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  • They’re called rhetorical questions

    Posted by on April 14, 2014

    One of the first tricks I learned in comedy was to ask questions to set up jokes.  It gets the crowd involved, helps people get into the right mind set, etc.  One of the problems is that you have to be prepared for people to answer just about any way.  I do a joke asking who hates their jobs?  Usually, the answer is overwhelmingly yes.  Once I did that joke at an office party.  I realized the bosses were all there, so I made a comment how everyone should kick each other under the table instead of answering.  In other words, answers (or lack thereof) can cause some really funny or horribly awkward problems.  I asked a guy that question once and he told me he just got laid off.  I paused, then told him it still probably sucked.  He agreed.

    The worst, however, is the person who answer every single question like the comic is conducting an interview.  I had a show Friday and there was a very drunk or very dumb middle aged lady that decided to answer each and every question in full, then add commentary.  My pal Bob mentioned marriage, then asked in passing who was married.  This lady yelled out, “Marriage is an institution, who wants to be stuck in an institution?  That’s why I got divorced!”  She was actually louder than Bob, who had a microphone.  He asked her if she was so smart, why’d she get married in the first place?  She didn’t hear because she was still talking.

    Right on through Bob’s set, into Darrell’s set, then at mine she was petering out.  The shrill voice was probably getting to her own brain, which was probably shutting down motor functions, much like the poor bastard she used to be married to.  After all the interruptions, the insults hurled at her from the stage and a few from the crowd, she finally shut the hell up.  I was glad, because I was considering honoring the Ultimate Warrior and doing an overhead press to close my set out.  Actually, she was so annoying, I was disappointed.

  • OK, craft beer brewers, that’s enough

    Posted by on April 9, 2014

    I like beer.  I usually drink Busch Light because it’s the first beer I drank and I stick with what works.  Then again, looking at my record, maybe I should have switched.  I realize that occasionally I need to branch out.  In the end, it’s beer, so I still win whether it’s Beast Ice or a $10 IPA.

    There is a pretty cool growler store near my house.  They have 60 beers on tap.  That’s good.  The bad thing is that there is some ridiculous shit in there, thus their sample policy.  I asked for lagers and was handed a smoke screened lager.  It was beer, chased with a stale nicostick blown directly into your mouth.  Mmmmm.  Cancer.

    Last night I got another sample, just to say I tried it.  It was a beer with habanero peppers in it.  I took a sip, not bad.  I hammered down the rest, thinking I was safe when fire roared into my stomach.  I’m sure this will turn out fine.  After all, beer really blocks you up.  Oh wait, it makes your toilet look like a Jackson Pollock painting the next morning.

  • Dumb or crazy?

    Posted by on April 7, 2014

    Sometimes people say things so absent of thought, I wonder if they are dumb or slightly off.  Example – in high school, we were having a discussion about guys at our jobs trying to pull fast ones on newbies.  One guy got sent to find a bucket of steam, another got parts for a coffee maker when he worked at an auto repair shop and was told to put them back in the car (he tried for six hours).  The latter story prompted one of the fellows to say, “Did they have you top off the blinker fluid?  Ha ha.”  Another commented, “Where would you get blinker fluid?”  One, there is no such thing.  Two, we were having a conversation where we established the trickery and absurdity of the situations.  In this case?  Moron.

    Last weekend I parked at the movie theater.  I was on the sixth floor and in a hurry.  There was a middle aged lady mumbling to herself and walking in circles, looking up, down, left and right.  As I passed her, she began to follow me, muttering to herself.  I began to get the fist ready with a bogey on my six.  Violence against women is bad, but if a homeless lady pulls a switchblade, it’s go time.  I’ve seen enough 80′s action movies to know parking garages are beehives of street violence.

    As I hit the stairs, I heard, “What parking garage is this?”  I pointed to the sign, that was bright yellow and had the name of the garage.  She looked at it, then said, “But where are we?  Does it have another name?”  I don’t know lady, I’m late for Captain America.  You could be on fire and you’d be lucky to get spit at as I speed by.  She then followed me down the entire six floors muttering and finally said, “What other garages are around here?”  She was holding a phone like it was a wildcat and it was struggling to break free, but didn’t appear to know how to use it.

    I could only assume she went up all six floors, then back down, meaning she not only didn’t know the geographic location of her parking garage, she didn’t even know the floor if she found it.  That takes a special type of confusion only generated from a massive concussion or a lobotomy.  Then I realized I’ve had five concussions and I was staring at the future.  I should probably buy some diapers this week just in case I get smacked in the head again sometime soon.

  • Help fight terrorism and Nazis

    Posted by on April 4, 2014

    Today has me more excited than William Shatner getting a new toupee.  Captain America 2 comes out today.  It’s like July 4th, but with less fireworks and more terrorist ass beatings.  Sure, you don’t have to watch it, maybe you’re busy…HELPING AL QAEDA KILL BALD EAGLES!  That’s a joke, bald eagles don’t die.  They fake their deaths, then strike when the terrorists least expect it.

    The preliminary movie reviews are overwhelmingly positive.  It would be 100%, but commies have probably infiltrated the movie review scene.  I knew something was amiss when Air Bud didn’t win Best Picture.  Damn freedom haters.

    In Captain America’s first movie he fought Nazis.  Maybe you think that wasn’t real.  Nazis aren’t real?  Are you a Holocaust denier?  Well, then, you better prove not and watch this movie, Himmler!

    I will have to make sure that no one ruins my experience tonight.  I’m thinking I pat down everyone in the theater and confiscate cell phones.  I should probably bring muzzles and a taser also in case anyone speaks during the film.  I definitely will also bring extra copies of the Bill of Rights and American flags to pass out to all the Liberty lovers…I wonder if they’ll let me shoot off fireworks in the theater…that would be crazy.  A movie like this deserves a full cannon.  Anyone have a mule team?

  • April Fools’ Day sucks

    Posted by on April 2, 2014

    A long time ago, someone pulled a prank (which is cool), but the target couldn’t take a joke (imagine a Medieval humorless jerk, like you would think of a BMV worker or Congressman).  The prankster panicked and made up April Fools’ Day to stave off a beheading.  It worked and now we have this stupid holiday.

    I’m all about pranks.  My favorite one was at an old job the shop guys found out a co-worker’s lock combination.  After he left, they put a sign up on the urinal that said “Out of Order.”  They then proceeded to put a funnel that went to his boots in the locker and a sign up that said “Truckers piss here.”  Then the third shift guys took the sign down.  After three days, they left the sign and funnel up, which led to rage and hilarity.

    My problem is like anything in America, corporations and the media try to get in on the joke.  I saw a commercial yesterday where a local car dealer put out a commercial saying they were selling flying cars.  Sigh.  I don’t know who deserves the beating, the company’s marketing director or the blooming idiot who believes the commercial.  I would like to watch that commercial with both and declare, “That was funny.  I won’t gutpunch anyone in this room.  April Fools!”

  • Ikea

    Posted by on March 31, 2014

    Many years ago, as if in a tale of lore, I heard of a land of wonderment called Ikea, where happy Swedes or Swiss or whomever made highly space efficient furniture in very bold, solid colors.  Women, in particular, regaled me with descriptions of the splendor and magic within Ikea’s walls.  I never went.  I had a condo for nine years.  It got decorated when my Mom went shopping for me around Christmas.  If not for Christmas, I would have had two old couches and a big screen TV only.

    I finally got to go recently.  I should have worn workout clothes, since Ikea is about 14 linear miles by the time you meander that cold, solid colored labyrinth.  I was starting to fade out of consciousness looking at cabinets with words that had those double dots over the a’s and o’s when I realized they had food.  Food?  In a furniture store?

    My fiancee – “Do you want to eat here?”  Me – “Do they serve alcohol?”  Her – “No.”  Silence.  Her – “We can get drinks later.”  Me – “Let’s eat here.”  Glad we figured that out.  Note to Ikea, if you herd people into a indoor steeplechase for six hours with no way of exiting, outside of taking a path of peril and trying to blaze your own trail through the wilderness/pillow section, please put some Swedish booze somewhere.  I’m sure you have some glacier vodka or pickled herring juice.  When I find the checkout line in a month, I’ll make sure they hear my idea.

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