A New Revised Routine

I have to give credit where credit is due. I had utter dogshit this morning. In the last 24 hours, Christen has REALLY helped me break through this writer's block. I'll even go as far as to say, about 3/4ths of the carnival bit she came up with and we worked it out together.
Here's the routine I have for tonight. Christen did such a great job coming up with lines. Kudos to you, dear.

Nothing unites people like March Madness. People that I know that are
just
incredible racists suddenly have a dream.. and that dream is
Florida over UNC by 3.

They wouldn't care if the Ohio State
Backcourt is engaged to their daughter as long as they win the South
Regional.

That's why March Madness should be the "real" Black
history month.

Fuck George Washington Carver.. who gives a shit
about peanut oil? Could he crossover dribble? I doubt it. GWC couldn't go hard
to the rack, he'd be two worried about elbows to his head.

You
could make an amazing BHM NCAA team.

You've got Stevie Wonder at
the point, dishing no look passes.

Rosa Parks at Small forward. All
she'd do is set picks, nobody's moving that
broad.

I'd take
Rodney king rioters too.. you'd lead the league in steals, but
you'd have a
problem with them chucking bricks when they play Kansas.

There's
dog food going around that's killing people's pets. I would've been
worried,
but fortunately my dogs died a few weeks ago during the tainted
peanut butter
scandal. I was worried about it too, cause after you smear it
on, you have to
lick the spoon.

Do you think pedophiles get upset when someone says
they don't remember
anything 20 years later except under hypnosis? You spend
money on the little
guy, you take him to the carnival, you buy him cotton
candy and they can't
even say "Hey, the ass sex left a lot to be desired, but
that ferris wheel
was a real treat".

The weird thing about
carnivals is that they're ALWAYS sponsored by a
church. That always irritates
me. Jesus didn't get crucified so that I could
pay 5 bucks to ride the
gravitron while some meth addict checked out my
wife's tits. Jesus was very
accepting but I'm sure even he'd get sick of
hearing Angel in a Centerfold
ten times a night.

I hate carnivals. I really do. Carnivals are
what america would be like if
the south won the war. Just a bunch of pregnant
14 year olds shotgunning PBR in their Marilyn Manson
T-shirts.

Those Carnival pictures you can win are the WORST. They
have there are
pictures dale earnheart with Jesus in the passenger seat,
racing his car
through heaven....

I even saw pictures of biggie
and tupac with Jesus smoking a blunt. Ok maybe
they
weren't smoking a blunt but they look absolutely
stoned.

Why do those guys get there pictures with
Jesus? I want MYYYY picture with
Jesus. In fact, I
think if those guys can have a picture with Jesus we ALL
should be able to do
it.

You know those cardboard cutouts you stick your head through at
carnivals?
They should just have those cardboard cutouts that you stick your
head in so
you can have your picture with Jesus. *insert stupid
face here*

Then they can have the last supper scene with all the
heads cut out for
group photos. Me and all my fraternity brothers can have
our pictures taken as
the apostles at the last supper.

Imagine
how confusing that's be for kids when they go to each other's houses
and see
their parents at the Last Supper.

"Hey your dad was at the Last
Supper too?"

Yeah, him and Uncle Jim were wasted that day, they
ended up takjing a ride
on the salt and pepper shaker and missed the
cruxification. Dad puked in
Judas' lap.

I know its bad but any
more bad than Earnhart or biggie with the J-man? I
don't think
so.....

Another thing you see are those awful velvet paintings. You
know Some
asshole has a velvet painting of a tiger hanging up in their living
room.
The only reason you should have a picture of a white tiger hanging up
in your
living room is he bit your partner during a magic show and then he
died of
AIDS.

Anorexia, why I want to be in an insurgent video and more....

I had a pretty shitty week.

I had my thursday night show last week, which I thought went really well. I don't take compliments well and when it comes to my comedy, I'm incredibly critical of myself.

It came off pretty good, but there's at least 20 things in there that I picked out that make me want to get capture by an insurgent and hope he saws my fat head off.

I never realized how fat I've gotten until just now. I still think I'm about 100 lbs. lighter (about 5 years ago now...)when I was actually in good shape and it really irritated me. I took my shirt off the other day and looked at myself in the mirror. After seeing all the stretch marks I should be renamed Rand McNally. (Yes, that was a hack atlas/road map joke.)
Anyways, it went ok and people have been complimentary.. I just hated it because that's the reason I am the way I am. Every verbal tick, every stutter made me want to turn off the video.. but after it all, I guess I'm happy.
I only wrote one or two things this week because I'm lazy and lack motivation. It showed this week when I went on stage and although it got a reaction, there was a crowd there sitting up front that did not like anything I had to say. I guess that comes with the first thing you do when you hit the stage is asking them if they had a bluetooth headset and following that up with telling the person that said they did have one that you want to shit in their mouth.

I'm a crowd pleaser. (Note: Now I want to shit in their mouth even more.)

I followed that up by going into my "kids as an accomplishment" bit by saying I really hated the person that said they thought theirs was. They really loved me... and that's if loving me is sitting there with no reaction while I make jokes about my the Kool-Aid man receiving fellatio from 8 year olds)

Well, where does this all come back around?

I wrote this bit this week and I don't have an honest gauge on it because I was so fixated on the crowd up front... and I've been obsessed with my weight the last few days and this caught my eye in the news. The premise is 100% true, by the way.

I just saw on the news that Pro-Anorexia and Bulimia groups are targeting
Myspace. That's right.. PRO-Anorexia groups. Nothing says sexy like having to
swat the flies away from a chick's face before you try to hook up with her
because she looks like she comes from Ethiopia.

Their myspace spam
must be a treat "Hey Fatty, you're about two shits and a good vomit away from
looking your best. Come join Stupid c-word's 'starving' for
Attention."

For anyone who's interested... I figured out the dating
strategy for those chicks.. take her out to dinner and bang her while she
throws up in the toilet afterwards. You're just standing behind her doing your
thing and saying "Yeah, I know honey.. no one will love you until you're skinny
and dead… Don't get any chunks on my shoes"

I looked at
some of these girls pictures on myspace. They look so skinny you could roll them
on your penis like a condom. You'd even have to pinch the top of their head for
that little fountain tip thing.

Here's a little known fact.
Remember Terry Schiavo? She was anorexic. It's the reasons she had her stroke.
Kind of ironic that she ended life as one of the four major groups of things she
hated so much.

It's not like I'm one to talk about weight
control. I'm getting so fat that when I sit down on the toilet, it smells
like I've been sitting in an onion patch all day.

Exactly What You'd Think Would Happen to Me

Well, I performed again last night. I wrote a really tight set, about 4 minutes long. I'd been using my blogs for material and writing new topical stuff to drop in with the stuff I've been writing for about a year now.

Last week, my car was broken into and my laptop, briefcase and tape recorder were stolen. Because of that, I had to go out and buy a new tape recorder. I was really happy because I found a cheap digital voice recorder that doesn't need tape and looked like it would do the trick.

I got it before class at Wal-Mart and went over. I had a few beers to loosen me up a bit because I get REALLY nervous. I didn't realize how fast I was drinking and by the time class started, I had a bit too much. It was cheap because I got a pitcher for 6 bucks and someone else bought me a beer or two. All this drinking, in about an hour.

So, when class rolls around to the performance, I'd been FURIOUSLY trying to remember my set, get the list written down and work out the flow a bit.

I get on stage, and fucking BOMBED. Forgot almost every line.. The stage at the cabaret is REALLY small, and only elevated about 6 inches from the floor. It's basically a raised floor big enough for you to stand on and walk about two steps either way.

I was tipsy... but not drunk. Just tipsy enough to forget everything and have heavy feet. I get up there, do about two jokes before I start to just lose it. I tried keeping my cool and backing up a bit, only to fall off the fucking stage. At that point, I did one more "joke" (joke is in quotations because while it was technically a joke, I didn't remember the punch line, put the mike back and walked off.)

Ok... really pissed. It was stupid of me and I totally deserved it. I figured at that point, with me going 5th in the lineup I could sober up a bit and get myself back together again.

I do that. I drank a ton of soda, sat in a quiet place and just worked at getting my stuff down. I'd wrote two jokes in class and I wanted to open with them, so I got the wording down quickly.

The comics before me were good.. they had good sets and I was intimidated following them. I understand now what it means when a comic says they can't follow someone.. because when they're rolling it sets a high bar for you to come out of the gate with and they may wear the audience out.
So, my name gets called. I press record on my fancy new device and head up to the stage... at this point, I'm just thinking that if I can get a minute out and not totally wreck it, I'd be happy.

I led off with the jokes I wrote in class and a one liner I've kept in my back pocket for about a year now. I tried it onstage one time and it bombed so badly, it still makes my brain itch.

I get up there, look once at my set list and start going.

The audience was great and pretty well warmed up... but no one before me even did the topics I was hitting on which was fantastic.

I won't say it very much and I feel like an asshole saying it, but.. I fucking nailed it.

I was hitting on all cylinders, remembered EVERYTHING, right down to my exact wording and the audience was really digging it. I tied the whole set together through a logical progression and they just followed right along. I said a few redundant things because I have those shitty vocal ticks (everyone has them, it's a phrase or action you do when you speak nervously) but nothing terribly noticable.

I was really fucking happy when I got off stage and a couple of comics came over and complimented me on my set, which was great..

I stayed a long while to watch the other comics and I was really happy.

I got into the car and decided I'd finally listen to my performance.

The FUCKING recording is TERRIBLE. You can *barely* make out my voice. All you can hear is "mhmhmhmhmh" then laughter.

I finally get a really good fucking set together and I can't even hear it. I wanted to punch the President of RCA's wife in the babymaker. I've been livid all day. I get my first really good performance and this is what happens.

That's my life in a nut shell.

Here's the set I did, you probably have read most of it before:

Britney Spears shaved her head and the pictures are ALL over the internet. I
started looking at them and they inevitably led to pictures of her vagina..
which from the looks of it lost in 12 rounds to Apollo Creed.
Did you ever
hear the old joke "What's the worst part about eating a vegetable?" "Getting her
out of the wheelchair.." Well, it's not.. it's finding one with a puppy so you
can threaten to kill it if she tells anyone.
Who hasn't slept with Anna
Nicole smith? I know why she moved to the Carribean now.. there was a 24 hour
Congo line leading into her vagina.
They still haven't buried her. I was
watching the press conference today and she's decomposing right now, in the
morgue. The guy was sitting there saying they've gotta bury her in the next
week. I think the exact quote was "She's starting to decompose to the point
where we can't even fuck her anymore."
That sounds like the way you want to
go, doesn't.. some creepy coroner sneaking into your freezer and t-bagging you
while your eyeballs fall out and roll across the floor.
Something else I saw
this week was that they haven't even buried James Brown yet. I told my wife that
if it ever gets that bad, I just want her to throw me somewhere and let
some animals eat me or something. Ashes to Ashes.. all that shit.. Let some wild
animal have his way with your body. Just let some bear chew on your taint.. Mine
smells like onions, he'd probably enjoy it. .
At least then you've done
something to benefit some living being and it won't be an excuse for a shitty
relative to get a day off. I say this because most of my relatives are
shitty and I'll see them plenty when I haunt them during holidays and when they
masturbate….especially my grandmother…. MMMM.
The whole "returning to the
earth" thing is utter bullshit. It really is. No one wants to return to the
earth. People want their bodies to be untouched and sealed away so it doesn't
get turned into worm shit.
Unless you want to make a semi-attractive zombie
when Michael Jackson "thrills" you out of your grave, there's absolutely no
reason... Even then you'll just want to eat brains and diddle 12 year old cancer
kids...
Another thing I told her to do was to drop me out of an airplane in
the wilderness somewhere close to a highway or trail. That way, in about ten
years when some stupid hikers are JUST about to find their way out, they'll see
my skull and lose all hope of rescue.
"I think we're going to make it! I
think I hear a car... Ahhhhhhhhh fuck."

The Bucket

Thursday, January 25, 2007

The bucket in my grandmother's car.

My grandmother was a strange cat.

My wife and I were just sitting here talking and all of a sudden, I remembered this. My family can comment and confirm the existence of this bucket and the story.

My grandparents decided to move into the woody northern reaches of Pennsylvania, sometime in the 70's. She's always been a bit..... insane.
That being said, one of the absolutely most bizarre things she ever did and trust me there's a fucking laundry list of shit; is "the bucket".

"The Bucket" is the embodiment of what is truly wrong in my family. It was blue, older than anyone of the grandchildren and... well, I don't want to ruin the suspense.

"The Bucket" is something we uncomfortably laugh off at family get togethers, something that gets those "shared experience half-giggles" followed by a long pregnant pause of discomfort where you want to itch your brain because it's so embarassing.

I don't know of anyone else in my life that had "the bucket"; nor have anyone I known ever made use of it, save one.

You see, "the bucket" was this blue plastic container of repression. You just quietly looked at until my Grandmother picked it up and threw it in the backseat or you just picked it up with the end nub of your pinky and sat in the front seat uncomfortably staring at it until you could get to a sink.
You see, Mr. Bucket of Therapy Material had a partner... Mr. Toilet Paper.
Mr Bucket and Toilet paper were for the "long ride" and they apparently were very... busy? Or at least, it certainly looked busy from the insides of it.
Yes, my grandmother carted around a shit bucket in her car for at least 20 years and never cleaned it out from what I saw. Whenever you complained.. about anything really, she'd say "Use the bucket."

Need to stop because you're sick?

Have to pee?

How long until we get to your house?

How come I'm being sent to this gulag for 2 weeks in the summer?

"Use the bucket" was your answer until you got up there.

I don't know of ANYONE ever squatting over this monstrosity except for her. The really strange part of it was, the few times you even *considered* using it while careening around country roads in the dark... she never slowed down. Nope, you were expected to go in the car, in this bucket, right in front of her.

I always tried to figure out the logistics of taking a dump in a shitty little white Nissan when there's obviously no where to put it under your ass.
The worst was when you got in the car and you just KNEW from the smell of the car that she'd drank 3 gallons of pepsi and finished it off with a healthy dose of aparagus right before you got in it.

She'd leave it on the drivers seat and you'd just flash in your mind visions of the absolute worst things you could imagine one human being doing with a dirty old bucket.

If that was not enough... you know.. visions of your grandmother squatting over this thing and then sharing a front seat with it... was the pure logistics of it.

What happens if you have to jam on the breaks? Ooooh this bucket of shit will make a nice place for my face to land as I'm sitting in the passenger seat.

List of Lists

Another Dogshit Blog Entry -- The List of Lists.

In about one week, I start my comedy classes in Philadelphia. I've been trying really hard to write a lot of material in a short amount of time so I can come in with some stuff to work on.

I realize now that I'm not doing standup to be rich, famous or even successful. I'm doing it for the approval and acceptance of others. It's either standup or pole dancing, which on a positive note, I totally have the tits for.
I've read a bunch of books with exercises in them that are supposed to make you funnier or some shit.

One of them that sticks out is making a list of lists, here are mine:

1. 
   The top ten things I've picked off of my body in order of taste
2. 
   The Two Worthwhile things my wife has interrupted major sporting events with
3. 
   The Top Twenty chores Jon M. has performed shirtless in order of sexiness
4. 
   Fifty incurable disaeses I'd like a reality game show to infect people with
   Twenty things my dogs caught me doing that I really wish they didn't, in order of how disrobed I was at the time.
5. 
   The four times a man is allowed to cry in his life and not be called a homosexual by his peers, ordered by the coolness of the championship trophy.

Meh. I don't know how much it helped.