This is a complete non sequitur, but I saw an episode of "Veronica's Closet" last night when I wasn't sleeping. Due to her participation in that crapfest, I have 100% certainty that Kirstie Alley is, in fact, pure evil. On an unrelated note, I'm pretty sure that during the closing credits she could be seen eating the carcass of a bison.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Holy shit, I'll take "People Running on Two Hours of Sleep" for $1000, Alex.
The answer is: "This aspiring comedian had a stellar night at Charlie Goodnight's, where the audience was comprised of about thirty 12-17 year olds from the NC State Engineering Camp, providing the perfect audience for both Michael Jackson and Mary Kay LeTourneau. Upon seeing the crowd, the house emcee decided to pass the MC mantle onto her since he wasn't ready to use the phrase 'all-anal Asian teen sluts' in front of middle schoolers. So, she had to scrap her entire set list because she didn't want to talk about adult toys in front of them either. Despite the odds and much like Rudy, she inexplicably had a great set and could have scored a prom date if she'd pressed the issue. Then she decided that it would be a great idea to hang out at the club, both in the bar and in the parking lot, until there were only four people left, one of which may have recently been incarcerated. OK, he was riding through the parking lot on a ten-speed, because she has encountered more sketchy people on bikes than the cast of Easy Rider. Finally, she scored another free White Lion energy beverage from the most wonderful bartender ever which was consumed feverishly somewhere around Burlington, which left her wired until around 3 a.m."
Um...Who is Paula Poundstone?
I can't wait until someone searches for "all anal Asian teen sluts" and ends up here. My sides!
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
One of life's little truths: the sketchier the neighborhood, the greater the chance your car will immediately run out of gas. Last night, I was alone on the street except for a man riding a girl's bicycle (complete with streamers coming out of the handlebars) on the center line, carrying a pomeranian and an empty Wal-Mart bag and wearing a poncho despite the fact that it wasn't raining. I swear, he siphoned 4 gallons out of my tank using nothing but his eyes. I had to stop at an Exxon which appeared to be the setting for HBO's "Carnivale" and thoroughly enjoyed crouching behind my car door willing the pump to go faster as the Tour de Freakshow weaved through the parking lot, humming what sounded like the disco song "Knock on Wood". Good times. The insanity level only could have been raised had the guy stopped singing long enough to discuss Scientology.
Why does a religion with "science" in the name reject everything scientific? Please discuss.
Finally, in reference to the queries about my kitten-hatred, I offer only this: No, I have never been molested by a kitten, although "Show me on the doll where the kitten touched you" could be one of the best phrases ever. A kitten did not kill a member of my family. A drunk driving kitten did not crash into my car. Kittens never stole my family fortune. A kitten did not blackmail me into throwing a World Series. But I did once see a kitten eat the entire head of television and Broadway star Sandy Duncan.
Anyone watch the NBA draft last night? Anyone? Bueller? Wake Forest's own Chris Paul was drafted 4th, following the Sportscenter "All Access" segment about him in which he showcased his brand new BMW 755i that has "CP3" embroidered on the seats. At this point, I think "CP" now stands for "Crotch Punch". Actually, things have worked out pretty well for him. He's gotten some endorsement dollars from Almond Joy. You know, because sometimes you feel like a nut. I think I would have shat if any of the talking heads had used the term "ball-handling skills" during the CPunch3 segments.
I took Shavlik Randolph first in my mock-draft.
Just kidding. Seriously, I think GM's would've fielded a team of thalidomide kids with flippers for hands before selecting that guy.
OK, back to work and by "work" I mean putting together my set for tonight. $2 at Goodnight's! Oh yeah, I'll probably walk past Poison Ivy's desk and start scratching my arms. It drives him insane.
I also keep playing the song "Poison Ivy" by the Coasters (aw yeah, I clean up during Trivial Pursuit: The Baby Boomer Edition. That's what happens when you date men who were born 5 U.S. Presidents before you) I heart my iPod.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
The latest from the Kitten Chronicles...
Spring yields a bumper crop of kittens, thriving beneath the benevolent sun. They turn their heads to absorb the warm rays. Just a few more days before they are ready to harvest.
Unfortunately, Mitchell the developmentally disabled farmhand didn't know the location of the kitten garden and haphazardly ran his thresher across them.
The sun laughed silently. Everyone hates kittens.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Yeah another damn theme song. Sorry, I'm all out of "clever" this morning. Speaking of Full House, I forgot this gem. If I had noticed this resemblance first, I swear I would have put it on my resume. Free popcorn to whomever created it.
P.S. I'm not sure if it's Mary-Kate or Ashley, but at this point, does it really matter? What's the difference? They both weigh less than my ribcage.
God bless you if you recognize the title of that post as a snippet from the theme song of "Perfect Strangers."
I'm holding out for Balki on the big screen...why can't they turn that into a movie? DO YOU HEAR ME, MARK LINN-BAKER? CALL YOUR DAMN AGENT! I mean, every other TV show seems to be on its way to your local multiplex. I refuse to see any of them until I hear that at least one of the following have started production:
Just the Ten of Us
The Golden Girls
And I'm only seeing Mr. Belvedere if they promise to exhume, stuff, and dress up the corpse of Christopher What's-His-Name to reprise his role. Nobody could yell at Wesley like he could. And you know Bob Uecker is available, unless he's dead too.
My former roommate and I had a Golden Girls drinking game, employed during the back-to-back episodes that have aired as part of Lifetime's primetime lineup since 1993. Participants are required to drink for each of the following:
Every time Rose mentions St. Olaf
Every time Dorothy says something sarcastic
Every time Blanche says something sexual
Every time Sophia mentions Sicily and as a BONUS, you drink twice if Sophia calls Dorothy "Pussycat."
I recommend having the paramedics on standby because you know that tramp Blanche will hurt you, after a heartfelt monologue about deflowering a young man named Beauregard beneath a maple tree on Daddy's sugar cane plantation. She may also use the phrase "pulsating man root".
Also beware any episode featuring Dorothy's estranged husband. Off the charts with the sarcasm, off the sofa with your drunken self.
Maybe I'm sharing too much.
Word of the day: slank: noun- a female who outwardly displays the qualities in manner and dress of both a skank and a slut, including but not limited to women over 40 who wear those shorts with names on the butt, as if they're proud to announce that they are continuing education students at Salem College, and you know damn well they've got the waistband rolled down so we can get the full view of their spindly ass and twice-divorced thighs; women with gigantic, misshapen breast implants (perhaps received as part of the divorce settlement or purchased with alimony checks)that give the impression that they have smuggled water balloons out of a child's birthday party; women over 40 who use Halloween as an excuse to wear their daughter's cheerleading uniform or dance recital costume to parties; women who hit on my boyfriend in front of me while displaying the qualities above; synonym: "sklut"
Thursday, June 23, 2005
OK, my profile picture makes me look like I have a wicked chromosomal abnormality. Perhaps I'll post it in a non-pixellated state that won't scare children or small dogs.
Fun Fact: While it looks like it's all professional, taken in some highly staged location, it's actually in the Borders parking lot. This is why I'll be having my next set of headshots taken at Wal-Mart. Not in the photo studio...just in the store.
In my profile, I listed "SnowDogs" as my favorite film. I think it has been the inflight movie on every flight I've taken in the past six months, you know, because having 4 inches of leg room and a seat belt that appears to have been sharpened on the edges don't make air travel unpleasant enough. Anyway, other Bloggers who also love this film include three dogs who maintain their own pages and a woman from Alaska who enjoys "books about Alaska", "films about Alaska", "living in Alaska", and "Alaskan cuisine". I wonder if she has that recipe for Harp Seal Delight?
Oh you know that a crowd is ready for the comedy when the majority of them are sitting at tables reserved for The Roman Catholic Diocese of North Carolina. That's right, baby. Church groups love Uncle Charlie's...
It wasn't a bad night...just a quiet one. It didn't help that there were some, uh, interesting open mic'ers that went up early. Comedy isn't telling stories. Especially long ones involving a trip to Scotland and referring frequently to your flatulent elderly mother.
I actually think my weekend sets were just so mind-blowingly hot(t) that anything less than that would've been a disappointment. Well, unless the Catholics passed the collection basket to me. Oh, and gave me my very own stash of wafers. Maybe I should have told them that I would tithe 10% of my laughs to the Lord.
One of my setups referred to my high school class reunion--which of course didn't happen--because comedy is all lies. Hear that Mom? ALL LIES, especially when referring to sex, alcohol, and my questionable morals. Anyway, I say something about this reunion and someone shouts out "WHAT YEAR?" The hell, are you from Classmates.com? What do you say to that? Other than, "Hey, thanks for drowning out my setup so that this punchline is going to hang in the air like the tainted cloud that follows a Qdoba dinner. Or that woman's stinky mother"
I also name-dropped a popular hotel chain and another woman yelled like I'd just healed her crippled child. Apparently, if you're La Quinta's Employee of the Month, you get a free pass to Goodnight's.
Thank God I did get some tips from the Bedazzled Wolf on how to be more whimsical. And more free White Lion energy drink. Looking at that shit in a bottle, you realize why Red Bull comes in an opaque can. It looks like two servings of Crystal Light Rehydrated Urine.
So now I'm at work, scanning approximately 93 images of cabinet hinges. I'm living the dream.
Runtie's comment of the night: "I love Mexicans. They always cheer for me when I'm running."
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
So they found that Boy Scout who disappeared in the woods in Utah. Is it just me, or is he the worst advertisement for Boy Scouts ever? They don't have some kind of mandatory "Compass Reading" badge or a "Don't Wander in the Woods Alone" patch? He didn't have food, didn't have water--you aren't prepared for shit, Josh. You'd think he could've made a trail out of that popcorn the Scouts are always selling.
He apparently hid from the search party two days ago; he thought if he talked to them he'd get in trouble. Don't talk to adults or you'll be punished? Is he a member of Troop Neverland Ranch?
Seriously, the more religious shit a person has on their car, the bigger an asshole they will be when they get behind the wheel.
One Jesus fish means they will never let you into traffic and will speed up to prevent you from changing lanes. When they flip you off, they'll claim to be pointing toward the Almighty, like every rapper at the Grammys.
Two Jesuses (Jesii?) means that they will slam on their brakes if they sense that you are following too closely in an effort to ensure that you will ram into their bumper. If confronted, they will claim that the dark angels must have moved from your soul into your field of vision.
An entire school of Jesus fish will result in your decapitated corpse being dragged the length of two football fields following the fiery crash that occurred when their unmanned Pontiac Rapture ran a red light and mowed you down while you just happened to be listening to Black Sabbath.
Trust me on this.
I live in North Carolina, right in the middle of the Bible Belt. My neighborhood is basically God's wallet chain. One BBQ place I frequent has a gigantic mural of Jesus holding out his bloody palms to a small CindyLou Who-looking girl who's asking, "Jesus, what happened to your hands?" Unless he burned them on the grill, that creeps me out.
"I'd like to make a reservation, please. Party of two for the Non-Stigmata section."
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
I just heard an ad on the radio about second-hand smoke and how horrid it is for you. The tag line was "Second hand smoke. It's no joke." Great, now I have to rewrite my entire set for tomorrow since it was going to go something like:
I just flew in from Pittsburgh and SECOND-HAND SMOKE!
No, but seriously, I'm never getting married because SECOND-HAND SMOKE!
Have you ever had a friend who was like, "SECOND-HAND SMOKE!"
You guys have been great, that's my time.
Toby Keith is now on, singing a song called "I'll Never Smoke Weed with Willie Again". I'm looking forward to the follow-up "I'll Never Write Anymore Jingoistic, Blindly Patriotic Shit With Catch Phrases About How America Kicks Ass While Wearing Boots"
Monday, June 20, 2005
Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing" just came on the radio, which is totally creepy to hear when you're alone in the office. Especially if you're naked. I'm just saying...
I had a great weekend, which I know both of you readers (you're included, 2Pac) were concerned about. I got to do a guest set for Tammy Pescatelli, who was incredibly funny and very cool. Did the set for the 2nd show Saturday and she invited me back for Sunday. The crowds were awesome (read: they laughed at me). They even liked me after my diabetic/amputation joke, which is always the litmus test. I'm still the least edgy comic ever. Other guys are talking about weed, blow, smack...I'm backstage like, "Hey, anybody know where I can score some Allegra? I've got some wicked hay fever."
Tammy and her feature act, Sean Gnandt--also hilarious--were both very encouraging and supportive, which is cool. Not that I'd expect people to be like, "Um, you know, maybe you should just take that cashier position at Wet Seal and hope you'll make manager one day" but it's great to hear that they think I have potential. It's also nice to hear that word without the term "wasted" in front of it.
Not to dwell on it, but last night may have been my best set of all time. And I got free espresso and a generic Red Bull (I think it's called White Lion...not just a hair band anymore. Slogan: "When the Children Cry, we give them some of this shit." Either that or "Wait...there's two servings in this bottle". White Lion fans are roaring at that. Ha! I kill me!)
Other things discussed backstage were migraines, hummus, and the ability of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to make people ignore their sexual orientation because they're so damn beautiful. Although I do occasionally hear Angelina complain that photographers don't leave her son alone...maybe if she stopped shaving his hair into a mohawk, he wouldn't be so easily spotted. Again, I'm just saying.
Holy shit, I came back from lunch and the EZ listening station is playing at such an insane level, I am seriously considering pushing a pen into my ear canal way past the point where I start to feel resistance. I'm downright hostile, especially after the "rock block" of Clay Aiken, Boyz II Men, Wilson Phillips, and Elton John (post rehab Elton, when he got all sober and serious) .
I can't wait until my coworker goes to the restroom because I am going to beat the stereo using nothing but framed pictures of his family and other personal effects from his desk.
My God, Steve Winwood. The only Steve Winwood song I like is the one that 2Pac remixed. Pac, I know you're reading this blog and probably maintaining one of your own from an Extended Stay America somewhere in South Dakota... please, for the love of God, come back and maybe inject some flava into Clay Aiken.
Um...I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Clay, if you're reading this, please buckle your pants, that was not an offer for some hot West Coast lovin'.
I actually like Clay Aiken. He and I have the same haircut. And the same bra size.
I just saw a coupon for a jar of peanut butter that has the jelly already mixed in. If we're to the point that it's too taxing for us to open too separate jars, if we're winded by having to lift the knife not once but twice! before we spread it on the bread, then I'm thinking that perhaps our limited energy stores are better spent by picking up that jar of JIF and slamming it violently on the crowns of our heads.