Wednesday, December 28, 2011

This is getting old

If I could time travel I’d totally go back in time and see Back to the Future in the theater again just to be ironic.

I’ve been looking for the black setting on my coffee maker for years. I want to turn it off.

Little known fact: you can explore other dimensions using fabric softener.

I’ve got nothing to prove – yes, my teleportation machine only teleports me to where I started from.

Am I the only adult that runs and hides when people come to the door like kids do?

As much as I love my wife I wish she were around more. Also, that whole thing about being real would be good too.

The best way to get out of jury duty without saying something mean is stating I hate the Chinese. Then when the lawyer guy is walking away from you, pull out an egg roll and say …food and give the rest of the jurors a thumbs down.

I think it’s crazy that we live in an age where people use computers to communicate. Why did we give up on the shout? We never really explored it in my opinion. Maybe I’ll work on this. I don’t know. I’ve got a big weekend, though.

Do you ever do things and think “Man, think about what I would think of this when I was 12.” Like you get a bunch of booze and pizzas and fireworks and think about how lucky you are that you can buy that stuff because you’re an adult? I do that every day just to let the point really hit home.

I guess the most unpopular firework is the match.

This petitioner guy asked me to sign something the other day. I’m not sure what it was for, but I signed it anyway. Have to keep those jobs.

Try this: answer your phone and chewing on the receiver and hang up. Nine out of ten times they won’t call back.

When I was a kid I told my Dad I wanted to be an astronaut, so he showed me that movie Alien. He didn’t have astronaut school money.

The best thing to do on New Years day is to promise yourself you’ll get fatter. That way no one can say “You’ll never do it.” Because you can look them in the eye and say “Oh, yeah?” as you eat them.

Any time I take my niece or nephew out for lunch I will say “This is getting old” when I pay the bill.

It's For Me

A good one is about the man who put time in a bottle and then, later, wanted to open it, but the lid was on way tight, so it took an hour to get the lid off and that’s all the time that was in there. That would be a good one.

Sometimes, while eating sunflower seeds, I will look at one and think about what could have been.

Other times, I’ll drive around roundabouts over and over again just to have the right of way all day long.

I had a buddy who visited his parents and his mom told him to go out and look at his dad’s new license plate and tell her what it said. He walks out and sees the plate “JAGADIC” and comes back in and says “Jagged dick?”
“No, it’s Jag addict!” His father yelled. He had put it on as a homage to the show JAG.
Later, his father went out and bought a license plate holder that said “Fan of the TV series JAG.”
This is all true. This isn’t the jokey stuff.

I was watching Godfather 2 the other night and I had some questions – the way Tom acts in the end makes me think he set the whole thing up and why did Roth have tax trouble all of a sudden? And did they set up Senator Geary in that hotel room? And did they purposely just almost kill Pantangelene? Also, what was with that guy in the bear suit who kept showing up and playing the banjo behind Michael?

I’m single and I got one of those Keurigs – the single cup brewer – and I have to say it may be the most depressing things I own.

A funny thing to do is to open a champagne bottle at the exact same time you throw a handful of cooked Top Ramen at the back of someone’s head while yelling “He’s got a gun!”

Sometimes I’ll shoplift at my Mom’s.

Do my feet look fat in this?

This one time I thought it would be funny to bring a buttload of Taco Bell burritos to a formal party as an appetizer. So, I go and order twenty of them and the guy there asks me three times if he heard me correctly and kinda looked at me forlornly. I told him “I’m positive. 20.” So, he told me that it would take awhile and that I needed to park my car. So, I park and I’m laughing out loud in my car about how hysterical I am and the guy comes up with this shopping bag full of food and he kinda looks me up and down and says “I really shouldn’t be doing this. You need help.” I thanked him and drove to the nearest dumpster and hucked them and started a diet the next day.
That one really backfired.

A lot of times I’ll answer my cell phone at work and exclaim “It’s for me.”

Monday, December 19, 2011

A Love Letter to Kim Jong Il

Kim Jong Il is Dead

We hardly knew you.

Hell, we didn’t know you at all. You were locked away in a fortress like some backwoods villain from olden days, lobbing medium range missiles over the Pacific like a wizard from Lord of the Rings.

And I, for one, will miss you.

Well, maybe not me, the United States government will.

Take note: we are running out of bad guys. Without our Saddams, Bin Ladens, and Ghaddafis where will the new benchmarks for Western evil hide?

As Obama reminds us that American citizenry can be locked up for no other reason than having three fingers, he is going to need some more puppets.

Kids get bored, and when you’re out of make-em-ups to play war with you will turn on your family and go for the throat.

This election year you will have the chilling choice between what Obama promised not to be and what Gingrich or Romney really are.

And that’s just plain mean.

Hell, give us a show like before – your Clintons or Reagans. Make us want to vote, otherwise, we will get bored and turn on you. Occupy the White House. That sort of thing – you know, hideous costumes and cheap weapons.

But we miss you, Kim.

Will your son be able to blackmail foreign nations and deliver the lowest economy of living to your masses? You know, that kind of evil professor stuff that only floats a plot in Schwarzenegger movies? If not, you need to take note – we will come down on you.

Our only hope is that Iran turns out to be the arch nemesis that only exists at the end of Nintendo games. Otherwise, we have a serious revolution problem on our hands and there’s some big time money dealers at GE and Goldman Sachs that will have to burrow back into their holes until cheap thrills buy off a world again.

But still, there’s a real lack of Bugs Bunny to Iran – and I can’t even spell the guy’s name without Googling. That makes for bad casting. Whatever nukes they’re making or not making they better be able to really kill good.

Really Kill Good is the best way to sell it, by the way. And, yes, I bought the domain name.

Well, here’s to you, Kim Jong (license to get) Il!

Over and out.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

It's Clearing Up Outside!

It’s clearing up outside. That means only one thing – more rain.
My favorite thing about Washington is that no matter how happy someone is, you can remind them that it’s raining.
It’s not that I like to make people feel bad…I can’t finish that sentence.
But I can tell you this – I’m not going to sugar coat life for you. If you’re reading this, that means you are as bored as I am and it’s probably raining.
And you probably just made some bad decisions.
Bad decisions will ruin you, mark my words.
But good decisions can be just as bad.
Like the other day, when I decided not to honk my horn loudly at those geese – good decision.
However, when I got back to my once black, now white car I realized my best intentions only destroyed me.
So, you’re damned if you do good and you’re damned if you don’t.
Go with not doing good. Doing good will ruin you and your fellow man.
Honk at those geese.
They have it coming.
Imagine how cool the world would be if good people started being bad. They’d get away with everything – and that’s progress, folks.
Imagine if Mother Theresa all of a sudden started pocketing donations – she’d be rich. No one would question her. EDIT: she's dead.
That’s what IT nerds would call being “nimble”.
While we’re on the subject, if you hear anyone use the word “nimble” you can rest assure that they will really fuck up this world.
Yes, the braindead, those that clutch to buzz words and use them like condoms, are easy to spy and they will ruin life for you.
That’s who you should be looking out for – not the Evil Mother Theresas, but the braindead.
That’s why drunk driving is so illegal – you have a braindead person behind the wheel of a good tonnage of driving force metal. Like Lars Ulrich.
The meek will inherit the Earth, but it won’t be some clever plan – it will be pure stupidity.
No one will ever decide to start a nuclear war, but someone will decide to pretend to switch the key as a goof at an Oval Office Christmas party.
And Christmas is upon us. In all its glory.
In all it’s you’re gonna get fat and no one is going to like your gifts glory.
It’s a family tradition. Not mine, but yours. You look like the type.
Some people choose to give to charity around the holidays and that’s just selfish. You can give a man a fish or you can teach him to fuck off.
That’s what I say.
The homeless are a rumor. Like dinosaurs and honey bees. They don’t exist.
Sure, there are people who beg for money – but they like to beg for money. They are good at it. Like that guy…you know, that guy with no legs in front of Albertsons who is starving to death?
I think his name is Roger.
Anyway, my point was it’s not raining right now.
Enjoy it.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Another Thanksgiving Special!

Did you know that the gravy boat you use on Thanksgiving is a symbol of the boats used by the early English to travel to America and ladle freedom on the indigenous people they found there? The turkey represents the cheapest bird we could get to represent an eagle and the mixed nuts you have out represent the insanity brought on by syphilis the settlers brought over. Thanksgiving is one of those mixed bag holidays.

One of my fondest memories is when my Mom burned a turkey and then crawled under the sink and rocked back and forth muttering "It doesn't matter…it doesn't matter".

Another memory is when there was this thirty minute silence at the table as everyone in my family struggled to form conversation. Eventually the turkey stood up and announced he was gay. At least that's how I remember it.

When times were tough, my Mom would sometimes combine Thanksgiving and Easter into one holiday and hide turkeys throughout the house. I remember Thankster '84 when I bagged nine of them. It is REALLY hard shooting turkeys in a house.

The real magic of Thanksgiving comes when you have visited nine parents related and separated through divorce after divorce and you realize being single isn't the worst thing you could do to the world.

The Macy's Thanksgiving Parade is a must for any true American. This year it's being occupied by those Occupy guys. I don't really know what they want, but I bet they have some really cheap balloons that are easy to make fun of.

I'm not a big football fan, but the gambler in me always applauds the coming of a full day of football related gambling. A good rule of thumb is to bet with children. They don't have a lot of money, but there's usually assloads of them at Thanksgiving and they don't know jack about football.

In our family, we call that Cornucopia thingy a "fruit womb".

In this age of technology it's quite acceptable to Facebook your Thanksgiving so that others don't have to drive to your home in Milton. "Pass the salad" I would Facebook and then secretly devour a plate of nachos from Issaquah.

You can Skype Thanksgiving too. It's always hilarious to watch your father lose his mind after finding out your sister is pregnant out of wedlock and his screams of rage are chopped up by the satellite delay. "You" – "really" – "fucked up this" --------------"time" (table is thrown in slow mo).

Travelling during the holidays can be stressful. I hope that helps.

Pointing a wing at me and telling me I owe you money is the best way to be sure I'm not going to pay you for that cocaine, Grandma.

It's important to remember the poor and homeless on Thanksgiving. And the troops. And the astronauts. Don't forget the good people at the grocery store that have to work until five and then drive home in what is a virtual octagon of converging paths of drunken drivers. Oh, and the children…OF THE CORN!

A fun game is to cut people off at the table mid sentence by yelling "I forgot what I was going to say!"

Mashed potatoes are just plain stupid. Is there something too showy about French Fries? Why can't we at least have both? Thanksgiving should be about options. Like how freedom is about having options. French Fries and Freedom – that's how America rolls.

When you get down to it, Thanksgiving is just the practice run for Christmas. Have you noticed how Thanksgiving is always completely fucked up and then Christmas comes and everyone has their act together? It's the truth. You get a dress rehearsal and then a month later it's the real deal. And this time Christ is watching, folks.

Ways I've hid food as a child: in glass of milk, stuck under table, thrown across room when no one is watching…

This one Thanksgiving I was so sick of my family I walked up to 7-11 and played Ninja Gaiden for three hours. When I returned no one had noticed I had left and they were still yelling at me.

Getting that day off is cool. It's like three days, then you go and party Wednesday night, end up hungover on Thursday and then go back to work on Friday and then get REALLY drunk Friday night and then you try to find a way to summon the courage to fill out an FMLA form to sleep off that really bad hangover. Then you get fired. Then you ask everyone for money for Christmas, but let's face it, 400 dollars isn't going to pay your gambling debts. Then you move in with your parents and it's like Thanksgiving every day. Then you walk up to 7-11 and play Ninja Gaiden until someone offers you that job banging models for a living.

Dieting can be difficult around Thanksgiving. I suggest bringing your own food to your destination. A good sack of celery and carrots can be a lifeline for the serious dieter. If you have trouble overcoming the urge to sink your teeth into the holiday bird, just remember it's a mechanically disemboweled hunk of premature rotting material that represents the brutal slaughter of Native Americans.

What's the saddest thing about Thanksgiving is throwing away all the food. I remember my Dad would drive us to a homeless shelter and burn all the food in front of the starving homeless people and watch their reaction. Then he'd turn to us and say "That's why they starve – they are too angry to enjoy freedom." My Dad was funny like that.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Let's Just Get This Over With

Sometimes I'll close my eyes and then open them and pretend that I just awoke in my body for the first time. Like I was someone else before and now I'm in this body for a new mission.
And every single time the first thought is "I'M NOT PREPARED FOR THIS!"

I went over to my Mom's the other day and saw a squirrel in the backyard and said to my Mom, "Hey, a squirrel!"
She responded "I hate them."
I asked "How the hell can you hate a squirrel?"
Then she rolled up a sleeve and showed me a serial number tattooed to her arm.

My mother is a great cook and this was always lost on me as I have bad taste in food. I still remember being super happy to miss out on my Mom's brisket by going over to my buddy's house for Macaroni and Cheese out of the box.
The point here is that my buddy was poor.
And yet I enjoyed it much more than the expensive food my Mom would make. Which leads me to believe that the poor secretly have it good.
Think of all the expensive stuff you have in your house. Really think hard. How much of it, if it were gone, would make your life easier?
Imagine not having to worry about what's on television – you have no television. That goes for internet and movies too.
Or trying to figure out what's for dinner – it's always Ramen noodles and Cragmont from 1982 that you bought in gross at a flea market.
The poor have it good – make no mistake.

A cool video game would be a first person shooter type game, but you're a bartender. You make drinks for all these people, but you have to keep track of who you are serving because you lose if someone gets in a fight, gets a DUI, or rapes someone.
I'd call it Your Watch.

Every year there's about nine storms they call the Storm of the Century. They need to raise that bar or people will no longer take that title seriously. Like "Hey, here's a pretty good storm".

Here's a cool tip I learned – always ask "What?" when people say something to you. That way you get another chance to think about what they said.
Most people don't know this, but the deaf are just really, really slow.

I'd like to apologize to any deaf people out there. It was just a joke. Not even a good one. Not nearly as good as that one about the deaf pony and the jackass.
But I'm not going to tell that one. I'm not an animal racist.

Racism is the worst thing about America. Like the other day I was walking home from the store and this guy comes up to me panting. He looks me in the eye and then points straight ahead.
"Fuck" I thought. "Now I have to race this guy".

I always thought it was funny to run ahead of people jogging, then turn and pretend to be training them like on Rocky.
"Keep your head up!" I'd yell. Or "Let me see you jab!"
I stopped doing it when I realized I was getting exercise on accident.
"Christ, I lost fifty pounds."
I don't like that kind of thing – on accident. I want everything in my life to be on purpose. Like that shitty book The Purpose Driven Life. Except I do really dumb things on purpose.
Like if I'm in the bathroom I'll scrawl numbers on the wall of pizza joints under a banner saying "For a Good Time Call" then I'll call them so everyone can hear me lose it on the phone when I realize it's a pizza joint and not a hooker.

For the longest time I thought the Secretary of the State was the woman at the White House who was in charge of throwing parties, announcing birthdays, and administrating the lost and found.

When did kids become cancer? I was at a buddy's house and my other buddy was late and I said something like "KEITH is always late." And my buddy, let's call him Brian, goes "He has kids."
Like I just made fun of a cancer patient or something.
Look, you made a choice – you chose kids. That's not my problem. In fact, it should merit some recognition.
If you had a test and they gave you two options – beer and pretzels or 18 years of life threatening responsibility, and you chose the latter – YOU FAIL. You don't get to collect get out of late cards for the rest of your life.
My point here is Brian is an asshole.

This one time I was talking to my buddy about all the times I locked my keys in my car and then proceeded to lock my keys in my car. This totally goes against that stupid rule that if you have a problem you should talk about it.

In fact, I say go the other way with everything. If your fat, eat some donuts. Drinking problem – drink some whiskey. Cancer – smoke some cigarettes. There is no reason people should die "out of the blue" or "for no good reason". Death is a big fucking thing. No one on Earth right now has died. No one knows what happens. You lose everything. And people don't take it seriously. It should be treated as a sport. If you die for no good reason, you lose. When I die people will go "Well, I saw that a mile away." Or "He really gave his all for this death, we should really go overboard on the speeches." You suit up and show up to your death. Don't get hit by lightning or a drunk driver – own your death. Because if you don't, death will own you.
And that's why, honey, I'm smoking in this Chuck E Cheese.

A cool thing to do on Halloween is to go trick or treating, but when they come to the door with candy, just go "No thanks, I just want to pet your dog." If they don't have a dog, substitute "you" for "dog".

One thing I hate about sex is that women want to get a massage out of it. It's like you're sitting there, both of you are naked, it's totally "go time" and she'll say "Could you give me a back rub?"
I've literally just stared blankly at women after hearing this.
There is no way a back rub feels like an orgasm. Why are you ordering a diet Pepsi at a Baskin and Robbins, honey? Why order turkey when you can get bacon? And why order a back rub when you can get off? Pisses me off. That's why at the beginning of every relationship I will put my hands on the woman's shoulders and go "Let's get this out of the way now."

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Tutta Bella Is Gone

Did anyone else own Drakar? The cologne. Not that town in France.

Did anyone else believe that there was a town in France named Drakar? Because I made that up, but it totally sounds right. I could Google it, but I like not knowing for sure. It's a mystery. I love mysteries.

So, I heard they are taking the self checkouts out of grocery stores. Let me go on record – the Self Check Out is the best thing that has ever happened to mankind. Fuck the wheel, car, White Album – the Self Checkout let you – and listen carefully, because I'm whispering – buy things without having to deal with fucking people. Let me say it again – buy things without dealing with fucking people! I go out of my way to not deal with fucking people and every corporation in America gets in my way by putting people between me and my product. Then a genius…nay, SAINT comes up with a way to not fucking deal with people and they take it away. That's what's wrong with this world – the second someone gets rid of people for you they take it away and you're left with people. God. I'm dizzy now.

I've noticed that every time you start a new job you have no idea what you are doing and someone reassures you that you will figure it out and you do and you look back and you think "How did I learn how to do this?" It's just crazy. It just goes to show that anyone can do anything if you give them encouragement. But the flip side is that that means you could become President. You. Right there. Reading this. Think about it. You would really fuck up. I'm just going by the percentages. Six people clicked on this link yesterday. That means one person is crazy enough to be reading this and that person could be President if they got encouragement. Then the bombs start dropping and it's all over because someone encouraged this person. God. Encouragement is killing us.

I used to be a Democrat until I realized I like to smoke cigarettes, litter, and hate people.
It really blew me away, too. Cuz the whole time I'm getting mad at Exxon or Goldman Sachs I'm not recycling and buying Perrier to mix with my whiskey. I was ashamed of myself. But I'm lazy too, so instead of changing I just started voting Republican.

Republicans are a totally different breed of person. They will tell you one thing and when you prove without a shadow of a doubt they are wrong they will just answer "Well, that's just how I was raised" or "That's just how it is" or "Birth certificate". But on the other hand, you're the dumbass that started arguing with them in Kohl's for no reason because you were drunk and didn't like their shirt.

Have you ever thought about what you do for a living and realized that if you weren't doing it everything would stay the same? Like the job is just a front for spying on how long it will take you to realize it? Like kinda Matrix-y. But not really. They aren't robots. And they aren't performing an experiment if that's what you're thinking. No, they are just fucking with you. This one time I sprayed a guy on the street with a hose off a balcony and he goes "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?" or something and I just said "I'm just fucking with you." Like that made up for it. It'd be like that, but it'd be your whole life's work. Like you're an engineer at a Styrofoam company and you engineer Styrofoam, but you don't really need to be doing that. No one would be without Styrofoam without your advanced engineering skills. No, they are just fucking with you. Seeing what you do with your engineering money. See how you grow and learn. And then they just laugh at you. And it's so fucking mean, but damnit, that's life. It amazes me that people think conspiracy theories have to be about doing evil – they could just be jokes. Like "Hey, we'll assassinate this President and see how people will react when hold and investigation that says it was a lone shooter, even though a committee of law officials say it was a conspiracy of multiple people" and then they just laugh their asses off at how people accepted it. Like if I worked at a hamburger stand and gave everyone hotdogs when they ordered hamburgers. It'd be like that. I would think it was funny. I would not be trying to harm you. I would just be fucking with you. And what's wrong with that? Anyway, I think I was talking about work.

Remember when you were in high school and how every weekend you'd try to figure out how to get liquor and where you could go drink it? And then you grew up and you still do that – only now you can easily get it and find a safe place to drink it? That's why when someone says "Grow up" to me I take it as a nice thing, like "Have a good time". Then I give them a high five and they just seem pissed. It's stuff like that, just trying to make life better. That's me – just trying to make life better. Like if I get shorted at an ATM for 20 bucks – I think it's OK to be lazy and not call the bank because in 1987 I stole 20 bucks from my older sister for comic book money. It's stuff like that – making the world better for me. What's wrong with that? I also notice that I will have unbelievable optimism for being such a pessimist. Like I'll go to get mail and think maybe I will somehow get free money. For no reason. And sometimes it does happen. Like I got a dividend from my insurance company. I have no idea why. And I never asked. It was two years ago and I still don't know why. But if they overcharge me, boy howdy, I'll get to the bottom of it. But the main point is to make everything better for yourself. Trust me.

I remember I got put in a special education class as a kid. It was because my math teacher was teaching fractions and asked us a question and I raised my hand and answered "I wish I was a truck!" I have no idea why I did that, but it ruined my life. For then on I had to be in special education classes. And the older I got the more retarded I felt until when I dropped out of high school I could barely form the words to break the news to my parents. All because I wanted to be a truck. If you're crying right now, don't worry – I totally made that all up.


Well, too bad.

It'd be cool to have a really fast car and drive it really slow. Like on the freeway and all and get a ticket for going too slow. But in the end you're not funny, you're just crazy. That would be cool.

How many of you out there have a job? Aren't jobs weird? You wake up and go to this place for eight hours and then go home and then do the whole thing again. When you think about it, life is like that too. You get up and you live for 16 hours then you go back to bed. But you don't get paid. Oh, and you have herpes.

My favorite band is Nine Inch Nails. Which is an odd thing to say when you're a 35 year old fat guy. That angst and drugged out thing don't really work for ya. That's why I always lie and say Meatloaf. Even though I hate Meatloaf. I mean, I don't really hate him. I just don't like his music. Well, I liked him in Fight Club. But that wasn't about being a musician, that was about being an actor. Anyway, the point is I shouldn't really like Nine Inch Nails for my age and build.

Have you ever had a person talk to you and you really don't care about what they are saying and you just keep nodding like an idiot and you think to yourself "This person must think I'm an idiot for listening to him talk for so long." Then you think, if this is an idiot who thinks you're an idiot then you are REALLY an idiot. Then in the middle of thinking all that they ask you a question about what they were talking about and you just break into a full on run.

Another music I shouldn't like is electronica. Mainly, because I'm not on cocaine, but also because I don't own a Volvo. But I do like it. If you don't know what electronica is I'll tell you – it's music without all the words. So, you can listen to it and make up your own words. Like "La La La. Da Da Da. La La." Can you believe that I can actually drive a car?

What if we actually really cloned a dinosaur? I mean – Wow! That would really do it for everyone. Everyone would wake up and just be like HOLY CRAP WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! No one would think about anything except that dinosaur. For one day there'd be total peace on Earth as everyone would just be thinking HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF PEARL – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! You wouldn't even have to go to work. You would call your boss and say JESUS SAMMY DAVIS JUNIOR – WE FUCKING CLONED A DINOSAUR! I think about this, literally, all the time. My wife left me recently and that's how I made it through it all. I just kept pretending GOOD APE SHIT – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! Then anytime anything bad happened I would just think 80 ROSARIES FOR JUDAS – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! You should really try it.

Do you ever start to suspect that everyone has the same psychologist telling them that they need to think about "ME" (them) first? What kind of racket is that? You go in and someone in authority tells you that you are not thinking about yourself enough and that you are in the right 99% of the time? It just pisses me off. That's why I prefer to just stay at home and stay crazy. That way I'm not making my problem your problem. Well, except when I maul your dog. But at least I don't think I'm in the right. No, once my taste for dog flesh is vanquished I sit next to the body and think "Did I really need to do that?"

Has anyone ever said "I can't believe it's (some time) already?" to you and you answer them seriously and respond "Believe it" but you do it all solemn like you just told them someone died? I do that kind of thing all the time.

Stand Up

Have you ever got that feeling that you're being watched? Like you're walking down the street and someone's just staring at you – and they're really bored. Like maybe they're hoping you're going to do something funny or cool, but you aren't cause you're you.
I get that all the time.

Did your parents ever say to you "I'm gonna shake some sense into you" and then grab you and start shaking the crap out of you. Have you ever shook something into something? I think it's impossible. For instance, if I took a phone and pour salt on it and started shaking it – well, I guess some of the salt would shake into the keyboard…god, now I want to shake the crap out of kid.

The best thing about the internet is that you can talk to people from all over the world. I like that. It's like another reason I don't have to travel. I had a friend come back from Brazil the other day and he explained how great the people were and I was like "I know." And he asked me how and I told him that I had talked to people from Brazil over the internet. He said that wasn't the same, and I agreed since I could openly masturbate while I was doing it.

My favorite TV show is that Top Chef thing. I don't know why. It might be that I'm fat and I like to pretend that they are all trying to impress me.

Have you ever had a dream where you were flying? You like take off from the ground and you're up in the air and your thinking – hey man, I'm flying! But then you start thinking about all the planes up there with you and how if you're not lucky you could get sucked into an engine and then you wake up and you wet the bed.

I have an absolute awe of people who enjoy small talk. I know it's cool and all to say that you hate small talk and that it's something simple people do – but what if this: maybe people who like small talk are so relaxed that it's fun. Like when you take a tab of Ecstasy and you enjoy talking to people…like I'm doing now.

I wonder if anyone's had a hangover so bad they committed suicide.

Suicide is a victimless crime once you think it all the way through. This is a thinking joke.

Everyone has dogs now a days. Am I wrong? Doesn't it seem like there's way too many dogs now? Like everyone has one. Like I'm a minority for not having a dog. It didn't used to be that way. Only like five people in America owned dogs. They were like unicorns. Wait – no, I'm thinking of unicorns. OK, but there seems to be a lot of dogs around.

You ever wonder if people are just sick of seeing you? I go in to the same mini mart to buy smokes everyday and there's this woman who works Wednesday through Saturday and I just feel like she's sick of me. She's always super polite, but there's just this feeling she's going "That fat guys gonna buy another pack of smokes." Every time. Like I'm this really bad rerun of MASH. So now I try to mix it up and buy a pack of smokes and another pack of smokes. It totally through her off I think. I'm working on more material – like burritos and fireworks.

I don't like seafood. People will ask me "How can you not like seafood?" and I'll shrug – because I DON'T HAVE AN ANSWER. There's nothing I could possibly say that would satisfy that question. "Because I don't" never works, it's like they want more. So now I just say that I was raped once while eating fish sticks.

Technology keeps changing. It bugs me. Once I learn one thing, I have to learn another. Then another. Then another. It gets to the point that I'm constantly learning and then I'm like "Hey, I didn't pay for this course." You get it???

How many of you out there like pizza? How many of you out there like rock n roll? How many of you out there like 9-11. Gotcha on that. But think about it – what if they were listening to rock n roll and eating pizza on those planes? It doesn't make it OK, but somehow it's not as horrific. I don't know why.

Have you ever been tempted to put on a pair of gloves and just go full blown OCD? Like pick it up as a hobby? I think about things like that. It might be fun. Unless you couldn't turn it off and had to go to the hospital and you couldn't get out because your lame excuse is you were just pretending.


"I will now bend my body into the shape of a banana." Davis leaned forward. "This is a banana. Juliette, come eat me."

"Today we'll be doing something different." Davis pulled a knife from behind his back. "I want you all to tell me who put this here in my back?"
The students looked around at each other.
"The answer is Davis Todd when he thought any of you cared about Yoga."

"Girls, and you one guy – I want you to perform like your life depended on it. Therefore, I'm going point this gun at you – don't worry it's not loaded – or is it?" Davis examined the gun. "OK, yeah, it was loaded."

"Today, class, I have a cough. I'm hoping it's not something serious, and I'm serious about that. I had something serious once and it scared me. It was a monkey and his name was ALCOHOL."

"I'm tired of doing the same positions. We're gonna try something new. Alice, get on top of Mary. OK, Juliette, get on top of Alice. Yes, that's right. OK, now Tim, stand on that pile of women. Be proud, Tim, this is an advanced class."

"OK, I got a little note from the complaint department. It seems that one of you princesses didn't like my use of the word ugly bitch – that's fine. For now on we're all going to live in Nazi times and no one can say anything. Alice – what time is it?"
"Um, Alice, we're in Nazi times."

"This is the Crouching Internet. You see how my hand is down my pants and my eyes are staring straight ahead and I'm holding up my phone to my face to take a picture?"

"OK, girls and Tim, which one of you wants to stare me straight in the eyes for the full hour while the rest of you look on in awe?"

"Yoga is not a fad. Yoga is not a way to lose weight. Yoga is not a way for you to fart in public and think it's OK. Tim, you need to stop farting."

"This is a move that I learned from Bill Cosby. Yes, the Bill Cosby. I bet you didn't think he did yoga. Probably because you think black people don't do yoga, because you all hate black people. OK, let's just do the move and forget that you are all racists with Miatas."

"I want to talk to you today about accepting yourself. You see, the body is tied up with your mind. When your mind feels crummy, your body will feel crummy. Now if your body feels crummy you won't be able to practice yoga. And why does your mind feel crummy? It's because you can't accept yourself. Alice, what's bothering you the most right now?"
"Well, I just broke up with my boyfriend."
"Alice, you need to accept that and move on."
"Say it like you mean it!"
Davis then pulled out the gun "Like you mean it."

"This is a snake. He's my pet. His name is Henry and he likes to bite people that don't pay their dues on time. I’m going to just let go of him and see what he does."

"Tim, your farting is out of control. You have to leave."
"But I didn't fart."
"Yet – I see that look in your eye."

Fist Chaser and Friends

"Fist Chaser! It is I, Nolan."
Fist Chaser raised himself from the mud coffin he had been hiding in. "Only you, Nolan could have seen through my disguise. How be thy?"
Nolan extended a hand from the costume of taped together trash bags and Fist Chaser shook it.
"I be well. I have just returned from the grocery merchant where I was able to release this package of potato chips from its steely imprisonment."
"They have been locking up the food now?" Fist Chaser asked incredulously.
"Yea. They are on to my plot. I shall share this bounty with you."
Nolan handed Fist Chaser the bag of chips. Fist Chaser made a movement to wipe his hands on his muddy costume, but then paused and realized his folly.
Nolan laughed. "Perhaps this bag of chips is meant for me only. Fist Chaser! Why so glum?"
"It has been years since I have had a real battle. Sure, freeing food and hard liquor from the corporate machine is top notch work for a super hero, but the lack of a real battle is making me fatigued – do you feel this way?"
"Fist Chaser, I do, too, feel this way. It has been six months since I found a worthy opponent to spar with." Nolan said as he dumped the rest of the chips into his mouth.
"Ah, yes. The Tommy Hilfiger'd boy from that club on Deleware."
"It was the most successful of encounters. He called me out."
"Yes, when lit that dollar bill on fire and dropped it in your lap."
"I met the challenge." Nolan raised his fist to emphasis.
Fist Chaser nodded "The look on that boys face when you hurled a piece of your own excrement at him must have made you feel glorious."
"Yea, but those days are done. It's too dangerous now. Those that would mock me now carry weapons I am not accustom to."
Fist Chaser nodded in agreement "Yes, my invisibility is no match for a gun."
"Hence the name."
"Right." Fist Chaser looked around awkwardly. "So, chips?"
"That is right."
"Where are you off to?"
"I am going to AA."
"The soul magicians?"
"Yes, I am conquering a new battle against the demons of the bottle."
"Those are strong demons, I too have fought them on many occasions. But they are small potatoes compared to the Crack Dragons."
Nolan put his arm over his eyes "Nay, do not speak of them!"
"I apologize. Are you well?"
"I could be do better. You wouldn't happen to have seen any dragons lately?"
"You need to be off to your magicians! You cannot let the dragons beat you!"
"Aye. I am off."
Fist Chaser lowered himself back into the mud. And Nolan trotted off.
It was another fine day in the park.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011



Golfed out on Lake Michigan. Beautiful. Except this one dude. We chat a bit with him before and he mentions that none of his friends should up to golf with him so he needed to golf with others. Well, after the game we find out why he has no friends. My aunt is nice enough to ask how he did golfing and he tells us that our golf cart was parked too near the green when we were golfing. And that that's bad ettiquette. So, then he has his golf cart parked in front of our so we can't return ours. So I wait for this a hole to get all his crap out of his cart and move it (he even starts talking on his phone). Finally he gets out of the cart and leaves and I go "Aren't you going to move your cart?" and he goes "I left the keys in the building" so I go "That's bad ettiquette."
That Playboy show that's on now: our friend upstairs does set dressing for it (it's filmed in Chicago) and his name is on a placad on the show. Also, this woman we saw at Second City is in it (bit part).
Plays: my aunt's best friend's son has a play he wrote that was playing downtown (Women are Crazy Because Men are A$$holes) and Second City (the place where Saturday Night Live farms for new talent). Women are Crazy was pretty good, but during the show there were all these Eastern Europeans in the audience (no idea why) and these two women were talking throughout the show and texting. So, the producer comes down and tells them to hush or leave. Well, Brad (my aunt's friend's son) is also in the play and he had to break character to tell them to shut up in the middle of the play. Second City was probably the funnier one I've seen.
Food: Thin crusted the pizza the whole time: Pat's was the best, but Bonjoro's, and this Italian restaurant in the Italian district were also really good. Got an awesome ham sandwich at a "New York" deli. My aunt saw a cop eating there and she told me that that's always the best way to figure out what's a good restaurant. I hotdoged the hell out of the trip too. My uncle took me to this hole in the wall place where it was grilled onions, Vienna, mustard, and cheese. Interesting. Tasted like a hotdog with onion rings on it. Then I got a "Chicago" hotdog at this Irish pub: Vienna beef, pickle, tomato, onion, mustard, celery salt, and hot peppers. Delicious. It was even delicious totally hung over. The last day my aunt got one with everything: mustard, LETTUCE, cucumber, pickle, tomato, onion, and celery salt. Had Mexican at this one place, but ruined it by gettting the hottest sauce on it (way too hot).
Drinking: as per usual Tequila was the drink of choice over there. Tuesday I got totally obliterated with my uncle on the boat and paid for it the next couple days with almost puking (had a bucket in the car on the way to pick up my sister) and hard core heart burn. Was so wasted I sprayed some poor dude with a house from my aunt's balcony. Friggin stupid.
Police: I have never seen a bigger police presence in my life in Wrigleyville. A friend (Kleiver) came down from the North and partied on the boat and we went to Wrigleyville. It was like a police state. Patrol cars, vans, paddy wagons. Really weird. My uncle seemed to think the reason is all the murders in Chicago lately (some woman was raped down the street at the DePaul campus while I was there) and terrorist attacks. I explained that there was no game that night, but my uncle still seemed to think police see it as a potential terrorist target as it is a large group of people (imagine Pioneer Square with ten times the people). Rahm is trying to clean up the city also.
Casino: really nice. Strange that you couldn't smoke in it. They had this creepy smokers lounge (if you've ever seen the old airport ones it looks like that). Won 60 bucks from this game where a buffalo huffs money at you - exotic.
Those are pretty much the highlights. I'm sure other stuff happened, but I was pretty wasted the whole time.
Also, I picked up my sister's cold that she got from my nephew and brought to Chicago.

Friday, September 9, 2011

The Dispatcher


"I can't stress this enough – do not bring a loaded weapon."
"Got it. Don't load gun." Victor smiled at James.
"Not a joke. For one, you can say that you had no intention of killing anyone. For two, you won't kill anyone. Because that's what we want, right? Nice little bank job, nobody dies, you run out of there with money, so forth, so on."
"Got it. Don't kill. Run out with money." Victor slapped James on the knee.
"You're a funny guy."
"I am a funny guy."
Victor and James were inside James' shop in the back of his house. The shop was a hobby room for James who planned capers and sold drugs. James was a hobbyist.
"Now look, go for the drawers and leave. You don't need the safe, the deposit boxes or any of that shit. You just want the few grand lying around. You're gonna make your money on frequency, not quality of the job."
"I get it. But that just means I add up the risk ratio."
"Not really. In and out robbers always leave the bank. You will always leave a bank. You just have to worry about the aftermath. But since there isn't going to be an aftermath, you've got nothing to worry about." James knew little to nothing about what he was talking about. But if Victor was able to score the small amount of money James had in mind, James would be able to pay down some of his credit card debt, and that made sense to James who had no risk whatsoever involved in the current project he was discussing.
"I guess that makes sense." Victor was an idiot.
To be fair, Victor was a junky. And a junky will do anything for a fix.
"So, tomorrow around one, you enter the bank. Then what?"
"I pull out the gun and yell 'No one fucking move, this is a robbery!'"
"Just like in Pulp Fiction."
"Just like in Pulp Fiction. How much money exactly are we talking about?"
"Few thousand. You keep three, I keep two."
"Yeah, but you're not really doing anything." James winced to himself. He was fairly certain Victor was dumb enough to go along, but there were these little breaks in his personality that expelled some thought processes that James wasn't initially aware of.
"Victor – would you be doing this if it wasn't for me?"
"And was this my idea?"
"Alright then."
The two said goodbye and Victor walked through the yard and through the house.
James' wife was inside cooking.
"Something smells good."
"That's pot roast. We're having it for dinner – would you like to stay?"
"Can't. I have to get up early and rob a bank." Victor then walked out of the house and into his car and drove home.

"Why did Victor say he was going to rob a bank?" Joyce was in the shop with a carrot in one hand and a piece of celery pointed at James.
"He's just joking."
"Victor's too stupid to make jokes."
"He made a few just now."
"What kind of jokes?"
"What do you mean what kind of jokes?"
"I mean, WHAT kind of jokes?"
"Like, just like…he was joking."
"Are you robbing a bank?"
James winced. "No, no. Victor is robbing the bank."
"And you have nothing to do with it, besides knowing about it, which makes you an accomplice."
"Yes. I know about it. But the guy's gonna do what he's gonna do. He's a junky. Junky's do dumb things – am I responsible for him buying junk, just because I know he's going to buy junk?"
"Don't play dumb."
"I'm playing smart. By juxtaposing his junk buying with his bank robbering, I'm proving a point that I'm innocent of being an accomplice. That's playing smart."
"Then you're a dumb shit."
"I was smart enough not to rob the bank."
"And I'm smart enough not to try to call someone with this carrot. That don't make me smart."
"Not like in the biblical sense."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Yeah it does."
"No it doesn't."
James grabbed Joyce by the waist and pulled her to him. "Look, let's just go inside, have some sex and –"
"This ain't a movie!" Joyce slapped James across the face with the carrot. "You are going to" she continued to slap him with the carrot "call the police and tell them" the carrot flew out of her hand and then she started in with the celery "that your dumb shit friend, Victor, is going to rob a bank and you want no part of it!"
James was on the floor now, shielding his face from the celery. "OK. OK. I'm just – quit hitting me with the celery!"
"Fuck you, call the police."
"K, just stop it."

James called 911 as Joyce continued yelling at him.

POLICE: Hello, 911.
JAMES: I'd like to report
JOYCE: He'd like to report a fucking idiot
JAMES: Cool it, baby. I'd like to report a robbery.
POLICE: Are you at the scene of the robbery?
JAMES: No. It hasn't happened yet.
JOYCE: Why don’t you just tell him not to do it.
JAMES: Because you told me to call the police!
JOYCE: Well, you shoulda called Victor first, you dumb shit!
JAMES: What the – what do you –
POLICE: Sir, where is the robbery going to take place.
JAMES: Bank of America. Gilman. Issaquah. One tomorrow.
POLICE: Do you know the person who is robbing the bank?
JAMES: I don’t know now. Can I change my mind? Do you tape these calls? Do you track me?
JOYCE: You stupid fuck! Here I'm making
POLICE: Yes, sir. We are taping this conversation and we have you at 56th Street in Renton.
JAMES: Fuck.
JOYCE: You dumb fuck! Fucking making a roast for a dumb fuck!
POLICE: What is the full name of the person robbing the bank, sir?
JAMES: Look, if I tell you, I'm not going to be in any trouble am I?
POLICE: Sir, I can't answer that, I'm only a 911 dispatcher.
JAMES: You aren't the police?
JAMES: Can I talk to like a detective or something.
DISPATCHER: Sure, sir.
JAMES: Thank you.
DISPATCHER: Before I transfer you, I'd like know if I provided useful information and help during your time of emergency?
JAMES: Well, that's nice. You did a great job.
JOYCE: What the fuck are you talking about?
DISPATCHER: Thank you, sir. It's my job to help. I'm transferring you over to the Issaquah police station.
JAMES: Thanks.
JAMES: You really just…I mean, "Hello, police" – that's nice.
POLICE: Can I help you, sir?
JAMES: Sure, I've never really talked to a police officer on the phone before.
POLICE: What's your problem, sir?
JAMES: Well, I have this friend.
POLICE: Legal.
JAMES: And he's a junky.
POLICE: Illegal.
JAMES: And he's going to rob a bank.
POLICE: Really illegal.
JAMES: Are you really the police?
POLICE: What did I say when I answered the phone, silly?
JAMES: You don't sound like the police?
POLICE: What? Am I supposed to be all gruff and like Hello, this is the police, we have guns.?
JAMES: No, you just sound…
JAMES: Well, you're putting words in my mouth now.
POLICE: I am gay. You have a problem with that?
JAMES: Police can be gay?
POLICE: Yea - us!
JAMES: But I thought there was that don't ask and snitch.
POLICE: Don’t ask, don't tell?
JAMES: Yes. I thought there was…that.
POLICE: That's the army, dummy.
JOYCE: Are you talking to a fag policeman?
JAMES: Cool it, Joyce.
POLICE: You better check that bitch.
JAMES: What?
POLICE: You heard me.
JAMES: You can't talk to me like that!
POLICE: Hello? I'm the police and I'm gay, I can do anything I want.
JAMES: What? What the fuck?
JOYCE: Tell that fag to fuck off!
POLICE: If you don’t tell your wife to cool out –
JAMES: Honey, cool off. Now look, is there someone else I can talk to?
POLICE: Nope, the buck stops at gay.
JAMES: OK, so this guy's gonna – this isn't a joke right? You are the police?

"He hung up on me." James scratched his head.
Joyce was trying to fit the pot roast in the microwave after several attempts at giving a fuck about it.
"Gay policeman. What's this world coming to?"
"Fuck that. What do I do now? I'm an accomplice. I reported the crime…but they don’t have my name. Do I call back?"
"You ain't calling that gay policeman back. Uh uh. No way. That's just bad luck right there."
"Gay police are bad luck?"
Joyce closed the door on the microwave, then used her shoulder to latch it. "You hear of a gay policeman before?"
"Then something's fishy. Someone's fucking with you. Call nine eleven again."
"Nine eleven. Never forget."
Both of them became silent and bowed their heads.
In unison: "Never forget."

DISPATCHER: 911, what's your emergency?
JAMES: Hi. I called back about ten minutes ago and I was reporting a robbery.
DISPATCHER: Yeah, I remember you.
JAMES: Oh, you're the same guy?
DISPATCHER: No, but we all listen to the calls when we're bored.
DISPATCHER: Yeah. So what seems to be your problem now? Didn't Issaquah help you out?
JAMES: Um…are you gay?
JAMES: OK. Well, this gay guy answered at the police station and I think maybe you guys transferred to the wrong number or something, because I know there's no gay policemen.
DISPATCHER: There are plenty of gay policemen – haven't you seen the Village People?
JAMES: Is that a TV show?
JAMES: Hmmm…doesn't ring a bell.
DISPATCHER: They were a group of gay men that dressed as laborers. One was an Indian.
JAMES: Don't they call them Native Americans now?
DISPATCHER: Are you black?
JAMES: What the fuck?
DISPATCHER: No. I'm just saying, do you call yourselves African Americans?
JAMES: Only in front of white people.
DISPATCHER: OK, well, I'm 1/18th Indian and we don't call ourselves Native Americans.
JAMES: 1/18th? You're barely Indian. I have more Indian in my…what's that one corn starch that –
JAMES: I have more Indian in my Argo.
JAMES: I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Wait- so, that gay guy hung up on me.
DISPATCHER: Wonder why.
JAMES: Look, this isn't a joke. I want to report a crime, get put down as not an accomplice, and –
DISPATCHER: Are you making demands?
JAMES: No. I'm just…trying to call nine eleven.
DISPATCHER: Never forget.
JAMES: Never forget.
DISPATCHER: Well, I can put you through again, but I would imagine the same police officer will answer the phone.
JAMES: That's fine.
DISPATCHER: Maybe be nicer this time?
JAMES: K. Fine.

POLICE: Hello, police again.
JAMES: Fuck.
POLICE: It's me, cutey!
JAMES: Look, lets start over. I want to report a robbery that hasn't taken place yet.
POLICE: You're just all kinds of psycho.
JAMES: I'm not psycho. I'm just trying to report a robbery, so that I don’t get listed as an accomplice.
POLICE: Oh, you can still get in trouble.
JAMES: Really?
POLICE: Sure, if you plotted with the robber.
JAMES: What if I stop him?
POLICE: We'll still investigate.
JAMES: K. If I stop him from robbing the bank, is there anyway I can get into trouble?
POLICE: Are you black?
JAMES: The fuck?
POLICE: Just joking. No. If you stop him, then we can't prove that you ever really intended to rob the bank. Or something. I'm new here.
JAMES: Can someone just tell me what to do?
POLICE: Calm down, sir. Just stop your friend from robbing the bank.
JAMES: OK. OK. Thank you.
POLICE: Stay sweet.
JAMES: Sure.

"He's not answering his phone." James was trying to eat the rubber roast his wife had just served him.
"Go over there." Joyce was trying to eat the roast too, but was trying harder as she had to act like it was delicious.
"This is good roast."
"Thank you, sweetheart." Joyce wondered if James had gone insane.
"OK. I'll go over there. Do you mind if I save the rest of this for tomorrow? I should probably get over there now."
Joyce lifted a brow. "You don't like the roast, do you?"
"I love the roast, I just need to stop Victor from robbing the bank, like the gay cop said."
"Don't they prefer homosexual?"
"I don't know. I'll be back soon." James got up from the table and grabbed his coat.
"I'll leave the roast in the oven for you."
"The real oven?"
"No, the microwave."
"You cooked this in the microwave?"
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No – yes, that's why it tastes so bad!"
"So, you didn't like it? Is that it? You talk to a gay dude on the phone and you decide that you are cultured now? Throwing on airs!?"
"What are you talking about? And why do you keep bringing up the gay – homosexual cop?"
"I didn't. You did." Joyce raised an eyebrow that would lead to all sorts of bad, like the fabled butterfly.
"Why'd you raise your eyebrow?"
"You think I'm gay?"
"I'm just saying you didn't like the pot roast."
"That makes me gay?"
"No, that makes you a dumb shit! This pot roast is breathtaking." Joyce managed to swallow another wad of rubber.
"I didn't say I didn't like it. I just said…you cooked it in the microwave. It would have been a lot better if you cooked it in the oven."
"Then why aren't you finishing it?"
"Cuz I got to go stop Victor."
"Finish first."
"Fine!" James threw the coat on the floor, sat down and forked a large piece of meat into his mouth and began chewing. The meat was like silly putty.
And then in the total silence that followed came the eyebrow again. "So, you gonna call your little cop friend back?"
James rose from his chair, pointed a finger at Joyce and

DISPATCHER: This is 911, what's your emergency?
JOYCE: My husband is choking!
DISPATCHER: Is this the African American man who called earlier about the homosexual policeman?
JOYCE: How'd you know all – he's turning blue!
DISPATCHER: OK, calm down – you need to Heimlich him.
JOYCE: Is that a gay thing?
DISPATCHER: No. You need to wrap your arms around him from behind –
JOYCE: That's a gay thing! You all is gay!
DISPATCHER: Mrs.! You need to wrap your arms around him, and then exert pressure on his sternum.
JOYCE: I ain't doing that!
DISPATCHER: Please, Mrs., this is not a gay thing.
JOYCE: Tell me again? Wait, he's not breathing. He's not breathing!
DISPATCHER: An ambulance is on the way.
JOYCE: Oh, God. He's not breathing!
DISPATCHER: Wrap your arms –
JOYCE: No more gay shit! This is for real!

And with that, James died.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Cruise

"This will be our last night on the cruise, I'd like to make it special for my wife."

"OK. Ice cream special or anal sex special?"

"What? Excuse me?"

"Look, I only work one day on the cruise. They pick me up in Anchorage and then I leave at Seattle."

"I'd like to speak to your manager."

"See, here's the thing – every year there's a new manager. No one remembers me. So, just answer the question."

"K. Look. My wife and I don't do that –"


"Yes. In the butt."

"No, I meant you're going to continue with a reason that you might entertain the idea."

"No. I – well, what does the anal sex special include?"

"You get some KY and a buttplug."

"We're English – do you have any of the American adaptors for the wall socket?"

"For what?"

"The plug."

"It doesn't plug in to the socket. It plugs into your wife."


"Whoever, look, I'm not trying to sell it and I have other folks to harass tonight."

"OK, let's go with the buttplug."

"K. Do you have color preference?"


"We don't have blue."

"Oh, I thought you were asking me what my favorite color is."

"Why would I do that?"

"Simple curiosity?"

"I'm not the one being curious here."

"What colors are there?"

"White, black, and green."

"Do some men have green penises?"

"Gardeners maybe."

"Let's go with green."

"OK. Would you like the deluxe special package?"

"What does that entail?"

"I come up and punch you in the face and have sex with your wife."

"Do I get a color preference?"


"Can I think on that?"

"Sure. Anytime during the evening while you're having anal sex, call me and I'll be more than happy to come upstairs and fuck your wife and punch you in the face."

"You Americans sure do things differently."

"I'm sure everyone hires people to beat them up and fuck their wife – I don't think it's regional."

"Well, good day!"

"Sure, dickface."

"Who was that?"

"That was the concierge."

"Oh, are you doing something special?"

"Only if you call buttplugs special!"

"But where will we plug it in?"

"That's the novelty of it – it plugs into you!"

"Those Americans with their anal sex and weird outlets…"

"You know, they once fought a civil war – that's where they fight themselves."

"Like schizophrenics?"


"Oh, I am so glad we are leaving here tomorrow. This Wild West atmosphere it too much!"

"There's someone at the door!"

"It could be the buttplug!"

"Greetings – here's your sundae!"


"What is it, dear?"

"Thank you."

"It seems we got the ice cream special."

"Can that go in my bum?"

"No. You eat it."

"Well, this has turned out to be a let down."

"Let's just go to bed."

"We could try to put the ice cream in your bum."

Thursday, August 4, 2011


"There's no easy way to say this – you're a gerbil."

I liked a blunt doctor, he got to the point and didn't pussyfoot around with the tidbits of minutiae related to what was ailing me. He was a good man - the kind of guy who would sleep with your wife and call you half way through to cancel on golf, the kind of man who would take your dog for a walk without telling you; he was the kind of man you'd want to hear news like this from.

"What are my options?" I asked. I wanted Dr. Brimmel to know that I was fully 100% on board with my treatment. I wasn't going to sit on this and wait for sunshine to come out of my ass. Like that time I got diabetes and simply stopped putting cheese on my donuts in the morning.

"Well, you have several options." The doctor looked down at his tote board. "Wait, did I say several?"

"Yes, doctor."

"I meant more like one." The doctor lifted his eyebrow.

Then I lifted mine.

Then he lifted his again.

"OK, what is it? I want to be a part of my healing." I was actually getting excited about it. I was looking for something to do this weekend and this whole don't be a gerbil thing could be just what I was looking for.

"Well, for starters, you'll have to stop smoking." He lifted his eyebrow again.

"But…wait – I just. What are the cons of being a gerbil?" I wasn't going to stop smoking.

"Well, you'll have to eat grains and leaves."


"And you'll have to have sex with other gerbils."

I thought about telling him I already had, but then thought better of it. "K."

"And you won't be able to drive a car."

"But I drove here."

"Yes, but you didn't turn into a gerbil until you entered the office."

That made sense to me. I decided not to ask him about the specifics. "What are the pros?"

"You'll be able to cut down on your smoking as you will not be able to smoke a whole cigarette due to your reduced size. Also, you lost a lot of weight. I mean like 215 pounds. Let me think…oh, you don't have to work."

I thought this through. "But who will take care of me?"

"Well, you aren't married. Do you have family?"

I thought long and hard on this one. I couldn't remember if I had family or if I just didn't talk to them anymore. "I'm not sure."

"That's another con – you have 84% less brain function."

"That's gonna hurt."

"Indeed. I'm surprised you're able to talk right now."

"So, as far as gerbils go, I'm pretty remarkable."

"Quite so. Have you ever considered a career in the circus?"

"Never, tell me more."

The doctor examined some X Rays that had small labels like "Gerbilization of the forearm" or "Gerbilization of the head".

"Well, a circus is a group of people and animals that do things to entertain people."

"Tell me more."

"They have popcorn."

"Where do I sign up?"

"Not so fast. You need to get a pet license. Also, you need to see a vet now, because I know nothing about gerbils. Then, after those tasks are performed, you can apply for the circus."

"Do I need a resume?"

"Of course you do."

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

The Drifter

It all started with a knocking at the door.

It was late, and I had been asleep. I closed my eyes, figuring it was just a dream, but then I heard another knock. This time much louder than before.

I got out of bed and purposely turned on no lights, as if it was something weird I would not answer the door, but just wait for the person to leave.

I moved towards the door and peered into the eye hole.

It was a man about six foot, dressed in denim, and had his hair pulled back in a pony tail.

I waited for him to leave.

Then there was another knock. I slowly moved to my closet and pulled out a bat and returned to the door.

I peered out the peek hole once again and he was still standing there, but now he was smoking a cigarette. This led me to believe he would not be leaving any time soon.

I opened the door with the bat behind it so he couldn’t see my suspicion.

“Can I help you?”

“Sure, friend. You see I’m lost. I’m looking for a town around here.” He smelled like oranges.

“What town?”

“I don’t know.” He smiled at me and I could see that he was missing most of his teeth.

“Look, it’s late and I was sleeping. What do you want?”

“I told you, I’m looking for a town.” He looked around and grinned as if there were other people listening.

“OK. I’m calling the cops.”

I closed the door on him and then waited a few seconds and peered back through. He was waving at me and smiling.

I thought about calling the cops, but the man had done nothing wrong yet. Not until I explicitly told him to leave. And, after all, it was an apartment complex – I didn’t own it.

I opened the door again. “Look, what town are you looking for? If you don’t know, I can’t help you.”

“But you do know. You’re standing in it.”


“No. That’s the city. You’re in the town in the city, friend.” He grinned at me again. Then he turned around and looked into the woods. “Man, they say there’re lions out here.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no lions anywhere.”

“No lions!” He grinned again and then shook his head. “You’re the mayor of this town and you don’t know there’s lions about?”

There was no winning. I had to call the cops. I closed the door and dialed 911. When I looked out the peek hole to describe the man to the operator he was gone. I mentioned this and then they explained that there was nothing they could really do.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The following evening I didn’t sleep, but he didn’t come back.

The next evening, I opened the door to get the mail and he was standing outside admiring the small creek in front of my apartment.

“You said there’s no lions back here?”

“Fuck off.” I walked to the mailbox and it slowly dawned on me that I wouldn’t sleep for the entire week.

“That’s no way to talk, man.” His voice had changed into something close to a growl.

“Just fuck off.” I kept walking and when I turned he was gone and a lion was in his place.

“Jesus fuck!” I yelled. "Jesus fuck!"

The lion approached me and I stood frozen to the ground. I could no longer speak.

“Fucking A, man. Tell me where the town is!” It was him, but his voice was coming from somewhere else. The lion paused and turned to a tree and began licking it.

The tree began moving and a branch moved toward the lion and it was as if the tree was stroking it.

I looked at the tree and all at once it was the man. “You know where the town is. Just tell me, dude.”

“What town!” I screamed and then cringed as I realized I could be disturbing the lion.

“Downtown, brother! Downtown!” And as he said it, the lion and the man began to fade into black shadows and the shadow became a tall figure. Almost like a monolith, about eight feet tall and where their eyes had been, small globes appeared and joined to create a small orb to the left of the figure’s head.

There was a crackling and then from far away, but still from a moving void inside the figure’s mouth “Downtown, brother. Downtown. Don’t you want to get down?”

I began walking backward and tripped and looked up at the apparition. The orb was now spinning around the eight foot tall shadow man. “I’m not from around here, you see.” It sounded like it was talking from behind static on a television. “I’m not at all from around here.” The orb began spinning quicker around the giant. “Are you a trickster elf, boy?” The voice sounded like the thing was spinning along with the orb. I could make out the sentence only by every other syllable.

“Nah-no-ah.” I stuttered.

The voice that came out next sounded more like a droning hum “Then maybe you want to go downtown.”

And then I awoke to a sound of a knock at the door.

I didn’t bother to grab the bat.

An Interview

"I have a feeling you are right for this position."

He was a fat man. Large in every way. You can be fat in some respects, and skinny in others, but he had the whole ballgame going on.

I didn't really want to do manual labor, but after losing my job and then applying for other jobs like it for nine months, I was down to soda crackers and butter for dinner and I really didn't want to lose the shithole apartment I lived in.

"I appreciate that."

"It says here that you have no expierence in mining, is that correct?"

"I don't know a thing about it. I know that it's a lot of work and I'll have to be trained on the job."

"That's correct, let me explain in more detail, though." He moved to grab a notebook from his desk and as he did his face, being pulled as he moved his head, suddenly popped.

It was just a small hole, like a zit, but it was black underneath. I thought it might be some rare skin disease or that weird filament disease that I saw on 20/20. I tried not to look at the small hole that was on his left cheek and just get the rest over with.

"Are you comfortable with travelling?"

I immediately forgot about the zit and suddenly felt as if this job might be more than manual labor. Perhaps they had looked at my resume and decided I was management material.

"You bet. But I didn't think this job required travel."

"Oh, yes." And then it happened. As he pronounced the "O" a small branch popped from the hole. It was black and furry and about the size of a short spaghetti noodle.

I looked down and he continued. "As a member of our team you'll be travelling a great distance to meet the needs of our continuingly expanding business - is something wrong?"

"No. I just didn't expect travel." I lied. I was absolutely horrified and wondered if a prank was being played on me. "Not that I don't want to travel." I looked back up at him and the branch moved.

I jumped.

"Will you excuse me." He said and got up and walked out of a door on the other side of the room from where I had entered.

I stared into the mirror across from me and I realized it was probably two-way. I made motions in my notebook like I was writing and thought about just running for it.

Then he entered the room again with a bandage over his cheek.

Not even mentioning the obvious he went back into the interview.

"We started our company - well, I wasn't there - but the company was started on Earth -"

"Earth?" I asked. I was positive I was being put on.

"Yes, Earth. The planet you're on now. Then, we ventured outward into the solar system and began work on Venus, then Mars, then we expanded to the asteroids and now we even have operations on Pluto."

"So, is this Jackass or something?"

"Excuse me?" And the branch popped out of the bandage, this time fluid accompanied it and ran down his cheek.

"Look, your face is falling off again. If this is a joke, I just want to be paid and then I want to leave. I seriously am unemployed and need work and don't have time for this.

He looked at me gravely and said "This is not a joke. I apologize for my face and if you're more comfortable, I'll have a human interview you."

"Sure. So, you're from?"


"I'm sure you are. I was under the impression that on Venus you could boil nickel - what's your story, champ?"

The other cheek erupted, but this time three small branches tore from his skin and more of the clear liquid ran down his face.

I pulled the chair back away from the table and said "Now it's just getting weird. That looks real."

"That is real. Would you like to see the rest."

The lights went up behind the mirror and I could make out several large insects peering at me. They all had the branches up and down the sides of their faces and they moved.

I turned for the door and the man explained "You don't leave here. You signed a confidentiality contract before interviewing and if I was to let you leave and spill the beans on what's outside this planet I would have to answer to the company."

"I'm getting the fuck out of here." I pulled on the door and it opened to the hallway I entered from, but where there were walls once before there were windows and it was night. I felt the building lurch and peered down to see the Earth below me.

"Do you see my point." His hand fell on my shoulder and I pulled it away and ran down the hall to the elevator.

"Where are you going?" He yelled after me. "This is the beginning of a great career path. I won't tell you that it will be easy leaving your home. It wasn't for me."

I looked back and he was undressing. I backed against the elevator and as his clothes came off I realized he had the body of a fat manequin with no discernable human characteristics underneath his wardrobe besides skin.

And then the skin came off and I was staring at a large bug on all sixes.

Around the mandible was a device that he spoke out of, I assume to make the correct noises humans use to form words.

"You're as ugly as I am to you." He said and moved closer.

"I want a human!" I yelled. "Can I talk with a human?"

"Sure, but you'll have to get used to this. It took me awhile too."

"Nothing can live on Venus!"

"When the company came to our world, we were told nothing could live on Earth."


"Are you a scientist?"

Then I just began yelling "Help!" over and over and over again.

Monday, August 1, 2011

The Colony

The Colony

As I entered slumber and felt the last remains of the day slip away I traveled to another part of the galaxy and awoke inside a man much like me on a planet much like ours.

Colonized thousands of year before my arrival, the colony resembled our planet in most every way.

But…there was simplicity to the society, a trust in fellow, and a beauty you would have to drive far to witness on our own great organic spaceship.

And yet, there were metropolitan holes, the number of which would compliment our own patches of rustic beauty.

All of this I sensed right away, like entering a movie and being able to distinguish the mood from the outset, if created by a superior director.

This colony had a superior director.

A group of men and women called, simply The Council ran the world and dictated the rules of society and the happy colony followed in step, as happy people not accustomed to unhappiness will do.

But I also sensed a great secret. Something of a dread that reflected the general happiness like an object and shadow.

As weeks went by I became accustomed to my new body and the world I lived, and yet the dread never left me.

As time went on, I learned of the rules of the society and some of them didn’t fit well with my own understanding of how a good society works.

For instance, there was a curfew at sundown that was strictly enforced. I say enforced only in a loose sense as no one dared to break it and, therefore, no one enforced it. And any chance to was quickly diminished by the prescribed dose of what I could feel to be large amounts of sedative.

And there were two other cracks in the fa├žade: an absolute horror of touching the ground and a pilgrimage at the age of forty to some unknown other colony on another world.

Let me explain, the ground wasn’t verboten; it was only the natural ground. Inhabitants were made to walk, commute, and travel only by sidewalks, roads, bridges, etc.

The pilgrimage struck me as odd as the men and women leaving would leave behind all friends and family (strict breeding laws left all their children at the age of twenty) and this was all accepted as providence.

As time went on the dread and the longing for my own world and the next day to meet me drove me to break a law and I found what I had dreaded for so long.

As the sun went down, I left my wife and children sleeping and ventured out into the night.

Upon leaving the home, I heard the most awesome crackling noise and looked around to find the entire plain in front of home moving.

Thinking the sedative had worn off, I walked down the path and across a bridge.

Half way across the bridge the most terrible feeling of a stick running up and down my leg jarred me and had only a moment to look over the bridge and find a very large insect, the size of a hyena, trundling under the bridge.

I turned and broke into a sprint back to the home.

The moving around me began to get frenzied and realized in horror that the insects were everywhere.

I opened the unlocked door (no one locked their door) and lie awake inside my dream, inside the colony trying to find a way back to my home.

The next day I attended a ward meeting and explained what I had saw.

My story was accepted with large smiles and dismissal.

That night, the feeling of claustrophobia and horror left me as I took the strong sedative and dosed off.

The next morning I decided to take my wife’s pills. Then I ventured into the neighborhood and entered homes and explained that I was here by The Council to take their drugs too.

By the end of the day I had the majority of the neighborhood’s drugs, with not one complaint from the neighbors.

Then the sun down.

Terrific screams filled the neighborhood as people looked from their windows, in their insomnia, at the moving ground.

The bugs seemed to only come out at night.

Having been satisfied with my wholesale awakening of the neighborhood, I took a sedative, also giving one to my wife and went to bed.

“It got her.” It was my neighbor. It was early morning and I had awaken to the pounding on the door.

“What got who?” I asked groggily.

“A bug got my daughter.” She left the sidewalk and went on the…the…ground. She was digging when a black head came from inside the hole and…

The people began to add up at my door and their stories varied in degrees of god awful, and I soon began to loathe my decision to free them.

On the other hand, it explained the other rule and I fixed my mind in figuring out what the last rule of pilgrimage meant.

I gave the neighbors their drugs back, but some refused and every day after they would show up on my doorstep and preach to the others about the lies of the government and my sainthood for saving them.

With my ego stroked thoroughly, and a happy diversion from the guilt of being remarkably close to the mass homicide of the neighborhood, I vowed to my followers to get to the bottom of the pilgrimage.

By the end of the week we had banded together and followed a pilgrimage up a large hill and as the smiling 40 year olds were thrown into a pit of bugs for the rent on the land, I thought back to my own world and woke up sweating.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Sam Nunn, Pulled Out of Retirement Magician

No. No. This will be different. I WON'T play Mary Had a Little Lamb at the Bris.

It's been awhile since I've been on stage. I had some magic in my own life recently - my wife disappeared with all my money! Ha, just joking. But really, I had an oxi problem and tried to kill myself.

I've opened for Doug Hennig, Gallagher, and that other - Copperfield. My wife also opened for Copperfield, but in a different way.

So, UHF show, how are you folks? Oh, sorry, UFC. Shit, I mean USO. Sorry cadets.

So, you kids don't think unicorns exist, huh? Well, check this out - it's OK, it's my horse and that's red glue, calm down Mr. Ferguson.

Look, Lady - Yes, I've been drinking, but no I did not pull a swtichblade on your son. It was a switchblade comb. A really, really, really sharp switchblade comb.

No. No. You said you wanted magic. I don't care if my website has Harry Potter on it and says that I am that kid from Harry Potter and that I'll stay for two hours - I'm Sam Nunn and I'm a magician and that's what you're gonna pay me 5000 dollars for.

Kids, your friends might tell you that magic isn't cool when you get older, but check this out! That's a fifty dollar bill for an hour of magic. You know what you can buy with fifty dollars? Of course you don't, but when you get older I'll tell you.

I will now pull a rabbit out this top hat. Watch. Ta da! And this rabbit! And this rabbit! And - why is there so many rabbits and blood?

I will now make this bottle of whiskey disappear!

I imagine you would like this balloon shaped like a BALLOON!

A magician never tells his secrets. But - once I picked a woman's nose while she was sleeping and ate it.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Gordon Dunne

Gordon Dunne: Forest Management

"Let me introduce you to a friend of mine. His name is Matt the Match. You guys know what Matt the Match's specialty is?"
"No, what does he do?"
"He starts fires. And doesn't believe in Jesus Christ."

"A good rule of thumb is that if you can eat it - it's not poison. Like these mushrooms here. Taste pretty bad, but in a pinch, they'll get you through the day."
"Pretty sure none of that is true."
"Are you questioning a Forest Ranger?"
"Dude, we're in downtown Seattle."

"Well, there little fella, what are you doing out on your own in woods? Where are your parents."
(Dude, I'm a bear)

"Well, I imagine you could get high off of any of those mushrooms. But it's probably safer to know for sure. Let me ask that wood sprite over there."

"No. We do not carry guns. We carry bear mace and our own good wits. Bear mace, good wits, and charm. Bear mace, good wits, charm, and holy shti I shti my drawers - BEAR!"

"Now, if you see a cougar, you should act unafraid and approach it. This makes the cougar think you are superior. Now, with a bear, you want to try to trade with it. Like if you have some jewelry, ask the bear if he will trade some shrubs with you. This makes the bear and you equals. In bartering."

"Well, Jimmy, no Santa doesn't live here in the winter. I know what you're thinking - snow, elves, Santa."
"There's elves up here?"
"Dude's high."

"Folks, this is Wanda, the Park Helper Lady."
"Gordon, I'm a certified Parks Department Ranger."
"Park Helper Lady."

"Hello folks, while in the park, remember there is a 25 foot rule in regards to smoking. That means, if you get 25 feet from anything with a cigarette, you'll have to put it out. That includes the sidewalk."

"Folks, there's no "P" in bears. Let's keep it that way."
"Are you telling us not to pee on the bears?"
"For starters, yes."
"Are you insane?"

Thursday, January 13, 2011

John Hummus

There's a few things I know about pets, and I think the most important thing is that they are all animals.

Nine out of ten times you buy a dog, it's not a dog at all. No, it's a cat that is bizarrely affectionate...and two ferrets tied to a dog suit...with a milk bone in its mouth. This is all true.

You know what really gets under my skin? Scabies. And then, after that, scabies medication.

The best movie about animals is Lassie. The best TV show is Mr. Ed. And the best music is Pet Sounds. A lot of you might think Pet Sounds had nothing to do with animals, until you realize that animals were used as instruments on that entire album.

My first dog was named Benji. I named him after Ben Franklin, the man who invented the dog.

Back in the 1900s people used to live in the 80s. This has nothing to do with animals.

Nine out of ten times, when you are buying pet food you are just buying somebody's old pet.

Man, have you seen the stars? You know, in the sky? All of those stars could have planets and all of those planets could have Animal Planet networks. Then where would you be?

Some people believe a man named Noah saved all the animals of the world by putting them on a boat and forcing them to have sex with each other. I think they called it the Love Boat.

I have a friend who is vegan. He can't believe that I love animals and also eat them. So, I asked him, do you love p*ssy?

Sometimes I find myself petting things that aren't animals. Like the phone or the bank teller. I guess the bank teller is an animal, but it's not like a National Geographic animal. Like those guys with Safari hats and - what was I talking about?

Remember Dr. Doolittle? Not the one with Eddie Murphy, but the one with Marlon Brando and Cloris Leachman? Of course you don't, it hasn't been made - YET!

I think it would be neat to see a dolphin kill a tiger.

I was at the mall today. Just soaking up the beauty of my old pet shop. Frank asked that I leave, and I did. But not before I could open a small Orange Julius inside the shop.

It it had been a late night. I was working from home. After I had been fired, for all those parakeets I shoplifted, I started my own online business selling ants. To make a long story short, the ants succombed to a brutal brain disease that decimated their population and left them in little mounds all over the aquarium I had put them in that I bought from my brother Michael last year, before I was fired, for 60 $ - what a rip off. I will never do business with my brother again since he rips me off all the time and I have to...