Year: 2011

I went to McDonald’s yesterday (when I woke up I told myself Subway, but Subway doesn’t have double cheeseburgers).  They were busy, so while I was waiting in line I heard a guy, probably upper 60’s yell to another, “Get your candy out!  Here comes a nice one!”  I witnessed a girl, very normal looking 30 something walking in.  That guy not only thought that thought, he shared it with the entire McD’s.  It got worse, sadly.

As she ordered, superperv got up and shuffled over to the counter right behind her and struck up/forced a conversation.  Within 15 seconds, he was talking about his chemo.  Ah, the old sympathy ploy.  Time tested.  It never works, but it is time tested.

This is what sucks about this guy.  1) He’s twice her age.  If you’re 60+ and you want a hot chick, you have to be rich.  Not to presume, but we were in McDonald’s.  2) He was hanging out a McDonald’s.  Go to a bar like a man and stare into your glass, regretting life decisions, alone while slow country tunes roll off the jukebox.  Sorry, just having flashbacks of most of my weekends.  3) If you’re going to hit on chicks, be confident.  Don’t initiate and go right for cancer.  That’s pathetic.  Look, women like assertiveness.  Tell them you are the best (not hard for me, FYI).  They respect that, plus over time they love to be told what to think, how to vote, their cooking skills are strong, etc.  Trust me – I know, I’m an unmarried 33 year old man.  I know women.

I read a story about Lindsey Vonn, the US Olympic skiier.  She mentioned that after retiring, she would get into acting.  It must be her strong acting background…oh wait, she skis and is good looking.  I don’t fault her, go for it.  Make piles of cash.  This is example four billion about the Hollywood bullshit machine.  Can you act?  No.  Oh well, you’re hot and we can’t write good scripts – you’re hired!

Of course, there is no genre worse for exploiting fame and bad acting combos than action movies.  Action movies, in my lifetime, have given us Brian Bosworth, Vanilla Ice, Rowdy Roddy Piper, Jesse Ventura, and Shaq.  Even worse, it gives us TERRIBLE movies from people that were in somewhat good stuff before.  Consider Stallone (whose fame brought us his brother Frank Stallone, but that’s for another time).  Rocky is an amazing movie.  I love First Blood.  However, has anyone seen Judge Dredd?  I had high hopes for that one.  I even have the Anthrax song “I am the Law” on my iPod.  That movie sucked like I produced it.  Over the Top makes me hover over the toilet.  And then there’s Cobra.  I’m actually kidding on that one.  That was a test.  Don’t make fun of Francis Cobretti on my watch.  You know what…blog over, I need to find Cobra on Netflix.  If it’s not on there, I am writing a letter to my congressman.

I found this out pretty quickly when I started comedy.  I did a show once at a bar and the owner, who was an hour late to the show, asked us where our microphone and speakers were.  In my pocket, idiot.  You agreed to have a comedy show and have no sound system?  Luckily, a person with that preparation also doesn’t promote very well, so the 12 people there heard me just fine.  (That place is now closed.)

Outdoor shows are also horrible.  I did a show at a bike rally in a downpour.  I never thought rubber soled shoes were so important to a routine.  I’ve been interrupted by boats and trains also during outdoor shows.  Keep it indoors, friend.  I’m trying to avoid being the first and only comedian mauled alive onstage in a freak animal attack.  Side note, I would fight a shark on land.  I don’t like sharks.

Finally, I have had the “booker” at a VFW interrupt me by reading bingo numbers and announcing that the grill was turning off.  This was made more frustrating by the fact he stuck by the door, which opened inwards.  In other words, I was getting hit in the back by the door while Ralph (he was old, I assume his name was Ralph) dished updates over my jokes.

I just had a revelation.  My dog was being very needy, so I slapped him around a little (in a good way) then sat back down.  I was trying to read the paper and he kept annoying me to no end by doing the paw swat to my leg.  I couldn’t take it anymore, so I went to the store and grabbed some bones.  Problem solved for the rest of the day.

It clicked in my head at that moment.  I need to find human bones.  Not human bones, as in a dead person, rather something I can toss at people that annoy the shit out of me.  They run after it, my life is completely back to unbothered.  Sunday when I went to the store, I had bad timing and kept winding up in the same aisle as a guy with what I think was whooping cough.  He looked pretty rough, both from illness and lifestyle choices.  If only I had something, other than meth, on my person I could toss and get this diseasebag out of my comfort zone.  I will be testing alcohol infused snack cakes that sparkle like diamonds today…I think that covers about 85% of human population.  If only I could find a way to make them give false compliments…”Your stories are interesting, lady everyone hates being stuck in line with!”  Thank you, talking sparkly vodka cupcake!  Then I escape the web of boring conversation.  Off to the lab!

I finally wrote some new jokes after quite a hiatus the other night.  Three actually.  After you do this a while, it gets hard to hit the reset button and try new jokes, but you have to.  It’s like if you golf well enough to beat your buddies, then never practice again and expect to make the tour.  So the new jokes must be tried…at an unpaid open mike.  For God’s sakes, don’t do new shit when you’re getting paid.  I have been burned on that move.

I did a new joke about how much I hate poetry, another about parents coddling children, and one about getting pulled over when drunk.  I won’t go into detail, but one went very well, one OK, and one has potential…if I completely rewrite it.  What does this mean?  I’ll probably keep one of the three, which is a good ratio for comedy.  I would add more and be funnier, but I vomited three times before writing this, so this is all you get.  The End.

Another year in the books, as they say (no one says that).  The worst thing about getting older is the gifts.  As a kid, you get toys, video games, candy and maybe once, some lame ass gets you something practical, for which you shun them until the next year.  It’s like the old lady that passed out pennies on trick or treat.  Someone wants toilet papered tonight!

Sadly, you get more and more practical gifts the older you get.  Even more sadly, you need them.  Here’s a blanket!  “Actually, I needed one to match the couch…NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!  I’m boring!!!  It’s over.”  My favorite gift?  Money.  Why?  You can’t screw it up.  Straight cash, homey.  Plus, you can’t put vagina in a box, am I right?  (Gunshot)  I will also take a winning powerball ticket.  You would never hear from my happy ass again, except when Coen Brewing Company came out.  The factory would look like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory meets a Disturbed album cover.