‘Redheads, June is a down month for me. That’s dangerous for a guy with procrastinating tendencies. I find myself constantly grappling with sloth…not the three-toed kind…they’re scrappy. Thankfully, my dedication to my many readers, and the delusion that I have many readers, has kept me from sinking too far into the ass crease in my couch. So, for you, here’s a quick counterstrike to my laziness.
So, turns out the world didn’t collapse into demonic ruin on Tuesday…or, if it did, we were already too far gone to notice. Yep, the day of the beast came and went and the clock just keeps on ticking. I think we all know who we have to thank for that. Jack Bauer. In the 24 hours of 6/6/06, he traversed the eight rings of Hell and gave Beelzebub a taste of real time fury. We all know he has the pedigree to handle the minions of the abyss…
…that caption was cornier than it needed to be.
So, it’s potentially the last night of planet Earth. What better night to take in a horror flick at the local megaplex? I saw The Omen on Tuesday night. I was expecting alot worse than I got. While there were points when the audience was genuinely laughing at the gruesome goings on, the movie had some pretty good moments. You can’t go too far wrong with an impalation AND a decapitation that would both make Rube Goldberg proud. The film also featured a truly creepy turn by Mia Farrow and, the best nebulous accent in Hollywood, Pete Postlethwaite (who, I’ve discovered, I can do a damn fine impression of…I’ll go ahead and put that in my grab-bag of obscure voices, along with Cookie Monster and Jack Bauer). And, of course, there’s going to be an Omen 2. It’ll suck having to wait until June 6th, 3006 to see it.
I’ve encountered an interesting dilemma. On Wednesday night, a female comic from Chicago approached me after the open mic at Wiseacre’s. She told me I was “too good looking” to tell my jokes about not getting laid. Apparently, it’s not believable. Great, so the few jokes that I tell that ARE based in truth are betrayed by my inherent adorability. Hey, I wish I was making this shit up. She’s not the first person who’s told me this. This means I need to do one of two things. Either find some way to turn my life into an Axe Bodyspray commercial, or find some way to dial down the charm. Yes, I know, these are horrible problems that I’m saddled with. My gift. My curse. Pity me. Or not. No pressure.
In another attempt to stave off comedic atrophy this month, I’m going to try an exercise that should result in one or two workable new bits. Write a joke a day. I’ve been inspired by writing machines like Chris White, Erik Myers, and anyone else who’s not me. My mind works in fits and starts. Regular writing has never come naturally to me. Why not force it? You’ll see the answer, because I’ll be posting the daily jokes right here for your judging eyes. Starting…now:
6/10/06: I read a review of The Hills Have Eyes that said it “redefined horror.” Apparently, “horror” now means “shitty.”
Before I go, I’d like to make an open plea to the world of cyber-typery. If you’re trying to make a point, a rebuttal, or a statement, here’s a tip: Overuse of capitalization, exclamation points, and LOL’s make it impossible to take you seriously. You type like a 13 year old girl…or a pedophile posing as one.
To be continued…