I found the worst lineup in television shows. A&E had a new commercial that was promoting Wahlburgers, Donnie Loves Jenny and Lachey’s Bar. This may be the 2nd sign of the Apocalypse.
Wahlburgers is a show that on every promo, the matriarch says, “YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT THEM WAHLBERG BOYS!” Then all the sons laugh and tee hee and repeat that line. I know what the Boston Asian community says – stay the hell away from Mark.
Donnie Loves Jenny involves Donnie from the New Kids on the Block dating former Playmate that convinced a lot of people that vaccines caused autism. Unless both of them are building houses for the poor to make up for their crimes against humanity, I won’t be watching.
Lastly is Lachey’s Bar, where the two brothers from a shittier boy band than NKOTB (I know, the acronym makes me cringe too) open a bar. Imagine Bar Rescue, but without the verbal ass kicking and with 98 degrees. I think A&E is actually doing a psychological experiment on the American public to see who watches all three shows in one sitting without taking a nap in their running cars in a closed garage.
I was out and about yesterday when suddenly I realized I had a minor emergency developing rather abruptly. I began frantically searching for the cleanest, quietest place I could find and like a dream, the clouds parted and I realized I was close to a library. Little did I know it was the worst place I could have picked.
I sat down and realized the toilet was about 16 inches off the floor. This would be ideal if I was a bird warming an egg, but alas, I’m not. I’m sort of a man. As soon as I sat down a kid walked in, pulled on the door, then sat right next to the stall door and began to peer under the wall. Call me weird, but I was rather unprepared for this turn of events. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He said nothing, but he farted very loudly and extended his legs under the wall. I was beginning to wish that I had actually crapped my pants.
He then began throwing things under the door at me and slapping beads on the floor. Apparently he had just returned from Mardi Gras. “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” No answer. He slid closer and more into my personal space. I now wished I had a colostomy bag instead of being in this situation. I ran out and realized the kid was unsupervised and should not have been by himself in the restroom. “Hey buddy, don’t look under the door.” His response was another loud fart. I was so flustered, I didn’t even buy anything (Haha I was in a library, get it?). I determined for the 131st time this month that I really need to find a way to never leave my house again.
I recently saw a commercial that annoyed me more than normal commercials. There is a dating site called Farmers Only. In the ad, a farmer is at a bar with no ladies. He whips out his smartphone, signs up, then hot single ladies show and sing a song. Here’s what’s wrong with it.
1) Not to stereotype, but how many farmers have smartphones? I can’t get cell coverage in Pataskala seven miles from Columbus, let alone set up a dating profile on a ranch. 2) How does a single farmer have time to bar hop? Every farmer I’ve met works seven days a week and takes a vacation once every decade. 3) I don’t know how many ladies are scared to go to a bar and meet strangers, but have no issue at all meeting strangers on the internet and then meeting them in a bar. That actually probably ups the murder chance about 20 times. 4) Do all these ladies have to farm also? What are the qualifications? Houseplant owner or something more farmery, like do you have to have lost a sibling to milk sickness? I like to think somewhere a farmer sees this commercial and bemoans the good ol’ days of the square dance or ice cream social, then opens his Tinder account and starts swiping.
It’s getting near go time for our baby to make an appearance – although I must say, my wife REALLY loves being pregnant. She is a big fan of not sleeping, having to pee every hour and being unable to do basic tasks. I’ve never went through this process, but luckily everyone is on the same page. I had a conversation with a couple buddies this weekend, I’ll call them 1 and 2 for ease.
Pal 1: “Make sure you see the baby coming out, man. It’s so amazing!” #2 “Hell no. Don’t look. Don’t ever look.” #1 “No way, it’s great. You see your kid coming out, it’s all messy – so messy, but then it unfolds and starting screaming.” #2 “I told you. Don’t look.” It appears number 1 is losing the case…
I can actually stomach a lot. I’ve watched my own hand stitched up, I don’t flinch or look away for needles and I watch a lot of medical shows. I just can’t stand to bones break out of skin. Unless my wife is doing skateboard tricks, I should be OK – but how cool would that be?
One thing I learned when I started doing comedy is that shows can happen about anywhere or for any crowd. I’ve got to do casinos, comedy clubs, colleges, bars…and senior citizen centers, in an alley and at outdoor parties where I was followed by a country band who was walking around with a wireless mike and singing/scaring the children by getting up in everyone’s faces. Most of the shows are pretty much one time affairs for people you’ll never see again.
One show I’ve done several times is the Q Fest. It’s the annual fund raising golf tournament for the Quincy Conner Foundation. http://www.thequincyconnerfoundation.com/golf-tournament This event was started in honor of my buddy and fraternity brother Q, who passed way too early due to heart disease. The board does a tremendous job and has grown this foundation from a small organization to one that now offers scholarships to kids who have lost parents to heart disease. It’s open to everyone, so if you’re a golf fan or want to see comedy, check out the link above (it’s this Saturday).
Q was an interesting character, as was about everyone I went to college with. Q was so competitive, he would record other people playing Madden on his VCR to scout out their plays. He used to DJ our parties, which was hard because I’m old enough where you had to lug 1000 CD’s around, but young enough to know no matter what music you play, some drunk asses will request some garbage song like “Barbie Girl” or their favorite weird independent band and ruin the party. I could tell more stories, but they may come out this weekend. Darrell Dawson and Bill Arrundale will be doing the show and if my baby decides to hang out a little longer, I will be there too! It’s a great cause – here’s the link again for this Saturday in Columbus. http://www.thequincyconnerfoundation.com/golf-tournament
While I was out this weekend, two magazines had covers running down the most stylish men. I am very stylish, as long as t-shirts and jeans are good. Not those Ed Hardy shirts or men’s jeans with glitter. Those are just ridiculous. Here’s an example.
I went to get new shoes, as mine are pretty run down. My wife and I walked in – I’ll be damned, there’s the same exact shoes! Wife: “Don’t tell me you’re getting the same shoes.” Yep. Wife: “You should branch out.” I did last time, I liked these, now I’m buying the same ones I found when I branched out. Wife: “You’re boring. You should try something new.” I like you. Should I branch out and find a new wife? Wife: “I should have found a new husband by now.” Stylish and still got the smooth talk for my lady. I should be on a magazine cover.