Thursday, September 29, 2005

Bubblewrap Bubble Gum!

That's my big idea for today.

We all love making bubblewrap pop with our fingers, so why not create a sheet-based gum, a la 'Big League Chew', that HAS THE PROPERTIES OF BUBBLEWRAP. Tiny air pockets incorporated directly into the gum at regular intervals, just like the stuff we use to ship fragile ceramic puppies, crystal puppies, or ceramic puppies. But it's made of bubble gum. A snappity, poppity good chew with every bite! Until all of the built-in air pockets have been poppity...popped. Poppity. I guess then it would just be bubble gum after that. But for those first few minutes, it would sound like fireworks going off in your mouth! Or a drug bust! In your mouth!

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

I am still enthusiastic about blogging!

Ookay. That's all I've got right now.

Friday, September 23, 2005

Pass out?

Nah, I'm not going to pass out tonight. In fact, I can't even REMEMBER the last time I passed out.

I love chocolate.

The title of this post has nothing to do with its contents. Suckaz!

At any rate, it seems that the Supreme Court or something else court-y has recently declared that it's Unconstitutional or something to recite the Pledge of Allegiance in schools, due to references to God.

Similarly, I have forbidden my fictional wife from speaking during sex, due to too many reference to Gary. Oof!

Oh, this is from ME too. See?

A lot of people ask me, "Andres, if you could have one super power, what would it be? Flight? Laser gaze? Choco-touch? Boob?"

After which, I usually inquire - "Uh, why did you just say the word 'boob' at the end of that sentence? Were you calling me a boob? Was it some sort of a power that I've never-" at which point they usually knee me in the nuts and run. It's really quite odd.

At any rate, I've thought long and hard about it, and I've decided that of all the hypothetical superpowers which I could wish for, I would choose THE POWER TO ADD MY NAME TO THE GREETING CARDS OF OTHERS SO THAT I MAY TAKE PARTIAL CREDIT FOR THEIR GIFT.

For example, if I were at a wedding, I could gaze at the gift table, fix my concentration on a specific envelope, and BAM my name would suddenly appear on the card within, as if I had been in on the purchasing of the gift from the get. Go.

DEAR FLARCH*,

WE HOPE YOU COOK LOTS OF GREAT BRUNCHES WITH THIS! A LONG AND HAPPY LIFE TO YOU! TOGETHER!

LOVE,
YOUR GREAT AUNT ZAMLAP AND YOUR GREAT UNCLE BEANPLOP.

(and then in the same handwriting, inexplicably)

AND ME TOO, COMEDIAN ANDRES DU BOUCHET WHO ALSO PAID FOR MOST OF THIS ITEM!

See? What a great, money-saving power that would be.

*Long ago I gave up on making my fake names at all realistic. Screw you.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

The Aristocrats

So here's what I did Saturday night at the PIT - it's rather sloppy but I had a fun time with it. I think you can tell the second half of it was written while I was a tad inebriated. At any rate, I like this Karl Management character and I plan on developing him a bit. I think the piece is funnier out loud than on the page, but here ya go...

Aristocontest!
September 17, 2005
@ the PIT

Hey kids, I booked you for that amphitheater gig in Toledo. What? I don't care how hack it is, if I wanna pretend to talk on my cell phone at the top of my set, then I'm gonna fuckin' pretend to talk on my cell phone! Hello? Hello? Don't you hang up on me, I decide when this pretend conversation is over. Okay goodbye the band Coldplay.

Hi. My name is Karl Management. I own and operate my own talent agency - -Management Talent Management. I have a small office over on 34th St., on the 5th floor of the Dentyne building, sandwiched between the studio of a guy who sculpts custom toothbrush handles and a door that is always locked and smells like fish. No kidding. A Chinese man knocks on that door everyday at noon, but no one ever answers. The Chinese guy waits around for about five minutes, then leaves, muttering something in Mandarin. Then, there's usually laughter from the other side of the door. Beats me.

Anyway, a lot of acts come into my office. Some acts that are easy for me to describe. Some acts that I find more difficult to describe. And then some acts that simply defy description. It is one such description defying act whose very description defyingness I am going to defy as I attempt to describe it for you now!

Please forgive me for reading this, as what I am about to describe is too elaborate to describe in the time limit I have been given unless I rush through it - and therefore, in order not to miss any details I shall read.

And scene!

Yesterday was a slow day at Management Talent Management. All morning, I had seen only one act - a guy who claimed he could draw a perfect circle with an etch-a-sketch using his tongue. I told him he should ditch the etch-a-sketch angle and focus on the fact that he has a giant forked tongue. Maybe some sort of snake act. He appreciated my guidance.

So it was just me sitting there, nursing a nasty cup of coffee from the Antarctican deli downstairs, and perusing a copy of Vicarious Astronaut Bi-Monthly magazine - which is basically a magazine for those of us who enjoy daydreaming about being astronauts, when this guy walks into my office. Nice looking fellow, mid forties, wearing a big overcoat, covering his entire body. He says "Mr. Management, have I got an act for you. My whole family is out in the waiting area, and if you give us a chance we know you'll be absolutely blown away by our act. You should really represent us."

I says "eh Family acts are a little too cute for my taste." I still had a bad taste in my mouth from the Blattfarb Family Balloon Jugglers. I don't care how many balloons you're keeping aloft at once, no one wants to see juggling that slow!

Anyway, he says "please give us a chance."

Finally, I say to myself, it's either watch these guys or go back to reading Sam Shepard's backyard grilling tips, so I say "okay, let's see what you got."

So, in walks the rest of the family. A wife, son and daughter. All wearing overcoats that obscure their entire bodies, and the daughter pulling a dolly along on which is a huge cardboard box labeled "This box does not contain a sasquatch."

They all stood in a row, and then the father says "Oh my God shit makes me sooo horny!"

I raised my eyebrows at this.

"Y'all ready for this?!" Shouted the father. In unison, they all start singing the Jock Jams theme - "nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"...

Boom! They all dropped their overcoats.

The father was wearing what looked to be a cellophane unitard. Completely see through except for the three metal snaps that fastened the unitard here. He was nude underneath the unitard. He was in decent physical shape, a bit hairy, and his flacid member looked to be of average length and girth. I'm bi-curious so I notice these things! The cellophane unitard was a little loose, but securely sealed at the neck, wrists, and ankles. As he danced in place, he turned and pointed to a little plastic nozzle at the back of his neck, like the kind you would see on a box of fine wine. A spicket, if you will. In order for anything to come out of that spicket though, his unitard would have to be completely full of liquid. What liquid, I wondered?

"nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"

The son was next in line. He was 13, maybe 15, maybe 19. Who knows, I hate teenagers. He was wearing another unitard, this one of a solid white material that you could not see through, covered in equidistant turkey basters. One every few inches, just protruding from the surface of the unitard like needles from a cactus.

"nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"

Next in line was the mother. She was about as attractive as you could get without actually being good-looking. Pleasantly handsome is the word I would use for her. Like a female Ted Danson. She too wore a unitard, which looked to made completely of venison. Yes, deer meat! I recognized the look of venison from the Sam Shepard grilling tips article in Vicarious Astronaut Bi-Monthly.

"nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"

The daughter! She was a cutey pie. Oh, as cute as a button. Your typical little girl toddler, except her dress had the silkscreened image of a raging bonfire on the front. She did a cute little dance and turned to show that the back of her dress had a mirror hanging from it. She also had what looked to be springs on the bottom of her shoes.

PLEASE ALLOW ME TO PAUSE BRIEFLY AND IN A TANGENTIAL MANNER TO PLUG MY SPONSOR FOR TONIGHT'S EVENT, APPOLO SHOE SPRINGS - "IF YOU'RE SERIOUS ABOUT SPRINGING, THEN SPRING FOR THE VERY BEST - APPOLO SHOE SPRINGS! WATCH YOUR HEAD!"

"nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"

And finally, the box that the little girl was towing around on wheels. A giant box, much larger than a refrigerator box, labeled in bold arial font "This box does not contain a sasquatch". With a tug of the rope, the sides of the box fell away to reveal a giant 9-foot tall ape-like man covered in hair. He lept down and sort of gave a cutesy shrug as if to acknowledge that yes indeed, the box was labeled wrong intentionally. It was a sasquatch alright. I laughed and shouted "ooh, it's like that painting of the pipe"! The sasquatch winked and gave me a thumbs up. I noticed that his thumb was capped off by a huge black dildo. Holy shit, all of his fingers were capped by large black dildos. I sank back into my chair with consternation.
"nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah" Even the Sasquatch was singing it now.

"Hup!" yelled the father.

The little girl jumped up, and in mid-air reach down and released some sort of mechanism on her shoes. The springs extended, and as she landed back down they recoiled beneath her and she flew high into the air. She began bouncing around the room.

This was the initiation of multiple domino effects that formed an interlocking tapestry woven of wool shorn from the sheep that Salvador Dali must have counted to fall asleep, because what I then witnessed was grotesquely surreal at BEST.

As the girl would bounce about the room, she would direct herself so that she would bounce up to the eye level of the sasquatch, bringing either the silkscreened photo of the bonfire up to the sasquatch's gaze, OR the mirror on her back.

PLEASE ALLOW ME TO DIGRESS MOMENTARILY SO I MAY READ THIS EXCERPT FROM The Bigfoot Field Researcher's Organization Field Manual, 2003 Edition, page 32:

"Through numerous eye-witness and firsthand accounts in the wilderness, we have determined that, although the presence of a human is not enough to deter Bigfoot from threatening behavior, it is the presence of fire, especially a bonfire, that has the greatest impact on the large primate's behavior. When confronted by fire, Bigfoot will go into what we have labeled Fecal Retreat. He will defecate. Continuously and copiously."

Boom! The sasquatch saw the bonfire picture on the girl's dress first, and immediatey cowered in fear and began taking a huge steaming dump - more and more steaming shit came oozing out like a giant Mr. Softee machine, enough to fill a Cooper Mini, it put the Triceratops dump from Jurassic Park to shame. This wasn't a bowel movement, it was a bowel revolution!

But none of the poop ever hit the floor.

Before any of the sasquatch shit could hit the ground, the son did a cart wheel, and began doing an amazingly quick and elaborate routine directly underneath the sasqautch's ass and with gymnastic precision, began sucking up bits of the shit with each of the turkey basters protruding from his unitard, contorting his body this way and that in order to extract as much bigfoot poop as he could with each of his basters. It was like watching Jackie Chan crossed with a jedi AND Neo from The Matrix movies. The Matrices movies. Matrix. Matrices. Whatever. The son's skill was such that at no time was his head or hands or feet in danger of touching the poop, yet every baster on his body managed to pick up a healthy dollop. As this occured, the son did not only suck up pieces of shit with each baster on his unitard, he was also squeezing the other shit-filled basters, shooting blobs of shit into the air, like that water sculpture at Epcot Center but with sasquatch shit.

"I'm hungry, aren't you?" Shouted the father, and with the eagerness of dolphins at Sea World, the entire famiy, with the exception of the son because he was too busy flipping jumping twirling and simultaneously catching and shooting sasquatch shit with his many basters, began catching the shit in their mouths and swallowing!

ALLOW ME TO AGAIN PAUSE, AND APOLOGIZE FOR WHERE THIS IS ALL LEADING. IT'S NOT GOING TO BE PRETTY. I KNOW IT'S ALREADY PRETTY DISTURBING, BUT YOU KNOW, I HAVE NOT EVEN BEGUN TO DELVE INTO...I MEAN. I HAVE NOT BEEN A GOOD PERSON IN THIS LIFE, AND IT...IT HURTS ME NOW TO KNOW THAT I HAVE CHOSE. CHOSEN... TO USE THIS STAGE TIME...FOR THIS. I...I HAVE NOT BEEN INTENTIONALLY BAD IN MY LIFE. I LOVE MY EX-WIFE. I LOVE MY KIDS. I THOUGHT I WOULD BE BETTER. AT LIFE. AFTER TONIGHT I'M GOING DOWN TO LOUISIANA TO VOLUNTEER AT THE ASPCA AND KEEP SOME DOGS COMPANY GODDAMNIT!!! WHO'S WITH ME!?!?!?!

"nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"

PAGE 12 FROM THE NEW ENGLAND JOURNAL OF MEDICINE, Volume 3 from 1988. Sylvia was a rare case. I had seen those whose unexplained insatiable appetite for the feces of other species, led to stomach ailments or various infections, but never had I seen one who could consume copious amounts of fecal material, in this case a squirrel's, and in her bowels literally bake cookies. So it turns out, yes. There are those, and they are few and far between, who eat fecal matter as a matter of course, and as a result they themselves shit out Pepperidge Farm's Mint Milano Cookies. The cookies are delicious. And yes, minty.

HERE IS A DISCLAIMER FROM PEPPERIDGE FARMS: We deny, and shall continue to deny, that this is where we got Mint Milano cookies from. It was the other way around. We swear. Our cookies are not produced in the bowels of underpaid workers. It's just where we got the idea.

Simultaneous to this, the husband and wife started making out. As the husband and wife made out, she worked his shlong with her hand through the crinkly cellophane, and he developed a massive erection. Faster and faster she worked his shlong. You know what? I've never used the word shlong until just now!

Meanwhile, the sasquatch has overcome his fear...what do you know I've switched to the present tense... and is standing at his full height again, dancing to the self-made music. The daughter jumps up, bounces again, and this time shows the sasquatch her back, so that he sees himself in the mirror. This throws the sasquatch into a rage, who is this other sasquatch who has dared enter his territory?!?! The sasquatch roars and...

AND NOW I WOULD LIKE TO PAUSE BRIEFLY IN ORDER TO YET AGAIN READ FROM The Bigfoot Field Researcher's Organization Field Manual 2003 Edition, page 56:

"When confronted by another sasquatch, a sasquatch will thoroughly and vigorously jostle his cache of venison. Probing it, licking it, and thoroughly and repeatedly poking it in every which way in order to prove to the intruding sasquatch interloper that he is a force to be reckoned with. After all, look at all of the venison he has hoarded!"

Reminder: The wife is wearing a venison unitard.

Just then, the father cums from all the action his wife is giving him, remember they were making out and she was yoinking his wanky, and a little bit of spooge trickles down the leg of the inside of his cellophane unitard. Just a little. A tiny bit of little! Like someone squeezed a tuna salad sandwich too enthusiastically! Mmm!

"nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah"

The sasquatch, in a mad desire to prove his sasquatchiness to the other sasquatch that he percieves to be in the room based on his own reflection in the bouncing mirror on the girl's back, begins poking and squeezing the wife in all her venison glory with his dildo-capped fingers. He is as the excerpt stated "jostling his venison horde!" She, still not satiated by her husband's cellophane clad amorations, more than welcomes the intrusion of his many dildo fingers. She moans and cums while still maneuvering to catch the sasquatch shit in her mouth being squirted from the son's basters. So is the Dad. So is the daughter though she is bouncing. And they're all SHITTING MINT MILANOS, which the father is also catching in HIS mouth.

So this cycle continues for 16 hours straight. Girl bounces. When the sasquatch sees the bonfire and gets scared he shits. The son sucks it up expertly with his basters, and then blasts it back out, the wife makes the husband come with her hand and fills up is unitard a little more. The sasquatch, when seeing his own reflection, pokes the wife and makes her cum due to the fact that she positions her hoo ha in the right place at the right sasquatch finger time. And they're all catching sasquatch shit in their mouths and shitting Pepperidge Farm mint milano cookies! Which the Dad is also consuming.

"My breath is so bad from all this shit!" he would say periodically just before eating a cookie.

So, shitting. Bouncing. Cumming, etc. Finally the husband's suit is just bursting, brimming with cum, and the son does a backflip onto my shoulders, releases a dollop of sasquatch shit onto my head with one of his basters, as the daughter bounces up, kicks me in the sternum with her spring feet and I go

"Aaaah!"

During which the husband spins, and the wife jumps up, lands on his shoulders, and shits out a mint milano which triggers the spicket, releasing a single drop of the husbands cum, which lands on the mint milano which lands on my tongue as I'm saying "aaaah".

Instincitvely, I eat it.

I sat there, stunned. The minty, salty sensation flowing through my mouth. Sasquatch shit everywhere. Mint Milano cookies everywhere. The nozzle on the back of the husband's unitard just dribbling cum. He's sloshing about in the unitard. Even the daughter had a black eye for some reason, I must have missed how she got it.

I chewed thoughtfully.

The whole family stood there, panting. The sasquatch giving me that "eh, eh??!!" face.

Finally, I say "That's a hell of an act. What do you call it?"

And the father says, "The Aristocrats!"

I'm sorry folks. I truly am.

Friday, September 16, 2005

New, more streamlined format.

How do you like it? I basically deleted the links on the side, and replaced it all with the show info and my favorite posts, thereby eliminating the need for links to a calendar blog and the favorite posts menu. This way, all the important stuff is right on the front page of the blog, and I think it's a bit more professional. Also, in order to convey an air of confidence and professionalism, I have removed the statement "I have no idea what I'm doing" from the header, and replaced it with "I am the single most talented person alive." Which is not true, but I keep hearing I've got to be cockier to get anywhere in this business. Up until now, my humility has been damn near crippling. Alright, now we can get back to the silliness. The next post will be my Aristocrats entry for tomorrow night's show...

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

I'm gonna PLUG your hole!

The hole in your schedule, that is! With my show. And when I say "plug", I also mean "promote"! My show! Is what.

(when I don't feel like writing, I plug)

Tuesday, September 13th @ 8pm -- TONIGHT!!!

Another spectacular 'Best Of' episode of

GIANT TUESDAY NIGHT OF AMAZING INVENTIONS AND ALSO THERE IS A GAME!!!

Tonight, six-time Boliviguayan Entertainer-of-the-Year Francisco Guglioni welcomes stupendousful guests:

Nick Kroll
Bob Powers
Andrea Rosen

PLUS special guest-stars:

Josh Comers
Dan Cronin
Eric Kirchberger
Rusty Ward
Todd Womack

AND our regular cast of hilarious thespians:

Mike Birch
Mark Douglas
Jonny Fido
Rob Gorden

AND ALSO THERE IS PLUS incredible acts comprised of various combinations of the above performers:

National Jogging Association ("Catch The Steadiness!") squads The Joggernauts and The Miami Jog Machine in a no-jogs-barred JOG-OFF!

Personal wine dispenser and mugger defense system THE WINEBOT 8 MILLION!

All whistling a capella group WHISTLEPELLA!

Six-million dollar man STEVE AUSTIN!

and former lead singer of Journey, STEVE PERRY!

tonight
8pm
FREE
Rififi

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

MY OTHER CAR IS ALSO A VERY NICE MERCEDES

During my recent trip to Beverly Hills, I was astounded at the number of Mercedes Benzes choking the streets. I hadn't seen that many Mercedes in one place since...since my senior year high school yearbook, when a printing error resulted in every single picture being of Mercedes Gonzalez. Um. I haven't seen that many Mercedes in one place since I worked for the FBI, and helped track down the serial killer who was stalking Mercedes Ruehl. Rhuel. Ruhel. You know. The actress. He uh. Had pictures of her all over the walls. There were so many Mercedes in Beverly Hills that people treated them like umbrellas. Just leave it wherever - you'll find a new one in no...in. Time. Like umbre-I HAVEN'T SEEN THAT MUCH 'TAN' IN ONE PLACE SINCE I WORKED AT BORDERS BOOKS AND THE JOY LUCK CLUB CAME OUT IT WAS WRITTEN BY. Amytan.

Um.

fakeboobsandnosejobspublishpostnow

ORLEANS MAXIMUM SECURITY AMPHIBIPRISON

The title of this post says it all. My plan for the former city of New Orleans is not to rebuild it. Nay, it is to evacuate it completely, yet allow the remaining buildings and streets to remain partially submerged, then surround it all with a 20-foot high wall topped with barbed wire and equidistantly spaced outward-facing televisions playing constant loops of the sitcom 'Two And A Half Men' - this will ensure that no one will dare come near...

ORLEANS MAXIMUM SECURITY AMPHIBIPRISON!

Only the worst of the scummiest of the rottenassbastard worst criminals will be sent to OMSA. Once there, they will be given a jet ski, a pool cue at the end of which is taped a sharp knife, and a pack of Marlboro Special Ass Currency 100's.

The jet skis do not run on gasoline - oh no, they run on the blood of other convicts. This blood is routinely harvested during the fearsome sport of AQUAJOUSTING, in which two inmates ride their jet skis at each other whilst (WHILST!) trying to spear one another with their knife-tipped pool cues.

No guards or rations or cells are required. Just the weterrifying, sewage choked waters of ORLEANS MAXIMUM SECURITY AMPHIBIPRISON!

Oh, and we'll also stock the waters with piranha, and allot ONE ANACONDA PER BUILDING. Okay, two. That way they can mate and make more anacondas.

And I guess we'll genetically engineer some Crocaroos (crocodiles crossed with kangaroos) and throw them in there too. They can hop from rooftop to rooftop eating inmates and also keeping the exploding anaconda population in check.

And of course there will be regular alligators too.

I'm really...I'm really pretty much the greatest thinker of my generation.

Thank you, Starbucks!

Thank you for creating a sizing system that allows me to accurately refer to my penis as a 'Grande'.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

babies on board

So, after spending an agonizing 5.5 hours behind a wailing toddler on the return flight from L.A. this weekend, I have come up with the idea that is the best idea ever:

ALL CHILD FLIGHTS.

All people 5 and under are required to fly separately, on one special baby flight. Just remove all the chairs, line the cabin with nerf, fill it halfway with those McDonald's funzone hollow plastic balls, and then load in the kids. They're free to do whatever the heck they want, unfettered and unrestrained while the flight is in progress. When the flight lands, the parents can pick them up at baggage claim. If any kids die or become terribly injured, it is still an acceptable alternative to me being annoyed.

smiley face emoticon here.