Throw Me A Bone

The comedy world may not be a world that I can say that I'm in, but I certainly can see it from where I'm standing... and when you are that close you need to do things to get into the planetary atmosphere. One of the things you can do is to "bark."

This has nothing to do with Arsenio Hall, the great DMX or trying to determine who it was that let the dogs out... "Barking" is basically the act of standing on the sidewalk and trying to talk people into the comedy club.

I got to have my first barking experience last week, and I can't say that they call it "barking" because you feel like a dog, but I can tell you that you really do.

One of the greatest parts about barking is that it makes you invisible - not just your body, but I guess your clothes too. I know that I'm standing there, I know that I'm saying, "stand-up comedy show tonight," and I know that people walk past me like they hear or see nothing.

I'm not sure if that's the best, though, but I do know the worst is that I had a woman walk by and completely ignore me - but that wasn't enough for her. As she got about 9 feet away from me she actually turned to the people she was with and asked, "did you see the way I ignored him?"

Yep. This bitch was celebrating!

Again, its hard to be sure which parts of this are the best, but another one in the running is the Oh-You're-A-Comic-Then-Tell-Me-A-Joke Guy. This dismissive asshole is one of a kind. Well more accurately, he's really one in ten people, but he's not as bad as the Tell-Me-Where-[Obscure Business]-Is Guy.

I guess there is something about standing outside that makes you look like either a map or the yellow pages.

I had a guy come up to me and ask where a Chinese food place was. If I could tell him of one, he'd let me give him our little handbill with the show information on it.

Does this motherfucker think he walked onto the set of Let's Make a Deal?! I'm not trying to win a new car, I just want to give you a little card.

Speaking of the card!

Judging by the way these people act, you'd think I was trying to hand them anthrax!!! I particularly enjoy the people who run past me like a football player moving down the sideline trying to get a few more feet before he's pushed out of bounds. Do these people think I'm gonna tackle them with a little flyer?!

They must think that because as they run past some of them even put their hands out and make the invisible fence while they do that tippy-toe run players do while trying to stay on the edge of a football field.

I guess there must be something menacing about 10 or 15 square-inches of (literally) paper-thin cardboard. I could understand this mentality if I was walking at you with a meat cleaver... but I'm not.

So, for the good of everyone involved, treat the barker with a little respect - no scratch that - just treat them with some good old common courtesy. Please.

Because if not, the meat cleaver scenario can be arranged.

And the Winner Isn't...

We just past Nobel Peace Prize Season, and I have to admit that I love that time of the year. I love it because, for me, it's one thing that I know will never lead to disappointment.

There's never gonna be a year that I'm sitting by my phone thinking to myself, you know, this could be my year.

It's never gonna be my year! Ive got about the same chance of winning any of the Nobel Prizes as I do of putting together a three-some with the Virgin Mary.

I'm sure statements like that go a long way toward ensuring that I will NEVER win, but it's more than that. I'm starting to see that I'm just not a nice person.

If you've read any of my other entries, you've seen that I'm not really nice to that Singin' Hillbilly, the First Lady, the Material Girl, etc... but it's not like celebrities are the only people I'm mean to.

There are a lot of hurricanes where I live, which doesn't bother me, but it makes my friends and family very panicky. During Hurricane season I get a call once a week asking if I'm okay and if I'm about to be washed away...

One time I got a text message on my cell phone just saying "are you alive?" To which I had to text back, "No. But the good news is there IS an afterlife... and they get cell reception."

At this point I realize that I'm more than a little mean spirited... In truth, I am just a real piece of shit.

I was out to dinner with friends last week and a guy comes into the restaurant with a big head. I mean giant... his head was so big it should have be being led down the street by Macy's employees... This is what it would look like if you gave birth to a water-tower. That kinda big.

Naturally I comment on this to my friend and the guy hears me. He tells me off, and then goes to his table.

Then it hit me! I felt something I've never felt before: guilt.

I felt so bad that I wrote a note and sent it over to his table to apologize. My heart was in the right place - how could I have known that when he bent down to read it he'd break his neck?!

Just kidding... but when I walked by his table to leave, I did push his head back and take some candy out of his neck.

I'm not nice, but I know an opportunity when I see one!

A REAL Lesson At School

My family went to some $150-a-plate dinner at my old high school a few weeks ago, which got me thinking about a few things… (Not the least of which being how the fuck do they have that kinda cash?)

When they got home we did some reminiscing about high school, and I mentioned how much I loved recess. My girlfriend was there and couldn't believe that as a student in high school I still had recess.

After refuting a barrage of questions revolving around wither or not I got to this school on a short bus, I explained that they didn't CALL it recess, but we did have a good amount of time after lunch before our next class that we were supposed to spend outside. Since I'm not here to rename the wheel, I'll just call it recess and move on.

Mystified, and with a rather snotty tone in her voice, she asked what we did at recess. One day, I confessed, I used the time to push a fat kid through a window…

See, on this particular day I was hanging out with a kid named Big Al. I'm not gonna say it was right, but that's what he was called. The problem was that Big Al was just that; Big. So, when I playfully pushed him in the school yard, I expected him to be moved a few feet backward and stop there. But, as I said, Big Al was just that; Big.

The thing I didn't take into account when I pushed Big Al was inertia. Inertia is a fancy way of saying that something that's moving is probably gonna keep moving, and Big Al was a greater victim of inertia than most.

When he got to the place on the ground that I figured his feet would stop, they did… but all that did was take the fat on Big Al's arms, legs, chest, earlobes, eye lids, etc. and swing it back - basically pushing him all over again.

Now, I wasn't exactly a math-wiz, but in my head I began to do some sort of crazy equation that tried to determine where Big Al was likely to stop. As I did this, it became clear that it was not gonna end well for me or Big Al.

As his back began to pass through a nearby window, the crashing sound brought teachers from far and wide like lambs to the slaughter - MY slaughter. I figured that was it, and got ready to spend the time it would take for my parents to come and get me thinking of a perfectly valid reason I got thrown out of school for attempted murder.

But, with great looks of concern, all the teachers did was ask if I'd take Big Al down to the nurse. I stood there in disbeliefe for a second, then realized it was probably smart to get moving before they changed thier minds.

Big Al was fine. No visible blood or shards of glass hanging out of his Big skin, but we went anyway, and, in that second I started to walk to the nurse's office I learned a terrific lesson that I've tried to use every time I've been in trouble since:

If you're gonna get in trouble, always make sure there is the threat of injury, so that when everyone is safe, people are too thankful to be mad at you.

[Corny Public Service Announcement music fades out]

Forward Thinking

What do fruit that looks like a penis, a threat of gang-related violence and my "porn name" all have in common?

No, the answer is not that they all involve me getting fucked, (well not in the traditional sense, anyway.) The connection is that I have been annoyed by all of them in a forwarded email!

If you have my email address, if you might have it, if you know someone who has it, if you know how to get it, if you plan to get it, if you lost it, if you can read these words - STOP WITH THE FUCKIN' FORWARDS!!

* * * * *

This just in from our News Department: forwards are never interesting! Never! They are never funny! They are never amusing! They only serve to waste the time of OCD types too neurotic to just press delete without wondering if there really IS something I need to see in there. (i.e. me!)

Forwards are a lot of pressure, and I'm tired of it! If I don't forward this to everyone in my inbox in the next ten minutes I won't get to make three wishes or some kid will die from cancer...

I don't need that kinda responsibility! I don't want my lack of participation to be the reason that God won't bless our troops.

Forwarding an email isnt thoughtful either, so don't try to go that route. There's no effort in them. I'd rather you click on my name and just drop your hands on the keyboard.

"Dear Ray,

a;sl akxslkjx.cz 'lkjdfsalksdjfa'...

Love,
Dad"

We have to stop forwards!

* * * * *

And this is where you can do your part...

Just copy the text between the stars and send my "anti-forwarding campaign" to everyone email address you have. Do it in the next 69 seconds or your computer will melt from a special strand of computer syphilis.

See - being American, I know the only way to fight fire IS with fire! If you can't beat them, join them. That's why I've come up with my OWN forward list. It's simple: if your email address comes to ME in a forwarded email - you are now on my forward list.

Like all proud parents, I take pictures of my baby virtually non-stop, and naturally I love to share those pictures with everyone I can. So, if your email address is included in something that gets forwarded to me you can look forward to getting an email each week with some photos of my baby.

As a matter of fact, I have to go now so I can comb the baby's hair. I want to be sure it looks good for this week's photos...



And, you have to know that by "baby" I mean my sack.