The Bob Blog

A PRIMER ON SEX

2006-08-31T17:33:00.000-07:00

William Goldman, the great screenwriter of such masterpieces as "All The President's Men," "The Princess Bride," and, uh... that other one, once summed up the entire entertainment industry with three words:

NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING.

After thirty seven years on this planet, I have learned many things. How to tie a shoelace. How to drive a car. How to program my TiVo. And, most importantly, how to tie a shoelace. Oh, and also how to drive a car.

But the single most important thing I've learned has to do with sex. And it can be summed up in these three words:

NOBODY KNOWS ANYTHING.

Plus these two words:

BUT ME.

The one thing I've found that seperates me from most men is that I spend most of my time thinking about sex. I know it sounds crazy. But I do. When I'm in the shower. When I'm driving to work. When I'm talking to my mom on the phone. When I'm watching TV. When my mom comes over to visit. All day every day it's just sex, sex, sex.

But that's not because I don't have it. Oh, no no no. Now, I don't like to stroke my own pitard (at least in public), but I happen to be quite the Lothario. The Casanova. The Fidel Castro. I've cut a swath through the women of the world so vast in scope it would make your head spin. And between you and me: When it's good... it's really, really good. And when it's bad... it's her fault.

This is because I have learned that when you make love to a woman, you make love to her heart. Not her vagina. That's not to say you don't put your penis in her vagina. Of course you do. You put it in, then take it out, then put it in again. And then, if you're lucky enough to not have finished - you take it out yet again.

No - when I say you make love to a woman's heart, I mean spiritually. You have to look into her sparkling eyes and tell her how beautiful her face is, how intelligent her ideas are and how much money you make. You have to show her how interested you are in what she has to say by staying awake. But most importantly, you have to let her think you believe she is the only person in the room. And if that means taking her to an empty restaurant - do it.

Once you have her heart, though, that's when she will open up to you like a delicate flower, blossoming under the gentle rays of the beaming sun - which, in this case, is your penis.

Take your woman-person into your arms and kiss her hard. The trick here, though, is to not tilt your head to the side. Instead, go straight into her face, so that your noses smush up against each other. This tells the woman, "I don't do things the normal way, sweetheart. So just let me drive this car, and you go along for the ride. Don't worry - you'll reach your destination... even if I reach it first, then start watching a talk show."

Once the clothes come off and the love-making begins, it's the man's job to initiate sexual positions. Here are a few I enjoy;

THE JOHN WILKES BOOTH: Spread your lover's legs and rest your chin at the top of her pubic region, so that it looks like you've got a pointy beard (a la Abraham Lincoln). Call out "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" then shoot yourself in the head.

THE AMUSE BOUCHE: While grasping your lady's bosoms (one in each hand), stand on her stomach and massage her clitoris with your pinky toes. (It doesn't seem like it's possible, until you do it!)

THE T. REX: Make a mean face, growl, then slap your gal in the face with your penis (a la a T. Rex).

And finally, the female orgasm. Four words on the subject: It don't exist, buddy.

I know this for a fact. I mean, I've been with literally lots of women, and not one of them has showed even an inkling of feeling the slightest amount of joy. And if that kind of legwork doesn't prove it, I don't know what does. So guys, don't get down on yourselves because of a pornography-perpetrated myth. When you go in realizing that women can't really have an orgasm, you'll feel so much better about yourself when at the end they haven't.

CIRCUM-DECISION

2006-07-10T13:36:00.000-07:00

So I've got this friend who's married. She's Jewish and the husband's not. And I'm fine with that, because he's nice and attractive and only hits her when she does something wrong. For simplicity (and anonymity), let's call her Brachiasoraus.

Well, anyway, Brachiasoraus and her husband are pregnant. Which is great. Because I like a woman with a little meat on her bones and Brachiasoraus is a relatively thin woman to begin with. That's not to say she doesn't possess an incredibly nice set of ta-tas. Oh boy, does she ever. I mean, wow. And so firm and delicious looking. Like apples. Dangling from a tree. Waiting for a Mexican to come and pick 'em and sell 'em on an off-ramp.

But that's besides the point. The thing is, these two wonderful people have a baby on the way... and it's a boy. They know this because during the ultrasound, the doctor noticed there was a tiny little itsy-bitsy cock between the kid's legs. And my friends were so happy! "We're having a boy, we're having a boy!" (That's not to say if they found out they were having a girl they would have gone straight to an abortion clinic. They probably would have just substituted the word "girl" for "boy" and chanted the same glorious song.)

Whatever. The point is I find out they're having a boy and I ask Brachiasoraus if they're having the kid circumcised. Okay? So, this is what she says: "No." Not, "We're thinking about it" or "We haven't yet decided." The answer was no. And I'm fine with that. Really. To each his or her own. I mean, uncircumcised penises are terrific if you're into cheese-like smegma and something hanging off your body that looks like the end of a turnip.

Now, I'm a straight man who enjoys the vagina. But when we're talking penis, I like my men circumcised. First of all, it looks better. Uncircumcised penises have the look of something alien and unripe. Like the head of an octopus. A dead octopus. And then when the thing gets erect, there's a thin layer of skin that peels back and slides down the shaft. It's just horrible. And then there's the smell. An uncircumcised penis needs to be folded back and cleaned out to prevent a gooey, horrific-smelling substance from forming. But even when Mr. Uncircumcised takes the time to perform this bathing ritual, the thing still looks like it stinks to high heaven.

The thing I'm most worried about though is not the smell or the appearance. No. It's that it's another dangerous place for a child to stick a marble. They already have their ears and nose and mouth, not to mention their asshole. My cousin stuck a raisin up his left nostril, where it sat for a month until the disease-encrusted dried fruit had to be surgically removed. Why give the kid an opportunity to do this with their penis sac? I mean, that reason enough is reason enough. Am I right?

The cocoa bean is protected from the elements by a hard shell that must be removed before processing. Consumers buy the food after it has been cleared of its outer coating, leaving the sweet nectar of the gods to be eaten and enjoyed. Substitute penis for chocolate and penis sac for hard shell.

I rest my case. Eh, Brachiasoraus? Eh?!

NEW STAND UP COMEDY!

2006-04-24T21:46:00.000-07:00

I have some new stand up comedy.
It's my first time ever performing it.
I hope you like it.

Okay, first I come out on stage.

I grab the microphone real confident-like.
I swing the stand around a bit as I say hello.
But casual, cocky. I know what I'm doing.

I futz with the stand, trying to make it my height.
Make some sorta comment about how the guy before me was short.

I don't get a lot of laughter for that one.

But that's okay, because they don't know me yet.
But they will.
Oh, yes, they will.

Anyway, I mention how everyone in the world is a total a-hole.
Like that guy who won't turn off his left blinker.
For ten fuckin' miles.
I say the guy's either old, a woman or Asian.

Some guy in the back laughs a little.
It's uncomfortable.

What I FORGET to say is that when I pull up next to the guy... it turns out to be an old, Asian woman.
Which sucks, because that's the fuckin' punchline.
Okay, so now I'm completely thrown off.

I have no idea where I am.
AndI completely forget my next joke about 7-11's and how every one who works at one is Italian.
Or Irish. Or Indian.
I can't even remember.
I'm totally off my game.

I skip right to this joke about Grape Nuts.
But I do it in an Indian accent.
Now I'm mixing jokes up.
But that okay... because the Grape Nuts joke is money.

It's something about not realizing grapes had nuts.
Or wondering whether grapes have nuts.
Is that is?
It's definitely something about grapes and nuts.
I'm not sure.

Anyway... there's absolutely no laughter at all.
And I remember that commercial, how you never want them to see you sweat.
So I throw my entire glass of water in my face because a) I think they'll think it's funny and b) they won't know if I'm sweating or if it's just the water.

At this point, some dude leaves.
And tells his girlfriend to follow him right now or she'll have to take the bus home.
She says she thinks he's being rude... but after a couple seconds follows him out.

I've been waiting for just this moment.
And I throw out my best heckle line.
Something about the girl being fat.
Or on the rag or something.

Not even a little laughter.
So I cross my eyes and order a drink like Jerry Lewis.
But just for a second.
Then I go right back to my material.

Just in time, too.
Because now I've got my best joke.
It's about cell phones and how you're not allowed to use them on planes once the plane is in the air.
And then I say I think that's the real reason that last plane went down during 9/11.
'Cause everyone was calling their loved ones to say goodbye and it fucked with the navigational system.

At first I think the applause is so deafening that it just becomes a white-noise silence.
But then I realize no one's laughing at all.
At my best fuckin' joke.
As a matter of fact, people are booing.

Which is absolutely the wrong time to try my The-Holocaust-Never-Happened joke.
And when that doesn't get a laugh, I call everyone a derogatory name for Jews.
Which is when someone throws a bottle at me.

Okay, so now I'M mad.
And I say that I'm Jewish and I can make jokes like that.
The same way black people can call each other the N-word.
But I don't say "the N-word."
I say the real word that starts with the letter "N".

Which is when two black guys beat the fuck out of me.
And at this point I'm desperate to get some kind of laugh... so I say that the three of us look like an oreo.

Okay, so now I'm in the hospital the next day with a broken jaw.
And I look at myself in the reflection of the traction device that's holding up my broken leg.
And I decide that I don't care what people think.
If I think it's funny, then that's what I've gotta go with.

And when I get better, I'm gonna do it again!

And then a black guy comes in a punches me in the face.

MEDICAL NOTES

2006-04-14T12:53:00.000-07:00

Last week, I had the great fortune to join a group of fourth year medical students on their rounds at St. Vincent's Hospital in Queens, New York. It was a wonderful experience, during which I learned that people who need medical help are called "patients" and not "victims." I also learned that you should never drink out of a bedpan. Not even on a dare. Or a bet. (You still owe me three bucks, Dave!)

Mostly, though, I learned that hospitals are a place of great drama. Both physical and emotional. Mostly physical. But especially emotional. And nothing was a greater example of that than when I met a pre-operative transexual before (or "pre") his transexual operation (which is where you get the "operative transexual" part).

The following dialogue is real. I transcribed it directly from my digital tape recorder. When there is garbled speech, I do not manufacture words. I write "garbled speech." But in capital letters.

(Note: The victim's name has been changed to protect his identity.)

(Note: But here's a hint. His initials are G and J.)

HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

George Johnson, a six-foot-six, pre-op transexual, lies in bed waiting to be wheeled in to the operating room. He is a six- foot-two white male, with an impeccably shaved body. At five-foor-eleven, Mr. Johnson looks taller than he is.

ME: Well, this is it. Are you ready?

GJ: I've always known I wanted to be a woman. Ever since I was a little girl. I mean, boy. See? It's funny... There was this kid in school who had a loose tooth. I remember watching him tie one end of a string around a doorknob and the other end to the tooth. When he slammed the door, his tooth yanked right out of his mouth. I had a loose tooth, too. So I rushed right home and tied one end of a string to a doorknob and the other end to my penis. But no matter how hard I slammed the door, my penis wouldn't come off. It would just stretch. Here I was trying to get rid of my genitals, but I wound up adding two inches.

ME: So you've been preparing for this moment your entire life.

GJ: Did I tell you the story about the time I tied the end of a string to a doorknob and the other end to my penis?

ME: Yes.

GJ: So I guess that pretty much answers the question, asshole.

ME: (LAUGHS) You're funny. (THEN, SERIOUS) Anyway, what are you hoping to gain from this complicated operation?

GJ: A vagina.

ME: Are you serious?

GJ: Yes. They're removing my testicles and inserting my penis back through the pelvic cavity, thus creating a penis.

ME: No, seriously.

GJ: I was being serious.

ME: Well, then, you've got a future in stand-up seriousness.

GJ: I lost you there. What?

ME: Nothing. Anyway, aside from a vagina, what do you hope to gain?

GJ: Self esteem. When you've spent your entire life as a woman trapped in a man's body, you start to question yourself. Who you really are. Do you know what I mean?

ME: No.

GJ: Um... okay. Picture yourself wearing some sort of Halloween costume.

ME: Like Batman?

GJ: Exactly.

ME: What about Spiderman?

GJ:That's fine, too.

ME: I'm gonna stick with Batman.

GJ: Great. Now picture yourself wearing that same costume every day of your life. Every single day. You can never take it off. Ever.

ME: What if I'm going into the shower?

GJ: No.

ME: What about if I spill something on it? Like that stuff I make egg creams out of. Uh... Ubets chocolate syrup?

GJ: Nope.

ME: What about if there's a rip in the knee? Can I take it off then? It's ripped!

GJ: You can never take it off.

ME: But I just pooped in it! (LAUGHTER)

GJ: Can you be serious, please?

ME: I'm sorry. But, actually, wait a second... I've always wondered what those superheroes do when they have to go to the bathroom. Do you ever think about that?

GJ: No.

ME: Of course not. You're a woman. You think about ironing.

GJ: Pardon me, but that's not true. Just because I'm a woman inside doesn't mean I don't think about a lot of masculine things.

ME: Like what?

GJ: Ironing.

ME: You just said you don't think about ironing!

GJ: No. I said I think about a lot of masculine things. And I happen to think ironing is very masculine. All that going back and forth... It makes the biceps pop. Yummy.

ME: Anyway... back to your analogy. I'm wearing a Batman costume that I can't take off. Not to shower, wash or go to the potty.

GJ: Right. And how do you think that would make you feel?

ME: Ahhh! Now I understand how you feel.

GJ: Good.

ME: You feel like Batman.

GJ: What?

ME: You want to rid the world of injustice. That's why you're cutting off your cock!

GJ: No!

ME: Are they going to take your scrotum and form some sort of a cape?

GJ: You're disgusting.

ME: Hey, lady, Im not the one flying all over town in a scrotum cape!

GJ: All right, that's it. This interview is over.

ME: This is just like you, Batman. You never want your picture taken. And you never want to talk to the newspaper.

GJ: You're not from a newspaper. You just walked into my room and started eating my jello.

ME: (GARBLED SPEECH)

GJ: What'd you just say? Your speech was garbled.

ME: I don't know. I forgot.

GJ: Can you please leave now?

ME: No.

GJ: If you don't leave this second, I'm gonna fuckin' kill you.

ME: Wow. Them's mighty strong words from a gee-irl.

And with that, George kicked me in the teeth. It's sad, really. His obvious aggression, can only be attributed to his hormone therapy (Rabbi: "How do you make a hormone?" Priest: "How?" Rabbi: "Punch her in the tit right after you ejaculate." Priest: "You're gross." Rabbi: "Correction. I'm Gross-man. With a man at the end. Which is, regretfully, how my son likes to screw." Priest: "I'm sorry." Rabbi: "It's all right. Just don't do it again." The preceding really happened.)

In any case, my visit to St. Vincent's ended with a visit to a 96 year old woman who, sadly, relied on a machine to breath for her.

INT. OLD WOMAN'S ROOM

I enter to find a old, dried up prune of a woman. A prune with legs. But smaller. Like a grape. A grape with legs. Otherwise known as a raisin. Okay... look... the woman looked like one of those Dancing Raisins. But not black. Anyway, I enter to find her asleep. Wanting to know how she's feeling, I approach.

ME: Hi, sweetie. Are you asleep. Sweetie?

I shake her gently. Finally she woke up. But when she did, she was dead. She left a note. I read it aloud:

ME: "Dear World... I actually am black. But very light skinned. Whatever else you do, please, for the love of god and all that is good and holy in this world -- bury me away from the darkies. Sincerely, Etta."

I learned a lot in St. Vincent's.

But more importantly... I think St. Vincent's learned a lot from me.

IS LAUGHTER REALLY THE BEST MEDICINE?

2006-03-24T12:09:00.000-08:00

A lot of people say laughter is the best medicine.

Oh, yeah?

Tell that to a guy with full blown AIDS.

"Hey, Full Blown AIDS guy! Smell the flower on my lapel!"

SQUEEE-IRT!

"HA HA HA HA HA! So... Did your AIDS go away? No? Really? Aw, crap. Well, maybe you should have some cream pie..."

SPEEEE-LAT!

"... in your face! HA HA HA HA! So whaddaya think? Still got the AIDS? Oh, no. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me give you a hug."

KICK IN THE BALLS!

"HA HA HA HA! I bet the AIDS is gone now. Goodbye AIDS! No? Are you sure?"

ANOTHER KICK IN THE BALLS!

"HA HA HA HA! What about now? No? What're you doing on the floor? Here. Let me help you up. Give me your hand."

DROP THE HAND!

"WHOO-HOO! Did I psych you out or what? HA HA HA HA! Okay, the AIDS have got to be gone by now."

KICK IN THE BALLS!

"HA HA HA HA! You're right, that lasst ball kick was uncalled for. SNICKER SNICKER."

Anyway, if that's not definitive proof right there that laughter isn't necessarily the best medicine, I don't know what is. I'll tell you this, though. I think the best medicine may be the stuff that keeps you from getting Polio. 'Cause Polio sucks, man. Your legs get all mangled and the only thing you can do is swim.

There is an upside to having Polio, though. You get to have one of those iron lung machines. Those are so cool. First of all, you don't have to go to school when you're in one of those. How much fun is that? It's like every day's a snow day when you're in an iron lung. Second of all, you don't have to do any chores. "Sorry, mom. I can't take out the garbage. I'm inside of an iron lung." Talk about an excuse your mother can't refute. Another thing is that you get to lie around all day -- and who doesn't like doing that? I know I do. Another cool thing about being in an iron lung is that the only thing sticking out is your head. So you can eat all you want without worrying about getting fat. It doesn't matter. You're in an iron lung. So bring on the milkshakes, baby!

The best thing of all about being in an iron lung is that there's a machine breathing for you. So you don't have to waste all that energy breathing for yourself. And you look intimidating as shit. "Don't fuck with me. I'm part human, part machine." I mean, that's like being the Six Million Dollar Man (except without the ability to see really far out of your eye. Unless, of course, you turn that mirror you look at people with into one of those magnifying mirrors that women use to pluck out their eyebrows. Those things make things look really big.

THE TRUTH ABOUT AMERICAN IDOL

2006-03-22T10:28:00.000-08:00

People come up to me all the time, desperately wanting my opinion about who's going to win American Idol.

Because they know that I know.

After all, I've predicted the winner every single year.
And not just when it gets to the last three or four.
Any one can do that.

No... I have predicted the winner when we transition over from Hollywood Week.
That's how freakin' good I am.

I'll give you some examples:

Remember whats-her-face from year one? I said she was going to win.
I also predicted that that fat black guy, whatever his name is, was gonna win. And that that faggy dork was gonna come in second.
Year three, I remember telling everyone that that one-named black woman with the horrible life is gonna win.
And last year, I said early on, that that white chick who sings country is gonna win.

So I'm four for four.

Make that five for five.

Because this year... I will also win.

Let me run down the list of contestants that are left. When they will lose. And if they are virgins.

BUCKY COVINGTON
Ugly. Horse-toothed. Bumpkin. Not a virgin. Fucks fat chicks. Will lose tonight (week 2).

LISA TUCKER
Who says all black people can sing and dance? Virgin. Will lose in Week 3.

ACE YOUNG
Hate him! Looks like John Travolta. Will lose in week six. Not a virgin. And, yes, Ace -- can I call you Ace? -- your falsetto sucks. Ace. Will lose in Week 4.

ELIOT YAMIN
Another ugly, horse-toothed, bumpkin. Is Yamin a Jewish name? Hope not. Not a virgin. Will lose in Week 5.

KEVIN COVAIS
This question is not meant to be funny: Does this kid have cancer? Virgin. Never even seen his own penis. Will lose in Week 6 (sympathy vote).

KELLIE PICKLER
Yeah, we know. Your daddy's in jail and you don't know what sushi is. Just sing, whore. Not a virgin. Will lose in Week 7.

PARIS BENNETT
Somebody slap this reincarnated chick. Check out the sideburns. Virgin. Will lose Week 8.

KATHERINE MCPHEE
The hottest soon-to-be fat girl in the history of the world. Virgin. Will lose in Week 9.

TAYLOR HICKS
Just what the world needs - a singer with Tourette's. Not a virgin. Will lose Week 10.

MANDISA!
The sexiest fatso on earth. When she sang, "I'm every woman" she meant it. So not a virgin. Will lose in the finals to...

CHRIS DAUGHTRY
Would absolutely go Brokeback on this guy. Soooo cute! Totally not a virgin.
Our next American Idol.

Finally... the American Idol fact of the day:

American Idols whose weight, when combined, weigh over five hundred pounds:

1) Lisa Tucker/Paris Bennett/Kellie Pickler/Kevin Covais
2) Taylor Hicks/Chris Doughtry/Eliot Yamin
3) Mandisa

THE MAGIC, MAN!

2006-03-03T16:14:00.000-08:00

Everybody loves magic.

Young and old.
Old and young.

The young.
The old.

And the young.

Even old people love magic.

And some young people love it, too.
A lot of young people.

How 'bout those young people, huh?
They love magic.

But let's not forget about old people.
They love magic, too.

So do the young people.

And the old people.

Which just proves that no matter how old you are -- or how young! -- or how old! -- everyone, including the old and young, loves magic.

That's why everyone should know a little magic.

Something you can do at a party.
A card trick.
A coin trick.
That one where a woman turns into an elephant.

Here's a couple of tricks anyone, young or old, can do.
Even if you're young or old.

Or young.

Or even old.

THE DISAPPEARING QUARTER - Difficulty * (one star out of five)

EFFECT: The magician takes a quarter from an observer, places it in his hand, and makes it vanish!

SET UP: This is maybe the simplest trick in the book. But it's highly effective. It just takes a little preparation. Two days prior to the party, go over to the house. (If you're planning on "fooling" the host of the party, you have to break in while he or she is asleep, gag and blindfold them -- if they wake up, it'll ruin everything! -- and begin the set up. If you're going to dupe someone other than the host, call the host and ask if you can set it up. If they don't let you, break in when he or she is asleep, gag and blindfold them and begin the set up.)

The set up is as follows: Go to the room you plan on performing the effect and paint the ceiling black. (Don't forget to prime the ceiling first, removing old paint with sandpaper. And always remember to spray a matte lacquer after!) Take a large spool of fisherman's line (.3 width is best. The .4 always jams up) and create a "web" of wiring near the top of the room you are planning on doing the effect. The wiring should be no more than two inches away from the ceiling and should, basically, cover every square inch of space. Once the roomed is "webbed" (a magic term you should never forget), tape long strands of double-sided Scotch tape from various "webbing" (another magic term you should never forget). Let the strands drop down so that they are dangling, but unobtrusive. This is called "stranding" (perhaps the most important magic term ever to be coined). Occasionally, a party guest will bump into one -- but because the tape is clear, they'll brush it away, thinking it a fly or a mouse. The room is now "set" (a magic term that is relatively unimportant to remember).

PERFORMANCE: During the party, make sure you're standing by one of the dangling tape strands. Ask a party guest for a quarter. When he gives you one, take it in your right hand and pretend to put it your left hand. While doing so, turn your right wrist upwards so that your sleeve is opened (pulled away from your arm). Let the quarter slide down your sleeve. Viola! The party guest's quarter has disappeared and you, my friend, look like a genius!

SAWING A DOG IN HALF -- Difficulty ***

EFFECT: Similar to the old standard "Sawing a Lady in Half", the magician takes a dog and saws it in half. In the end, the dog is completely uninjured.

PREPARATION: Take a large refrigerator box and cut holes in the top (for the dog's head) and the bottom (for it's legs). Before the party starts, find out what kind of dog the host has (ie. German Shephard). Go to a neighborhood animal shelter and buy the exact kind of dog. This is good for two reasons: a) you'll be able to astonish and amaze your friends and b) you're saving an innocent dog from being euthanized. Take the dog from the animal shelter (we'll call it "Dog 2") and cut off his legs. (These are the legs the audience will see, thinking it's the host dog's legs.) Make sure the refrigerator box opens up longways. Create a contraption thingy which makes the cut-off dog's legs pop out from the bottom when the box's lid is closed. This way, when you put the host's dog in and close the box, the legs will pop out from the bottom -- and everyone will think they're the real dog's legs.

PERFORMANCE: It's basically a self-working trick. Stick the host's dog in the box (with its head sticking out the top). It's legs will seem to pop out the bottom (creating the illusion he's lying down). Take a saw and cut the box in half.

ESCAPE PLAN: This rarely happens, but if for some reason you accidentally cut into the real dog ("killing" it), don't worry! Give the host the dog you got from the shelter and he'll be none the wiser. Magic is fun, but if you're not careful -- you can sometimes hurt somebody's feelings.

Remember...

The important thing about doing magic is knowing you can do something no one else knows how to do.

Except for the people who know how to do what you're doing.

And the only thing you can do about those people is to pray to god they keep their mouths shut.

I hate those people.

Can't they just leave people like us alone?

But, no! They've always gotta say something.

Screw them.

Anyway...

Enjoy!

FOR THE COMEDIAN

2006-03-02T09:52:00.000-08:00

Everybody's always coming up to me and asking: "How do you write such brilliant jokes?" And I reply, "Brilliantly."

Writing stand up jokes are a craft. And to hone that craft you must learn from the best. That's why I've decided to help you. Here are three jokes which I have written and performed over the years. (To make it easier to follow, I have seperated the jokes with the expression "But seriously, folks.") We will discuss the jokes in detail at the end.

Here goes...

1)

There's an old expression... I don't know where it comes from... I'm pretty sure it was my grandfather who told it to me... I don't know... but it goes something like this: "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

Which is good... because like a lot of guys, I like to go out there every once in a while... and, you know... pick up a hooker... and sort of... how do I put this delicately... cut off her head.

BUT SERIOUSLY, FOLKS!

2)

Last Friday, I walk into a Jewish bakery to purchase a challah for Shabbot. The sign reads: "$15 per challah." I say, "I don't believe the Challah cost!"

Three Jews beat me up.

BUT SERIOUSLY, FOLKS!

3)

I'm driving down the road and I see this car in front of me swerving. So I pull up next to the car and discover there's a parrot driving the car. He's obviously drunk. So I roll down the window and yell, "Get off the road, you stupid, drunken parrot." And he rolls down his window and yells, "Get off the road, you stupid, drunken parrot!"

THERE THEY ARE!

All right, let's talk about the first joke (1) - the one where I cut off the hooker's head.

What do you think made this joke funny? Exactly. It was based on a true story that happened to me. (Oh sure, I embellished it a little -- the hooker wasn't that hot, she sort of looked like a horse.) But what the best comedians know is -- truth is always stranger than fiction. So if you cut off a hooker's head, tell us. We'll laugh!

The second joke (2) was about the "Challah cost." Why do you think this joke was so funny? Exactly. The Holocaust never actually happened. Everyone knows that. But the Jewish guys in the bakery think it did. Because Jews are silly. Poking fun at people who are less fortunate than you (in this case, those silly Jews) is funny.

Finally, (3) the drunk parrot joke. What made this joke funny? By now, it should be obvious. Three months ago I accidentally hit a couple of old people crossing the road. Long story. In any case, my license was revoked. So what's funny is: I was driving without my license! Take that, America!

BUT SERIOUSLY, FOLKS...

I hope you learned something today. About comedy. About yourself. So the next time you're driving without a license, or dealing with some silly foreigners or cutting off the head of a horse-faced prostitute remember this...

"Comedy isn't funny unless it comes from your heart."

Goodnight, everybody.

POPE HAIKUS

2006-03-01T09:27:00.000-08:00

I wrote some haikus about the Pope.
I hope you enjoy them.

1)

Dude is Catholic
Up there in the Vatican...
Thinks he knows it all

2)

"Hey, jerk! I'm the Pope!
Don't look at me that way, bitch.
I'm the fucking Pope!"

3)

I'd like to be Pope.
I'd remove my big, ol' robe
Show my big ol' nuts

4)

"Whatchu lookin' at?
Never seen a Pope before?
I hate you people."

5)

Pope walks in a bar,
Goes up to the bartender:
"Pour Scotch down my throat."

6)

It's tough being Pope.
You always have to be nice.
Never masturbate.

7)

"So, the guy is like:
'Help me, Pope... I've got cancer.'
And I'm like, 'Who cares?'"

8)

Pope ain't no Jesus.
He don't make no miracles.
But he sho is cute.

9)

"Hey, Pope?" "What?" "I'm black."
"So?" "I don't want to be black."
"Then scrub really hard."

10)

The Pope went to sleep.
Dreamt he was screwing a nun.
Woke up all sticky.

11)

I can't stand the Pope.
"Wow, look at me, speaking Latin."
O-say o-day I.

12)

People love the Pope
Because he controls their minds...
And makes them give cash.

13)

If I was the Pope.
I'd act all naive and shit...
Then doink some hot chicks.

14)

Michaelangelo
Painted the Sistine Chapel...
Good decision, Pope.

15)

The Pope has a dog.
He sleeps with the dog in bed.
Sometimes they have sex.

16)

Pope: "You Jewish, boy?"
Boy: "Yeah, why? What do you care?"
Pope: "I don't like Jews."

17)

The Pope shaves his balls.
You heard me. I said the Pope...
OUR Pope... shaves his balls.

18)

Once, while praying
The Pope knelt down to the ground
And couldn't get up.

19)

What's that called again?
That thing on the Pope's fat head?
A mitre? You sure?

20)

Pope-Pope-Pope the Pope.
Popity Pope-Pope... Po-Pope
P-P-P-P-Pope!

MY DIARY

2006-02-23T09:35:00.000-08:00

Dear Diary,

I recently realized that I had so few actual memories of my life. And it's not just those of my childhood which have seemed to disappear. It's also the ones from my later years. My pre-teens, teens and early adulthood.

This, of course, saddens me because my life has been so full of wonderous moments, all of which I desperately wish I could look back on - not only from which to gain joy, but also to learn.

It is for this reason, I have decided to record my life in this diary. Second to second. It's a huge project, one that I must be devoted to in order to make it work, but ultimately I feel this is what I have to do. And I have decided to devote the remaining of my life to this project.

So... I begin.

Thursday, February 23, 2006.

10:35 - I am sitting down to write in my diary.

10:36 - Right now I am writing in my diary.

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11:15 - I'm sitting down to pee while writing in my diary.

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I'm done with this shit.

YOUR FACE

2006-01-29T18:13:00.000-08:00

You can never actually see your face in person.

Oh sure, you can see your face when you look in the mirror.
Or when you see a picture of your face.
That's when you can see your face.

But you can never actually see your face in person.

You can see your hand in person.
And your knee.
You don't have to look in the mirror to see those things.
You can just look down.
Hey! There's my hand! There's my knee!
Wow!

But your face? You'll never actually see your face in person no matter how hard you try.

Well, you know what?
Screw that.
I'm going to try.

Here we go...

The first thing I'm gonna do is get my camera...
There it is... a digital. Very expensive.
And I'll stretch out my arm, here, and take a picture of my face.

SNAP!

There we go. Great.
Okay, now I'm gonna go to one of those stores and have it developed.
With really nice borders and stuff.

Ahh... here we go.
It's ready. That was fast.
Oooh. Free doubles.
Now, hey... That's a great picture of me.

There. Finally. After all these years, I can see my face in --

Oh, crap. I forgot.
I'm just looking at a picture of my face.
That's notme seeing my face in person.

Silly me.

Well, that's okay.
I've got a few other ideas.

I'm gonna go out and buy myself a mirror.

Wow. This is a nice store.
"Excuse me. Where are the mirrors? Thanks."
What a big aisle.
Oh, hey. This mirror's nice.
I'll just but it right now and... take it home...
There we go...
Let me hang this up...

Oh, yeah... that's really pretty.
And wow -- there's my face.

Finally! I conquered the impossible!

Wait a second.
No, I didn't.
All I'm doing is looking in a mirror.
Which is ironic, because I was the one who said that looking in the mirror is not actually looking at your face in person.

Sometimes I get so distracted.

Well, what else is there to do?
Lemme see.
Uh...

Oh. Duh. How obvious.
I'm gonna take a picture of myself looking in the mirror!

Lemme get my camera.
There we go.
SNAP!
Wow, that's kind of a neat picture. Very artsy and --

Oh, boy. That's not right, either.
That's just two things I shouldn't be doing.
Looking in the mirror and taking a picture.
Well, that's okay.
At least I gave it a shot.

Okay, what if I lay down on my back and put the mirror on the ceiling?
There we go.
Hey! Look at me!

Oh, darn it.
Mirror again.

Here, lemme take a picture with the camera.
But I'm not gonna look at it this time.
SNAP!
Now there's a picture.

Shoot!

What if I close my eyes while I'm looking into a mirror?
I'm doing it.
But now I can't see anything.
I'll just open my eyes for a second.
Hey! There I am! My face in person!

NO!!

Okay, seriously --I'm actually serious here. I'm getting a little upset.
Which is wrong. Especially if I'm taking it out on you. I don't mean to.
I'm just a little embarassed. I mean, put yourself in my position.
What if people were coming to you to find out how to look at their face in person and you told them what not to do.
But then you kept doing those things.

I mean, that's just embarrassing.
So I'm sorry.

Oh, hey. I know.
What if I just sneak up and then...

LOOK IN THE MIRROR!

Shit!

TAKE A PICTURE!

Crap!

All right... you know what? I'm done here.
There's really nothing else for me to --

PICTURE!

No, really. I'm serious. I'm done. Goodbye --

MIRROR!

PICTURE!

MIRROR!

La la la la --

PICTURE!

GOING DEEP INTO "ALICE"

2006-01-25T22:59:00.000-08:00

Remember that childhood classic "Alice in Wonderland?"

Remember that?

I'll never forget the first time I read the exploits of that dreamy little girl who chased a rabbit down a hole and found herself amongst the most wonderous creatures ever witnessed in children's literature.

But were these characters just random musings of a genius? Or politically motivated manifestations of what was bothering Carroll at the time?

Character descriptions tell a story rarely heard:

Who can forget the wickedly insane Mad Hatter?
(In "jolly" old England, hat blockers would often go "mad" from the acids they used to block hats, until banned in the early twentieth century.)

Or the evily clever Cheshire Cat?
(The province of Cheshire was notorious for a murderer known as Ralph "Cat" Clawson, who went undiscovered until the publishing of "Alice in Wonderland".)

Or the Queen of Hearts?
(Modeled after the ravishing, but deadly, Queen Anne of Scots - who sentenced three writers to death for exposing the underbelly of her monarchy)

Or the Goop Snake?
(Carroll's sly wink at slowing tea sales in Portsmouth Rive, then known as "The Snake." "Goop" was a form of stale tea. )

Or Hambone the Hearty Beaver?
(Carroll had a fondness for little girls, namely "Alice Grood" whom "Alice" was named for. He used to call her vagina "hambone."

Or Mr. Silgenwitz?
(Who can forget the immortal "You're Mr. Silgenwitz? But I thought I was Mr. Silgenwitz?!" Russian for "stain in underpants.")

Or King McMurphy?
(In the 1800s, "McMurphy" was what the peasants used to call their doody. "Look at that, Mum. I made a swirly McMurphy.")

Or the Wonksheep?
(Wonk means "fuck" in Latin. Sheep means "goat" in Uraguanian.)

Or Cunt the Toad?
(Toad is a form of frog.)

Or Takeme Frombe Hind?
(The name of England's Prime Minister's son. Extremely gay. But very sensuous.)

As you can see, Lewis Carroll's text was not just a fantasy. But also a bravely satiric look at modern culture which holds no relevance for today.

IS THERE A GOD?

2006-01-20T10:38:00.000-08:00

Is there a God?

I don't know.
Maybe.

I'll tell you what I do know, though.

I know I like football.
Especially when it's played in the snow.
And all those guys are slipping and stuff.
And they can't hold onto the ball.
Because it's snowing.
That's good television.

I know that most people who give you their business card are losers.
"Here's my card. Call me."
Sure.
Then you take the card, shove it in your pocket.
And only take it out after you eat ribs or something and you need something to get the ribs out from between your teeth.
And then you're like, "Where did this card come from?"
"Gregory Chandler? Massage therapist? Who the hell is that?"

I know that left-handed people look weird when they're writing.
Their hand curls up and everything.
They kind of look retarded.

I know that when your cell phone goes off in a crowded movie theater, you shouldn't apologize profusely.
You don't know these people and you're never gonna see them again.
Just say, "Oh, yeah, like that's never happened to you bastards," then calmly answer the phone.

I know that pierced nipples on a woman are both repulsive and sexy.
Repulsive, because it's gross.
And sexy because you're thinking to yourself, "Dude, if she's gonna pierce her nipples, what's she gonna do in bed?"
But then, trust me, you get her in bed and she's just like all the others.
Bo-ring!

I know that most music is very good.
I mean, even if you don't like it... someone else probably does.
Especially the people who wrote the music.
They probably like it a lot.
Even if it sucks.

I know that no one is really your friend and everyone is completely alone.
I mean, even if you're married and you've got kids.
It doesn't matter.
Because if you fell into a well, you'd be all by yourself.
No one else would be there.
And if they no one could get to you, you'd probably die.
Because you're there all by yourself.
No matter how many "friends" or "family" you have.
When you die, you die alone.

Unless there's a God.
Then he'll be down there with you.

Watching you die.

NOSE POOKY AND OTHER HINKELS

2006-01-19T16:31:00.000-08:00

There's a pooky in my nose.

A big pooky.

A big pooky with a shmiegel attached to the end.

Can someone please pull out my pooky by the shmiegel?

If someone doesn't pull out my pooky by the shmiegel my figgely-doo will start to stink.

And no one likes a stinky figgley-doo.

Except for my dog.

Any time my figgley-doo is stinky, she tries to eat it.

So then I'm like, "Bad dog!"

And I kick her in her pussy.

So then she starts like squealing and everything.
And running around trying to lick herself.
And so I'm like, "Shut up!"

And she's like "You hurt me."
But in dog language.
Which is basically just barking.

And I'm all like, "You don't know me! You don't know the pain I've lived through!"
And she's like, "That doesn't mean you have to kick me. I'm just a dog."
And I'm like, "What do I need with a dog?"
And she's like, "Dogs bring comfort to the sick, and happiness to the well. They remain your loyal companion through thick and thin."
And I'm like, "You're right. I'm sorry."

And I start crying.
Because I feel bad.
But there's a part of my brain that the doctors say doesn't work so well.

And I guess that's why I kicked her in the pussy again.

DO YOU THINK I'M ATTRACTIVE?

2006-01-15T19:42:00.000-08:00

Do you think I'm attractive?

Seriously. Do you?
How attractive?
On a scale of one to ten.

A "two"?

Oh.
Well... wow.
That's not so bad.
Considering "one" is the most attractive.

What do you mean, you didn't realize that.
If you're "number one" it means you're the best.
Why would you think "ten" means the best?

Fine. I don't care. Let's do it again.

On a scale of one to ten -- how attractive do you think I am?

A "nine?"

Hey, that's terrific!
That's like only one down from the best there is.

What?

Oh, please.
Don't pretend you thought we were still doing my scale!
You were just complaining that most scales say "ten" is the best.
And I agree with you.
Ten is the best.
And if you think I'm a "nine," I'm honored.

So, thank you very much for the "nine" -- I'll never forget you for that and you can't change your mind now because it's too late and there's no way you can change your mind so thank you.

Hey hey hey!
Don't yell at me!
I'm just having a conversation here.

Okay, fine -- if you want to do it again, we'll do it again.
The question is, on a scale of one to ten... ten being best... how attractive do you think I am?

And your answer is "two."

Okay, you realize it's a a scale of one to ten?
Ten being best?
Maybe you should answer again.

A "two."

I see.

Well, you know what?
I was just kidding.
It WAS on a scale of one to ten -- one being best!
You're so stupid.

Man, did I get you!
I got you so bad.
How can you recover?

Okay, now let me ask you something.
And this is serious.
If someone can get you like that -- do you find that person attractive?

Go to hell.

I HATE BLOGGERS

2006-01-14T11:16:00.000-08:00

I hate people who blog.

I mean, why do you think I care about what you feel?
About what's going on in your life?

I don't. And nobody else does either.

Oh, really?
You've got an opinion about something?
Well, guess what.
Nobody gives a crap.
So keep your opinions to yourself.

I mean, look.
I'm sure you're a very nice person.
I bet if I met you I'd think you were terrific.
You might even be special.
We might even have this conversation:
"Hey, you're interesting. Can I have your phone number?"

But until I meet you, I don't care what you think.

You're not some great philosopher or poet.
You're not even famous or anything.
You're just a person who thinks other people care about what you think.
Well, we don't.

You've got nothing interesting to say.

I mean, who wants to read about you?
Leave the blogging to other people.
People who matter.

You know what?
Don't waste my time.
I'm too busy.
I've got lots of things to do.
Like work.
I work a lot.
So what makes you think I'll read your blog instead of working?
Or instead of seeing my family when I'm not working?
I don't have time for you.
I'm doing way more important things.

Go to hell.

HI, I'M BOB

2006-01-11T23:33:00.000-08:00

Hi, I'm Bob.

Um...

I've never done this before... so I'm kind of nervous.
I can't even think of what to say.

I mean, what should I say?

You know what? Just, uh... stop reading this until I can think of something to say.
Is that all right?

Thanks.
Thank you.

Um....

You're still reading.

Did you think I was kidding around?
I know -- I'm always kidding around.
But that time I was serious.

No, really.
Just a sec.
That's all.
Thanks.

Okay, ha-ha. I get it.
It's funny you're still reading.
But now, I'm serious.
Really.

Come on.
I asked nicely.
Please.
You're not being very cool.

Why are you doing this to me?

I just need a second.
That's all.
Just a second.

Okay, you know what? Now I'm getting mad.
I mean, I know you're just trying to have fun and make me laugh.
But I'm just not in the mood.

My show's about to get cancelled.
And my dog's got a lump on his leg the size of a softball.
And my kids don't go to bed when they're supposed to.
And there's been construction going on in my house for the past year.
And I'm just -- I'm tired, okay?
So I'm not in the mood to laugh.

No, seriously.

You know what? Just go to hell.