She's almost too gorgeous to look at.
And outside of her looks, there is not one interesting thing about her.
She had a truckload of nothing interesting to say, other than updating me on the goings-on of a couple mutual friends who she still hangs out with. Like I give a crap which stationery salesman is vying for a move to Medford, or how she and this guy and girl got SOOO drunk last weekend. Oh my Guinness, it was a record for useless information.
I only chatted with her for a moment, but it sparked me back to the conversations we had a long time ago when we first met. Sitting at a Happy Hour table with other good-looking friends (thanks to my humor I was included at this Last Supper of Blather) I looked around at these successful people and realized that, were it not for their looks, they would have jack shit to offer society. We'd all talk about work, slag on each other for the previous week's intimate co-minglings, see who is tapping which ass, and that was about it. For 3 empty hours.
One night I start talking with the ex, prior to our coupleage, and she asks me what I think of some dude who's been hanging in the group. I said that I subscribe to the "Saying nothing if nothing nice is to be said" school of chat. Then she asks "Why, did he say something to you?" Again, I told her that I didn't know the guy from Jeff Renner, so I really shouldn't say anything. I mentioned that he referred to every woman he used to date as "this one bitch," which seemed like something for shock value, showing me that he's got a front up. She says "No, I mean do you think he really drives a Honda?" I told her "No. I think he says that to appear humble so you'll f*ck him." Her reply? "Aaw, that's so sweet." Just be pretty, darling. Just be pretty.
I dated this woman for about 2 months a few years back. She was truly sweet-natured, but so incredibly insecure about her looks and her interpretations of my compliments that I felt like I was tripping over her Gucci emotional baggage. I had to call BS on it, because it wasn't anything I had packed for the trip. In a way, I was encouraging her to pick the bags up and figure out why they were so heavy, but her own past made her feel like she was in trouble, as if I was her father and the toys needed to come up off the Twister mat that her step-m0m and I and the Klobusnick's were gonna need later that night. I was looking for something more inside of her... pardon the pun... and I came up empty... to repeat myself...
Do looks matter when you're looking for a mate? Yeah, they do, and anybody who says they don't is a gorgeous liar. Everything fades. You can't look at anything, perfect or otherwise, for long without wondering what else there is to it. Looks matter. My looks matter to me, most of all, so I'm responsible for how I feel about me. But what matters more? That I left a good picture behind, or a thousand memorable quotes that make people laugh and learn and make out?
She was a gorgeous woman, and a hideous person. Too bad, too. Oh well, at least we did it.
You know who you are.
---------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Like I Care. WAIT, I Didn't Mean It Like That!!!
I had a showcase today for the Las Vegas Comedy Festival, which is the "Big K" brand of comedy festivals. There's Montreal, Aspen, Chicago, and Edinburgh, Scotland. Then it's a 100-story drop to the next tier of comedy festivals. Mostly local things like Bumbershoot and whatever else attracts aging hipsters with disposable income due to their inability to drop their "over it" facades long enough to let their f*cktools ease up and create a baby. DAMN I love them and their tortoise-shell spectacles.
So this festival is really for the newer guys on the mid-to-lower tiers of the comedy world. For the sake of pork, there were TWO prop/juggling duos in attendance. TWO. I wonder if they snipe the way most other comics do. Comedy is immediate justice: Joke, Laugh/No Laugh. But what of the juggling and prop comics? Do they see a team and think "Yeah, it WOULD take two of you to act like your pulling scarves out of your sleeve and the last one happens to look like your underwear and you act embarrassed, you hacks."? Who cares? I hate that crap.
I had a pretty good set. The comics were laughing, which is normally a bad sign, but they were the only crowd members, so I took it as a bene. Yay, doing comedy to a crowd of people who are thinking "F*CK YOU! LOSE. LOSE LOSE LOSE! FLUB IT. FLUB A LINE!" You could almost feel the apathy. I dug it.
So now I wait a few days to find out how things go. There are a couple more showcases for the judging group to attend, and then they'll post the results on their site. I have been to Las Vegas twice already this year. February sucked because I was setting a record for power-vomiting artichoke dip from the Harley Davidson Cafe. June was fun, then sucked, then was fun, then really sucked, and was nearly a waste of time. But hey, third time's a charm. I have to get new glasses.
Tortoise shell, natch.
Oh, and I learned this: Sometimes you make your best move by deciding you don't have to make a move at all. I decided last week that a move I may have to make will benefit me best if I do not move at all. In other words, never say more than you have to. And for crying out loud, tell your sister to quit calling me. You know who you are.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I had a showcase today for the Las Vegas Comedy Festival, which is the "Big K" brand of comedy festivals. There's Montreal, Aspen, Chicago, and Edinburgh, Scotland. Then it's a 100-story drop to the next tier of comedy festivals. Mostly local things like Bumbershoot and whatever else attracts aging hipsters with disposable income due to their inability to drop their "over it" facades long enough to let their f*cktools ease up and create a baby. DAMN I love them and their tortoise-shell spectacles.
So this festival is really for the newer guys on the mid-to-lower tiers of the comedy world. For the sake of pork, there were TWO prop/juggling duos in attendance. TWO. I wonder if they snipe the way most other comics do. Comedy is immediate justice: Joke, Laugh/No Laugh. But what of the juggling and prop comics? Do they see a team and think "Yeah, it WOULD take two of you to act like your pulling scarves out of your sleeve and the last one happens to look like your underwear and you act embarrassed, you hacks."? Who cares? I hate that crap.
I had a pretty good set. The comics were laughing, which is normally a bad sign, but they were the only crowd members, so I took it as a bene. Yay, doing comedy to a crowd of people who are thinking "F*CK YOU! LOSE. LOSE LOSE LOSE! FLUB IT. FLUB A LINE!" You could almost feel the apathy. I dug it.
So now I wait a few days to find out how things go. There are a couple more showcases for the judging group to attend, and then they'll post the results on their site. I have been to Las Vegas twice already this year. February sucked because I was setting a record for power-vomiting artichoke dip from the Harley Davidson Cafe. June was fun, then sucked, then was fun, then really sucked, and was nearly a waste of time. But hey, third time's a charm. I have to get new glasses.
Tortoise shell, natch.
Oh, and I learned this: Sometimes you make your best move by deciding you don't have to make a move at all. I decided last week that a move I may have to make will benefit me best if I do not move at all. In other words, never say more than you have to. And for crying out loud, tell your sister to quit calling me. You know who you are.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, August 09, 2004
1,000!?!?!?
Koko the Handsy Gorilla ("go-ree-ya" in Spanyish) recently notified her handlers that she was experiencing tooth pain. A dental team sprang into action, and gave her a full examination, extracted a tooth, and sent her on her banana-munching, language signing way.
Freak out here, because:
1) Koko knows over 1,000 "words," and it's been a LONG time since I had a vocabulary test.
2) Koko has more concern for her health than 60% of the people you know.
3) Koko has better dental coverage than you. Total cost: ZIP-POINT-SCHIDT
Not Sleepy, By Reason of Insomnia
I'm at work as I write this. It's 4:47 in the ay-em, and I'm not at all tired. DAMMIT. I came into work because I just cannot stay asleep. I've had insomnia bad this year. It started in April and still plagues me at least once a week, like a recurring nightmare, but one where I'm awake and at MOTHER-F'ING WORK. I'm sittin' here at my desk on a quick blog break, pausing from the work that has me staring at spreadsheets with millions of entries, making corrections to manager's minutia while they lie in repose and decadent silken pajamas. (waving clenched fist at spreadsheet) It's a combination of low-grade depression and hope, mixed with flouride and protein. Oh, and I drank a Diet Rockstar around 9:30 tonight. That's a lot of vitamin B to process, but hey, at least I'll know when it's out of my system.
The benefits are that I'm the only one here. I'm parked right by the door next to the handi-ramp (there are no wheelers in this building, but there's one guy who is a buffet trip away from knee-bucklage), and have the printers, bathrooms, microwave, and vending machines all to myself. I'm gonna take all the seat-covers from both bathrooms, put them in the printer and copier trays, then buy all the food I can afford out of the vending machine. Next, I'm labeling each item with my name on it and packing one rack of the community fridge with burritos, yogurt, and as much chocolate-flavored dairy beverage I can get my sheep-counting mitts on. And the other employees ("co-workers" sounds far too friendly) can't move it or throw it away, as that's destruction of personal property, AND AND AND… I'm gonna inventory all of it and make copies of it on the toilet seat covers and post the inventory on the fridge.
I'm feeling just fine, why do you ask? I can hear your thoughts. I can also hear the carpet whispering. HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE… WHY CAN'T I STOP CRYING?!?!?
ALL BETTER! Thank you Magic Hi-Liter. (psst, Magic Hi-Liter, show me where the leather desk chairs are and I'll hook you up with that red Sharpie one drawer down. She is NASTAY.)
The downside of this is that I will likely bottom out and crash like a Tom Arnold movie. Another downside is that sleep is all-important to me right now, as I am doing the best I can to handle stress without too much medication, be it professionally or self-prescribed. Sleep helps flush your body of cortisol and keep your fluids in check. Deprivation of anything for too long is systemically degrading, but sleep, oof, that's a big need for right now. I actually fell asleep about 1:30, dead-out, for an hour. Next thing I know it's 2:26 and my brain is crackling. I had a song, a joke, and 3 thoughts running through my head:
Song: "Every Thug Needs a Lady" by the Alkaline Trio
Joke: One of mine about not having regrets after a relationship. It's good, come see it.
Thoughts:
1) Am I going crazy?
2) I now release all stress and negativity.
3) Where are the dad-gum leather desk chairs at work?
So here I am, alone again while Magic Hi-Liter is retrieving my new, leather cube saddle, typing while I should be working on this spreadsheet. Even THAT is a ricockulous thing to put into words, that I should be working. I should be asleep, dern-blast it! I think I'm auditioning today for the Las Vegas Comedy Festival, but those f*cktards don't know how to post the proper information. Auditions are, according to their "information" (insert laughter) "Dates: August 9th-10th, Time: Aug.10th-12pm." The best I can gather is that the category I'm auditioning for is on the 10th, while the Comedy Club Pick (big show at Giggles, go if you can, 8:30pm) is today, the 9th. Check out their site, see if makes any sense to you: http://www.laughacrossamerica.com/htmls/laa_times.html#seattle
Okay, Magic Hi-Liter is back with my kick-ass new… DUDE, this is the passenger seat of my car! FAWK! I gotta go kick some Hi-Liter ass. He ripped the friggin' passenger seat out of my CAR! This is a bad-ass Hi-Liter. What was I thinking buying a Hi-Liter from the Talking Walnut??? I hope he gives me a concussion. I need SLEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Good morning to YOU.
I'll be up all week, try the Sominex.
The Day That One Thing Happened At Work
Fast forward now, 8:26 a.m., been awake for 22.5 of the last 24 hours. Retard next to me has her Office Assistant set to "kitty kitty kitten smitten OOOGY WOOGY!" and the thing meows when she does whatever to it. THERE'S A COMPUTER CAT NEXT TO ME, MEOWING. The only thing I hate more than real cats, are the loud asshole Ron who sits behind me, Sandie down the hall with the horrific cackling "laugh," and computer cats. I hate them because they are all short and just out of my kicking range. I want to kick all involved parties full-on face-side until bloodletting begins.
OH PLEASE LORD, I NEED TO SLEEP!!!
Bonus round: Being on salary means I only have to be here another 30 minutes. Then I can go home and black out in my hamper.
-----------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Koko the Handsy Gorilla ("go-ree-ya" in Spanyish) recently notified her handlers that she was experiencing tooth pain. A dental team sprang into action, and gave her a full examination, extracted a tooth, and sent her on her banana-munching, language signing way.
Freak out here, because:
1) Koko knows over 1,000 "words," and it's been a LONG time since I had a vocabulary test.
2) Koko has more concern for her health than 60% of the people you know.
3) Koko has better dental coverage than you. Total cost: ZIP-POINT-SCHIDT
Not Sleepy, By Reason of Insomnia
I'm at work as I write this. It's 4:47 in the ay-em, and I'm not at all tired. DAMMIT. I came into work because I just cannot stay asleep. I've had insomnia bad this year. It started in April and still plagues me at least once a week, like a recurring nightmare, but one where I'm awake and at MOTHER-F'ING WORK. I'm sittin' here at my desk on a quick blog break, pausing from the work that has me staring at spreadsheets with millions of entries, making corrections to manager's minutia while they lie in repose and decadent silken pajamas. (waving clenched fist at spreadsheet) It's a combination of low-grade depression and hope, mixed with flouride and protein. Oh, and I drank a Diet Rockstar around 9:30 tonight. That's a lot of vitamin B to process, but hey, at least I'll know when it's out of my system.
The benefits are that I'm the only one here. I'm parked right by the door next to the handi-ramp (there are no wheelers in this building, but there's one guy who is a buffet trip away from knee-bucklage), and have the printers, bathrooms, microwave, and vending machines all to myself. I'm gonna take all the seat-covers from both bathrooms, put them in the printer and copier trays, then buy all the food I can afford out of the vending machine. Next, I'm labeling each item with my name on it and packing one rack of the community fridge with burritos, yogurt, and as much chocolate-flavored dairy beverage I can get my sheep-counting mitts on. And the other employees ("co-workers" sounds far too friendly) can't move it or throw it away, as that's destruction of personal property, AND AND AND… I'm gonna inventory all of it and make copies of it on the toilet seat covers and post the inventory on the fridge.
I'm feeling just fine, why do you ask? I can hear your thoughts. I can also hear the carpet whispering. HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE… WHY CAN'T I STOP CRYING?!?!?
ALL BETTER! Thank you Magic Hi-Liter. (psst, Magic Hi-Liter, show me where the leather desk chairs are and I'll hook you up with that red Sharpie one drawer down. She is NASTAY.)
The downside of this is that I will likely bottom out and crash like a Tom Arnold movie. Another downside is that sleep is all-important to me right now, as I am doing the best I can to handle stress without too much medication, be it professionally or self-prescribed. Sleep helps flush your body of cortisol and keep your fluids in check. Deprivation of anything for too long is systemically degrading, but sleep, oof, that's a big need for right now. I actually fell asleep about 1:30, dead-out, for an hour. Next thing I know it's 2:26 and my brain is crackling. I had a song, a joke, and 3 thoughts running through my head:
Song: "Every Thug Needs a Lady" by the Alkaline Trio
Joke: One of mine about not having regrets after a relationship. It's good, come see it.
Thoughts:
1) Am I going crazy?
2) I now release all stress and negativity.
3) Where are the dad-gum leather desk chairs at work?
So here I am, alone again while Magic Hi-Liter is retrieving my new, leather cube saddle, typing while I should be working on this spreadsheet. Even THAT is a ricockulous thing to put into words, that I should be working. I should be asleep, dern-blast it! I think I'm auditioning today for the Las Vegas Comedy Festival, but those f*cktards don't know how to post the proper information. Auditions are, according to their "information" (insert laughter) "Dates: August 9th-10th, Time: Aug.10th-12pm." The best I can gather is that the category I'm auditioning for is on the 10th, while the Comedy Club Pick (big show at Giggles, go if you can, 8:30pm) is today, the 9th. Check out their site, see if makes any sense to you: http://www.laughacrossamerica.com/htmls/laa_times.html#seattle
Okay, Magic Hi-Liter is back with my kick-ass new… DUDE, this is the passenger seat of my car! FAWK! I gotta go kick some Hi-Liter ass. He ripped the friggin' passenger seat out of my CAR! This is a bad-ass Hi-Liter. What was I thinking buying a Hi-Liter from the Talking Walnut??? I hope he gives me a concussion. I need SLEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Good morning to YOU.
I'll be up all week, try the Sominex.
The Day That One Thing Happened At Work
Fast forward now, 8:26 a.m., been awake for 22.5 of the last 24 hours. Retard next to me has her Office Assistant set to "kitty kitty kitten smitten OOOGY WOOGY!" and the thing meows when she does whatever to it. THERE'S A COMPUTER CAT NEXT TO ME, MEOWING. The only thing I hate more than real cats, are the loud asshole Ron who sits behind me, Sandie down the hall with the horrific cackling "laugh," and computer cats. I hate them because they are all short and just out of my kicking range. I want to kick all involved parties full-on face-side until bloodletting begins.
OH PLEASE LORD, I NEED TO SLEEP!!!
Bonus round: Being on salary means I only have to be here another 30 minutes. Then I can go home and black out in my hamper.
-----------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Taking My Notebook and Going Home
I have this gig tomorrow night in Lake Stevens at Hawkeye's Pub, Grill, and Tire Shop, and I'm really excited for it. I'm headlining the show, and I've got this really good outlook on the show. I couldn't recite my setlist from memory, it changes each time, but I know that I'm going to kick the ass off this room. I haven't felt this excited for a show in a long time, as I have an opportunity to perform with two of my best friends, Shoogs B and Kilo G.
Why am I excited? Can't quite put the index to it, but lemme throw this at you: This is my first gig in 2 months. I've done shows, but nothing for pay on purpose. I have written so many new jokes in the past 3 weeks, mostly little one-liners and a few actual bits, that I'm ready to see how they fly. I am back to doing comedy regularly, and it's pretty gorilladad rad. I'm in the mindset that I wanna go in and destroy, riff off the audience, catch a vodka buzz and find a lickable local's sweet backside to shine the light of the Honeybaked upon. Yeah ladies, I'm not dating for a while, so if you'd like my attention, keep the necklines plunging and the hands properly moistened. I have ideas for ya.
For crying out loud, it's all just entertainment. People pay to see terrible bands, movies, food courts and a myriad of banality under the guise of "getting out of the house." Comedy is your answer, people. I kid you not. The movie you're watching today was the inspiration for a joke I wrote last year. The music you hear is being delineated from music and lineated to an intimate act involving a Viking woman and the handle bars from my Stu Thompson Huffy, circa 1984, which had the skill of kicking your ass! The food court you're noshing within is teeming with people you are mentally, and I am verbally, judging for their appearance. Laughter is good for you. Do it.
Rick James Dies. Drugs, Coke, Kidnapping NOT Involved... So Sad
Can't wait to see Dave Chappelle's take on this. That dickhole just got a 2-year, $50,000,000 contract with Comedy Central. They are aiming to grab Chris Rock-ish notoriety with this guy, who is likely the most poignant stand-up on TV today. Then again he's got writers. If you get a chance to see him live... GO DO IT.
More whenever...
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, July 30, 2004
Blog #100!!!
To comiserate my 100th blogging, I would like to thank all of you for your reading and support, when you gave it. It's both cool and weird to think that people are even moderately interested in what are, by own admission, intermittently banal ramblings. But hey, why not share some of my knowledge for the big 100 spot?
Things I Have Learned
To comiserate my 100th blogging, I would like to thank all of you for your reading and support, when you gave it. It's both cool and weird to think that people are even moderately interested in what are, by own admission, intermittently banal ramblings. But hey, why not share some of my knowledge for the big 100 spot?
Things I Have Learned
- Never start blogging.
- If you do, unhinge your mind enough to realize that everyone, even people you like, may read something about themselves. You don't have to say everything that is on your fingers, but it makes it more entertaining.
- This is the most passive-aggressive, bullcrap way to resolve differences, other than ignoring the target of your anger after 3rd period French.
- Whatever you Are will be made clear in time. Facades never last, your true nature will come through. Maybe shinier, duller, angrier, or happier than you're pretending. So be yourself from the get-go, or keep up with your prescriptions.
- If you're wondering when to introduce fisting, it is NOT "3-Mississippi."
- I've had people come and go from my life, and I learned quite a few lessons about people. Refer to my point #4 above.
- If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, get a no-contact order.
- It takes a hell of a lot of strength to walk away from something, and about 100-times more strength to advance on it. Sometimes, walking away IS advancing. Think about it. Then write me and tell me what the hell that means.
- You can get a house with no money down! If you can, do that NOW before the rates go back up.
- Sometimes when you do the right thing, afterwards, you don't feel so great. I suggest being at peace with yourself and your decision, or upping your fiber intake.
- There's a good 25% of my comedy brain dedicated to high-brow dick&fart material. I pray that I never lose it.
- If you don't have anything nice to say, blog it.
- Having integrity, in the long run, is a great way to protect your reputation, and in some cases, your clean STD record.
- Life really ain't nothing but bitches and money.
- In a life where we all carry some baggage, beware of emotional pack-rats.
I suppose I could sit here all day and tell you about what I've learned this year, but that could go on for like 3-4 more points.
Dropping The Bomb
Perspective. Perception. Persimmon. Found of Def-Jam Records Russell Simmons. Richard Simmons. Richard Harris. Harrison Ford. Fart noise, and cue the laugh track.
Perspective and Perception, the Yin and Yang to my emotional Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker. Er... yeah, stick with me. Perspective, a point of view. Perception, your judgment of a point of view. Realism and Surrealism. I'm a realist to the core. I'd rather be told the straight dope from somebody, but f*ck if most people know the straight dope. They rarely give you a truly honest statement. It's going to be tainted by their own perception, and it skews both your and their perspectives.
For example, if you think that people are always looking out for you, you'll be appreciative of friends who pull you aside and say "Not to break up the ensemble, but your shirt doesn't match the booger hanging from your nose." Maybe they've tried to get your attention with a few mimed nose-clearing techniques from across the juice bar. Or maybe they just ran into you and they want to make sure you aren't going to be embarrassed meeting new people with a jumper on the ledge. You have the right to present your best self to the world, and your pal has helped you do just that. Blow your nose, then thank them.
Now flip the scenario, emotionally. Let's say your friend has a sensitive, if not properly calibrated, emotional Geiger counter. They think most things said to them are there to hurt their feelings, so they have a bit of a lead wall up between themselves and a world they see as radioactive. Telling them they may want to grab a tissue is seen as a personal attack, a flaw-finding mission, checking for boogers of mass embarrassment.
Trust issues, intimacy issues, growing a tail issues, the world is out to hurt them! First of all, you didn't do this to them. They were in a test range long before they flew onto your radar. Second, as much as you may like or even love them, it's going to be VERY hard for you to get through that wall of theirs. They may leave the door unlocked, but if you approach it they'll run to lean against it, thinking you are pulsing with radioactive nose-bats, and asking themselves over and over "Friend or Brain-loving Zombie?" It's best to let the half-life run its course and passively observe them through the viewing window. Especially with that thing in their nose.
SWEET
Mary Kay Letourneau is out of jail today! I'm way too old for her. She's a seriously messed up woman, there's something weird there. It's like some perverted "Highlander," traveling across the ages to carry the seed of a drug-using half-wit, Vili "Little Bunny" Fuulau, who's been fired from numerous Fast Food jobs. Who the F gets fired from fast food? You just don't show up, you don't hang in there and dare them to fire your visor-wearing retardedness. Even the kid with the extra chromosome can hold a job in fast food!
Experts worried that the encounter would cause a landslide of life problems for the young teacher-f*cker. He's also experimented with drugs & alcohol, fathered two daughters with Mary Kay, and spent time in a psychiatric treatment center. Remember, he's from Burien. They think you're gay if you don't have two kids by Senior Prom. He's normal, especially for a kid who's dad wasn't around and who's mom never disciplined him. Public education didn't fail him, birth control did.
I'm out. See you in Lake Stevens this Saturday
------------------------------------------------
Take Me Home
See My New Blog About My Dad (heads-up, it's not about comedy)
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Why I Can't Stand Boston Ron and No-Makeup Sandie
1) He whistles: Nothing in particular, just making noise to make noise.
2) He desk-drums with one hand and a writing implement: Nothing you would recognize, like "You Say It's Your Birthday" or the opening solo from "Hero" by the Foo Fighters. Noise for the sake of noise.
3) He speaks in hyperbolic analogies: In the past 3 weeks, he has equated negotiating software agreements with:
a) Bringing down the Berlin Wall
b) Fighting in the streets of Iraq
c) Removing cancerous growths from your heart
d) Buying Happy Meals
There is no correlation to which analogy is delivered to which person, so a guy from India could hear the Happy Meal spiel even though they don't eat beef. See, Boston Ron's a f*cking GENIUS, people. You are not on his wavelength. He's an Analogy Savant!
4) That motherf*cking WHISTLING
5) Speakerphone Usage: Leaving his door open, anywhere between 10 and 50 people could hear every word of his conversations. I've taken to sitting in his office while he's on the phone. Hell, I'm hearing it anyway, may as well get front row for the show.
6) His Open Door Policy: It's always open, even if he's talking to an impotant client or lambasting someone for using a more poignant analogy than his. People overcame the need for constantly open doorways by inventing the door. Quickly following the door? KNOCKING. Close it, leave it closed. Stew in your own gas. Shut up.
7) He is painfully short: The guy's 5'3", tops. He walks really fast because it makes his legs look longer. To me it looks like he's saying to himself "Too short to live, too fast to die" or "Short man, short pants." Over and over. He's a bulldog of a human, and by that I mean he resembles the move where a guy tucks his party bits back between his legs, and we're looking at it from behind. WHOA-HO HOOOOO Terrier Ron. Imagine Fred Flintstone and Cousin Eddie from "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" going double-team on Roseanne. The baby is in the office behind me.
Sandie:
1) This chick looks like Ron, but with breastfeeding-deflated cans and a penchant for pastel capris and floral shirts, just this side of Hawaiian-femme.
2) She has the most annoying laugh in the world. It makes Fran Drescher's sound like angels humming "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," to your mouth and suffocate you. And...
3) She thinks EVERYTHING is funny, which means she has a sense of humor perfect for being dense to the feelings of others. Oh she knows when to order a 6-foot sub and can really coordinate a potluck, which matters most to my checkbook, but gawd forbid she not quote Monty Python three times a day.
Sandie, Ron, we get it. You're both short. You're both not funny. You're both too loud. IN fact... I've never seen the two of you in the same room at the same time...
Laters, masturb@tors,
Geoff
Take Me Home
1) He whistles: Nothing in particular, just making noise to make noise.
2) He desk-drums with one hand and a writing implement: Nothing you would recognize, like "You Say It's Your Birthday" or the opening solo from "Hero" by the Foo Fighters. Noise for the sake of noise.
3) He speaks in hyperbolic analogies: In the past 3 weeks, he has equated negotiating software agreements with:
a) Bringing down the Berlin Wall
b) Fighting in the streets of Iraq
c) Removing cancerous growths from your heart
d) Buying Happy Meals
There is no correlation to which analogy is delivered to which person, so a guy from India could hear the Happy Meal spiel even though they don't eat beef. See, Boston Ron's a f*cking GENIUS, people. You are not on his wavelength. He's an Analogy Savant!
4) That motherf*cking WHISTLING
5) Speakerphone Usage: Leaving his door open, anywhere between 10 and 50 people could hear every word of his conversations. I've taken to sitting in his office while he's on the phone. Hell, I'm hearing it anyway, may as well get front row for the show.
6) His Open Door Policy: It's always open, even if he's talking to an impotant client or lambasting someone for using a more poignant analogy than his. People overcame the need for constantly open doorways by inventing the door. Quickly following the door? KNOCKING. Close it, leave it closed. Stew in your own gas. Shut up.
7) He is painfully short: The guy's 5'3", tops. He walks really fast because it makes his legs look longer. To me it looks like he's saying to himself "Too short to live, too fast to die" or "Short man, short pants." Over and over. He's a bulldog of a human, and by that I mean he resembles the move where a guy tucks his party bits back between his legs, and we're looking at it from behind. WHOA-HO HOOOOO Terrier Ron. Imagine Fred Flintstone and Cousin Eddie from "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" going double-team on Roseanne. The baby is in the office behind me.
Sandie:
1) This chick looks like Ron, but with breastfeeding-deflated cans and a penchant for pastel capris and floral shirts, just this side of Hawaiian-femme.
2) She has the most annoying laugh in the world. It makes Fran Drescher's sound like angels humming "I Wanna Hold Your Hand," to your mouth and suffocate you. And...
3) She thinks EVERYTHING is funny, which means she has a sense of humor perfect for being dense to the feelings of others. Oh she knows when to order a 6-foot sub and can really coordinate a potluck, which matters most to my checkbook, but gawd forbid she not quote Monty Python three times a day.
Sandie, Ron, we get it. You're both short. You're both not funny. You're both too loud. IN fact... I've never seen the two of you in the same room at the same time...
Laters, masturb@tors,
Geoff
Take Me Home
Monday, July 26, 2004
In Case Anyone Asks...
I first began performing stand-up because I thought I could do it. I saw the local scene, TV and the like, and figured I could make people laugh. Turns out I was right. I didn't get into it after seeing local shows and think "Yeah, that guy's funny. I want to be his friend. I bet he can get me gigs in Wenatchee for $75!!!"
I continue to perform because I like to do so, I like the challenge of writing something new and honing it to be a perfectly worded, totally unique statement of my idea of "funny." I like hearing people laugh at something I wrote. I like that there are people I know personally who are 100 times funnier than I am, yet they remain humble in their own existence. I like that a couple of times I have resolved differences with my peers face-to-face, like adults. That shows a respect for each other. And if there's someone I can't stand to be around and they're a pain in my ass, I let them know, and if they don't move, I do.
I'm not in this to rub shoulders with comedy-famous comedians. I could really give a crap what any other monologist thinks of me, but it's nice that they respect me. I'm not in this to be loved. There's a lot of superfluous bull that I wade through every time I'm in a club, like second-hand smoke - waving frantically just makes it swirl about and I look stupid. I can stay away from it, but if I want inside, it's gonna be there. I'm in this because I fell in love with it, and I want to make an ASSLOAD of money for me efforts. In the end, Funny Wins.
Punchline: I am in this for me, because of something inside that drives me to it. And there is not a club owner, a fire hazard, a headliner, a handicap, a hack, or a harlot that could keep me away from doing it. I'll find a place to do it, always, as long as I'm making people laugh more than not.
Take Me Home
I first began performing stand-up because I thought I could do it. I saw the local scene, TV and the like, and figured I could make people laugh. Turns out I was right. I didn't get into it after seeing local shows and think "Yeah, that guy's funny. I want to be his friend. I bet he can get me gigs in Wenatchee for $75!!!"
I continue to perform because I like to do so, I like the challenge of writing something new and honing it to be a perfectly worded, totally unique statement of my idea of "funny." I like hearing people laugh at something I wrote. I like that there are people I know personally who are 100 times funnier than I am, yet they remain humble in their own existence. I like that a couple of times I have resolved differences with my peers face-to-face, like adults. That shows a respect for each other. And if there's someone I can't stand to be around and they're a pain in my ass, I let them know, and if they don't move, I do.
I'm not in this to rub shoulders with comedy-famous comedians. I could really give a crap what any other monologist thinks of me, but it's nice that they respect me. I'm not in this to be loved. There's a lot of superfluous bull that I wade through every time I'm in a club, like second-hand smoke - waving frantically just makes it swirl about and I look stupid. I can stay away from it, but if I want inside, it's gonna be there. I'm in this because I fell in love with it, and I want to make an ASSLOAD of money for me efforts. In the end, Funny Wins.
Punchline: I am in this for me, because of something inside that drives me to it. And there is not a club owner, a fire hazard, a headliner, a handicap, a hack, or a harlot that could keep me away from doing it. I'll find a place to do it, always, as long as I'm making people laugh more than not.
Take Me Home
Friday, July 23, 2004
Totally Grossed Out
Neighbor lady at work is eating yogurt. I know she is because she's been scraping the sides of the cup for a good 10 minutes, and I swear I can hear every molecule of spittle in her mouth tear apart, strand from strand as she opens her mouth the glu-glu-glorp down another plastic spoonful of what is probably some really cheap, disgusting pool of acidophilus and live cultures. Maybe her yeast is up. Yogurt can help balance a woman's body, as woman's bodies are delicately balanced organisms designed for life-giving, nurturing, and not being funny.
I know we all gotta shove food into the old snack hole and I don't know many people who look really attractive doing it. But sitting here listening to the feeding of a snackpack-focused, cardigan-loving, earth momma with a penchant for arm-waxing and talking to bark, damned, it's all I could do to not force myself upon a baby seal on her desk just to hear something other than the slap, smack, smap of the inside of her chomp bucket. That's why horses wear feedbags, because they have long faces and can't use a spoon for snackpacking.
--------------
Dude, Where's My Career?
I think it's a good thing that I'm single right now. I have a lot of things going on, from my job to the new show to a diabolical plan at work to gas my cube neighbors out. I've developed a keen knack for being able to do 4 hours of work in just under 1 week. Do you understand what kind of commitment it takes to "playing the part" of a Go Team Go!'er while being emotionally detached from all around you? Of course you do! You watch TV. It's like that. I set the mental VCR and have therefore lost any and all intent to stay up with the current events of a floundering company. Actually, here's what we're doing in the next month:
July 30: SHORTS DAY! That's right, we can all wear shorts to work on the hot day, if we want to. This totally underlies the fact that 50% of the people here wear shorts all of the time, and those shorts aren't up to dress code. Yesterday some pile was wearing basketball shorts and a tank top at his desk, and no, he ain't no baller. Last month "Wacky Hat" day took the place of shorts Day. Next month it's "Favorite Team Jersey" day, then FINALLY we have Tolo.
Aug 6: Employee Appreciation Day! There's going to be a giant BBQ over in Redmond to celebrate and thank all employees of Schmireless for all the hard work they've put in while the Officers of the company flew it into the side of a mountain. That's okay, because the magical country of "Offshore" has supplied us with a rescue team to manage all systems that we "Onshore" people could manage , were it not for our childish needs of sleep, food, and regular bathing. They don't sustain on things like that in Offshore, and they'll work for metaphorical chickpeas (which is what's been in my 401K the past 6 weeks) so the tradeoff seems good. Offshore, by the way, is a nation full of people who observe a deep reverence for the Cow, seeing it as sacred, while our event planners see it as perfectly delicious to serve to them at the BBQ. DO YOU. UNDERSTAND. WHAT IT MEANS. TO WORK HERE? If they were to eat their god, can you imagine how powerful they may become? You thought Curry had overwhelming power. In the meantime: Surrounded by the blind leading the oblivious.
==================
I'm out.
Thanks for reading my schit.
Take Me Home
Neighbor lady at work is eating yogurt. I know she is because she's been scraping the sides of the cup for a good 10 minutes, and I swear I can hear every molecule of spittle in her mouth tear apart, strand from strand as she opens her mouth the glu-glu-glorp down another plastic spoonful of what is probably some really cheap, disgusting pool of acidophilus and live cultures. Maybe her yeast is up. Yogurt can help balance a woman's body, as woman's bodies are delicately balanced organisms designed for life-giving, nurturing, and not being funny.
I know we all gotta shove food into the old snack hole and I don't know many people who look really attractive doing it. But sitting here listening to the feeding of a snackpack-focused, cardigan-loving, earth momma with a penchant for arm-waxing and talking to bark, damned, it's all I could do to not force myself upon a baby seal on her desk just to hear something other than the slap, smack, smap of the inside of her chomp bucket. That's why horses wear feedbags, because they have long faces and can't use a spoon for snackpacking.
--------------
Dude, Where's My Career?
I think it's a good thing that I'm single right now. I have a lot of things going on, from my job to the new show to a diabolical plan at work to gas my cube neighbors out. I've developed a keen knack for being able to do 4 hours of work in just under 1 week. Do you understand what kind of commitment it takes to "playing the part" of a Go Team Go!'er while being emotionally detached from all around you? Of course you do! You watch TV. It's like that. I set the mental VCR and have therefore lost any and all intent to stay up with the current events of a floundering company. Actually, here's what we're doing in the next month:
July 30: SHORTS DAY! That's right, we can all wear shorts to work on the hot day, if we want to. This totally underlies the fact that 50% of the people here wear shorts all of the time, and those shorts aren't up to dress code. Yesterday some pile was wearing basketball shorts and a tank top at his desk, and no, he ain't no baller. Last month "Wacky Hat" day took the place of shorts Day. Next month it's "Favorite Team Jersey" day, then FINALLY we have Tolo.
Aug 6: Employee Appreciation Day! There's going to be a giant BBQ over in Redmond to celebrate and thank all employees of Schmireless for all the hard work they've put in while the Officers of the company flew it into the side of a mountain. That's okay, because the magical country of "Offshore" has supplied us with a rescue team to manage all systems that we "Onshore" people could manage , were it not for our childish needs of sleep, food, and regular bathing. They don't sustain on things like that in Offshore, and they'll work for metaphorical chickpeas (which is what's been in my 401K the past 6 weeks) so the tradeoff seems good. Offshore, by the way, is a nation full of people who observe a deep reverence for the Cow, seeing it as sacred, while our event planners see it as perfectly delicious to serve to them at the BBQ. DO YOU. UNDERSTAND. WHAT IT MEANS. TO WORK HERE? If they were to eat their god, can you imagine how powerful they may become? You thought Curry had overwhelming power. In the meantime: Surrounded by the blind leading the oblivious.
==================
I'm out.
Thanks for reading my schit.
Take Me Home
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
What a Week
Last week I lost my cell phone and my girlfriend and I broke up. Work sucked. But comedy RULED. What do I have?
I have a job, comedy, and just got my cell phone replaced. I sat down and recounted my last relationship and found a lot of things I could've/should've done differently. But there were two people involved, so I think that even if I had done those things differently I would only have felt a wee bit better after our break-up. This is not high school nor early 20's. I'm a grown man with skills and a fair degree of self-enlightenment.
In other words, I'm beyond stalking or harrassing her. For crying out loud, she lives 75 miles away. I ain't burnin' no gas without a little some'in'-some'in' waitin' fo' me.
And if you want some real honesty, keep readin' this blog. Brutality awaits.
Take Me Home
Last week I lost my cell phone and my girlfriend and I broke up. Work sucked. But comedy RULED. What do I have?
I have a job, comedy, and just got my cell phone replaced. I sat down and recounted my last relationship and found a lot of things I could've/should've done differently. But there were two people involved, so I think that even if I had done those things differently I would only have felt a wee bit better after our break-up. This is not high school nor early 20's. I'm a grown man with skills and a fair degree of self-enlightenment.
In other words, I'm beyond stalking or harrassing her. For crying out loud, she lives 75 miles away. I ain't burnin' no gas without a little some'in'-some'in' waitin' fo' me.
And if you want some real honesty, keep readin' this blog. Brutality awaits.
Take Me Home
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