Friday, September 27, 2002
(see the last post for how this one-sided conversation with The President of The United States started)
(also, please forgive me for how weird this gets)
Now then, what are my goals? Nothing short of total disarmament and regime change. When I am through, if I have accomplished what I set out to do, Iraq will be a secular, democratic society with Western values, a thriving free-trade economy and no weapons whatsoever. Saddam? He'll be in a cell, wearing a bonnet, sucking his thumb and trying to fend off the imaginary little American flags flitting to and fro around his bruised and battered face.
Why are these my goals? Hell if I know. You're the prez. U.S.A., dude! U.S.A!
How do I intend to acheive these goals? My strategy can best be summed up with three words:
PREPARATION.
INFILTRATION.
EXECUTION.
DILDOWHACKER.
Let's start with preparation. I have already mentioned to you the impressive garments I am wearing, crafted from the most space-age of materials by my personal techno-wizard Halifax! Really? You can tell from the way I say his name that it would have to be italicized with an exclamation point in print? You are savvy, sir. I mean Mr. President. At any rate, Halifax! has custom-built an outlandishly devious array of super-lethal weaponry to my personal specifications. And it's all indistinguishable from normal civilian attire. For example, my UNITARD OF IMPERVIOUSNESS is virtually impossible to tell apart from a standard Aquaman Halloween costume. I also mentioned my BELT OF MANY USES, which is practically identical to a low-slung, diamond-studded, mirror-buckled Argento & Salvatori belt, complete with cocaine holster! But on my belt, the cocaine holster is actually just a holster for my gun. Which is camouflaged to look like a bag of cocaine. Halifax! calls it the BAG-O'-COCAINE GUN. It shoots cocaine-laced bullets, just for that extra fabulous touch. You know what the most common last words are of a person who's just been shot by the BAG-O'-COCAINE GUN?
"Holy fuck, I LOVE your new film!"
It's true. It doesn't even matter if there's no one from the film industry standing around. No sir, I don't have any bullets on me. Anyway, those first two garments are nothing compared to the GLOVES OF HARM. With a simple gesture from a distance of up to 50 feet, I can implode a man's kidneys, crush a man's pancreas, or even just lightly jostle his nuts if I so wish. The best part is, the GLOVES OF HARM look exactly like a pair of foam "We're #1" hands, like you'd see at a sporting event. And for some reason they smell like moose poop.
Yes Mr. President, I agree. Moose poop is the King Of Poops. Heck, a moose's digestive system is so sterile and efficient, that when it's all said and done, the resulting fecal matter is practically a breakfast cereal! Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if a few eons from now, the Moose evolves to a point where its shit has a frosted side. Let's move on.
And marshmallow clovers! Oops, I said I was going to move on, so I shall.
And toffee-nut clusters! Damn. Sorry Mr. President. Here we go...
What was I talking about? Oh yes. Preparation. I am prepared.
Infiltration is my next point. Just stick me in a fedex package and ship me to Baghdad! Simple enough. I can slow down my metabolism to that of a skink.
Execution. How am I going to follow through on my ambitious plan to topple Saddam's regime?
TO BE CONTINUED
posted by Andres at 10:59 AM
Thursday, September 26, 2002
Hey Mr. Prez. Chill.
Yours truly is here to save the day. I've been doing a lot of listening to both you and Congress lately, and consequently, I've been thinking up a storm. And it's no coincidence that I just used the word "storm", either. Why? Because I've made up my mind.
I'm going to invade Iraq. Alone.
Think about it. What is the most attractive alternative to risking the heavy casualties and unfathomable expenses of a large-scale overseas military operation, especially when world opinion is against us, and even our own populace and government are fiercely split on the issue? Seriously, think about it, G.W.B. You need an option that achieves your goals of altering the political and economic landscape of the Middle East, without risking American lives, American money, and most of all, your own political career. How can you do this? Think.
Bingo.
Send in the comic.
"Call off" any military plans. "Comply" with The United Nations. "Agree" with the multitude of international voices that have been arguing vehemently against an invasion of Iraq. And then smile the smile of one who has a delicious yet terrible secret and press that button.
The one just under your desk, Mr. President.
The one labeled Superdoodylickers.
When you press that button, the little red light on my night table will start to blink, and I will leap into action. Not that I really need you to press that button. I've practically got one foot out the door. I am already wearing my UNITARD OF IMPERVIOUSNESS, not to mention my BELT OF MANY USES.
My GLOVES OF HARM are on as well. I just killed a roach by simply giving it the finger. These gloves work, Mr. President.
I am ready.
Now, before you wisely choose the course of action that I am recommending, you'll probably want a detailed outline of my plan of attack, or at least a vague summary filled with exciting adjectives. I can certainly provide you with the latter.
But first, you have a question. Why is the button under your desk labeled "superdoodylickers"?
Don't ask me. It's been labeled that way since the Kennedy administration. The NSA simply redirected the wiring to my apartment. It used to be connected to a little red light in a bathhouse in Saratoga Springs.
What kind of a bathhouse?
Don't play naive with me, Mr. President. There's only one kind of bathhouse.
Still not clear? Let me put it this way. You can't spell bathhouse without "ho".
Nothing? Um. How about this. Hey, you can't spell bathhouse without "ho" and "use", am I right? As in a place where you go to USE HOS?!? EH??!
Hos. As in "pimps and hos." Hookers, Mr. President. What? Women who sell...forget it, it's not important. What is important is that that strangely labeled button puts you a finger poke away from solving your whole Iraqi dillema. Huh? Well, you would use your finger to poke, or rather push, the button. The button we've been talking about. I agree, Katie Holmes is indeed cute as a button. What? Heh. Yes sir, I'd sign a resolution to invade her as well. Can we get back to the whole wacky premise of me invading Iraq by myself? Thanks. Now then...
TO BE CONTINUED
posted by Andres at 10:18 AM
Thursday, September 19, 2002
Here is a conversation I just had with the nice fellow behind the deli counter at my office cafeteria. Please imagine him very hastily slapping this sandwich together during our exchange, as there is a huge lunch hour crush of customers:
DELI DUDE - Next.
ME - Yes, can I please have whole wheat bread with roast beef, cheddar, onion, tomato and mustard?
DELI DUDE - Roastbeef?
ME - Yes please.
DELI DUDE - Lettucetomatomayo?
ME - Uh. No. Cheddar, mustard, onion, tomato.
DELI DUDE - Mustard?
ME - Yes.
DELI DUDE - Lettucetomato?
ME - Uh, no. Just tomato. And onion.
DELI DUDE - Onion?
ME - Yes.
DELI DUDE - Lettucetomato?
ME - Nah just the tomato.
DELI DUDE - Chipspickle?
ME - Sure.
DELI DUDE - Next.
That's right. The cheddar never made it onto the sandwich. I hope this has given you some insight into why I sometimes seem like I'm surly, or brooding, or troubled. The simple fact is, my life is much harder than yours.
posted by Andres at 12:59 PM
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
The site doesn't seem to be working right now. Stay calm. It's probably only
GREMLINS!!!
Gremlins I tell you.
No more beers in the fridge? Gremlins.
Your underwear riding up? Most definitely gremlins.
Does ice cream hurt your teeth? Gremlins!
When you lean in oh so close to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, do you suddenly belch a belch so vile that neither of you can believe it came from THAT end of your body? GREMLINS.
Can't get it up? Yup. Gremlins.
Can't get it down? Gremlins with a Twilight-Zoney sense of irony.
Don't get my Twilight Zone reference? Your brain is plagued by Gremlins, my friend.
The existence of the movie "Gremlins?"
GREMLINS!
The existence of the movie "The Phantom Menace?" One turkey-necked retard.
Any Yankees loss? Gremlins.
Any Jets win? Gremlins.
Where'd the third Olsen triplet go? Gremlins! (I SWEAR, check your notes - there USED to be three of them. Why don't we remember? GREMLINS!)
The name of a folktale-themed bowling alley?!??! "Grimms Lanes."
Who's responsible for that terrible pun?!!? GREM...
LINS!
No fax paper? Gremlins.
Light bulb out? Gremlins.
Slight pee tingle? Gremlins.
Intense pee tingle? Still gremlins. Just craftier.
Why is my blog not accessible right now? Well, probably a server problem.
CAUSED BY GREMLINS!
You get the point. This could have been much longer and funnier. If it weren't for those damn...you know. The "G" word. Shh.
posted by Andres at 4:50 PM
As new rounds of weapons inspections are set to begin, Iraqi officials are expressing some concern over the United States' most recent appointment to the U.N. weapons inspections team: Massive Many-Footed Tony Patriotissimo.
"His head seems to be nothing more than a giant mylar balloon with a crudely drawn face on it," commented one Iraqi official, "and from beneath his vast trenchcoat protrude several hundred thousand feet. All wearing military boots. I am skeptical. Still, this is the first Italian-American I have met. I cannot jump to conclusions." The Iraqi official then gave a thumbs up and said "Aye!" in his best Fonzi voice.
posted by Andres at 2:55 PM
Today's CNN.com "Quickvote" poll asks:
Did the U.S. intelligence community do enough to prevent the 9/11 attacks?
So far, NO is winning, but only 76% to 24%! What the fuck? It seems to me that by the sheer fact that the terrorists carried out their scheme exactly as they had planned it, killing nearly 3,000 innocents in the process, the U.S. intelligence community could have done a wee bit more. What is the reasoning for the people who voted YES?
Hmm looky here a quiz. Well. The Friendly's across the street is still open, and little Destinee Starr made straight C's on her 'port card. I'll put a YES. Hee.The little box went away when I clicked at it.
-- Verne Clamberg, STUPIDFUCKINGVILLE U.S.A.
Might as well ask a cat if the smudge on the wall did enough to prevent the removal of his testicles:
(note - this cat sounds like Eddie Pepitone)
"I kept sending the smudge on the wall report after report of suspicious activity! I kept starin' at the smudge on the wall, THINKIN' at it, tellin' it - HEY! MY OWNERS ARE ACTIN' ALL WEIRD! I THINK THEY'RE PLANNING TO HAVE ME FIXED! HEY! YOU GOTTA DO SOMETHING! But the smudge just sat there, and before I knew it, WHAM! NO FUCKIN' BALLS. I'm a big handsome Tabby cat who gets his share of feline fun - I WILL NOT MAKE A PUSSY JOKE THAT'S TOO EASY - but when it comes time to close the deal - CLICK. THE GUN IS EMPTY! NO BULLETS IN THE CHAMBER! NO TADPOLES IN THE POND! NO MILK IN THE um...balls. I got no more balls. Oooh."
posted by Andres at 1:42 PM
Monday, September 16, 2002
As you may have noticed, I've decided to use my blog not only to post new stuff, but as a depository for all of my old scripts, bits, etc. I dunno. It just comforts me to know I can have this little online library. If you're a new visitor and you enjoy the goofy stuff I write, by all means delve into the archives here, there's tons of stuff from the past five years. Here's a little something from 1997 that has only seen stagetime three or four times, and has only gone really well...once? Yeah, I think just once:
There is a new Broadway Show called MY PENIS, and it’s been getting rave reviews. Here they are:
Hooray for MY PENIS!
You’ve got to see MY PENIS!
MY PENIS is a masterwork.
I thoroughly enjoyed MY PENIS!
MY PENIS is a must see!
Three cheers for MY PENIS!
MY PENIS stands tall…above this season’s Broadway shows.
You’ll gasp when you see MY PENIS!
Discover MY PENIS.
Treat your whole family to MY PENIS.
My kids enjoyed MY PENIS even more than I did!
With minimal tinkering, MY PENIS could be bigger than Chicago!
MY PENIS will leave you speechless!
You’ll eat up MY PENIS!
I just can’t shake MY PENIS.
Here’s a tip…see MY PENIS.
You can put money on MY PENIS.
Get MY PENIS under your belt.
MY PENIS really rises to the occasion.
MY PENIS touches you again and again.
MY PENIS doesn’t miss a beat.
You’ll love MY PENIS, warts and all!
MY PENIS deserves a big hand!
When you experience MY PENIS, you’ll wonder why you never came before.
MY PENIS is going to leave its mark…on Broadway.
Kevin Spacey breathes life into MY PENIS.
MY PENIS positively drips with good cheer.
See MY PENIS before the original cast is gone.
MY PENIS has some rough spots, but it really comes through on the whole. (CUMS through on the HOLE?!?!?! I AM A GENIUS!)
I haven’t seen anything quite so polished as MY PENIS.
Reba McIntyre brings her considerable talents to MY PENIS.
MY PENIS is long, but thoroughly satisfying.
MY PENIS is a lot to swallow.
MY PENIS really gives you something to chew on.
You’ll want to savor MY PENIS.
When MY PENIS reaches its climax, you’ll be blown away!
MY PENIS starts out strong, sags in the middle, but ends with a real bang!
When Tony comes around, you can bet MY PENIS will be there!
MY PENIS is a towering achievement.
MY PENIS is a stroke of genius.
MY PENIS will make a big impression on you.
MY PENIS has legs. It can look forward to a long run on Broadway!
Wild horses won’t be able to drag you away from MY PENIS.
MY PENIS will bring a lump to your throat.
MY PENIS will bring you to your feet.
MY PENIS will put a smile on your face.
MY PENIS will have you on the floor!
MY PENIS will leave you begging for more!
MY PENIS will keep you humming!
MY PENIS smells…like a surefire hit!
MY PENIS is in-your-face.
MY PENIS will have you wiping your eyes!
MY PENIS will fill you…with song!
MY PENIS is a real weiner! (WINNER? WEINER? Ah yeah. IS THAT LORNE MICHAELS ON THE PHONE?!?!? Woo!)
MY PENIS is side-splitting.
MY PENIS is hair-raising!
MY PENIS is eye-popping!
Oh my. Oh MY PENIS!
The Delacorte theatre will be home to MY PENIS for years to come!
I give MY PENIS two thumbs up.
MY PENIS pulsates with the rhythm of Savion Glover’s masterfully tapping feet.
MY PENIS is hard to pin down. Is it a comedy? A musical? Whatever it is, I want to see MY PENIS again!
MY PENIS delivers great big dollops of fun.
MY PENIS starts saccharine sweet, but its ending may leave some with a bad taste in their mouth.
You’ll want to bring an umbrella when you see MY PENIS.
MY PENIS will take you in and out of some dark, scary places.
MY PENIS grows in size and scope, and then suddenly shrinks again.
Annie Get Your Gun, because here comes MY PENIS.
Move over Lion King, MY PENIS is the new king of Broadway.
The Producers can’t hold a candle to MY PENIS. That would burn! But in a good way.
Look out Broadway, MY PENIS is coming. Oh my god, it’s coming so fucking hard!
Lick the balls. Good, now work the shaft. Work it, work it. Yeah!
The people in MY PENIS are very talented!
The people in MY PENIS are suffocating, because there is not enough oxygen in my urethra to sustain the respiratory systems of so many hardworking performers!
MY PENIS is in there somewhere. Keep wriggling! You’ll feel it.
MY PENIS is stuck inside this metrocard reader.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat. MY PENIS!
MY PENIS has taken Broadway by storm. A penis storm!
When I first saw MY PENIS, I was overjoyed. Is this really MY PENIS? I’ve got to start masturbating right away!
If you penis one penis this penis penis, it’s got to be MY PENIS.
I penis, you penis, we all penis for MY PENIS.
Please put MY PENIS in your vagina! Please? No, seriously, please?
Hey don’t suck on MY PENIS so hard, I might cry out in pain, thus alerting your father to my presence. He frightens me. After all, he does collect guns!
MY PENIS once connected Russia with Alaska! That’s how people got here. And caribou!
MY PENIS dances to and fro hypnotically, waiting until the last second to snare the helpless tree frog, sinking its venomous fangs deep into the frail skull of the amphibian!
In times of famine, the elder tribesmen would call upon MY PENIS to bless them with rain and forgetful squirrels. Because the forgetful squirrels would leave the nuts where they were buried. MY PENIS would then make the nuts grow into large trees that were called “penis-rubbing trees”, because they looked like palm trees!
Alderan is a peaceful planet, please spare it from the awesome, destructive power of MY PENIS.
Knock knock. Who’s there? MY PENIS. MY PENIS who? MY-PENIS-WHO is one of the spicier entrees at my favorite Thai restaurant!
Knock knock. Who’s there? MY PENIS. MY PENIS who? Knock knock. Who’s there? MY PENIS. MY PENIS who? Knock knock. Who’s there? MY PENIS. MY PENIS who? Knock knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who? Orange you glad I didn’t fuck you in the ear with MY PENIS?
Knock knock. Who’s there? MY PENIS. MY PENIS who? MY PENIS PENIS PENIS PENIS PENIS!
My bologna has a first name, it’s P-E-N-I-S. My bologna has a second name it’s P-L-E-A-S-E-S-U-C-K-M-Y-P-E-N-I-S. Whoah, wait a second kid. You’re bologna is named Penis Please Suck My Penis? Awesome, that’s gotta be good bologna!
When I saw that a show had come out called MY PENIS, I was skeptical. But then I saw MY PENIS, and I really liked MY PENIS. MY PENIS was very, very good. I enjoyed MY PENIS. I think the next time I see MY PENIS, I’ll bring my grandmother along. She’s never seen MY PENIS, though she claims to have seen it when I was a baby. MY PENIS is a very, very good show. MY PENIS.
posted by Andres at 6:40 PM
HAPPY ACCIDENT
(beautiful, peaceful music plays in the background)
Hi. I'm Herb Farber, from the world famous Farber Fudgeworks in Herdleberg, New Hampshire. You know, since 1898, the name Farber has been synonymous with delicious, premium quality novelty fudge. And that's not about to change as we advance into the 21st century.
Tonight I'm here to introduce our newest type of novelty fudge: The Happy Accident.
Is new Happy Accident novelty fudge reasonably priced? Sure it is.
Is it delicious? If you're familiar with our line of premium novelty fudge products, that's not even a question.
Does New Happy Accident novelty fudge accurately simulate the appearance, consistency, and texture of real human feces? You bet it does.
But that's not where the novelty ends. Because Happy Accident novelty fudge doesn't come in a tin, or a box, or a jar, or a container of any kind.
It comes in convenient pill form.
What's in the pill? Good question. Three patented ingredients:
One - a revolutionary biochemical agent that literally transforms the molecular properties of the feces in your colon into rich, delicious, premium quality fudge. There's the Happy.
Two - a volcanically powerful laxative. There's the accident.
Three - a prescription strength antidepressant, to help you cope emotionally with the fact that, no matter how delicious it is, you are indeed eating your own shit.
So, the next time you've got a hankering for a snack, just pop a Happy Accident pill, and turn yourself into a fudge factory! That's what I did!
(reaches into pants and produces fudge - eats it)
Mmm. (pause) You know something? I don't think I actually ever took the pill. Oh God. Oh God no.
(runs off)
posted by Andres at 1:32 AM
Thursday, September 12, 2002
Three ruminations on the three men who comprised Forbidden Chocolate Explosion, the little-known but highly influential jazz trio of the late Sixties:
He played piano like no one else before or since. That is to say, he played it as a percussion instrument.
-- Jazz historian Larry Flemister on Wallace "Hammer Hands" Harwell.
They say he had two good notes in him each day: the two notes he played before he wet himself. It took eight years to record his only solo EP. The end product was unreleasable, but the rights were snapped up by Disney. If you listen carefully, you can hear it playing on a loop in the background in the 'Astrolator' at the 'Journey To 1990!' Pavilion at Epcot.
-- Jazzo-O-Phile Chief Editor Baron Riceburrough on saxophonist P.P. Jenkins.
He called it a six-string bass, but even a novice could see that it was a regular guitar. He had a rare hearing problem which caused him to hear things several octaves lower than they actually were. At birthday parties, he never did find the whole "helium voice" thing very funny. Still, this strange sensory defect helped him create some of the most innovative guitar sounds of his era. The era of April 12th through the 18th, 1967. The sound a regular bass makes? It terrified him.
-- Pauley Bronson, close friend to Picky McGinnis.
posted by Andres at 11:23 AM
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
NYC rules.
posted by Andres at 10:35 AM
Thursday, September 05, 2002
Firstly, I must apologize for my lapse in "comedic scaling" in the last post. A tiny dog belonging to someone tiny enough to fit inside a lightbulb would be DWARFED by a gerbil! So how about he's trying to hump a ladybug? Okay, thanks.
So I'm off to THE MOUNTAINS for a few days, and I will not be reachable by phone or e-mail. If you desperately need to get in touch with me, please follow these easy steps:
1. Write your message on an 8.5 x 11 piece of plain white paper. A piece of printer paper perhaps? Awesome.
2. Roll the paper up into a nice, tight tube, as tight as you can make it. Then, affix a tiny tab of scotch tape to the tube, to make sure it doesn't unravel. Invisible gift-wrapping tape? Totally.
3. Put the tube of paper to your mouth and make a "toot-toot-toot" type of noise. It's a noise that always used to freak out my dog Patches when I was a kid. I'm not sure why this step is necessary.
4. CRAM it. Just fucking cram it and wait for me to get back in town, you impatient fuckwad.
5. After pausing uncertainly as you try to figure out how and where to "cram it", place the tube of paper onto a plate and sprinkle it with birdseed. Place the plate outdoors.
6. Wait for a bird to eat the seed. Dash outdoors, tackle said bird without hurting it, and affix the tube of paper to one of its feet with some string.
7. Release the bird whilst shouting "to Andres, my avian comrade, to Andres!"
8. Run over to where the bird has crashed, untie the paper, and replace with a smaller, lighter piece of paper. Nurse bird back to health if necessary.
9. See step #7.
10. See step #8, or proceed to step #11.
11. Wait patiently. In due time, the bird will find me, I will read the note, and I will get back to you as soon as I get back into town. Which brings us back to step #4.
I'm goin' to da Moun tayuns! WOO heeyah!
posted by Andres at 4:17 PM
Q: How many bankers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Gee, just two I guess, but they'd have to be awfully small bankers! I mean, to fit inside a lightbulb? Really! And how the heck are they gonna get in there anyway? And what about the intense HEAT??!?! Just imagine being a tiny banker fucking another tiny banker inside a lightbulb, and trying to muster the concentration to maintain an erection despite the blazingly intense light and heat! And what about that tiny presentation you've got to finish back at the tiny office later (a little later)? And what about that tiny raise you're hoping for! So you can buy that tiny house for your tiny wife and your even tinier kids?!?! HAVE YOU SEEN THE DOG, HONEY?!?! HE'S SO GOD DAMNED TINY!!! Oh there he is. Trying to hump that regular-sized gerbil.
posted by Andres at 3:46 PM
It's very hard to think of something to write that doesn't somehow relate to the fact that I hate temping and I hate the types of people I encounter through temping and I would rather not temp and I'm a temp. Sigh. There, I did it again.
posted by Andres at 3:44 PM
Hey just pretend I'm married for this joke:
So last night my wife and I finally saw Signs at the local megaplex. She said she hadn't experienced that much exciting buildup with no climax whatsoever since our wedding night.
When we watched Unbreakable on pay-per-view.
OH! Who's with me?!?!?! YEAH!
posted by Andres at 1:19 PM
A French researcher has found a skeleton of a Neanderthal baby that was first discovered in 1914 near Le Moustier, in southwestern France, but was lost in a museum for more than 80 years.
Upon further study, scientists determined it was just Danny Devito.
"Docking in space is difficult, not just the actual docking, but the safety aspects," said Max Meerman, an engineer with Surrey Satellites in Great Britain.
"You should try docking in Rhea Perlman!" said Danny Devito.
But as sophomore discs go, ''A Rush of Blood'' is strikingly wonderful, if not immediately striking.
When Danny Devito experiences "a rush of blood", he looks like a jack. You know, from the game of jacks.
Ohio State University, for instance, is introducing "Politics and Culture in Central Asia."
Fresno State University is introducing a rather awkwardly-titled class called "Blame The Little Gargoyle Man: Why Militant Islam Hates Us (Here's A Hint: 'Fuck You, Danny Devito!')"
A streak filled with dramatic finishes grew even longer thanks to Hatteberg's one-out theatrics in front of 55,528 fans who fully expected something every bit as incredible as the finish to another exhausting win.
The last time that many people got to witness such a lengthy streak was when a drunk, nude and soiled Danny Devito "scooted" around on his living room carpet in front of a disgusted crowd of party guests for a terrifying 15 minutes. The resulting streak stretched all the way from the coffee table to the marble statue of Napoleon.
posted by Andres at 10:07 AM
Wednesday, September 04, 2002
Hey - big news. I'll be sending out a few e-mails later this month, but you lucky readers get the scoop here first:
Monday, September 23rd @ 7:30pm (I think that's the right time) - "Giant Monday Night Of Amazing Inventions And Also There Is A Game!!!" at PSNBC.
Saturday, September 28th @ 10:00pm - "Giant Saturday Night Of Amazing Inventions And Also There Is A Game!!!" at The Gershwin Hotel.
The search for a new weekly home is ongoing, but these two extravaganzariffic specials should satisfy NYC's thirst for wacky hilarity in the meantime.
That's what I'm all about. Taking the demented white noise in my brain, sifting through it, re-packaging it into a somewhat understandable format, and presenting it to you good people on a semi-regular basis for the purposes of making you laugh. Which, in turn, makes me glad to be alive. Somebody please pass me a tissue. No, an unused tissue, asshole!
posted by Andres at 2:30 PM
Q: What did the euphemistic leper lawyer say to the prostitute?
A: "Keep the tip...of my little lawyer."
posted by Andres at 2:20 PM
Q: What do you call 500 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
A: Superlawyer Aquaconference!
posted by Andres at 2:20 PM
Thank you! Thank you! Wow, are you folks enjoying the talent show? GOOD! What a great end to a wonderful summer here at Camp Daisy For The Monu-mentally Challenged. It's great to see all the parents of our special kids out in the audience tonight. Hey, I see where they get it from! Ho! Just kidding. Remember, it's not your fault. You're good people. Hey, let's have another big hand for The Happy Campers Band! Weren't they great? A 23 minute version of "Old McDonald Had A." Hey, the last word is "Farm", kids, you almost had it! Whoah, our kids may be mentally challenged, but they're not chutzpah challenged! Before we continue on with the show, I'd like to thank the arts & crafts department for building that incredible C3PO helmet, which fits so nicely over little Tommy's existing protective helmet. Also, our heartfelt thanks go out to the Make A Wish Except For The Wish To Get Better Foundation for their generous funding! Now, here's the Safety Boys gymnspastics team, with their attempt at beating Camp Daisy's 13 year-old record for Dry Tumbling! Can they go more than 92 seconds without any incidental wetness? Let's find out! And...scene. Thank you, thank you. I call that little ramble, "Slow Camp Talent Show Emcee." I guess I've just reserved my spot in Hell, eh? Sigh. Retards. :)
posted by Andres at 1:18 PM
Sunday, September 01, 2002
Scientists have finally identified the ONE gene that separates man from the apes:
Gene Wilder.