Hey there ‘Redheads… Just a quickie to share a few shiny baubles I’ve found in the vast wasteland of cyberspace over the past couple days. Dim the lights, sit back, and enjoy…
First, groove to this…
Next, enjoy this coming attraction…
And finally, cement your place in hell by giggling your ass off at this…
Enjoy your weekend…
Hey there, ‘Redheads… Happy Father’s Day to everyone out there…for all you bastards and orphans, Happy Sunday…sorry for rubbing it in. I gotta think of another blog gimmick for June, or else this month is going to fall woefully short of the standard set in May. Two mediocre entries in two weeks…I had 14 mediocre entries at this point last month. I bring good news with this fresh batch of banality. Wish me a mazel tov. I’m an uncle again. Mo got himself a little sister. Which is nice because I didn’t have to get dressed up to watch a winky get snipped again. Instead, there was a special naming ceremony for her a couple days after she popped out. So, when I found out she was born, she didn’t have a name yet. I called her Moesha. Her actual name is Riva Chaya. I might still call her Moesha. Here she is, for your cooing pleasure…
Can’t wait to start makin’ funny faces at her in person…
I was just watching Tiger Woods eke out a playoff at the US Open. A buddy of mine was marvelling at how much he gets paid just for his Nike sponsorship. I’m sure the figure is off, but he said, “50 million dollars to wear a hat.” For a tenth of that money, I’d sell out faster than bags of glitter at the Pride Parade (I need a better line for that joke, but that’ll do in a pinch).
Now, on to the titular portion of the blog (heh…titular). Feast your eyes and ears on the latest bits of twisted sketchery from the duo of Chris White and myself. Eyes first…here’s a video about the power of imagination…and rum. Enjoy my crappy acting…
And now you can close your eyes (to help stop the burning) and give a listen to this audio sketch that answers the famous hypothetical question about being stranded on a desert island. My acting is only slightly less crappy in…
Just so you know, if I was stranded on a desert island I would want to be with all of you…because you’re buoyant.
I just flipped channels to Comedy Central and one of the perpetual Mind of Mencia reruns is on. Have you seen the promos for this season of this douchebag’s show?
He’s pushing the boundaries…He’s shattering expectations…
The sketch he just did was a Scarface parody where his “little friend” was a midget. Way to go there, Carlos. The only thing you’re doing is lowering the common denominator. You’re not Dave Chappelle…you’re not even Dave Coulier. Safety scissors are edgier than you. Keep screaming those stereotypes real loud, ya posing putz. Sorry…that sounded petty. Correct, but petty. Seriously, America, demand better.
To be continued…
Greetings from the tempest-tossed wasteland, ‘Redheads… As per usual, this installment is a couple days overdue. I would’ve gotten to it on Wednesday, but my power got knocked out by the cataclysm that roared through town. No lights, no internet, no tv…like Robinson Crusoe, it was primitive as can be. You don’t realize just how plugged in you are until the power goes out and you almost turn into Jack Nicholson in The Shining from the lack of stimulus. It made Jack a dull boy, is all I’m sayin’. Now that power has been restored, I can continue to chronicle my moments of non-boredom for ye.
Let’s spin the clock back to last Wednesday, which began a very interesting and exhausting 24 and change hour stretch. I was at the Arlington Drafthouse, competing in round one of the Drafthouse Comedy Challenge. Also vying for the audience’s adulation were Sean Gabbert, Larry Poon, Tyler Sonnichsen, Bey Wesley, and Lance Smith. After we all did our 8 minutes, the massive throng (45 is a throng, right?) chose Bey and Larry to move on to the next round. Congrats to both of them. You can check out their round two exploits on June 12th.
Luckily, the show got done at around 9:30. This gave me time to race home and take a couple hour cat nap before I made the drive up to AC. Registration for the tournament started at 7am, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t have to deal with traffic or long lines at the Borgata. I set two alarm clocks for 2:45am and put my head down to charge my batteries for the trip. I was on the road a little after 3:00. Got to watch the sun rise over New Jersey…nothing like the first light of morning glinting off a toll booth…striking. I pulled into the garage of the Borgata at about 6:30, which gave me time to find the poker room and get a general lay of the land…and pee. After I got registered for the tourney and shoved a bacon and egg sandwich down my neck, there was still two hours to kill before this thing kicked off. I decided to do what any high roller would do…went back to the garage and napped in my car. Scintillating so far, right?
Ok, let’s get down to brass tacks. How did I do? Well, the good news is, I beat 300 people. The bad news is, there were 400 players in the tournament. I would like to have made a little scratch, but it was a respectable showing. It was a roller coaster of a game. **WARNING: POKER LINGO AHEAD** I had a stretch that started with me doubling up through the chip leader at the table when he bet into my pocket aces. My fortunes changed a couple hands later when I had an ace-high flush cracked on the river when the board paired, turning my opponent’s trip twos into a full house. Then I called another all-in that I shouldn’t have and my stack dwindled down to 4,000 chips, which may sound like alot, but that’s less than half of what we started with. Then I doubled and tripled up through consecutive all-ins with ace-ten and ace-jack. I built my stack back up to 41,000 before the second break in play. I think I had three playable hands the rest of the day and the rising blinds and antes conspired to whittle my stack down to $17, 500 by the time we got down to the final ten tables. After finally seeing cards above a 7 at the table I got moved to, I decided to play. At that point, it was $6,000 to call. The guy sitting next to me raises it to $15,000, so I decided to take my chances and go all-in with queen-jack off-suit. He had a pair of fives. He flops a five and that pretty much put me out of my misery. I went out with a whimper. The guy who went out right before me took the worst beat I’ve ever seen. He was all-in with pocket kings against ace-queen. Ace-queen are live cards, so it’s not out of the question that it would win. A simple ace comes out on the flop and the kings are sunk. But that would be too easy. Here’s how it went down: the flop comes out six-eight-six, giving the guy with kings two pair. The turn is another six, giving the guy with kings a full house. The last card? The last six in the deck, giving both players four of a kind sixes, but ace-queen has the higher kicker. The guy with kings loses. Brutal. If it was the wild west, somebody would’ve gotten shot over that hand. Probably the dealer. He seemed to take it really well, but I hope he punched a wall when he left the poker room.
I got knocked out at 3pm. Here’s an interesting little fact about the Borgata. No food allowed in the poker room. I last ate at 7am. I almost started gnawing on the felt during the last couple of hands. After calling a couple people to break the news of my pseudo-victory, I proceeded to the food court and inhaled a plate of Panda Express. My day wasn’t over yet. I hopped back in the car and headed to Philly to visit my sister and the cult of adorability, my nephew Mo. We played in the sandbox and I followed him as he wobbled around the front yard. Life was good.
Small sidenote: Mo’s going to be getting a new brother or sister in the next couple days. I’m not sure if the new kid will be able to measure up on the cuteness quotient. Mo pretty much broke that scale. Just letting you know that you’ll have new baby pictures to coo at in the coming weeks.
I finally got home at around 10pm. And collapsed.
More to come…
Hey there ‘Redheads… Did everyone have a beer and barbecue sauce drenched Memorial Day weekend? Did your moment of silence happen when you passed out? Way to be. Mine was full of various types of booze, meat, and brightly colored distractions on consecutive nights. I am beat. And the hits just keep coming. On Wednesday night, I’m competing in the Drafthouse Comedy Challenge, matching wits with the likes of Larry Poon, Sean Gabbert, and Tyler Sonnichsen. After that dream gets crushed, I hop in the car and make the 3 or so hour drive to Atlantic City to tangle in the Junkies Poker Open at the Borgata, which starts at 10am on Thursday. Sleep? Pshaw.
Ok, a couple quick hits from my weekend, then I’m going to put a face print and a drool mark in the shape of the Virgin Mary on my pillow. Saturday, I found out, was the birthday of the Godfather of Soul, James Brown. As a tribute, jazz station WPFW played all James Brown all day. From the classics to Eddie Murphy doing “Hot Tub”. I also discovered this little gem. James Brown and Pavarotti singing “It’s A Man’s World”. Check it out…
If you didn’t enjoy that on some level, we can’t be friends anymore. It’s a toss up as to who’s easier to understand.
On Sunday, I took my first trip out to the new Nationals ballpark. Impressive. It’s a damn shame that DC fans could give a shit about the team. The place was damn near full and it was quiet. They must’ve recalibrated the digital NOISE-METER to register a dull murmur, because I could hear individual coughs. But, better to hear the players’ chosen theme songs. The one curious choice was that of Nationals pitcher, Tim Redding. When he stepped onto the mound, it was to “One” by Metallica. Picture it: a gorgeous spring afternoon on Memorial Day Sunday, you and the kids have your peanuts and cracker jacks, you sit down to watch America’s pastime, and this is what’s blaring through the PA…
I cant remember anything
Cant tell if this is true or dream
Deep down inside I feel to scream
This terrible silence stops me
Now that the war is through with me
I’m waking up I can not see
That there is not much left of me
Nothing is real but pain now
Hold my breath as I wish for death
Oh please god, wake me
And it wasn’t even the hard-driving, pump-you-up, part of the song. Just a bit odd. Oh, as a side note about baseball, I’m a huge fan of sports in HD. When you can count the blades of grass on the field, that’s cool. Do we have to see sports-casters in HD? These people were not meant to have every flaw on their faces etched out in vivid detail. I saw ESPN’s Peter Gammons doing a pre-game last week in HD. He looked like he chose the wrong grail. I swore there was a puppeteer from Jim Henson’s creature shop operating his mouth. His face was so creased, he looked like human origami. Slather some vaseline on the lens and spare us looking into the face of death. Just sayin‘ is all…
After the game, I went to see the much anticipated Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Let me go ahead and put up the requisite warning **SPOILER ALERT** lest ye read further and find out that Indiana Jones is dead throughout the movie. I did not like this movie. I enjoyed some of the Speilbergian frenetic chase sequences, but that does not a decent movie make. I thought it needlessly leaned on the three previous and superior films. It was a two and a half hour nod and wink to everyone who grew up with those movies, rather than trying to stand alone. Everything had been done before and better, either in the Indiana Jones series, or The Mummy movies, or even National Treasure. I knew George Lucas had lost his ability to tell stories on the screen, but I was sorry to see that he rubbed off on Speilberg. There’s a key rule in cinematic story-telling: Show me, don’t tell me. In the previous three movies, to some degree or another, the opening sequence served as a way to set up the relationships between Beloq, Short Round, or Indy’s father and Indy to give you a context for the future interactions. None of that in this movie. We just have to take it for granted that Indy’s friend turning on him in the first 5 minutes is a big deal. It made it tough to care. The other thing that was lacking was any sort of dynamic villainy. God bless Cate Blanchett for trying, but very little was done to make the bad guy Rooskies worth caring about. When they get their inevitable comeuppance, again…meh. Don’t get me started on Shia LeBouf. Going into this, I was heartened that what I’d read and seen seemed to indicate that he wasn’t going to be Indy’s son. So much for that. Turns out, yeah, he’s Indy’s kid. Boo. Hiss. If they try to continue the franchise with him, I’m fencing off the condo, putting up a flag, and seceding. To sum up, I was hoping against hope that the movie would end with Indy waking up from the black sleep of the Kali Ma…all just a mediocre dream.
The balcony is closed. I’m going to bed.
To be continued…
Hey there ‘Redheads… Well, it’s official. After a valiant two-weekish effort, JOKE/BIT/PREMISE/TAG-A-DAY IN MAY is dead. A week between installments kinda defeats the whole daily thing. Great timing too. The stunt-blogging gets a mention on DCStandup.com, then I decide to let it stagnate. I have the follow through of a thalidomide baby’s golf swing. I think I got a couple decent comedy nuggets out of the enterprise. As my inevitable apology, I offer you a piping hot batch of cutie pie…
…now that I’ve reduced you to a puddle of goo, let’s get this installment rolling, shall we?
Now for some horn tootage. Tuesday night, I won a poker tournament. I made my way through a field of 80 fellow degenerate Texas Hold ‘Em players and won a buy-in to a tournament at the Borgata in Atlantic City next week. The top prize is in the neighborhood of $30,000. I hope to trick or treat through that neighborhood. That kind of money almost makes it worth it to visit Atlantic City. That place is a wretched hive of scum and villainy. One place I have to make sure I stop by on the way up…the HQ of Spencer’s Gifts. I need to take that tour.
A big thanks to Matt, Tonia, Jeanne, and the rest of the groovy staff at LOL Comedy Club in Clayton, NC for a great weekend. The crowds were small (some shows, they felt more like drunk focus groups) but fun. I got a chance to work with the round mound of profound, Mo Alexander.
Here we are, filling a quota… Comics in Clayton luxuriate in the lavish accommodations of Jeanne’s house. Which has a 60-inch big screen TV…that can vote, it’s so old. It’s one of those rear projection jobs. This one takes about a half an hour before it warms up and holds a steady picture. Oh, and the cable wasn’t working. You haven’t seen scrambled snow, until you’ve seen it on a big screen. I felt like Carol Anne from Poltergeist. And the feature’s room is pink. Pepto Bismol pink.
While we were tooling around Clayton, Mo and I stopped at a local drive-thru bbq joint, Smithfield BBQ. We pulled up to the menu to check out the bill of fare, when the lady behind the speaker popped on to take our order. We had no idea what we wanted, so we asked her what was good. She said everything was good. We weren’t satisfied with what seemed like the company line, but she backed up her statement with, “I’m a 200 pound woman. I know about good barbecue.” She was right. The bbq and cole slaw sandwich was pork-tastic.
The last night in the house, Mo, Jeanne, and I were lounging on the couches in the den, discussing various mysteries of life. The conversation turned to religion, then turned into me answering questions about Jewish stuff. Jeanne then asks the loaded question, “Can I ask you something without offending you?” Well now she had to, regardless of the outcome, “Go ahead,” I said. I prepared to clear up some misconception about bar mitzvahs or having sex through a hole in a sheet. The question she chose was, “Are you really cheap?” WHA?? That was her burning question. Am I a stereotype. It was like asking Mo, “What’s your stance on grape soda? For or against?” I thanked her for the new material then, after she went to bed, I took this picture with her camera…
No promises on the next bit of bloggage, but I’m gonna try not to veer too far off the path of regular updates.
To be continued…
Hey there ‘Redheads… It’s been a long day. My bed is calling my name. The time between me hitting the “publish” button and my head hitting the pillow will be measured in seconds. So, let’s get to the start of week 2 of JOKE/BIT/PREMISE/TAG-A-DAY IN MAY. As you can tell, I’ve upped the number of blogs on the page to seven. So, if you miss a day or three of this cavalcade of craptastic comedy, you can catch up and make your life whole again. Ok, onward and upward…
This goes with the Dr. Pepper premise from #6 which, for the sake of taking up more space, I’ll reprint here…
We live in an age when everything can kill us. Phones, cigarettes, old age…life is a Star Trek episode, and we’re the ensign with the red uniform on the away team with the bridge crew. There’s one particular hazard that I think will be mankind’s undoing. We created this monster for our enjoyment and it’s only a matter of time before it destroys us. Diet Chocolate Cherry Dr. Pepper. This isn’t a beverage, it’s a run-on sentence. I hope Dr. Pepper is an oncologist, because this chemical cocktail is enough to grow tumors in sand.
This is hardly the first time that a soft drink has contained suspect ingredients. Cocaine used to be in Coca-Cola. They had to take it out, because it hurts like hell when you snort Coca-Cola through your nose. Have you ever done that? Ouchie. But making poison delicious is just what we do. A spoonful of sugar to help the cyanide go down. And if it’s a choice between eating delicious poison or crappy health food, we generally pick the poison. I can understand why. We all suffer from the same terminal illness. Life has a 100% mortality rate, regardless of how much granola you eat. I sampled a health bar today that claimed it was “chocolate and peanut” flavor. This is a can’t fail combination in cups and pieces, but when I bit into it, Reese rolled over in his grave (is he even dead?..well, he rolled over in his bed). Y’ever eat something so bad that it turns you into Robert DeNiro? (this would be a visual joke, but it would involve a hacky facial impression act-out)
My body rejected it. I spat out a suicide note written by my taste buds. That was supposed to be good for me.
I think this might have a shot at working. I just have to un-muddle the message that I’m trying to get across.
G’night…
Howdy ‘Redheads… Once again, I’m squeaking this one in under the wire to keep the streak alive at six. I have to admit, my noggin is going to have trouble squeezing out 10 of these, let alone 31. What ‘m saying is, I’m open to suggestions…gimme a couple cliffs to jump off of.
Before I get to today’s installment, I found something cool that I thought I’d share. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Red t-shirts that The Gap hawks with proceeds going to charity. Stuff like inspi(red) or ado(red)…well, I’m pissed I didn’t think of it first, but I found this in my internet travels yesterday…
I dig it, but I’m inherently biased. Anywho, let’s see how much more funny juice I can squeeze from this tattered piece of Nerf I call a brain. Time once again for…
JOKE/BIT/PREMISE/TAG-A-DAY IN MAY
We live in an age when everything can kill us. Phones, cigarettes, old age…life is a Star Trek episode, and we’re the ensign with the red uniform on the away team with the bridge crew. There’s one particular hazard that I think will be mankind’s undoing. We created this monster for our enjoyment and it’s only a matter of time before it destroys us. Diet Chocolate Cherry Dr. Pepper. This isn’t a beverage, it’s a run-on sentence. I hope Dr. Pepper is an oncologist, because this chemical cocktail is enough to grow tumors in sand.
‘Til tomorrow…
Hey hey, ‘Redheads… I hope everyone had a funday Sunday. I just got back from seeing Iron Man at the Uptown. This movie was great. There was nothing that usually detracts from my enjoyment of a super-hero origin story. The action didn’t suffer for exposition’s sake, but they didn’t cut corners on character development either, there wasn’t an over-reliance on CGI effects, and the flick is genuinely funny in spots. A hoot. Geeks will want to make sure they stay to the very end of the credits for a fun treat.
So, we’re four days into May and I’ve already surpassed my blog load from April. I’m getting this one in just under the wire to keep my daily streak alive. Thanks to everyone who has given these a gander and offered some constructive feedback. I got some good ideas from comedy buddy, Mike Shader (there’s your shout out…go google), that I’ll share with you…
On your Jesus fish joke. The idea that some people who put a Jesus fish sticker on their car then decide that they can drive more like an asshole is a funny concept. I would not state it that the car “always has a Jesus sticker” since that’s just not true but maybe make it into a classic Jared math joke. 5 cars out of 100 have Jesus fish stickers on them. Out of 100 cars that cut me off 10 of them have the sticker. Jesus is clearly a bad influence on people’s driving habits. Or maybe there were caveats to his message “though shall be kind to others and respect their space…. unless its rush hour on the beltway and you are late for work… then cut the Jew off!”
Thanks Mike. That’s one to grow on.
Ok, time now for the fourth installment of…
JOKE/BIT/PREMISE/TAG-A-DAY IN MAY
The lottery has crept back up to the triple-digit millions, so in the interest of financial planning, I’ll be dropping a five spot on the American dream of obscene wealth without having to do anything. I think I have a shot this time. I’m going to steer the odds in my favor. I’m going to get a job at a meat recycling plant in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Then, me and the gals in the secretary pool will all put in a dollar and play the numbers of our grand-children’s birthdays. I have to promise myself the when I win, I won’t quit my job at the plant. It’s a lead-pipe lock. The only thing that might stymie my plans is I’m not 65, but you’re only as old as you feel…besides, my Wii fitness evaluation thinks I’m 71.
See ya on cinco…
Howdy ‘Redheads… Oy vey, the pollen is kickin’ my ass today. You can set a clock by my sneezing fits today. Speaking of clocks, I woke up this morning in a time warp. When I got in my car and turned on the radio, who did I hear blaring out the business end? The Greaseman. He’s back on DC101 doing Saturday mornings, doing the same waddle-doodle shtick I grew up listening to in the late 80’s and early 90’s…
Oh, the magic of radio. Happy not to be pulling those rabbits out of my hat anymore.
Enough of that. To help put the turd in Saturday, it’s time once again for
JOKE/BIT/PREMISE/TAG-A-DAY IN MAY
Where I foist my feeble hackery upon you, the ever tolerant populace. And away we go…
I think it’s time for movies to stop using the phrase, “From the people who brought you…” to sell a flick to the movie-going public. Judd Apatow has had one or two critically acclaimed funny movies…and alot of people were involved in bringing them to you. So, now, every piece of celluloid that has anyone from those movies attached to it is, “from the people who brought you Super Bad and Knocked Up.” Just because a gaffer from one of those flicks is holding the boom mic for the next one off the Apatow assembly line doesn’t make it good. Remember, the people who brought you Star Wars also shoveled Howard The Duck into theaters. It reminds me of my mail man. The same person who brings me my Urkel toaster cozy that I bought on Ebay also brings me my bills. Joy and pain. Yin and yang. Starsky and Hutch.
I think that one has legs. Short, stubby, polio-ridden legs, but it’s a start. Any thoughts?
See you Sunday…
Happy Friday, ‘Redheads… Wow, two of these in a row. Merely coincidence. For those of you with money on the line, the over/under for when I lapse on this lark is 5.
Sidenote: I’m pissed at myself today. For the whole week, in an effort to decrease my intake of unhealthy crap, I’ve sworn off soda and beer for water. I’m told this could help me drop a pound or two and make my insides less of a cauldron of filth. Well, after resisting temptation all week, I folded like a cheap card table and sucked down a vanilla Frosty Float from Wendy’s. Delicious, yes…and evil.
And now, JOKE/BIT/PREMISE/TAG-A-DAY IN MAY… It comes to us from a friend on mine, who sent me this picture…
I originally thought this was a picture of her tattooed tummy. Turns out it’s just a nutty picture she felt like sending. As you can see, the tattooee (Luke Skywalker’s hometown) has turned the belly button into a monkey’s butt hole. I have a rule that I try to live my life by, which is this: Never have more than one visible anus on your body at a time.
‘Til tomorrow…
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