I watched the MTV VMAs last night, and found the whole affair pretty disappointing. However, I will say this:
Shakira's got more shake in her caboose than a freight train full of jello that's going over a section of fairly uneven track!
She's got more fresh meat in her trunk than a roadkill connoisseur driving a make and model of car that is well-known for having substantial trunk space!
She's responsible for erecting more cocks than a man doing an offensive, stereotypical Chinese accent who keeps voting for a rooster for mayor.
She's got juicier haunches than a lemonade pony!
She's got more impressive mounds of thundering caramel goodness than Gooberius, the ancient Sumerian god of sweets!
She's got a better ass than J. Lo!
And so forth.
Retard.
I bet real-life mobsters don't actually like to watch The Sopranos, because they get enough of that stuff in their everyday lives. Just like people who work in airports never liked the show Wings. I guess by that logic everyone in the whole world works in airports.
Or just like promiscuous horses wearing wigs don't like to watch Sex And The City.
What? Oh yeah, Sarrah Jessica Parker is a real piece of work. Dr. Moreau should be proud.
WHAT? All I'm saying is, Sarah Jessica Parker looks like she's the end product of a series of horrible, demented surgical experiments performed on a horse! By a mad scientist! On a secret island! WHAT?!?! You're looking at me like I'm the bad guy here. Please.
I haven't seen The Vagina Monologues yet, but last night I checked out that hot new Broadway show, The Anus Diatribes. Two and a half hours of angry, angry ass stories. It was pretty good, but I wish I had brought a slicker. There are definitely some De La Guarda elements to the show.
HAY MUCHAS COSAS INTERESANTES EN UNA PAELLA, aka "The Spanish Guy Sketch"
(this version performed on Dec 8th 2001 as well)
Juan sits at his desk. He has a very self-satisfied look about him. There is a phone on his desk.
The phone rings. Juan answers it.
JUAN
Hola? Lo siento, pero no hablo ingles. Si, bien. Adios!
Jim approaches. He is an intense guy. He is carrying a document.
JIM
Hi, how's it going? (they shake hands) My name's Jim. You're new here, right?
JUAN
Si, me llamo Juan.
JIM
Oh, do you speak English?
JUAN
No hablo ingles. Solamente hablo espanol.
JIM
So you don't understand what I'm saying?
JUAN
Es correcto, no entiendo nada de lo que me dices.
JIM
Well...I guess I'll get someone else to help me with this then (referring to document he's carrying).
JUAN
Si, eso sera mejor.
There is an awkward pause here. Jim feels something is not quite right, but he can't put his finger on it. He shrugs it off and thinks about it no more.
JIM
Bye.
JUAN
Adios!
Jim leaves.
Terry comes over. She looks stressed and overworked. She has been suspicious of Juan for a couple of days now.
TERRY
Good morning, Juan. Nice weather we're having today, huh?
JUAN
Si, hace buen tiempo, pero puede llover manana.
TERRY
You just made a comment about the weather, right?
JUAN
Si.
TERRY
Okay, look, I have a real big prob --
Cole enters. He is laid back and friendly.
COLE
Hey Terry, hey Juan!
TERRY
Cole.
JUAN
Hola Cole!
COLE
Did you guys see the Knicks game last night?
JUAN
Si, que partido! Entre el rebounding de Marcus Camby y el sharp-shooting de Latrell Sprewell, los ultimos minutos fueran los mejores del juegos. Si siguen asi yo creo que Jeff Van Gundy y Los Knickerbockers van a llegar a los playoffs.
COLE
You said it, man. What was the final score again?
JUAN
Ciento seis a ciento dos.
COLE
That's right. Gotta run, bye guys.
JUAN
Adios!
Cole leaves.
TERRY
Okay, look, this is really upsetting me. You clearly understand English. The work is piling up, and we could really use your help on a number of different projects. You've been here for a week and you haven't done a damn thing - why would they hire you in the first place if there was going to be such a language problem?
Juan happily shrugs.
Jim returns.
JIM
Hey Terry. You're wasting your time. Juan doesn't understand English. Isn't that right, Juan?
JUAN
Si Jim, no.
TERRY
There, he's doing it again! If he doesn't understand English, then how can he keep answering our questions?
JIM
He's answering in Spanish.
JUAN
Si, solamente hablo espanol, no entiendo nada de ingles.
JIM
See?
TERRY
I'm getting our supervisor.
Terry leaves.
JUAN
Adios!
Cole returns.
COLE
Hey guys. Juan, maybe you can help me out with this. What is that Spanish dish with all the seafood and stuff all mixed together with the yellow rice? I love that dish.
JUAN
Paella.
COLE
Yeah.
JIM
Oh, I love paella.
JUAN
Si, hay muchas cosas interesantes en una paella.
COLE
All that chicken…
JUAN
Si, pollo.
JIM
Rice
JUAN
Arroz.
COLE
Clams.
JUAN
Mmm...Almejas.
JIM
Shrimp.
JUAN
Oh, camarones, si.
COLE
Sausage.
JUAN
Chorizos.
JIM
Roasted peppers.
JUAN
Pimientos morrones - delicioso!
COLE
You said it. Man, just thinking about it is making me hungry. I’m gonna go grab some lunch.
JIM
Bye.
JUAN
Adios!
Cole leaves. Jim shifts uncertainly.
JIM
I also like sushi.
JUAN
Oh, si, si.
JIM
What’s the Spanish word for sushi?
JUAN
Sushi.
JIM
Outstanding.
Terry returns with Marc.
MARC
So what's the problem here?
TERRY
Juan hasn't done any work since he started here!
JIM
He doesn't speak English.
TERRY
He doesn't speak English? Juan, how many chromosomes are there in the human gene?
JUAN
Cuarenta y seis.
JIM
That's Spanish for forty six, right?
JUAN
Si.
JIM
Outstanding.
TERRY
See?! We've been having conversations with him! Sure, he's answering in Spanish, but he understands everything we say! He's faking it! He is a big fat lying nasty fake! Fatty!
MARC
Hmm, I see. Juan, what do you have to say for yourself?
Juan stands up, and reads from a crumpled piece of paper he pulls from his back pocket, in a very proper, overpronounced American voice.
JUAN
Listen. This sort of thing happens to me a lot, so I had an English speaking friend prepare this speech for me to help alleviate tension. Terry, I too would be upset if my coworker were unable to assist me in any way whatsoever, with any work at all. Ever. How can I claim not to understand English when I answer your questions accurately, even if I am indeed answering in Spanish? Sure, I could use the excuse that I do know some basic English but am too embarrassed by my halting pronunciation to answer in English, but this doesn't explain how I can answer questions about the weather and sports, or even more unlikely, a question such as "how many chromosomes are there in the human gene?" Surely this argues for a more in-depth knowledge of English, a knowledge that you must now suspect I possess. To this I say...trust your heart. Also, Terry, I am not fat, as you can plainly see.
JIM
Can I take a look at that?
JUAN
No.
Juan folds up the paper and puts it back in his pocket.
MARC
That was beautiful. I think we can all learn something from Juan.
TERRY
Bullshit! I call bullshit on you mister! Bullshit on all of you! Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit! I quit!
Terry storms out.
JUAN
Adios!
MARC
Okay. With Terry gone, it looks like we need a new project manager. Juan, I'm promoting you to Terry's position.
JUAN
Un promocion! Muchas gracias, no te vas arrepentir, Marc, no te vas arrepentir!
MARC
I love this guy! I don't understand a word he's saying, but I love this guy!
JIM
You know, I've been here eleven years without a promotion and he's been here a week...but I can't help but be happy for him too! Congratulations, Juan!
JUAN
Muchas gracias! Adios!
They leave. Juan goes back to sitting there smugly.
The phone rings.
JUAN
Hello. Whoah, whoah, whoah, slow down amigo, I don't speak Spanish!
Cheesy smile to audience with thumbs up, similar to the ending for the "Donkey Punch" sketch I wrote for Nora Dunn's canceled sketch tv show.
posted by Andres at 12:20 PM
Monday, August 26, 2002
The Pants Sketch
(This version performed on 12.08.01 @ A Library Somewhere In Westchester. Seriously.)
Lights up on two men in mid-conversation, laughing uproariously. They are holding cocktails. They are standing upstage left. Their pants are down around their ankles, and they don’t seem to notice or care.
ROBERT
Oh I do enjoy a good joke.
DAN
Yes, jokes can be very funny. Is it drafty in here?
ROBERT
Yes, I have the air conditioner on full-blast.
DAN
It’s very drafty.
Pause.
ROBERT
You know, I've been feeling a bit self-conscious lately.
Dan shuffles to downstage right to refill his drink.
DAN
Really? Why's that?
ROBERT
Well, it’s just that I find it very awkward to walk around like this. (pause) I mean, I'm used to wearing glasses, and these contact lenses make me feel completely off-balance.
DAN
You'll get used to them.
ROBERT
I hope so! I'm going swing-dancing with Ashley this Wednesday night, and I don't want to look like a fool out there!
There is a knock on the door. Robert begins shuffling to the door upstage right. Dan shuffles back to upstage left.
ROBERT
I’ll get it!
Robert opens the door. Andrew enters. His pants are also down around his ankles.
ANDREW
Hello all!
ROBERT
Andrew!
ANDREW
I parked my motorcycle in the driveway. I hope you don't mind.
ROBERT
How on Earth can you ride a motorcycle dressed like that?
ANDREW
What do you mean?
ROBERT
You're not wearing a helmet!
ANDREW
Oh, don't be silly, I left my helmet outside with the motorcycle!
ROBERT
Andrew, allow me to introduce you to Dan.
Andrew and Dan shuffle towards each other.
ANDREW
Ah yes! It's a pleasure.
DAN
Likewise.
They attempt to shake hands at center stage, and are both jolted by static electricity.
ANDREW
Ow!
DAN
Ooh, that smarted.
ROBERT
What's wrong?
DAN
Just some static electricity.
Robert shuffles to center stage.
ROBERT
You see, that’s why I need to run the air conditioner constantly. All of this dry heat causes a terrible amount of static electricity.
ANDREW
How ironic. You must run up a huge electricity bill…just to keep from being electrocuted!
They all laugh uproariously. Robert starts to shuffle to downstage left.
ROBERT
Oh I do enjoy a good joke.
DAN
Yes, jokes can be very funny.
ROBERT
Who wants to play Twister?
ANDREW
You read my mind!
DAN
Wait, we can't play Twister like this!
ROBERT
Why not?
DAN
We need music!
Dan shuffles over to the stereo upstage left and turns it on. Goofy lounge music begins to play. Meanwhile the other boys are setting up the game center stage. There is assorted enthusiastic Twister-talk as this is going on.
Andrew stands off to one side and spins the dial.
ANDREW
Right foot green!
They all put their right foot on green. Andrew spins again.
ANDREW
Right foot blue!
They all put their right foot on blue. Andrew spins again.
ANDREW
Left foot green!
This is impossible for them to do, since their legs can't separate that far. They shift about uncertainly, and then laugh hysterically.
DAN
Delightful! Twister always ends with some crazy mess like this!
The doorbell rings. Andrew shuffles to the door.
ANDREW
I’ll get it.
Andrew opens the door. Jeff is standing there.
ANDREW
May I help you?
JEFF
I’m sorry to interrupt your…(looking at the situation) I’m sorry to interrupt you, but my car just broke down just about a mile down the road. I was wondering -
ANDREW
Please, come in, do make yourself comfortable.
JEFF
Thanks. I was wondering if I could use your phone to call -
ANDREW
I said, make yourself comfortable.
JEFF
I'm fine, thanks. I have a calling card, so -
The fops clear their throats. Jeff slowly figures out they want him to drop his trousers. The three pansies murmur their approval, clap politely, etc.
DAN
Well played!
JEFF
I just need to call AAA.
ROBERT
What kind of car do you have?
JEFF
Um…it’s a Nissan Sentra.
DAN
What kind of engine?
JEFF
It’s a V6.
ANDREW
What color is it?
JEFF
Grey.
ROBERT
The car or the engine?
JEFF
The car.
DAN
Ooh, even better!
(Pause)
JEFF
So can I please use your phone?
ROBERT
Oh, we don’t have a phone.
The others murmur their agreement.
JEFF
Okay. Well, it was really nice to meet you gentlemen. I’m going to leave now.
Jeff begins to pull up his pants. Assorted disappointed grumbles from the pansies. “But you just got here,” etc. Jeff drops his pants and they approve. He lifts them slowly, and they again are disappointed. Jeff plays with them, finally dropping his pants again by mistake. They Aw/Ah! Alternately, ending with a big HEY!! And they toast his pantslessness. (author's note - this is the funniest part of the sketch, it just doesn't read that funny)
DAN
Well played!
JEFF
I'm sorry, I have to go…
Aw! He pulls his pants back up.
ROBERT
Well at least shake our hands!
All three men shuffle towards her to shake his hand. Each shocks him.
JEFF
Ow.
ANDREW
Ouch.
JEFF
Ow.
DAN
Ouch.
Jeff exits.
ANDREW
That’s static electricity for you.
They laugh.
ROBERT
Oh I do enjoy a good joke.
DAN
Yes, jokes can be very funny.
Long pause.
ANDREW
I’m chilly.
BLACKOUT
Another oldy. Yes, I am going to post everything I've ever written for the stage on this blog.
VAMPIRE AUDITION
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Next.
Out comes Murray, all bloody.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Name?
MURRAY
My name is Murray Peterson.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
And what part will you be auditioning for, Murray?
MURRAY
I will be auditioning for the part of Mario.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
And what will you be singing for us?
MURRAY
I will be singing "I Love To Cry At Weddings."
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Okay, whenever you're ready.
MURRAY
Hit it!
The piano accompaniment for "I Love To Cry At Weddings" begins. Murray sings the song with gusto. He is interrupted mid-song.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Thank you, Murray. If we decide to cast you, you'll hear from us in a couple of days.
MURRAY
Great, thanks!
Murray begins to walk offstage.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Hold on just a second, Murray.
Murray stops. Producer voices mumble in the background.
PRODUCER (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Murray, is that blood on your face?
MURRAY
Hmm? Well, I suppose it is. Okay, thank you!
He starts to walk off again.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Wait, don't go just yet.
He stops. More background murmuring.
PRODUCER (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Murray, are you a vampire?
MURRAY
Am I a vampire? Good one! Okay, I hope to hear from you next week! Thank you for your time!
Murray begins to walk off again.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
No, seriously. Please answer the question.
He stops.
MURRAY
(uncomfortable)
I don't see how that is of any relevance...I don't –
PRODUCER (V.O.)
You do realize that this show will be performing eight times a week? Including two matinees?
MURRAY
Sure, that's standard, right?
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Right. Matinees are during the day, Murray.
MURRAY
I knew that.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
So if you're a vampire, we would need to know that now.
MURRAY
Yeah, but if I say "Yes, I am a vampire", then you won't cast me, right?
PRODUCER (V.O.)
I didn't say that. But we do need to know.
MURRAY
Look. Let's be honest here. You...pathetic...humans have no love for my kind. You fear us, you cower before us as dogs cower before their masters. And why are you afraid? Because you know that to us you are nothing more than walking sacks of liquid nourishment. I could drain you of your life's blood right now, Day Walker, and toss your lifeless corpse into a nearby dumpster, yet my love for musical theatre forces me to swallow my pride and subjugate myself before your idiotic whims!
PRODUCER (V.O.)
So you are a vampire.
MURRAY
I didn't say that.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
It really sounds to me like you're a vampire.
MURRAY
(trying a new tactic)
Look, I am sooo perfect for this part! I was born to play Mario! Can't someone else play the part for the matinees? I'll do six shows a week, I'll bust my ass for six shows!
PRODUCER (V.O.)
I'm sorry Murray.
MURRAY
(pointing towards the booth in the back; speaking deeply and ominously)
Listen to me, Day Walker! Listen and obey! You will cast me in the part of Mario, and you will do away with the matinees entirely! Heed my command!
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Okay, Murray? Your voice of command, or enslavement, or whatever that was, it apparently didn't carry back here. This booth is pretty well insulated. I'm sorry.
MURRAY
I will turn you into a slave of the undead!
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Sorry.
MURRAY
I will suck you dry!
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Nope.
MURRAY
I will paint scenery and sell concessions! Please! I'll do anything! Ever since I was a young boy I've wanted to be in a Broadway show! When I was nine my father took me to see Annie! It was the scariest thing I'd ever seen in my life! (singing) The sun'll come out tomorrow -- terrifying! It still gives me goose bumps! By Satan’s Cock I’ll do anything, please!
PRODUCER (V.O.)
You know what? That's exactly the type of spirit we're looking for! I think we've found our Mario!
MURRAY
You mean I got the part?!
PRODUCER (V.O.)
That's right, you -- oh, wait, I forgot. You're a vampire. Next.
MURRAY
You will pay for this!
Murray storms off. We hear a man scream briefly offstage.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Next.
Another young man comes out, clutching his bloody neck. He is in a daze.
PRODUCER (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Name?
AUDITIONER
My name is Auditioner #2.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
And what part will you be auditioning for?
AUDITIONER
I will be auditioning for the part of Gang Member #3.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
And what will you be singing for us?
AUDITIONER
I will be singing “Oklahoma.”
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Whenever you’re ready.
AUDITIONER
Ooooooooooooooooooklaugh.
Auditioner faints dead away.
PRODUCER (V.O.)
Next.
Here's one that will be useable again - in a more topical form, of course - once we start bombing the shit out of Iraq. Look for it at your local comedy nook sometime in 2003!
LOBSTER BIB PRESS CONFERENCE
(originally performed at Indigo on October 15th, 2001 - the reporters were Dan Cronin, Becky Donahue and Michael Reisman)
The Secretary of Defense solemnly takes position behind a podium, as a room full of reporters eagerly wait for their chance to ask him questions. He is dressed in a suit, plus he is also wearing a lobster bib.
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Thank you all for your patience. I just have a few basic statements to make concerning the ongoing operations in Afghanistan, then I will open the floor to questions. I can now confirm that the initial wave of air strikes has been completed. We have achieved an 83.7% success rate in hitting our intended targets, with minimal civilian casualty. It is our opinion that we have effectively eliminated any anti-aircraft capabilities the Taliban had. We have also severely hampered their ability to communicate, coordinate, and carry out any ground operations. This will conclude any heavy bombing we will carry out for the time being, in favor of less frequent, specifically targeted strikes as needed. We cannot give any details as to what the next phase of operations might be, other than to say they will most certainly not be as high profile as the air strikes. We ask for your patience and understanding as this campaign progresses in the weeks and possibly months to come. That concludes my prepared statement, I will now open the floor to questions.
REPORTER #1
Can you confirm or deny reports that satellite surveillance has detected where Osama bin Laden is currently hiding out? And, if so, is he in Afghanistan?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Regrettably, I can not comment on any satellite surveillance that we may or may not be conducting. If any such information existed we would have to keep it classified so as to preserve the usefulness of said hypothetical information. Yes.
REPORTER #2
Last week the FBI issued a general warning for Americans to be cautious and alert in the days ahead, citing evidence that members of the al Qaeda network are still in this country, and are planning to conduct terrorist activities within the next week. Can you shed any more light on these suspicions? Are there any leads being investigated?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
You would have to direct that question to the Attorney General's office, and to the Federal Bureau of Investigations, but I'm sure their answers would be the same as mine - any leads that our government is in the process of investigating must remain classified, otherwise the usefulness of those leads diminishes considerably. Intelligence, information, secrecy - these are our greatest weapons against the type of threat we are now facing. Any other questions? No? Then I must be…oh, yes.
REPORTER #3
Why are you wearing a lobster bib?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Excellent question. However, I cannot comment on any purpose that this lobster bib may or may not have at this time. And if there are no more questions – yes.
REPORTER #1
Will freshly steamed lobsters somehow play a part in the war against terrorism?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
I can't comment on that.
REPORTER #2
Is it a message to the nations harboring terrorists, like “terrorism will be pulled from its shell, dipped in hot, melted butter and then eaten and washed down with a dry white wine like maybe a Chardonnay?”
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
No comment.
REPORTER #3
Is it some sort of symbol of solidarity, like "we must cooperate, for we are all lobsters in the great pot of life?"
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
That's very interesting. No comment.
REPORTER #1
Is it a clue to the American people, that we must defend ourselves from terrorists with nutcrackers, and tiny, tiny forks?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
If the American people wish to outfit themselves with nutcrackers and tiny forks, there is nothing stopping them, but I can’t comment on how that would pertain, if at all, to this lobster bib.
REPORTER #2
You just forgot to take it off, didn't you?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Excuse me?
REPORTER #2
You were eating a lobster dinner right before this press conference, and you forgot to take it off. Now you're trying to cover up your faux pas by pretending that it has something to do with the current situation in Afghanistan.
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Okay, good. That's exactly right. Oh man, I can't believe I forgot to take it off. How embarrassing. Any other questions?
REPORTER #3
So take it off.
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
What?
REPORTER #3
Take it off, since it was just a faux pas and everything.
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Oh sure, sure. I'll take it off right after this press conference.
REPORTER #1
So it IS something secret! Why are you, the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America, wearing a lobster bib at a press conference during a time of war? What could it possibly be for?!
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
As I said, I can't comment on the bib, other than to say, yes, it is a lobster bib.
REPORTER #2
Is it really a lobster bib, or is it some sort of protective device designed to just look like a lobster bib? Is there something the American people should know?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
What, like this is a radiation shield or something?
REPORTER #3
OH MY GOD! Where can we get these radiation shields designed to look like lobster bibs?!
REPORTER #1
Do they make radiation shields with other designs or slogans, like "Kiss The Chef"?!?!
REPORTER #2
I want one of those, I'm a great chef!
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
People, calm down. It’s not a radiation shield.
REPORTER #3
Is the bib a sign that we have become allies with the Giant Lobster People From Space?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Give me a break. Look, if we were allies with the Giant Lobster People from space, do you think I’d wear a lobster bib?
REPORTER #1
Are you saying that the Giant Lobster People From Space are our enemies?!?!
REPORTER #3
Aigh! (he screams repeatedly and runs out of the bar)
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Oh for Chrissakes, don’t you think that if the Giant Lobster People From Space were our enemies, we would have been wiped out by now by their superior…wait a minute. There are no Giant Lobster People From Space.
REPORTER #2
Are you saying that the Giant Lobster People are from Earth? Were they spawned from the massive amounts of chemicals we’ve dumped into our precious oceans?!?!
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Dammit! There are no Lobster People of any kind! This is ridiculous. Please. Let me be clear. There is a very good reason that I am wearing the (points to the bib and whistles). But as I said earlier, it is top secret. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have more business to attend to.
REPORTER #1
Okay wait a second! Just now you pointed to it and whistled instead of actually saying what it was. Does that mean we're not even allowed to say the words lobster-
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Shh!
REPORTER #1
Not even allowed to say lob-
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Shh!
REPORTER #2
But all he’s trying to say is lob-
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Shh! Sorry, I was just dickin’ you around. Lobster bib. There, I said it. I don't know why I just pointed at it and whistled before. No particular reason. Yes.
REPORTER #1
Why are you wearing a lobster bib?
SECRETARY OF DEFENSE
Let me be clear. This is just a lobster bib. As for the purpose of the lobster bib, please understand that it must remain classified as to why I am wearing it, but I am wearing it intentionally, and there is a very good reason that I am wearing it. As the President stated, there will be things our country is doing to fight terrorism that will be made public, and there will be tactics that simply must remain secret. I am wearing this bib for secret reasons. In the days and weeks ahead, you may see Condoleeza Rice constantly eating frozen yogurt. Secret. You may see Secretary of State Colin Powell giving the finger to dogs a lot. Secret. You may see Dick Cheney laughing at something with what looks to be a genuine laugh at first, and then slowly becomes recognizable as a sarcastic kind of "fuck you" laugh. Secret. And so forth. You must simply have faith that this government knows what it’s doing, and is taking the necessary steps to continue our assault on terrorism. Patient justice. Make no mistake. We are smoking them out of their holes. Now, I must be going.
He drops his pants and shuffles off stage, or one of a handful of other "wacky" things I tried to end the sketch - any suggestions?
Where Is My Toilet?
(an old monologue last performed maybe in 2002 or 2003?)
I mosey out to the mic, wiping my brow with a handkerchief. I do my best to muster up a Southern accent...
Thank you very much your honor. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, before I begin I just want to thank you for the patience you've shown throughout the course of this trial. I hope you can find it in your hearts to extend the same patience during my closing arguments.
I consult my notes briefly.
"Where is my toilet?"
These were the words of 72 year old Florence Pendleton as she peered down through the hole in her bathroom floor. The hole where her toilet had been just moments earlier. These were her last words.
"WHERE is my toilet?"
These were the last words of grandmother of sixteen Florence Pendleton as she stared down through this sudden hole in her bathroom floor, and met the confused gaze of downstairs neighbor Gene Conroy, who was flipping through an issue of Entertainment Weekly as he took care of his usual morning business on his own toilet, which had done the normal thing and NOT vanished into thin air.
"WHERE IS MY TOILET?!"
These were the last words of church choir member and ASPCA volunteer Florence Pendleton, as she stared down through this sudden hole in her bathroom floor. People in the neighborhood called her the Puppy Rescue Lady, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. She rescued puppies! And "where is my toilet" where her last words, as her toilet, which had disappeared just moments earlier, reappeared suddenly! But not in its God given place, against the wall between the shower and the sink. Oh no! It reappeared here (point to chest)! With a sickening CRUNCH! Halfway between her sternum and her clavicle. Killing her instantly, and obliterating her frail body as if it were a pinata.
(NOTE: How the heck do I make that little wavy sign over the n?)
"Oh, there it is."
Perhaps that was the last thought that went through Florence Pendleton's head as it tumbled down through the hole in the bathroom floor and landed in Gene Conroy's lap, smack dab in the middle of a Jennifer Love Hewitt photo spread. We'll never know. All we know is that Gene Conroy can no longer look at an issue of Entertainment Weekly without screaming in terror. Heck, I have the same problem.
But I digress.
You've all heard this story earlier, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.You've heard countless stories throughout the course of this trial, all of them with one common thread. One calamitously unfortunate, misguided invention: The Constantly Randomly Teleporting Toilet. Introduced in 1997 by the Sumitomi Amalgamated Chemical Corporation, the CRTT was touted as "the end of toilet tedium." But it proved disastrous. For once it was flushed, it became irrevocably activated, and it began to - what else? Teleport. Constantly, and randomly. Now, SumAlChemCor wisely recalled the toilet almost as soon as it hit the market, but not before 11 of those units were purchased and activated. Those eleven constantly randomly teleporting toilets have caused massive amounts of death and destruction as they've teleported to and fro across the globe, and they continue to do so to this day! That is why I am asking that you award the sum of 500 million dollars to my clients and their families, for the toilet-related loss and trauma that they have experienced.
Why would anyone invent a toilet that constantly randomly teleports? I don't know, I'm a simple man. The only thing that I ever "invented" was a popsicle-stick spatula for my father when I was five years old. Oh, I knew my old man liked to barbecue burgers on the grill, and I made him a popsicle-stick spatula. He knew it would burst into flames as soon as he tried to use it, but he used it anyway. As he was recovering from the third degree burns on his arms, he assured me that it had all been the fault of the black man.
But I digress.
You've heard countless terrible stories, ladies and gentlemen. You've heard the story of Karen Cooperwitz, whose daughter Shelby's Bat Mitzvah was shockingly interrupted by the appearance of a toilet right in the middle of the uh...the um, the yellow bread. Halvah? Chupa? Perhaps one of my Jewish collegues can...
(audience member invariably shouts Challah, which I continue to mispronounce despite their help)
Halvah? Chall-Ha? Choopa? Again, I'm sorry - I mean the yellow bread. A toilet appeared right in the middle of the yellow bread just as Grandma Esther was preparing to cut it! And then it disappeared just as suddenly, leaving a ruined, um...halvah? La-cha? Again, I'm sorry. Leaving ruined yellow bread and and a wet, soiled, and terrified Grandma Esther. How terrible, and ironic, and terribly ironic that the sudden appearance of a toilet would trigger Grandma Esther's incontinence? Appearing as if to taunt her, and then leaving her to deal with her own unwanted moisture.
Listen, folks, I'm truly sorry for mispronouncing the yellow bread word. I wasn't exposed to any other cultures until my third year of law school, when my classmate Prajan Nilapul politely informed me that he was from a country called India, and not a tanning booth addict, as I had suspected. To this day, I truly regret the intervention I staged on his behalf. And I gave that poor man so many bottles of aloe.
But I digress.
Let me take a poll here. When you go to the bathroom, for ladies this will be all the time, for men, just numero dos. When you go to the bathroom, there comes a time in the preparatory proceedings when you must turn your back to the toilet. You must turn your back to the toilet and have faith. And you don't keep turning around, do you? You don't keep wheeling around, mumbling to yourself, "is it still there? Is the toilet still there?" No, when you sit down you fully expect that cold porcelain to touch your heinie! You don't expect to fall ass backwards onto the floor, smack dab into that rancid patch of bathroom floor that, until just now, had been hidden in the corner between the toilet and the sink. That little, furry, fuzzy, dusty, stinking piece of bathroom floor! The piece of bathroom floor that now bears more of a resemblance to the skin of a kiwi fruit than it does floor tile! You don't expect to fall naked ass backwards onto that!
WHY! Why would anyone in their right mind, uh...invent a TOILET that CONSTANTLY, RANDOMLY TELPORTS? I don't know! I'm a simple man. Heck, before I had a financial advisor, I kept all my money in my dog, Rex.Oh yeah, he was a fine hunting dog when he was alive, but he made an even better piggy bank we he died. My family taxidermist fixed it so that I put the money in through a screwtop head, and to make a withdrawal I just had to pull down on the tail.
But I digress.
You've seen the 1998 photograph of President Clinton shaking hands with Tony Blair as a toilet hovers in the background ominously.
You've HEARD the 1999 bootleg recording of an Aerosmith concert in which, during the song Sweet Emotion, a toilet suddenly appeared in Steven Tyler's mouth. Luckily, he was unharmed.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, do you know where your toilet is? Do you? I do. We are the lucky ones. Those eleven Constantly Randomly Teleporting Toilets are still out there, teleporting to and fro wreaking havoc across the globe. One of them could appear anytime, anywhere. Maybe even right here right NOW! (look around frantically).
But probably not.
I urge you to find in favor of my clients. You've got a tough call to make here, but you gotta do it - like a golden retriever who knows there's a tennis ball wedged somewhere under that couch, but whose snout is just a little too thick to get at it, you gotta keep trying. How you gonna get that tennis ball, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? How you gonna get that tennis ball? Thank you, I rest my case.
Helium Monologue
performed on 03.16.02 @ the Gershwin, among other times and places and moods...
I walk out wearing a lab coat & fake glasses, and holding up a red balloon.
Helium. One of our most useful, but also one of our least understood gases. What is helium? To most of us, it is nothing more than the substance used to inflate party balloons. But helium is so much more. Come with me now, won’t you, and together, thanks to a grant provided by the American Helium Advisory Council, we will discover the wonders of Helium, The Noblest Gas!
I release the balloon upwards, expecting it to float away – it sinks to the ground.
This particular balloon is not filled with helium. Let’s move on.
The year is 1868.
Venezuela has just begun its long, tumultuous relationship with that sultry lady known as Civil War.
The good people of Japan are waking up to the dawn of the Meiji Restoration.
The United States Congress says “yay” to impeaching President Andrew Johnson, “nay” to actually removing him from office, and “Howdy, you big cowpoke, welcome to the Union” to the brand new state of Wyoming.
In a bittersweet turn of the Great Wheel of Life, the whole world celebrates the birth of Scott Joplin, the future King of Ragtime Music, and then mourns the death of David Brewster, the inventor of the kaleidoscope.
And on the dark and mysterious subcontinent known as India, French astronomer Pierre-Jules-César Janssen discovers the first evidence of a brand new element! While observing an eclipse through his telescope, he notices a heretofore undocumented yellow line in the solar spectrum. This would prove to be one of the most startling encounters with a yellow line in Pierre’s life, second only to the time just a few days earlier, when his brother, Francois, had gotten loaded up on Beaujolais and then relieved himself in the snow on Pierre’s front porch before passing out. There in the snow next to Francois’ unconscious body, in fine, yellow script it read – and I’m translating from the French here –
“My dearest brother Pierre, best of luck to you on your upcoming trip to India to study the solar eclipse. I am so proud that you have the talent and drive to pursue your lifelong passion of becoming a truly great astronomer. Do you remember the times I teased you about your dreams when we were children? I said you had stardust in your brain, and I always gave you horrible wedgies. Well, now it is I who deserves the wedgies. You are now a great man of science, whereas I am nothing but a drunkard with an extraordinarily large bladder and incredible penile dexterity. Sincerely, your devoted brother, Francois-Guy-Henri Janssen.”
And Francois did indeed have incredible penile dexterity, for there, beneath the many loops and flourishes of his signature, was a perfect, yellow rendering of the family crest. Two unicorns crossing horns in front of a shield emblazoned with a perfect map of France, detailed down to the county lines, and shaded according to each region’s population density.
Incidentally, Francois would go on to reap quite a fortune touring the globe, displaying his prodigious skills as a urinary maestro until passing away tragically from an infection that he contracted in the Amazon river, brought about by the Candiru, a very tiny species of catfish that, when sensing warm urine in the water, follows the stream up into the human urethra and then, using tiny spines on its head, lodges there, causing excruciating pain, then infection, then ultimately, death.
They called this new element helium!
Helium is colorless, odorless, tasteless, nontoxic and nonflammable, making it virtually undetectable, much like Dick Cheney. It is continually being produced in the Earth’s crust by the radioactive decay of uranium and other elements, and then gradually works its way into the atmosphere, much the way Danny Devito must gradually work his way into Rhea Perlman.
Is that a Danny Devito has a big penis joke or a Rhea Perlman is incredibly tiny joke or a Danny Devito is so ugly that Rhea Perlman is as dry as a bone joke or a Rhea Perlman is so ugly that Danny Devito can’t get it up joke? Let’s move on.
By now you may have noticed that I have an unusually high voice. It is no coincidence that the American Helium Advisory Council chose me to be their spokesman, as helium is indirectly responsible for my voice. In fact, some would say helium is directly responsible for my voice. The story of how my voice became this way is a fascinating one. I used to make my living performing as a clown at children’s parties.
Aside from the regular clown tricks such as self-ridicule and comedic tumbling, part of my act was to delight the children by sucking helium and talking in a high voice. Day after day, I inhaled deep of the cool breath of helium from the portable helium tank. I would sometimes become a bit dizzy. Sometimes my voice would stay high for a little bit longer than expected. But little did I know the harm I was setting myself up for. One day, during a little boy’s birthday party, the boy’s single mother and I hit it off over some coffee and poundcake. One thing led to another, and in a dizzy, helium haze we began consummating our passion right there on the gift table. Her son saw us, and, in a fit of Freudian rage, the six year old sliced off my testicles with my one of my own props – a pair of novelty oversized toenail clippers. As I screamed in pain and blood shot from my groin like a lawn sprinkler, the child calmly fed my manhood to the family dog, a Pomeranian named Fritzy.
Helium also plays an integral role in the process of nuclear fusion!
Well, we’ve learned a lot about helium tonight. Next time, I will tell you the story of a man with such a low voice that he needed to inhale helium on a daily basis just to be heard, otherwise his voice would be nothing more than an inaudible rumble. Despite this handicap, he would go on to be a very successful man. Yes, next time, I shall tell you all about James Earl Jones.
Good night!
"I will use all the latest intelligence to make informed decisions about how best to keep the world at peace, how best to defend freedom for the long run," said President Bush. "Listen, it's a healthy debate for people to express their opinion. People should be allowed to express their opinion, but Americans need to know I'll be making up my mind based on the latest intelligence and how best to protect our own country and our friends and allies. Right now, signs point to yes. Will we prevail? As I see it, yes. When will we attack? Cannot predict now. Will Saddam try to use weapons of mass destruction if we do nothing? It is certain. Will he strike at Israel to attempt to ignite an Arab/Israeli war? Reply hazy, try again. I mean...my sources say yes. Very doubtful. Most likely. Um...I gotta go."
Hi, welcome to Piazza Hut. Just a reminder that you can feel free to make as much noise as you want, because we'll never throw you out. GET IT? Throw you out?!??! Whew, that was some real fun. Anyhow, can I get you something to drink? Maybe some "I'm Not Gay Tea"? How about some "Swift Kick In The Nuts You Bastard Onion Sticks"? What? Yeah, I know that had nothing to do with Mike Piazza. I just think you could really use a swift kick in the nuts. C'mon. Please? It'll be over before you know it! Sigh. Okay, I won't kick you in the AHA! Gotcha! There, now while you're doubled over in pain, can I get you something to drink? Okay, one Diet Coke with lemon coming right BOOM! Gotcha again! Wow, this is too much fun. I'll get you an icepack for your head.
The weekend can not come soon enough.
Welcome to Burger Khan! Our new Bay-khan Double Cheeseburger will overrun your mouth! It will pillage your stomach! It will rape your tastebuds! Tell me this...
DO YOU WANT FRIES?!?
Here at Office Despot, we have a huge selection, but no choice. You came here for two pens and a notebook? Tough, you're going home with eighteen toner cartridges. And we're keeping your wife. Bye.
MORE BITTERNESS: One of my tempsponsibilities is to answer the phones for four different vice presidents. Bankers. Most of the people who call these bankers are also either bankers, or somehow directly or indirectly related to an occupation or business that relies on bankery type individuals to accomplish bankerish tasks involving banky stuff. Not to generalize, but every single person who ever calls is a total fucking waste of life who deserves to suffer under my considerable wrath and ultimately perish slowly in the acidic pools of the lowest subterranean caverns of Hades. That being said, there is a certain subgroup of these callers that manages to tick me off even more than the average dipshit business drone. These are the callers (men in their 40s and 50s mostly, I would guess) that for some reason feel it is in their best interest to adopt an extremely stern, curt, aggressive, unfriendly tone on the phone. Let's call it the Mr. Important Businessman tone. Now, the guys who utilize this particular type of phone manner tend to be pretty high up on the corporate fuckball ladder, so it must have worked pretty well for them throughout their pathetic, meaningless, useless, scumwad, assdip careers. WHY?! HOW?!? Am I the only one who intentionally "forgets" to write down messages from these assholes? Am I the only one who drops their calls on purpose? Am I the only one who gives them the good 'ole temp stiffarm? Somehow, throughout their soul-draining bowelmunching creep up the corporate habi-trail, this for want of a better word for it - MEAN - attitude, has only brought them success. That's just plain fucking sad as all crap hell. Oops, pardon my language there. Didn't mean to say "crap." Sigh. Here's a short one-act playlet. I think you can figure out which one I am and which one Mr. Important Businessman is. As a side note, I'm about 10x more of a man than any of these douchebags. Here ya go:
RING.
"Good afternoon, my Boss's Office."
"Is he there." (please note that there is NO inflection in this guy's voice - it's an oh-so-slightly angry monotone)
"May I ask who's calling please?"
"Mr. Important Businessman."
"Thank you, hold please."
I make no effort to determine whether or not My Boss is around.
"I'm sorry, but My Boss isn't at his desk at this moment, I can take a message or I can certain-"
"Voicemail."
"Sure, hold on please."
I hang up.
RING!
"Good afternoon, my Boss's office."
"I just got disconnec-"
I hang up.
RING! RING! RING!
(at this point, I have gone downstairs for coffee and left my phone unattended - Mr. Important Businessman goes into voicemail as he requested, with no aid from me)
This will occur repeatedly for eight hours. And all these fuckers have to do is introduce themselves properly, and say "please" and "thank you", and they will get the results they want. Not with me on duty. No sir. Well, okay. I really need the money, so I do my job. That little playlet was more of a fantasy than anything else. Ugh. Somebody is going to pay me a lot of fucking money someday to do what I do best - the only thing I'm any good at, actually - and this will all seem like a distant and laughable memory. But for now, I am here. The human phone connection between useless, rude morons. I will not go postal, I will not go postal, I will not...
HERE'S SOMETHING THAT FITS MY MOOD RIGHT NOW...
Rod Pornocopter
(10.09.01 @ PSNBC)
I am a very good looking man.
I am better looking than you.
And you.
My God, I am so much better looking than ALL of you.
I am also very wealthy.
I make much more money than any of you. Yes I do.
I am great in bed.
I am a better lover than any of you. Trust me.
I am smarter than all of you.
I am better than all of you.
Fuck you you stupid asholes, fuck you. FUCK YOU.
Okay I'm going to start over here (give finger to audience house left)
and move this way...(continue giving finger as I pan the audience)
And dismount.
So how is everybody tonight?
Alright, alright, alright, now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "who the hell IS this guy, and what the hell does he think he's doing up there?"
Fair enough. I can answer both of those questions.
As [host] said, my name is Rod Pornocopter, and what I am doing up here right now is called Masturboasting, which is basically short for masturbatory boasting. It's my own patented technique for feeling better about myself, and by the end of this lecture, it is going to become your technique as well. Why?
Because my masturboasting technique is based on one core principle that, as New Yorkers, we have all adopted already. And that core principle is this: Everyone except for me is a stupid asshole.
C’mon, admit it, you’re always thinking it, and I’m here to tell you that it’s time to put that fundamental disrespect for everyone else to work. For you. For you.
Not for you, but definitely for you. To make you money. To get you a better job. To improve your gardening skills. To get you laid by that..person whom you want to get laid by but who, until now, has not provided such layage to you. To improve your grammar. To help ease your highly irrational fear of the eohippus – it’s a prehistoric horse! It’s extinct! Even if it were alive today, it would be no bigger than a cocker spaniel! Some shin pads would pretty much eliminate any danger…To kill your roommate. That’s right, to kill your Goddamn roommate and to get away with it. Yeah, there's a smile. There's that smile I was looking for. To Help You Find Happiness in a WORLD THAT IS ABSOLUTELY CHOCK FULL OF STUPID ASSHOLES! Who’s with me? I said, who’s with me?! Okay, you stupid fuckers, listen up.
There are some who claim that my masturboasting program is a tad…cynical. Well fuck them. Hard. With something inappropriate. In an equally inappropriate orifice. I’ll let you be the judge of just how cynical my program is.
The first step of my Masturboasting program is very simple. You must accept the fundamental truth that everyone except for you is a stupid asshole.
Then, you have to ask yourself "What can all these stupid assholes do for me?"
Well, you're in luck. They may be assholes, but they're also stupid. And stupid people can be very useful if you know the right techniques to getting along with them.
First technique. Always agree with everything the stupid assholes say. I'll show you how it works. Excuse me, what is your favorite color?
I agree! That color you just mentioned is also my favorite color as well.
Second technique. Don't actually listen to anything the stupid assholes say. Excuse me, could you please tell me what time it is? Really? If you say so, I guess I agree that it is a bazillion 'o clock.
You can have fun with that one. For example, just now I wasn’t listening at all. Instead, I was daydreaming about a hot dog repeatedly going in and out of a donut. Except it wasn’t a hot dog, it was my penis. And it wasn’t a donut, it was Kirsten Dunst’s vagina. (thinks) No wait, it WAS a donut. Kinky!
Third technique. Compliment those stupid assholes! Lou, this show rocks! Hey, do you like the band Radiohead? I agree, they rock. How much time do I have left? A bazillion minutes? Thanks, you rock! Asshole.
See? I have no idea at all of what we were just talking about, but I feel great! During that entire interaction, I was daydreaming about a porpoise jumping through a hoola-hoop. Except it wasn’t a porpoise, it was my penis. And it wasn’t a hoola-hoop, it was a soft cotton tubesock that had just been lightly dipped in extra virgin olive oil and then microwaved for twenty seconds. Twenty seconds is all you need, fellas, anything more and you’ll turn your dick into a chimichanga. Trust me on this one. TRUST ME.
Now, once you’ve accepted that everyone is a stupid asshole, and once you’ve learned how to interact with those stupid assholes, you can truly begin masturboasting. You can start with the basics like “I am pretty decent looking”, or “I can get through a day at my desk job without crying.” But then you can move on to more advanced masturboasting.
Here’s one of my favorite advanced masturboasts - “I can control the pass routes of NFL wide receivers by transmitting precise, morse-code contractions from my anus. Why don’t those NFL wide receivers respond to my anal transmissions? Simple. They don’t know morse-code.” See? The logic is infallible. It’s an airtight masturboast.
At this point you’re probably sold on the whole concept of masturboasting. I can’t blame you. “Everyone’s a stupid asshole, I don’t have to listen to anyone, I can say whatever the hell I want, I can daydream about perverted sex, I can convince myself that my anus can transmit morse code”, it really is a recipe for happiness. But this Rod Pornocopter guy – he really is a stupid asshole.”
If that’s what you’re thinking, then congratulations, you’re well on your way to grasping and utilizing my program. And when I say “my program”, I mean “my penis.”
Do you want to know more about masturboasting? About how to deal with all of the stupid assholes around you? In other words, everybody in the whole world? It's all in my new book, "How to Find Happiness in a World Full of Stupid Assholes. You Stupid Asshole. By me. Rod Pornocopter."
What do you get when you buy my book? You get a random book that I’ve stolen from a local Barnes & Noble, with a handwritten note taped to the front. In this case, we have the Simon & Schuster Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs and Prehistoric Animals. Where do you think I got the Eohippus information? It’s a tiny fucking horse, people.
What else do you get when you buy my book? You get this audio recording of Italian porn star Rocco Siffredi repeatedly trying to recite the entire McDonald’s Big Mac jingle without ejaculating. Let’s listen.
How much is my book? My book costs $345. Why do I think that people will pay $345 for my book? If you’ve been listening, you know the answer. And if you haven’t been listening, good for you! You are well on your way to grasping and utilizing my program. And when I say “my program”, I mean fuck you, you stupid assholes! Fuck you and goodnight! Fuck you.
I've almost pulled it off. It's 4:15pm, and if I can succesfully avoid eye contact and surf the web for 45 more minutes, I will have managed to not do any work whatsoever today. Ah yeah, I can hear the music, Mr. Man, but I ain't dancin' for ya. Well, maybe I'm tappin' my toes a little. And sure, I can make those copies. Who? Uh, yeah, yeah - I called them and they said they'd get ba...what? Okay I'll call them again. Your car is at 7:45pm. Yes, the confirmation number is in your cal...what? I did. Yeah I left you a messa...sure, I'll just re-send the info to your blackberry. He hasn't called back. Yes I did. If you like I can just...sure. Uh huh. Your tickets and itinerary are right...no, coach. I told the Travel Dept. that and they said that First Class is outside of company policy. Huh? Okay, I'll call them again. And sure, I'll dance for ya. Here ya go. Woo.
There are two European cities that I've always wanted to visit: Prague and Venice. Now, I can kill two birds with one stone!
Apparently, unlike humans, apes lack the gene for speech. However, judging from my experiences in front of the 23rd St. Dunkin' Donuts, humans and apes DO share one gene. The "throwing your own shit" gene.
Sometimes a document comes across my desk that just smells fantastic. It is during those rare instances that I can hold an investment proposal up to my nose, give it a good whiff, smile knowingly, and say "Smells like a good deal." And the best part is, I am completely right. Run it by as many analysts as you want, du Bouchet hit the bullseye with one snort. It smells freakin' fantastic. If sound investment strategy were merely a factor of smell, I would highly recommend any deal printed on a fruit roll-up.
Work with me here, people! I've got flecks of paint in my tear ducts! True story.
So what's with this Asian Brown Cloud I've been hearing all about? Has Margaret Cho been eating burritos?* Did Pat Morita go on a beef jerky binge?** Did Lucy Liu spray a loose, wet poop into a Vornado fan?*** Huh? WHO'S WITH ME ON THIS ONE?!? C'MON, PEOPLE!
There. Let's start the week on a low note.
*And consequently, been farting?
**And then fart a really big fart?
***The smooth, efficient, quiet Vornado fan!
Here at B.J. Bonertaster's, quality is job two.
It was a young, hip crowd. Maybe they were too young and too hip. I needed to make a judgement call - how do I approach this set? Are these guys all "I'd rather be playing Playstation", or are they all "I'd rather be making fun of Colecovision"?
New advertising hook for children's headshots - BECAUSE YOU WANT THE BEST QUALITY PHOTO TO GIVE TO THE AUTHORITIES WHEN YOUR CHILD GOES MISSING!
Testimonial:
"When my little Destinee Starr went missing, I was worried she would stay missing forever. But the authorities found her, thanks to the 8x10 glossy of her made up to look like a whore. Thanks, [your photography studio's name here]!"
"The poh-leese (sic) never found my baby. The only picture they had to go by was this old snapshot of him all shitted up. I durn wish I'd taken him to [your photography studio's name here]."
Wow. Too tasteless. Nah, I won't post this one.
are mediums.
in gay shape.
Whoah! What's with all this WEST NILE VIRUS stuff going on in Louisiana? With over 70 cases of infection and 5 deaths so far, West Nile Virus is swiftly joining the ranks of Louisiana's most frequent diseases, such as Tit-Flashing Fever, Mardi Gras Sclerosis, and Jazzma.
Yesterday they announced the 9/11 Commemoration Plans for New York City. It sounds like it will be a very moving day. Rather than attend any of the ceremonies, however, I plan on commemorating Sept. 11th in the exact same way that I experienced it the first time. I'm going to wake up at noon. I'm going to turn on CNN. And I'm going to shit my pants.
down, down. The stock market just keeps going down! Financial analysts say that the stock market will stop going down on us as soon as we buy it an engagement ring. HO! Who's with me?!?
HERE'S AN OLD TIDBIT:
I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME EXPLAIN WHY I AM SO TERRIFIED OF THAT GARDEN HOSE
by Chester the Chipmunk
I cannot for the life of me explain why I am so terrified of that garden hose.
It just doesn’t make sense. It’s an inanimate object! It lies in the grass next to the human’s dwelling, fourteen feet away from my burrow, beneath the large willow tree root. Long, slender, smooth and green, it lies there, coiled like some sort of…like…like nothing I have ever seen.
Here in the suburbs of New Jersey, I have learned to catalog my potential predators. The cat. The dog. The autistic child. Yet this hose inspires more dread in me than all of those creatures combined! I do not understand. I must find some explanation for my fear.
Why the garden hose? Why not the bird bath? Often, I have thought to myself, “My, the birdbath seems too wide to be supported by such a narrow column, what if it were to topple?” That would be scary. Yet I shrug this concern aside as I would the husk of a freshly devoured acorn, and I leap into the birdbath to splash about and drink my fill on a daily basis.
My fear of the hose can only be described as incapacitating. I feel it in my hackles and in my haunches. I see the hose, and my brain screams for me to run. Run! But I cannot. I can only freeze in place, staring wide-eyed with uncomprehending terror at the long, sinuous curves of the hose. I dare not move, lest…lest the hose…attack?
Ludicrous. But, in the shadowy recesses of my imagination, I sense some distant ancestral vision. The hose rearing up. The hose, striking at me with its nozzle. Why would a hose behave in such a fashion? Surely this hose has never exhibited such behavior. I am greatly puzzled.
One time I saw the hose and shat myself. Not an unusual occurrence, to be sure, but this time, I shat against my own will. That was when I really knew I had an issue with the hose.
Since then, I have taken great pains to avoid looking at it, and have made sure that my excursions from the burrow lead me nowhere near it. Today I wandered so far out of my way that by the time I returned to my burrow, my wife had already copulated with my own son and given birth to a fresh litter of pups.
And then eaten them.
Okay, that was a bad joke. This whole “hose thing”, as my friends are calling it, has completely warped my sense of humor. More often than laughs, my jokes elicit groans or disapproving glares. I used to really bring life to a conversation, but now it seems that I shock or appall more often than I amuse. There is cruelty in my humor, and that’s no good.
Nobody likes a sarcastic chipmunk.
You know what? Fuck them. If they can’t deal with my new attitude, then just fuck…what am I saying? I’m losing it. This is not me. This is “the hose thing” talking.
It is almost dusk. Soon, it will be time to dash about the yard madly whilst emitting squeaks at random intervals. I must. If I don’t, the hose has won.
I cannot for the life of me explain why I am so terrified of that garden hose.
(from my website, aint-everything-cool-news.yes)
When I heard that M. Night Shamalamadingdong was working on a special, extended episode of the X-Files for release as a motion picture, I was thrilled. Then, when he announced that he had made the bold decision to exclude any actual X-files characters or references, I was even more intrigued. THEN, we made the monumentally awesome announcement that NOTHING WOULD ACTUALLY HAPPEN in the movie, I was sold. THEN, we he told us that he would not only not have anything happen in the film, he would show us, via a series of clever flashbacks, the many CLUES as to what was not going to not at all not happen, I was trapped in an orgasmic coccoon of pleasant, geeky vibrations for the many weeks leading up to the film! And boy, "X-files Plus" did not disappoint!
Forget anything you've ever learned about alien invasion pictures. Forget about extravagant special effects, flashy alien costumes, explosions, laser blasts, forget about all of that garbage! All you need, apparently is a farm house and some corn! And the awesome acting of RORY CULKIN! Aw, man, I don't want to give away any SPOILERS, but when Rory walks into the corn, and almost maybe sees something but isn't sure!?!?! Goose bumps! And when MEL GIBSON as the USED TO BE A REVERAND guy, EATS SOME FRENCH TOAST AND STARTS TO CRY?!?!?!
AWESOME!
Let's not even forget that one scene where something we think we see out of the corner of our eyes turns out to be almost maybe nothing but then turns out to definitely be nothing! WOO! CHILLS!
Do you like to hear dogs bark? Do you like to hear dogs bark AND a baby monitor spout static that might or might not be almost possibly alien-sound-effect-ish? This is the movie for you! If you like hairlips.
WHOAH??! Did I mention hairlips! OOPS, I didn't want to give away any SPOILERS, but Joaquin Phoenix is indeed in this movie, reprising his role as the Emperor from Gladiator! If it needs to be whispered and/or almost maybe weepy, Joaquin's your man! M. Night's masterstroke is in having the Emperor join forces with Mel's USED TO BE REVERAND GUY in order to protect RORY CULKIN and SPOOKY GIRL. He does a smashing job, especially in that one scene where he STRATEGICALLY PLACES THAT CAN!
Okay, I've said too much. Trust me, this movie is goosebumptastic. It's thrillerrific. This is one movie you don't want to see alone. AND MAKE SURE TO BRING A HALF-FULL GLASS OF WATER!!!! Oops.
I give "M. Night Shoopadoopadoowaditty's X-Files Almost" a triple A+, due to its amazing storytelling innovation. M. Night has finally figured out a way to make us pay $10 to watch a film in which nothing actually happens, and in which the only special effect he needs to use is the old creature from the black lagoon costume! WOO! YEAH!
Okay. I must admit. I am drunk. Truly. Also, the movie was actually very good and very creepy for 90% of it. And THEN. The ending. Aw, M. Night. As one of my good friends would say, "you're killin' me."
What will happen when Francisco, desperate for new material, opens up ENVELOPE X?!?!?!
Come and find out!
Starring:
Yours truly, Andres du Bouchet, as your host Francisco Guglioni!
Inventions from Jonny Fido and Michael Reisman!
The music of The Spicy Meat Brothers: Mike Birch, Eric Chercover, and Randy Soare.
PLUS, the comedy of:
Joe Dixon
Rebecca Tingley
Todd Womack
Bryan Olsen
Becky Donahue
Dan Allen
Come see the bluest GTN yet! I promise.
Giant Tuesday Night of Amazing Inventions And Also There is a Game
every Tuesday @ 8pm through August.
the back room at BIG SUR
1406 Third Ave. (at the corner of 80th St. and 3rd Ave.)
And also there is a game. Mofos.
Q: What did the 500-foot tall lawyer say three days after eating an entire T.G.I Friday's restaurant?
Speaking of overused bits that should be retired, here's the CRTT letter that also debuted back in 1998, and finally got the recognition it deserved in this year's "Eating Out" show at Irving Plaza:
(as read by Francisco Guglioni)
Dear Giant Tuesday Night Of Amazing Inventions And Also There Is A Game,
I recently purchased the Constantly Randomly Teleporting Toilet, as advertised on your show. Where is my toilet? I have to go to the bathroom, therefore I need to find my toilet. OUCH! There it is. Oops, now it's gone again. Please rescind your endorsement of this product, and also, please help me find my toilet.
Sincerely,
Brian Murray
Akron, Ohio
P.S. Never mind it's back. Oops, it's gone again - help me find my toilet.
You know what? This letter is so much funnier when you hear me read it. And you're drunk. And you've just spent two hours in one of those NASA g-force generating gyroscopic thingies that the astronauts use for training. And you're totally super high on a post-coitus hit of crack-laced pot. THEN, this is a comedy bullseye of a letter, my friend.
AMAZING OR NOT SO AMAZING?
by Reisman & du Bouchet
(here it is, the original, infamous, hilariously overused and beaten into the ground list that debuted all the way back in 1998 as part of the old "Microdonkeybots" sketch, and found its way into many a Giant Tuesday Night -- it should probably be retired, but it's tough to resist using it)
Belgium
Belgian Waffles
The spork
Olestra
Immodium AD
The Star Trek Films
The Amazing Kreskin
Shields and Yarnell
Captain and Tenille
Dharma and Greg
Laverne and Shirley
Jake and the Fat Man
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
Peter, Paul and Mary
Joanie and Chachi
Cagney and Lacey
Cargney and Chachi
Joanie and Lacey
Jake, the Fat Man, Lacey, Chachi and Dharma
Earth, Wind, Jacoby, Chachi and Meyers
Mork and Meyers
Sigfried and Garfunkel
The Heartbreakers, the Blackhearts and the Fat Man
Tom Petty, Joanie and Roy
Chachi, Chachi & Chachi
Tom Petty, Garfunkel and Fire
Earth, Laverne, Joan Jett and Dharma
Sigfried, Dharma, The Fat Man and Fire
The Blackhearts, Paul, Mary and Shirley
Yarnell and the Heartbreakers
Mork, Wind and Tenille
Peter, Paul, Joan Jett, Lacey, Mork, Mindy and the Heartbreakers, Captain,
Wind, Olestra, Star Trek 3, the Fat Man, Dharma and Chachi…and Sonny and
Cher.