andresdubouchet.com | October 2002

Nigel & Cocoa

NIGEL & COCOA
(this version from the show I did at Surf Reality Feb 7-9, 2002)

Jungle/adventure music fades out as the lights fade up.

Nigel emerges from behind the curtain, wearing goggles and leading an invisible creature. He has an Australian accent. Gee, I'll bet no one else has ever done a parody of an Australian wildlife dude...

NIGEL
C’mon girl, c’mon Cocoa! Yeah, that’s a good girl. Good girl! That’s right, c’mon out and say hi to the nice people. Yeah. Good girl. Hup, up on the stool, Cocoa! Up! Good girl. Good girl.

Nigel leads Cocoa up onto a stool and gives her a treat – he gets nipped on the hand. He pulls his goggles up onto his forehead and addresses the audience.

NEIL (CONT’D)
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m wildlife expert Nigel Whitewater. Some of you may have seen one of my many Discovery Channel specials, such as “When Animals Attack Me”, “Get This Alligator Off My Ass”, “Waiter, There’s A Catfish In My Penis”, and “Backyard Safari Part Three: The Whimsical World of Chipmunks…When They Attack.”

Tonight, I’m here with my good friend Cocoa, the invisible, performing baboon. Let’s give her a big hand. Thank you. As you know, invisible baboons are a rare and endangered species, and there are only a few left in the wild. I rescued Cocoa from an invisible Circus three years ago. Since then, we have traveled together promoting invisible baboon conservation, and during that time, countless audiences the world over have taken me at my word that she has performed brilliantly for them! Tonight, it’s your turn! Thank you.

Before we begin, there are just a few basic groundrules to cover:

Firstly, no flash photography. The flashes disorient both myself and Cocoa, and besides, what’s the point anyway?

Secondly, no sudden movements. Cocoa is a trained performer, but she is also a wild animal. Any sudden movements could result in her fleeing, or much, much worse.

Thirdly and most importantly, do not make eye contact with Cocoa. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “but I can’t see Cocoa’s eyes.” Well, that’s irrelevant, because she can see yours. If you make eye contact with Cocoa, even for a second, she will interpret it as a challenge to territorial combat, and she will attack swiftly and viciously.

Okay, enough of these very, very important rules. Cocoa will now astound you with some amazing tricks! You have my word on it!

With my infrared goggles on, I can see and direct Cocoa’s every move.

Nigel puts the goggles back on.

We are going to begin with a very basic trick, the cartwheel. We are all familiar with the cartwheel, except for those of us who were too portly to attempt it as a child, myself included.

And, follow the treat! C’mon! C’mon! And, back again! Good! Cocoa!

This is illustrated with arm movements. Nigel takes Cocoa in a circle and back to the stool, making swirling motions with his arms. He feeds her a treat. Gets nipped.

Beautiful! Thank you! Trust me, ladies and gentlemen, that was a sight to behold!

Nigel grabs a Frisbee.

Now, I will throw this Frisbee to Cocoa, and she will catch it in her mouth and then release it with such agility and speed so as to not change it’s trajectory whatsoever!

He moves to one end of the room, and throws the frisbee. When it goes over the stool, he directs Cocoa.

Catch, release! Yes! So nimble, no change in the trajectory of the Frisbee whatsoever! Cocoa!

He goes over to stool, gives her a treat, gets nipped worse.

For our next trick, I have devised something a little more complicated. Up in the rafters at the back of the auditorium, I have placed a small metal canister containing a single serving of zebra meat. The container is sealed right now, but when I give the command to my American wife Kiki, she will open the canister, and then go conveniently unmentioned for the rest of this bit. When the canister opens, the scent of zebra flesh will waft down to Cocoa’s nostrils, and she will leap up into the rafters to consume the meat. Once she is there, we are going to coax her to jump down, directly onto this stool! You won’t believe my eyes!

Calling to the back of the room.

Okay Kiki, open the cannister! Any second now, Cocoa will smell the zebra meat. As we are waiting for the scent of zebra meat to waft down to Cocoa’s nostrils, I’d just like to say what a pleasure it is to be living here in New York City. New York is like a giant Thomas’ English Muffin, so full of nooks and crannies. And we, the people of New York, are like hot butter, melting and dripping down into all the nooks and crannies, and then cooling, and becoming trapped there. Barely able to pay the rent on our nook or cranny, but too scared to – ah! Cocoa has smelled the zebra meat! Cocoa is flaring her nostrils. “What’s that I smell?” she’s thinking. “Oh I know what it is, it’s a dead zebra!” And she leaps! And she is up in the rafters! A beautiful sight! Truly a marvel to behold. Now, she is eating the meat, and we can all breath a bit easier. For now. Now, we are going to get Cocoa to leap down from the rafters onto this stool, onto which I shall now place an invisible whoopee cushion.

Nigel places the imaginary whoopee cushion on the stool.

There. The whoopee cushion is in place. Now, Cocoa is trained to respond to one specific vocal command, which we are all going to say together. It goes like this. In the voice of a PBS nature documentary, we are all going to say “In times of drought, only the strongest baboons may use the watering hole”. Just like that. Okay, she’s done eating. Now, on the count of three, we’re going to say, “in times of drought, only the strongest baboons may use the watering hole.” One, two, three – “in times of drought, only the strongest baboons may use the watering hole.” She’s jumping! Here she comes!

Nigel follows her jump with his gaze. When he stares at the stool, a loud FART is heard.

Wow! Beautiful! If any of you have ever thought about purchasing a pair of infrared goggles, it’s sights like this that make it really worth the expense! A big hand for Cocoa. Now, for our next trick...

There is an ominous pause as Nigel stands stone still, staring at Cocoa.

Aw, crikey. Ladies and blokes, do not be alarmed. I seem to have made eye-contact with Cocoa. Don’t worry, I have safely dealt with this situation several of the many times it has occurred. Right now I cannot make any sudden movements, and I certainly cannot break eye contact with Cocoa. If I break eye contact, she will take it as a clear sign that I wish to engage in territorial combat, and she will attack suddenly and viciously. My best chance in this situation is to simply reach for my tazer...ladies and gentlemen, it seems that I have neglected to bring my tazer with me. This poses a problem, for I see that Cocoa is tensing her haunches and preparing to pounce. There is another way. If we can distract her, and make her break eye contact first, I may have a chance. If you would be so kind as to make the following noise, which is the sound of a dying water buffalo calf. “Bleargh!” Got it? Ready, one, two three...”blearh!” I appreciate your efforts, but that was not really close at all. Like this “bleargh”. Ready, one, two, three – “BLEARGH!” Still miles away from the sound I need you to make. One more try, like this – “bleargh” from the abdomen. Ready, one two three “BLEARGH!” That’s not the FUCKING SOUND. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to – right. Let’s try it one more time. One last try! One, two, three...”bleargh!” Yes, that’s it! It seems to be working! Keep doing it! Keep doing! STOP! She is no longer staring at me! Oh, crikey. She is now staring at YOU, sir. Don’t make any sound or movements, or she will think you are inviting her to engage in territorial combat! There is one way you can avoid being attacked. Cocoa has been known to calm down considerably at the sight of someone handing me their wallet. Slowly, hand me your wallet, sir. Slowly. Brilliant, you’re moving so slowly as to be barely perceptible to the human eye. No? There is another way. Cocoa has been known to calm down considerably when she is showered with the bras and panties of appreciative female audience members. I am noticing a distinct lack of bras and panties landing on the stage, which means that either none of you are throwing your bras and panties, or you are throwing them, and they are merely being intercepted by some sort of incredibly stealthy species of bird or bat. That likes to eat bras. And panties. Right, I can only think of one more thing we can do. How about we all breath a sigh of relief, because Cocoa and I were only acting! Right!?! Ladies and gentlemen, that was just a vignette we do to illustrate the majesty and power of the invisible baboon. Thank you! Now, while I make some minor costume changes, Cocoa will entertain you by repeatedly jumping up and down on the invisible whoopee cushion. Enjoy. Take it away, Cocoa!

Nigel watches Cocoa jump up and down a few times, each time his gaze comes down to the stool, we hear a FART. The paces starts slow and then gets much faster. Then, after three or four, Nigel walks offstage and the FARTing continues. Even after the lights dim, the farting still continues.

NOTE - the whole catfish/penis joke is a reference to the helium bit I posted way earlier in this blog, and it was also a line from the puppetshow "Piranha & Barfbag" which has yet to play outside of that one run of shows at Surf.

Posted on October 03, 2002

October 2002

Wednesday, October 30, 2002

Okey dokey everybody. Settle in there. Howdy do folks, good evening! Stan, get that possum out of your mouth, it's not polite. Can somebody please shut the door? Alright. We've got quite a bit to cover here folks, tomorrow's the big night, the 'Big H'! Okay, alright, okay, put a stake in it already, calm down. I know we're all very excited. This is my favorite time of year too. Now then, we've got a full schedule tonight, due to the brevity of last week's meeting. Let me just recap from those minutes here:

9:00pm - milling about, pleasantries
9:20pm - roll call
9:30pm - reading of previous week's minutes, discussion
10:00pm - bake sale discussion
10:06pm - bake sale discussion interrupted by The Slayer
10:06pm - Ernie slayed by stake to the chest
10:06pm - Stan slayed by stake to the chest
10:06pm - George slayed by stake to the chest
10:06pm - Phil slayed by stake to the chest
10:06pm - Sylvia & Maurice slayed by same stake through both their chests, shish-kebab style

Dang she is fast. Okay, reading on...

10:06pm - Carl slayed by stake to the chest
10:06pm - Bernice slayed by a garlic-marinated crucifix sharpened to a point and plunged into her chest
10:07pm - Leonard traps The Slayer in The Mirror of Damnation

Incidentally, Cheryl put the mirror in the dressing room of "Voluptuous Plus" in Fernvale. Good one, Cheryl! The Slayer can watch fatties change dresses while she plots her escape. You know what, it's "slain", isn't it? And the whole time I was saying slayed. By Satan's Cock that's funny. Ah well. Maybe I woulda learned my grammar better if I hadn't eviscerated Mrs. Munroe in the third grade. Okay...

10:08pm - Mirror of Damnation sealed with The Curse of Ghaal
10:11pm - meeting adjourned, unwind at Appleby's

The curse of ghaal is just a three minute curse? Someone verify that for me. Really? That's a quick curse. Finally, a curse that's quicker than mine! "The Curse Of the Prematurely Limp Noodle." Nice. Oh yeah, I said it. "Noodle," folks! Anyway, as you can see there was a lot we never got to discuss last week, so let's get started. The big item on the agenda is of course The Big H! Yeah, Halloween is tomorrow night, and as we do every year, we've got to plan carefully so that we can all enjoy ourselves responsibly...

I said RESPONSIBLY, Pete. You too Betty. Okay, okay, keep it down folks.

Like I said, we can enjoy ourselves responsibly and without any danger of being recognized as actual vampires.Yup, that's always the kicker. This is the one night of the year when droves of unsuspecting human children show up on OUR doorsteps. It can be quite a test of willpower. Remember three years ago in Pine Valley, when Lee Pinkowitz got carried away and ate the first six trick-or-treaters that showed up at his door? Luckily for us, the seventh trick-or-treater was Count Varnado. He put Mr. Pinkowitz in his place, there. Yeah. It must have been quite a scare for him to open that door expecting another treat, but instead facing the most fearsome Vampire in the land. Dressed as Liberace. Anyway, it was still a big mess.

Willpower, folks. I find it helps to fill up on squirrels, or if you want to splurge, go to your local after hours butcher and pick yourself up some drippings. But let's not eat the kids. There's really no upside to the situation. First of all, the kids goes missing, the whole town goes up in arms, and starts searching every nook and cranny of the county. And let's face it, there are definitely some nooks and crannies we'd rather keep hidden. No, Berny, not that! Jeez, pull your pants up.

Alright, so then you're thinking, what if i just turn the kid? You know, into one of us? Well then there yeah, you've got a vampire kid living with humans, great, that won't arise suspicions at all! Boom, first school day comes along, the kid refuses to get out from under the covers, the Mom gets mad, rips the covers off the bed, exposing him to sunlight, the kid bursts into unholy flames and then you've got a dead kid, a confused and terrified family and thousands of dollars of fire damage! Multiply that by however many kids we turn and you've got a home owners' insurance crisis. Or have we forgotten which industry many of us are in? So, keep those canines out of the little necks this Halloween, okey do?

TO BE CONTINUED...?
posted by Andres at 11:27 AM

Day two. The natives still regard me with apprehension and even a small measure of suspicion. They have obviously noticed my presence, but have made a point to keep their distance. Good. If I can maintain this degree of virtual anonymity for the next two days, I will have made absolutely no impact on this village during my stay. I take pride in my ability to remain a non-participant during these temporary assignments. I think it is very important, no matter what my agency says, to not interfere with the natural flow of things within an existing cubicle-cluster.

And so forth.

If this were The Onion* or other somesuch publication, you would now be forced to plod on through an entire multi-paragraph article that thoroughly explores the "Temp Assignment as Anthropology Study" metaphor. Not here. I fully trust you, my savvy reader, to extrapolate all of the hilarity on your own by simply reading the sloppy introductory paragraph. Of course, you will use your brilliant imaginations to cover all of the obvious comedy points:

1. The difficulty of procuring water from the "Communal Water Source" without being noticed by the "Chieftain", whose dwelling lies directly between my "hutch" and the "spring". If the Chieftain notices me, he might make me do a "mail merge."

2. Observing "The Great Hunt" for "The Lost Document."

3. The dangerous moment when the "Tribe Shaman" caught me "Speaking for 45 minutes to my friend in Los Angeles about Fantasy Football."

4. The "Pop-up Porn Window That Refused To Close," and the "Untimely Boner" that threatened to get me "Slapped With A Sexual Harrassment Lawsuit" by "Gladys Moskowitz."

5. The herding of the goats.

Again, I don't even have the energy to finish this list of half-hearted sarcastic whimsy. This posting pretty much sucks. I'm going to cut my losses and start a new one.

*Actually, The Onion would probably do something like "Area Man Thinks He Is First To Ponder 'Temp Assignment as Anthropology Study' Metaphor."
posted by Andres at 8:59 AM

Tuesday, October 29, 2002

Today I make my triumphant return to the world of temping! For some reason I find it much easier to make regular posts when I am trapped in a cubicle. I guess there are just fewer distractions here. No bed. No personal e-mail (yup, those clever banking bastards block it), no tiny, floral-detailed ceramic jar of almond-scented buttercream and its accompanying rack of freshly-laundered moleskin applicator gloves. No latest issue of Unrepentant Lecher Digest. No television. No refrigator in which there is beer. And so forth. Nope, pretty much the only thing I can do here is fret over the latest awful news on CNN.com, pore over sports statistics on ESPN.com, and post stuff to my blog. Oh I SUPPOSE I could do the actual work that has been assigned to me, but I'm sure that (lengthy pause during which there is much shuffling of papers)...um...ah, here it is...Nadine will be able to catch up upon her return from Secretary Respite Island. Or her Mom's house in Delaware, or wherever she is. Some woman with a very, slow, casual, apathetic style of speech has called for Nadine twice, and each time we've had this exchange:

WOMAN - Is Nadine there?
ME - No, she's out of the office until Friday. This is Andres, can I help you?
WOMAN - I need to speak to Nadine in person.
ME - Well, she won't be back until - (dial tone)

Yeah, those types of conversations are always fun. At least I haven't had any encounters with Mr. Important Businessman yet. So far, I've met Mr. Young Heypalcanyoudomeahugefavor a few times, as well as Ms. Noinflectioninhervoicewhogetslotsofcallsfromotherwomenwithnoinflectionintheirvoices.

I can (and will) complain about temping all I want, but no matter how terrible things get at a temp job, I can say with almost total certainty that I will never go on a killing spree. The same can not be said about the occupation of Fucked-Up Gulf War Veteran. You'd think by now that someone would look into this. Gulf War Veterans are the killiest veterans around. When's the last time three people were shot dead by a Grenada Scuffle Veteran, or a Sarajevo Fisticuffs Veteran? The D.C. sniper turned out to be a Gulf vet. So was the nursing student in Arizona who just murdered three of his nursing school professors. Look, nurses and murder DO go together on Cinemax, but in real life? Please. Wasn't Timothy McVeigh a Gulf vet as well? Even though I'm just a google-search away from finding out the answer to that question, I'll skip that crucial step and just assume he is. I think by now, Gulf War Syndrome or other physical afflictions aside, we can safely say that Desert Storm wasn't the healthiest mental experience for the men and women of our armed forces. Do we need any more evidence than the fact that one of them was studying to become a male nurse? Case closed. I demand an expose. With a little accent over the last e. I want 60 minutes to find out why our soldiers from 1991 are becoming our nutballs of 2002. It seems we should be taking better care of the people who risked their lives for this country. True, the tiny sampling of aberrant individuals who have perpetrated these various atrocities is most definitely not indicative of the majority of military personnel, but even just a few indicents like this should be enough to raise eyebrows. What snapped inside these vets and why? Were they forced to work in a post office while in Iraq? Did part of their training consist of painstakingly trying to organize vintage bottlecaps in a dark room while a goat peed on them? Work with me here folks, I'm just throwing out ideas.Getting peed on by a goat in a dark room while attempting to put a vintage bottlecap collection in some semblance of an order would be very, very frustrating, and quite possibly permanently damaging to your psyche. Especially if the goat was peeing more vintage bottlecaps. Hey, you never know. Goats eat anything. And there could be one goat out there with a mutant digestive system that sends metal through the urinary rather than digestive tract. HEY, I'M JUST BRAINSTORMING HERE, GET OFF MY BACK! Jeez.

Anyway, as you can see I am not at all well-versed in this topic, nor eloquent enough to convey my ideas, theories and concerns properly. The point is, we need a military, but I believe it should be just as high of a priority to take care of these folk after their service as it is to mold them into good soldiers to begin with. Being in combat requires (or so I would imagine - I'm a soft, doughy, farty comedian with no agility, so what the hell do I know) an incredibly intense degree of mental discipline to go along with the physical and technical skills. Once you've instilled this mindset, this zeal, once you've for want of a better word programmed these people to fight and die for their country, it would seem a wise thing to make sure there is some support system in place for them when they return to civilian life. I can't imagine it would be an easy transition.

In conclusion, I hate temping.

This article has not been proofread or spellchecked or especially well thought-out.

U.S.A.!
posted by Andres at 10:20 AM

Saturday, October 12, 2002

So I had an epiphany yesterday, which was to write more material for my existing characters, rather than continuously bang my head against a wall trying to come up with brand new characters/premises, etc. Here is the roster of alter egos I've developed for the stage so far. Prepare to see a lot more of them, especially the top five:

NAME: Francisco Guglioni
OCCUPATION: Host of "Giant (whatever night the show happens to be on) Night Of Amazing Inventions And Also There Is A Game"
ACCENT: Spanish
FUN FACTS: His home country of Boliviguay is an Extravaganzocracy - a country run entirely via extravaganzas. The national language of Boliviguay is English...but with a Spanish accent.
QUOTE: "True story."

NAME: Frankie No-Pants
OCCUPATION: Ex-con, legit businessman, occasional guest host of "...And Also There Is A Game."
ACCENT: NY/NJ
FUN FACTS: He guest hosts Francisco's show as part of his participation in the Rikers Island Rehabilitainment Program. He found his backing band, "The Chairmen Of The Board", in the trunk of a stolen car. He never asked them how they got in the trunk, and they never asked him how he got the car.
QUOTE: "You wanna know why the fuck they call me Frankie No-Pants? Go ask Tommy Has-My-Pants."

NAME: Murray Peterson
OCCUPATION: Lord of the Vampires, Mid-Central Minnesota Chapter. Owner and operator of a successful chain of tire realignment centers (for the undead).
ACCENT: Midwestern
FUN FACTS: Harbors a secret desire to be a Broadway singer.
QUOTE: "When I was nine years old my father took me to see Annie. It was the scariest thing I'd ever seen in my life! 'The sun'll come out, tomorrow...'."

NAME: General Ragnarok
OCCUPATION: Commander of the Fourth Army of the Western Lands. Bearer of the Standard of King Veritas the Third. Keeper of the Sacred Scroll of Herculomnicus the Timely. Protector of all that lies between the Ice Mountains and the Dale of Iotopia, excluding several hard-to-reach swampy areas.
ACCENT: British. (basically the same voice as the Naked Trampoline Hamlet guy)
FUN FACTS: Has a crush on Maxine, a dancer at Lucky Cheng's.
QUOTE: "I am so proud of my soldiers on this day of victory. Were you to slice me open with your sword right now, you would be splattered not by entrails, but by pride. And entrails."

NAME: Clark Frogley
OCCUPATION: District Attorney, State of Mississippi.
ACCENT: Southern.
FUN FACTS: Made headlines as chief prosecutor in "The Great Penguin Caper" and "The Case Of The Constantly Randomly Teleporting Toilet."
QUOTE: "I'm a simple man."

NAME: Nigel Whitewater
OCCUPATION: Wildlife expert.
ACCENT: Australian. Now THERE'S an original character! An Australian wildlife guy! The writing must be odd/unique enough to justify doing anything new with him, otherwise he?s nothing more than a Steve Irwin parody.
FUN FACTS: TV specials include When Animals Attack?Me and Somebody Get This Alligator Off Of My Ass. Tours the world with ?Cocoa The Invisible Performing Baboon?.
QUOTE: "Don't worry, I have safely dealt with this situation several of the many times it has occurred."

NAME: Herb Farber
OCCUPATION: Founder and President of 'Farber's Fudgeworks', located in Herdleburg, New Hampshire.
ACCENT: Sometimes I try a New England accent, sometimes just an overly calm, strangely sleepy/nice voice.
FUN FACTS: Enjoys kayaking!
QUOTE: "Does new 'Happy Accident' novelty fudge accurately simulate the appearance, texture, and consistency of real human feces? You bet it does!"

NAME: Rod Pornocopter
OCCUPATION: (Un)Motivational speaker.
ACCENT: None. Well, I guess it's all relative, but I'd say he has no accent.
FUN FACTS: Knows exactly how long a sock should be microwaved before being used for self-pleasuring purposes (20 seconds).
QUOTE: "Everyone except for me is a stupid asshole."
posted by Andres at 2:50 AM

Another comedian was telling me that my material would be vulnerable to plagiarism if I just slapped it up onto this blog without copyrighting it somehow. Boom! Check out the new title. Problem solved.

posted by Andres at 2:31 AM

Thursday, October 03, 2002

Okay, that's enough digging around for now. The next post will be 100% brand new comedy gold, guaranteed. Of course, I can't give you any sort of a timetable. YOU CAN'T RUSH GENIUS! And also, you can't rush me.
posted by Andres at 11:28 PM

As I methodically go through my computer files and post various pieces that I feel are at least marginally entertaining, I've come to realize that I have a filthy mind.
posted by Andres at 11:21 PM

Hell, I'm having too much fun just cleaning house. Here's a piece that was originally published on girlcomic.net back in January, 2002. WARNING! A fair number of you will be offended:

(oh yeah, I read this edit aloud at the girlcomic.net reading on March 13th, 2002)

I am addicted to pornography.

I don’t know why that it is. Well, I have a pretty good idea. But the male pre-disposition to being severely interested in sex doesn’t quite seem to fully explain my daily routine of popping a triple-X video or DVD into its appropriate multimedia orifice and whacking away on the ol’ personal piñata. By which I mean penis.

Now, I don’t pretend to know the ins-and-outs, pun most definitely intended, of the psychological effect that pornography has on the male mind. All I know is that there is something about seeing a giant dick inserted into a petite woman that just gets me going, you know, really makes me feel like attacking that “to-do” list on my desk. Some people are addicted to coffee. Me, I am also addicted to coffee. Oh yeah, and pornography.

I guess it’s the suspension of disbelief that in the world of pornography, which I like to refer to as Sexopolis, women really do see the insertion of a monumental phallus into themselves as the solution to whatever problem is plaguing them. In Sexopolis, fucking is not just reserved for love or for pleasure, it is simply the inevitable resolution of any and every social interaction:

Are you mad at your husband? Better fuck him just so he knows how mad you are.

Did Tony the mailroom guy forget to send out that important package? I’ll bet if you fuck him hard, he’ll never forget again.

Did your boyfriend just fuck your best friend? If he thinks he can get away with that without fucking you in a public restroom, he’s dead wrong.

How dare that burglar try to break into your home and steal your diamonds! The best way to prevent him from escaping before the police arrive is to FUCK HIS BRAINS OUT.

Are you and your girlfriends tired of hitting each other with pillows and eating smores? Time to break out the dildo, anal beads and turkey baster.

Was your chicken Caesar salad disappointing? If you lick the chef’s nuts while he jerks off, and the two busboys take turns pounding you doggy-style, future chicken Caesar salads will certainly be properly prepared. As a side note, I’d just like to say that I really enjoy a well-prepared chicken Caesar salad. In my opinion, the key is not overdoing the dressing.

And so forth. I’d include more examples but my huge erection is threatening to burst through my pants! I wish.

Ah, Sexopolis is such a wonderful place! Reassuring half-naked men on their couches everywhere that they are powerful. And that’s basically what it all comes down to, I guess. Power. The further we hurtle down this road of equality, the more meaningless our little cyclopean dictators become, so we turn to pornography for reassurance that above all else, our stiff erections make us powerful, useful, and wanted. Or something. I dunno. Whatever the reasons are, I love porn. Nay, as I said up front, I am addicted to it. So, here’s what I like and what I don’t like about it:

I like it when the women in the porno genuinely seem to be enjoying themselves. Whether this is legitimate joy or just expert camouflage on their parts, and I’m assuming it is mostly the latter, the illusion of their pleasure significantly adds to my own pleasure. Especially if they make that guttural, growling noise. Oh man.

I don’t like it when the women seem uncomfortable, or in pain. One time I was watching a porno in which Italian über-stud Rocco Siffredi was ramming his Inter-Continental Ballistic Cock into the anus of a very beautiful, very tiny woman, whose head he was holding submerged in a toilet. He was also constantly flushing the toilet as he anally assaulted her. Needless to say, she did not seem to be enjoying it, and neither did I. I threw out the tape and cleaned my bathroom. Twice. Then I baked some cookies. As the cookies baked, I fished the tape back out of the trash and finished watching it. Then I called my girlfriend and told her how much I loved her, and that she shouldn’t take any more crap from Marc at the office, who isn’t half the graphic designer that she is. Then I threw the tape out again. After watching it one last time.

Real sound is key. The actual sound of people fucking is superior to bad dubbing. It’s very disconcerting when the nut-slapping sounds don’t coincide with the nut-slapping visuals. And I know it’s a cliché to make fun of porno music, but PLEASE, porno music composers everywhere, I don’t need the music I’m listening to while I jerk-off to remind me of playing Tommy Lasorda Baseball on the now defunct Sega Genesis game console. In which, incidentally, it was possible to bunt for a double. The game had uneven processing speeds I guess, so that the speed of the baserunner was illogically much faster than the speed of the baseball. After you bunted the ball, by the time the third baseman fielded it you were already rounding first, but he would throw it to first anyway, and as the big long throw arced over to first base, you were sliding into second. A bunt double.

I don’t like orgy scenes. Too much clutter. Whose vagina is that? Wait, if he’s standing there, then who’s penis is that? Who does that third leg belong to? Why is she suddenly wearing a fez? C’mon people, let’s everyone just pick one task and stick to it! Cameraman, pan back for the love of God! I’m getting dizzy!

No lingering close-ups of penetration. You might as well show me footage of a car engine’s piston. It’s meaningless. Okay, I admit it. I once got hard watching a Pennzoil commercial.

Please, no plots. I know, this is another cliché, but the knowledge that she’s fucking him just so he’ll tell her the combination to the safe in the Senator’s mansion is really not making me any more excited than the simple thrusting and the poking with the moaning and whatnot.

So how serious would I say my addiction to pornography is? Less serious than my addiction to caffeine, but more serious than my addiction to baseball statistics. All in all, something I could probably live without. Something I wish I did live without. I have a wonderful, loving relationship with a great woman, but perhaps if I didn’t watch so much porn, I would treat her with just a little more affection? A little more respect? A little less deep, digital roughhousing? It’s hard to say. That’s the problem with addictions. It’s just really, really hard. So fucking rock hard.

I am not proud. But I am very relaxed. Thank you.
posted by Andres at 11:05 PM

What the heck, here's yet ANOTHER piece from the archives. The version below is also from the Feb 7-9 show, plus a BONUS TRACK at the end! Yee!

I will write something new soon, I promise.

WARLORD

P&B theme song changes into medieval fanfare. Lights up. Warlord comes striding out. Cape/breastplate/mug.

WARLORD
Your general is here! It is time to celebrate our victory!

Raise your tankards of mead and rejoice!

Let us celebrate today’s glorious battle! On the count of three, I want you to shout “TO VICTORY!” One, two, three…TO VICTORY! That was nothing. One more time. One two three…

Cue To Victory sound cue.

TO VICTORY! Much better.

Your general is very proud of you today! I am filled with pride. Nay, bursting with pride. Were you to slice me open with your sword right now, you would be splattered not by entrails, but by pride. And entrails. And why am I proud? Because today, my warriors, you fought like wolves! You fought like bears! You fought like bears with a wolf strapped to each paw! Well, if you think about it, such a creature really couldn’t move properly, could it? And the wolves would probably end up getting into a fight and eating the bear. But those full-of-bear wolves would then fight on even braver than before! And that’s what you fought like today! Like some wolves that had just finished eating a bear which they had been strapped to the paws of. Until recently.

Enough of the self-congratulatory blather. As we do after every battle, it is now time to go over the things that we did well today, and the things that we did not do so well. Oh I know what you’re thinking – “But General, we won the battle, can’t we just get stinking drunk and go enjoy the company of the dancing women of Lucky Cheng’s?” Men, curb your appetites! I know the dancing women of Lucky Cheng's are of a wild, untamed breed, and their unnaturally strong physiques make them incredibly desirable as mates, yet it seems that no matter how many times we ravage them, they fail to produce any offspring! Well...let's keep trying. After all, they really, really, really seem to enjoy our company. But I digress! Now is the time to break down today’s battle, not daydream about their sweet and incredibly strong embrace!

What did we do well today? Well, I can think of two things right off the top of my head! First off, we kept on killing. I know it sounds trite, but how many times have we gotten off to an early lead in a battle, only to forget the one thing that got us there in the first place: the killing! This time, when we struck an enemy to the ground, we didn’t stand over them, gloating, only to be stabbed in the groin. We didn’t lean in really close to see if he was still breathing, only to be stabbed in the groin. We didn’t thrust our groins at them in a taunting manner, saying “stab my groin if you can” only to be stabbed in the groin! No, today when we struck a man to the ground, we stabbed him in the groin. Repeatedly. So good work on the groin stabbing and groin stabbing avoidance.

What else did we do well today? We kept our cool! Not once, and this used to be a big problem of ours, not once did any of us drop our weapons, throw our arms up into the air and begin walking in tiny mincing steps in a circle, like this, crying, in a high-pitched stereotypical Mexican accent – “I no wanna fight. No fight. No wanna fight. Please no fight.” I was very pleased to see that none of you did that. It used to be that we couldn’t get more than five minutes into a battle before dozens of you were doing that very thing! It’s amazing to think that we won any battles at all. Ever.

Alright, sadly the list of things we need to improve upon is a bit longer! Let’s start with the lancers. Lancers, where are you? Let me see a show of hands. Okay, listen up. When we go into battle, I need you to be in the front row. When you start out in the back row, by the time you reach the enemy, you’re like a giant goodguy shishkebab.

Archers, don’t be so quick to laugh! Where are you, archers! A show of hands! Come now, don’t be shy! Archers…please aim higher. This will allow the arrows to arc over our heads, and into the ranks of the enemy. It’s simple trigonometry, people!

Horses! A show of hooves, please! I’m kidding. I’m not addressing the horses, I’m about to make a comment pertaining to the horses. I’ve been thinking a lot about our use of horses lately, and I’ve come up with a novel idea. Perhaps we should start riding them. When we release them onto the battlefield, sure they’re fun to watch for a few minutes, but I find that they can be both distracting and hazardous. If we ride the horses, then perhaps we can use them to our advantage, directing them where we want them to go. Perhaps we could reach our destinations at speeds even greater than we can reach on foot! I’m still thinking about that one.

Oh, I know what you’re all thinking. The general has been partaking of the mead in great quantities tonight. I hope he doesn’t launch into one of his infamous stories, like the one we’ve all heard a million times about how he defeated Lord Foulmouth in hand-to-hand combat during the Battle of the Foggy Valley. Well, rest assured, if that’s your concern, I have one thing to say to you…

The valley was very foggy that day. I had made a grievous error by leading my troops into the valley single file and backwards, and now we were paying the price for my foolhardiness. We had been ambushed, and we were being decimated. With all of the fog, I could barely see my hands in front of my face, but all around me I could hear the agonized screams of my men as they were being killed.

“Eaygh. Oh God ack!”
“Schweek!”
“I don’t wanna fight, no fight – eeeurk!”
“Marco. Polo. Remember, it was very foggy. Marco. Polurk!”

Soon, I was the only one standing. The enemy warriors were closing in on all sides, I was hacking and slashing with wild abandon, my blood stained hair obscuring my vision, my muscles exploding in white hot pain as I kept fighting. My brain was telling me to kill, kill, kill, bake, no kill! I was going to die, I was sure! Then, I realized that they had stopped attacking me. The enemy warriors had fallen back into a circle around me, so that I was now standing in a small clearing in their midst. Then, I saw someone approaching through their ranks. The warriors parted and HE stepped into the circle, a giant man in gleaming black armor, wielding a massive two-handed broadsword. He must have been seven feet tall, or at least five ten. He turned to his men.

“Leave this cocksucking motherfucking asshole to me,” he said.

“Lord Foulmouth,” I replied, “your mouth is every bit as foul as your name would seem to indicate.”

He took a step forward and raised his sword. I took a step backward and re-sheathed mine. Then, rethinking, I drew it again.

“Shit ass.” He said.

“Shit ass?” I queried. “What exactly is that supposed to—“

Too late! He was upon me! His sword came crashing down upon mine, and I was thrown back. I parried and attempted to slash at his torso, but my sword simply glanced off his gleaming black armor.

“Pussy,” he said as we resumed circling, doing the dance of battle. Imagine the scenery swirling cinematically behind me.

“Ah yes, well pussy I understand. It’s an insult, but can we go back to shit ass for a second? It doesn’t make any –“

Again, he attacked! His sword came at me in a sweeping arc, and slammed against my shoulder! My arm went numb, and my sword flew from my hand. I dropped to the ground like a sack of freshly killed squirrels.

As I lay there on my back, Lord Foulmouth stood over me, poised to deliver the killing blow.

“Now you shall die, you crapass titshitting dildowhacking piece of…”

He went on and on like that. A constant stream of profanity the likes of which I’d never heard before. As he stood over me cursing and cursing and cursing, I frantically searched my pockets for anything at all that I could use, anything!

“Burplicking fartblasting…”

A piece of lint. No good.

“Turdspitting boobybiting…”

A ticket for the Producers. There was no way I was going to let him have that. I ate it.

“Fucky shitty damn damn crap” he was running out of curses. I had to hurry!

A metrocard. A chapstick. More lint. Maxine’s phone number. She is the most fetching of the Lucky Cheng’s dancers. I ate that too.

“Pee pee poo poo kaka…” He was almost done!

A nickel. A guitar pick. A knife. Zagat’s 2001 pocket guidebook to battlefields. More lint, a…wait a second. I had a knife!

Without hesitation, I stabbed Lord Foulmouth in the groin! The only thing messier than his crotch were the regurgitated Producer’s tickets that Maxine and I used the next evening!

Right, then. On with the victory celebration! To victory!!!

BONUS TRACK - here's an alternate chunk regarding the whole pride topic that I have used as part of this Warlord bit from time to time:

Well, enough of my prattling. We won the battle, and that’s what matters, right? RIGHT?! Right. But before we carry on with the celebration, let me just remind you how proud I am of you today. I am filled with pride. My scalp is itchy with pride. If I were to lean over you right now and scratch my head, you would be sprinkled not by dandruff, but by pride. And dandruff. And entrails. After all, I was just in battle today – it seems that someone’s entrails are always in my hair. You know what, I feel a bit congested right now. Could it be? Yes! I think that my nose is stuffy with pride as well! And I feel a bit phlegmy with pride too. (cough) You know, I think I’m coughing up bits of pride! And I feel achy. I’ve got PRIDE FEVER!!! That’s right, I’m burning up with pride! Ooh. Perhaps I am just drunk with pride. Ahem…

And why am I so proud? Because today you fought like dragons! You fought like killer whales! You fought like a dragon with a killer whale strapped to each claw! Well…if you think about it, the killer whales really couldn’t DO anything strapped to the dragon’s claws. They don’t have arms or legs…and it really wouldn’t be in the dragon’s best interest to fly close enough to the enemy for the killer whales to use their teeth. I mean, the dragons would probably want to rely on their fire breath to roast the enemy from a safe distance. The killer whales would pretty much be big…pontoons, in case the dragons needed to make a water landing. And speaking of the dragons’ fire breath, the killer whales would probably just catch fire by accident at some point…so why don’t we just make the killer whales fireproof. And just to give them something to do, how about we give them the ability to shoot piranhas out of their blowholes. Flying piranhas. Flying piranhas that don’t need to breathe…even better…flying robot piranhas...programmed to chew through the enemy’s skull, directly to his brain! YES! That’s what you fought like today! Like some brain-eating, flying robot piranhas that had been shot from the blowholes of fireproof killer whales in the claws of dragons!