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Grave-Digging? I'm Here to Help.

When someone says, "Dig your own grave, buddy," I mean, that is really ruthless.  I will not only help you dig your grave, but when we're done, I will push you into it and bury you alive.  That's how compassionate I am.

Giving Birth vs. Doing Strange Things With Your Face

Carol Burnett said, "Giving birth is like taking your lower lip and forcing it over your head;" so the lady at the carnival agreed when she said, "Taking my lower lip and forcing it over my head is like giving birth."

The Future is Bright for Holocaust Humor

As Carol Burnett said, “Comedy is tragedy plus time,"  so the Holocaust gets funnier every year.

 
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No Room for Error

I'm 32 years old. Not only do I not own a home, but I live in the middle of an e-commerce company. I literally live in a railroad studio apartment (i.e. the bedroom is also a public walkway) between the warehouse and embroidery/design room of a company that sells merchandise on the Internet.

I have a 3 1/2 year old son who lives in Texas. I haven't seen him since Christmas, because I don't get along with his mother.

I have consumed large amounts of alcohol on a regular basis, consistently for the last 13 years. I ruined my cousin's wedding reception a few years ago by vandalizing a memorial at the bar/restaurant where it was being held.

I'm so forgetful that I was thinking to myself the other day, I wonder how many people have witnessed my absentmindedness and decided quietly to themselves that I am high on drugs.  The first times I consumed alcohol (hooch) and hard drugs (crystal meth), I was duped into doing so.

Speaking of duped, I've been arrested for being exceedingly naïve, playing the part of a pawn in a check-fraud scenario that I now find too embarrassing to describe. My almost incomprehensible foolishness cost me around $5,000; loss of freedom for a time (falling under the supervision of an anal retentive, bureaucratic parole officer); a clean criminal record (which still contains a bogus "petit theft" conviction); and my temporary sanity (submitting a deranged book proposal to my then-girlfriend and my literary agent, both of whom thereafter kept their distance).

Though I hold a college degree, I for some reason work as a delivery driver for a dry cleaning company. I bring people their clean clothes, I pick up their dirty clothes, and I tell them about our referral program. Sometimes I go door to door telling people about our delivery service, with the hopes that someone will sign up, and I will get a $25 bonus.

I am dating a very attractive woman right now. She is intelligent, educated, classy, and interesting; she sings jazz, freelance writes, and used to perform ballet professionally.

Anytime I date someone like this, I can't help but start to feel that I don't have any room for error. Unfortunately, the web of neuroses that mental/emotional viruses have been spinning throughout my mind since my childhood make error-free living a tall order. I fear my identity is founded in large part on habitually fucking up, on self sabotage.

I try to remind myself now, that though I am a comedian, my life does not need to be a joke. I move from randomness and impulse toward stability and a sense of peace. Sometimes, if I distract myself enough, I accidentally forget to end with a punchline.

Wiggle Room and Elbow Room

I will have a wiggle room and an elbow room in my family home.

The wiggle room will be for lighthearted play. The children will be able to enter that room whenever they want, and they will be able to stay in that room as long as they are wiggling.

The elbow room will be for more aggressive play. It is the room where my children will learn to protect themselves against surprise attacks by their elders. Starting at the age of four, my children will be expected to spend at least six hours a week in the elbow room. Upon entering the room, a blind and mute Russian attendant will supply the child with standard issue helmet, pads, and various materials with which to form barricades around themselves as well as (grossly insufficient, generally broken) weaponry with which to mount counteroffensives after their barricades have been destroyed and they have been mauled physically and emotionally by their elders.

Gay Rain: Fun for the Whole Family

Women really love that guy friend who will never become sexually pushy with them, no matter how drunk he gets -- that would be the gay friend. That is why I have created Gay Rain, the gay friend in liquid form. You just spray Gay Rain on your neck and shoulders, and almost immediately you feel understood and appreciated by a man who does not want to have sex with you in exchange for your friendship -- not even once!

Be aware that Gay Rain kills houseplants, causes autism in children under the age of three, and occasionally bursts out into showtunes.

Five Minutes Well Spent

When I say, "Suck it," I don't mean genitals. That's crude, and you can catch STDs that way. I am talking about a tailpipe.

I generally say this to elderly or mentally deficient people who get in my way in the supermarket. I accompany the directive with a visual demonstration, open mouthed and head bobbing air-tailpipe sucking with a loud whoosh of carbon monoxide inhalation. I repeat both the directive and the demonstration for emphasis as follows: directive, demonstration, directive, demonstration, directive, demonstration, directive, directive, directive, lengthy demonstration with eye contact sustained throughout.

Excrement: Common Ground for Pleasant Conversation

I don't think we talk about fecal matter enough on the first dates. "Listen lady," I've often been heard to say, "I don't want to hear about your likes and dislikes and how many siblings you've had. I want to hear your thoughts on excrement." (This is followed shortly thereafter by the words, "Check please," followed immediately by the clink of high heels exiting the establishment.)

I think part of the reason we aren't used to talking about bowel movements and the fruits thereof on the first date is because we don't have a sophisticated conceptual framework for discussing these movements/fruits, because we don't think about them enough. This can easily be solved.

Stool is something we should start devoting thirty minutes a day to contemplate. Many people set aside thirty minutes a day for meditation-- a devotion to clearing the mind. I ask you instead of clearing your mind to fill it with shit.

I will see you on Friday night.

Being Punk is Painful

I'm so punk, when I see a sign directing me toward the place I want to go, I refuse. Fuck the system that tries to tell me that American Airlines is at the second terminal on the left. I just drive straight home, punch another hole in my wall, and go back to the emergency room to have them realign the pins holding the bones of my hand together.