Monthly Archives: October 2012

‘The Question’

You know what I hate most about this time of the year?

Yes, ‘the question’.

“What costume are you going to wear this year?”

Why would you ask a grown ass man that? Especially me? But it doesn’t seem to stop some. Most times I’m as nice as I can be,

“Stop asking me stupid questions or I’ll think even less of you.”

But sometimes I tend to land of the not as nice as I can be side of the conversation. Like this morning when, in response to ‘the question’, I said,

“I told myself I’d go as the next asshole who asked me that so I guess I’m going to have to go as you.”

Zell, Like Machete, Does Not Text.

Don’t get me wrong, email is my friend. It’s the best way to communicate because it decreases the number of words people get to spit into my ear hole. But standing there with a phone (a telephonic device created to speak into) and typing on a keyboard made for a mouse is the height of lunacy. I know it’s because people love to be busy and nothing whiles away the hours then typing, “Hey! What are you donging tonight.”

Followed by the message. “DOING! I meant dogging. DOING! I meant doing. Fucking smart fill.” on their cramp inducing keyboard.

It’s nothing more than make work and I’m a lazy fucking ass.

If I want to know what a friend of mine is donging. . .DOING!. . .I meant doing (damn dyslexia) that evening I will dial his number, speak words
into a transmitter of sound and hang up the fucking phone! Fifteen seconds! BANG! Done! Back to doing nothing.

But, alas, I am a man alone with my principals. People text idiocy like, “I’ll be there in two minutes.” That gets to me the moment they walk in the
door. Is anyone else seeing the bizarre pattern here? First, why are you telling me that? To give me time to hide? To give one last thought to
whether I should go through with the booby trap I set or not? No. It’s nothing as helpful as that. It’s as if the quote, “I **, therefore I am.” has
morphed into, “I text, therefore I am so fucking busy and important!”

Go walk into a manhole and die your dweeb.

I am the type of person who will find the most expedite manner in which to complete a task.

THAT makes sense.

To me.

Sadly, not everyone I know.

There’s one guy (whose name I should change but I’m not because I want to publicly humiliate him), Mike Bruno, who will do nothing but text.
He actually got mad at me, he called me names! NAMES! All because I called him due to the fact that I need some information. Trust me, there is
no other reason for me to call him. A ‘friendly’ conversation with him as akin to eating grout. It not only leaves a bad taste in your mouth, it’s
going to make you sick to your stomach (yeah, he reads this. I told you I can I was in humiliation mode on Mike). But he got pissed that I forced
him to waste his dulcet tone on me.

“Just text me when you need to get me.” He said. “It’s much quicker.”

Let’s go over that for a second, shall we? You mean to tell me, Mike, you ass-eyed waste of feet, that you can type all that in and send it in the
three seconds it took you to say it? No wonder you’re always late for everything. You have the time management of a meerkats.

“Just text me when you need me.” He said completing out conversation.

Sadly, there happened to be another time I was forced to communicate with this fat bag of puss. So, following his directive, I typed in a message
and sent it to him. And when he got it, from the reaction I received (yes, more name calling) he did not appreciate the directness of my text

I don’t know why he got so angry. My text just said,

“Call me.”

Technology doesn’t. . .

. . .make every situation better.

A guy was talking to me about being in an argument with his girlfriend. He stopped taking her calls because it wasn’t helping. He actually turned off his phone because she won’t stop calling. He said she’s been leaving voice mails about twice a minute for the last day. I shook my head sadly and said,

“You kids these days. You’ll never know the satisfaction of taking a phone off the hook and letting her stew into a busy signal for a month.”


People are often willing to give me unsolicited advice about my work. How I should be funnier, how I should write in different styles, different formats, things that would make me a better writer, you know, things people who’ve never written anything longer than a to do list are qualified to critique.

Most times (as hard as it may be to believe) I’m nice. They’re trying to help. Listening is free. But every once in a while someone just won’t stop. It’s always that person who has the most useless advice.

“You should write something like The Walking Dead meets The Office.”

He actually said that. My response was,

“It’s been done. It’s called A Day At The Registry of Motor Vehicles.”

Finally I had to shut him up. I needed to go so I figured I’d say something so convoluted he’d be forced to wander off to ponder (or get the fuck away from me. I didn’t really care at this point.).

“Your opinion is your opinion because it’s your opinion. Your opinion is not right just because it’s your opinion.”

Ah, I love the sound of a brain clicking shut.

To show. . .

. . .(as if you needed it) that sometimes I take things too far (at least in some folks opinions), I was asked to write a thirty second ‘comedy ad’ for a ‘fake kids entertainer.’

Seems simple, huh? I figured I had twenty minutes to kill so I gave it a shot. I guess it’s up to you to tell me if I captured the spirit of the thing.

INT. Room Day
The Bobster is sitting on a chair with a guitar.

Coming to your area for the first time ever it’s the kiddie musical stylings of The Bobster! Pack the kiddies up and bring them around for a fun filled afternoon of hearing The Bobster sing his greatest hits. Hits you like like:

The Bobster (singing)
When you feel a little urge
And you know you wanna splurge
When you know you gotta poop
Say urrrgh

And how could you let your little loved ones go through life without knowing ratting is for jerks!

The Bobster
You’re lucky for your mother
and you’re lucky for your dad
so if you don’t want them to go
never tell the cops the things you know

Then there’s The Bobsters tale to brighten a little boys day.

The Bobster
Come on little boy
and wipe your tears
’cause grandpa can’t
touch you no more

And that’s not all! Who could forget The Bobsters back to school ditty!

The Bobster
It’s the first day of school
and it will only get better
if you don’t tell the kids
that you’re a bed wetter

Or his soothing night time song!

The Bobster
There are no monsters in the closet
There are no monsters in the closet
There are no monsters in the closet
They’re all ready in the room!

Then there’s the hit that got it all started for The Bobster!

The Bobster
It’s coloring time!
It’s coloring time!
So if you don’t want
Your father to die
Please make sure to
Stay between the lines!

Oh and don’t think The Bobster’s would forget to lay down a stern warning!

The Bobster
Don’t get into cars with strangers
Don’t get into cars with strangers
Don’t get into cars with strangers
And don’t play horsey with uncle Joe

And his song to soothe a little kids tears.

The Bobster
Hey little buddy
don’t you cry
Momma’ll find herself
another guy

And the uplifting song about that new baby coming home!

The Bobster
I know we had a new baby
but you don’t have to fret
mommy and daddy still love you
just a whole bitty bit bit less

And what kid can’t relate to the time they first try out adult words!

The Bobster
You know you’re not supposed
to say words like that
words like that words like that
You know you’re not supposed
to say words like that
do it again and I’ll kick your fucking ass! (swears will be beeped out of ad)

So get your tickets before the sell out! Come and listen to The Bobster and his entertaining musical stylings.

The Bobster
Come out and see The Bobster! We’ll all have a real good time!


Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? But it seems to me they won’t be asking me to submit anything again.


Proving I may not be a morning guy (having already proven I’m not an afternoon or night guy) I’m entering work early but there’s already someone waiting.

“Awesome!” He says cheerfully. “I hope you have breakfast ready.” He adds bright insult to high spirited injury.

“As a matter of fact,” I reply unlocking the door. “I have a bag of egg McGofuckyourselves with your name on them.”


My girlfriend and I were at a comedy club. We’re sitting outside the main stage. There’s a wood half wall and glass partition separating the rooms so it’s quieter when we’re at. A friend is on stage so she’s looking through the glass. Being short she has to stretch to see. Another comic friend comes over, sees her struggle so asks,

“Do you want ten fingers up?” He says helpfully.

“No thanks.” She replies. “I can only take two at a time.”

I bet the fucker steals that bit.