Just as a receding tide can mean a tsunami is coming and a penis in a porn can mean a man is cumming, seeing signs of danger is indicates that there is no way of avoiding certain doom. That is why we usually say:
“If you can see it, it’s already too late.”
Come one come all to the most thrilling live comedy event there’s ever been. If you want to come, the show is in downtown Littleton at a little bar called Karma. It’s this Saturday (4/10) at 8:00pm…there is a $10.00 cover. If you say you’re with me, your cover will only be $10.00. I will be performing. You’re welcome to come and laugh/hurl rotten fruit.
You’ll often hear that quality is a better attribute than quantity. For most things this is true. While eating my weight in Snickers sounds heavenly, my waistline and wallet are better off if I just savor one or two.
Quality often supersedes quantity but not within the realm of comedy. This sounds counterintuitive. It seems that the comedian with quality material is a better comedian. What gets overlooked in this example is that comedic material takes time to develop.
Rarely is a good joke written. Usually a good joke is one that is rewritten and rehearsed over and over. With time and practice, a joke can evolve into a prized piece. As a series of jokes take shape, a bit forms and soon a comedian might have a decent two minutes.
Of course, not every concept makes a good joke. A comedian must note each idea and invest time and energy turning that idea into a joke. Dozens of ideas a day run a gamut of tests to prove their hilarity. Some make laughs while others find their way into the ever growing pile of bad ideas/my jokes.
It is for this reason that quantity is of the utmost importance in comedy. The more ideas that a comedian has, the more opportunity he has to create quality material. Quantity leads to quality.
So, the next time you hear a comics’ great joke, take a moment and think of the process. Realize it is the quantity of ideas, time and effort that made you giggle and then tip accordingly.
Way back when I was in college I went to one of the most crowded and fun parties that I’ve ever been to. I made my way through the drunk student body that was the living room into the kitchen. I discovered a fire extinguisher and decided to make things a little more interesting. After all, what would the most epic party be without a smoke machine? I set off the extinguisher in the kitchen and everybody panicked. Hundreds of people nervously struggled to get out of the house. Many people squished through the front and back doors while others dropped from windows.
For those of you who don’t know, the chemical composition of some fire extinguishers depletes air of oxygen, thus eliminating one of the essential elements of a burning fire. This suffocation effect also feels like tear gas. Because the party was so big and rowdy, people thought that the police had come to break it up.
As everybody vacated the house into the front lawn, I continued to spray the fire extinguisher. It wasn’t long before I was confronted by a small man (possibly Tom Green). He commanded me to cease and threatened to kick my ass if I didn’t. He began counting down from ten. At each number, I sprayed the extinguisher on his foot. I don’t remember what happened after he counted three. According to accounts of the incident, Tom Green’s friend clocked me in the head and I fell to the ground. I remember waking up shortly after amidst a brawl. Dozens of people piled up around me and grappled and fought for no other reason but to grapple and fight. I made it out with a scar and a point.
The point is that there are many things to avoid in your life but a fight is not one of them. Yes, this was one of the dumbest things I ever did, but it was exhilarating. There are stories still circulating about what exactly happened and it gets more interesting and funny with every anecdote. If I were you (and there is a strong chance that I am), I would highly suggest instigating a fight. Here, then, are 10 reasons why:
10. It will show everyone that you’re not gay (unless you instigate a slap fight, in which case, it means you’re really gay)
9. You can fight anything from a bully to a small animal to a mound of dirt
8. It proves that you, and not Tony Danza, are the boss
7. It enables you to collect odd scars not resulting from risky sexual behavior
6. Even mild concussions are more entertaining than any drug induced episode
5. You can take the skills you learn to prison when you’re arrested for assault
4. It’s the only accurate way of testing for hemophilia
3. You took three years of karate as a youngster and have yet prove yourself as a true yellow belt
2. It will boost your confidence…right in the face
-and, finally-
1. Fighting cures cancer
This was me at one hot point in my life
I was a fireman at one hot point in my life. It wasn’t the worst gig I’ve ever had, but it was no day at the beach. During my rookie year, I got hosed for always sleeping in. The other guys used to haze me by lighting matches and putting them out in my ears. I don’t care what you say, ear wax isn’t for candles. My fire chief would get all steamed about my work ethic. He always said that I shouldn’t try and be a hero because I’d probably accidentally kill someone. Little did he know, I only accidentally killed an old lady’s cat and an old lady. To my defense, the cat was already on fire. After that incident, the chief (who I suspect knew nothing of it) put me on paperwork detail. To get funding for our department, he made me write these back drafts. The only thing I really liked about the job is that we went out to Buffalo Wild Wings a couple times after work and got their hottest wings: Blazin’. Besides that, I wasn’t very good at putting out fires. Fire fighting just wasn’t for me. Luckily, a job at the meat packing plant opened after one of their oldest employees didn’t show up. I was rescued. Good riddens.
Ty and Aaron really break it down this week. They rant and rave about all the things that make the month of March better than the rest. Remember green beer vomit? They do. They’ve got picks on next year’s Oscar show, the NCAA men’s basketball tournament and all things Ides. They hope you enjoy all that they have to offer. Check out our pub crawl: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=394082939413&ref=mf Join us if you can and if you can’t. We love you.
There comes a time in every relationship when the love is strained. Every couple has their way of managing these shaky times. One of my favorites and usually the subject of many daytime television talk shows is when a couple thinks it’s appropriate to add another person. I’m talking about threesomes or menage a trois. Mixing it up a little seems to be a good treatment for an ailing partnership. I’m here to tell you that it is not.
The game of ‘plus one’ is dangerous. Men think that a shaky relationship can only be saved in the bedroom. His mindset is that if he can get her to “Oh face” one more time, things’ll be saved. But that’s the tricky part. Women think outside the box spring. A woman would sacrifice somewhat on the lovemaking side if it meant a man would treat her right.
But, a man thinks the word threesome automatically assumes that the girl he’s been fantasizing about at work is going to magically accept his gracious offer to sleep with him and his girlfriend or wife. Wrong. A man’s best chance at attracting another woman to aid his failing relationship is probably going to begin and end with a hooker. Like picking a puppy from a pet store, this method will most certainly bankrupt your budget and leave many piss stains on your rugs. Once you bring your new friend, Cinnamon, home to meet the fam, I’m sure you’ll find that things have already gone awry.
I must say, that nothing makes a woman feel more special than a spin around the bed with some other chick driving. Psyche. Women hate that. A girl wants to feel like she’s the only one in the world. Sleeping with you and your wife doesn’t accomplish that goal. Sleeping with you and another girl doesn’t do it for your wife either. My advice: don’t do this, you can’t make the bonds of love stronger by adding another person; it will only strain things further.
For women, however, salvaging a union with a threesome takes on another meaning entirely. Similar to men, the conquest begins in the bedroom. When women think threesome, they think baby. As wonderful as a bundle of joy can be, this is disastrous. For women, a baby signifies a milestone in life and shows the world that they’re fertile and responsible. This is a strong message to send to the bitches from high school. For men, however, a baby means extra expense. The man must work harder and more often to provide for his partner and his newly fashioned love child. As a result, he fills all of his time working and seldom sees the family he fights so hard to preserve. My advice: don’t do this either. Once again, adding another person to a strained relationship will only hurt your chances of sanctity.
A threesome in a strained relationship, no matter how you describe it, is tricky. If you’re serious about an open relationship or having a baby, make sure that the lines of communication as well as the bonds that tie are solid. It’s not a tool for fixing or enhancing. Threesomes are meant for ruining lives. That’s why the only threesomes you know of are from the porno you watch. If you’re having difficulties with your relationship, talk it out. Touch and feel and listen. If that doesn’t work, cut your losses. Chances are there’s a couple of baby makers out there looking to mingle.
What do you call an Irish guy that stays out all night? Patty O’Furniture.
St. Patrick’s Day is quickly approaching. It’s one of those holidays that has special meaning for me and my wife. You see, it’s the “day of her people.” Part of her is Irish…her liver, I think. As a loving and supportive husband, it is my duty, neigh, my privilege to celebrate her heritage with eagerness and joy. Many great St. Patty’s Day parties and memories have been shared and forgotten.
There was the Great Green Gathering of ought seven. The neighbors called the cops because of all the car bombs. Plus, we had a dance party in the apartment until three in the mornin’.
And then there was the Green Machine. Enter Tyler “the Hate/Fuck” Davis, the proud owner of a 2004 green Buick. He parked it right on the bathroom wall and toilet seat of our college apartment. We had the Irish-Korean, Jon O’Leezy, to thank for that incident. He thought it’d be cute to serve Ty warm green beer ’til three in the mornin’. It was a grand old time.
This year is going to live up to the hype. We’re going out, Irish style! (That means without potatoes).
For anyone who’s interested…this is a pre-invitation invitation for a St. Patrick’s Day Pub Crawl.
We’re doing a good old fashioned pub crawl around Lakewood, CO on Wednesday, March 17th. JDubs and I are going to call it Irish Golf or something cute and nonsensical like that. You gotta dress up. We’re going to hit up some local dives that are within walking distance from our old potato factory (that’s Irish-speak for ‘house’). If you’d like to participate, send me a comment or an email or a text or letter via Pony Express or just call. And, as always, if you’d like to hang out but don’t want to get caught up in some drinking and driving malarkey, you can always stay at our place for the night/weekend (standard rates apply)…did someone say dance party? Let’s get “jiggy”.
You read right. I’m a paid comedian. Actually, I won twenty dollars in a comedy contest last night at Old Chicago’s Comedy on the Rocks contest. I was in the zone. I brought the energy up in the room so high that they had to scrape it off the ceiling with a broom, or so they said. I did a few stories. I told a pun. I had the benefit of having my lovely wife and several compatriots attend the show also. I pretty much ran the gamut and pulled out all the stops. I plan to do it again. Here, have a listen: Feb 24 Standup by wolsamnoraa
Grrroowwlll. I went to the Lion’s Lair on Monday Night which is a bar…the Lion’s Lair not Monday Night. I did some stand up comedy. I pretty much brought the house down with some information that was given to me by the late, great Tyler Hate Fuck Davis (not pictured). Let me just say that Avatar was a movie.
Thanks to Steve Biernacki and Ryan Blum and Alex Nelson for coming out to see the whole thing. I am indebted to you men for all time or until this coupon expires in April, 2010. But seriously; thanks. And thanks, Steve, for the beers…you’re the guy…that got me beers for a dollar a piece
!
My mother is a big, hairy gorilla. That’s right, stay with me. She’s an ape.
If you ask her about it, she claims to be of a young evolutionary age. Her name is Simeon. She was born in a jungle, she fishes ants out of logs with sticks and she has a hairy back like all the other gorillas.
She talks to me using the monkey sign language that she learned at the institute.
You’re probably wondering where I came from and why I don’t look much like a baby gorilla. First of all, you haven’t seen my hairy back and secondly, my father was a run of the mill banana salesman. Mom was his best customer and paid in full with premium primate lovin’.
Come 'ere, Gorilla Baby...mmmuuah
Thankfully, I only got Dad’s good looks and not his lust for monkey meat.
Dad died when I was just a boy of ape. During one of her sh&t fits, mom accidentally suffocated him with poop. I tried to figure out why she was so mad I got confused when she tried to use her monkey sign language while hurling feces.
I found out later that Dad was cheating on mom with some overgrown chimp named Buttons. After that they sent her to sit behind bars at the zoo.
The zoo keepers try to get her to mate by putting male gorillas in her cage. She mates, but I can’t bear to watch. I can see the pain in her eyes when she’s getting aped from behind.
She told me that she misses Dad and that no other gorilla can take his place. I said, “What about another man?”
A switch flipped. She got so excited that the zoo keepers tazed her. I went to the only place I know to find an ape loving man…the “Miscellaneous Romance” section on Craigslist.
I found my gorilla mom a human man. He is ironically named Evolution. He and my mother, Simeon, have fallen in love. She is going to remarry. I am happy for my monkey mom, but I’m disturbed by Evolution’s motives. It’s a sick thing for a man to lust for a gorilla.
I’m not going to their wedding. My mother went ape shit when she heard this and sent Evolution to come talk to me.
Evolution said to me, “Marriage of man and ape is the natural progression.” To which I replied, “Evolution, you can take your love a step farther, but I won’t have you as a step father.”
100 blogs are like 100 mL of kitten in that people eat them up so quickly no one is really counting
This article ranks as my 100th blog post. Yippee! I’m excited in a fun kind of way. I never thought I could do anything more than once, but here I am sitting atop a mound of progress.
I’ve found that blogging is stimulating, relaxing and stressful all at the same time. While I try to maintain regularity in my posting schedule, I avoid posting filler material. I specifically design each article to stimulate and excite my readership (that’s right…you’re gonna get tickled!). If I feel a post is sub par or lacks creativity and humor, I won’t post it. ”Forget the schedule!” I scream through the flow of tears. I find that blogging is as fulfilling as any dream job or sex act. I encourage all interested parties to start blogging. Here, then, are 10 reasons that you should blog:
10. Bloggers do it for twelve hours a day. Now that’s Tantric!
9. It’s free and will only cost you your time and money.
8. You’ll make people feel better about themselves when you reveal your incompetence and insecurities.
7. It’s a great way to expel a lifetime of knitting knowledge without pissing off your last remaining friends.
6. There is more money to be made on the Internet than you could ever imagine…I’ve heard.
5. Blogging is guaranteed to make you a social media marketing expert over night and, also, I insist.
4. Blogging is a great way to look busy while avoiding real work.
3. Some people may or may not like you no better nor worse.
2. Fame and fortune will instantly greet you within your first five-thousand posts, give or take.
-and, finally-
1. If I can do it, surely, you can do it much better.
Thanks for reading along for all this time. I appreciate your feedback. I especially like hearing you express what you like and dislike. My wife and mother did not like a post I wrote that explained the timely process of shaving my genitals. Other people thank me for giving them a good laugh every so often. As nice as it is, I’d like to thank you again for entertaining yourself with these foolish antics. I plan to continue forever and always or until something better pops up. In case you’ve missed it, here is a short list of my favorite posts in no particular order…
Misleading Wikipedia Information Or “Duh” For Short
New Tattoo For You Plus Two A.K.A The Jackalope
You Kissed Your Step-Brother’s Sister
If these or any other posts strike your fancy, tell your friends. Thanks for having me.
You can give the dog tacos if he does his trick
Part of the new diet that I started last week is to get my flabby, smelly self to the gym at least every once and a while. While seemingly good, this strategy faces a mogul. Herein lies the problem; at the heart of every diet there is a monster lurking waiting to rear its ugly head. Since I have limited my work-outs to binge eating and seldom vomiting (great for your abs but not your self-esteem), it has been much more difficult to move around efficiently.
I liken it to one of those gym commercials on TV. In the commercial, every body’s fit and looking good. The price in the ad suggests you could afford a membership to the gym, and maybe that’s true. However, since you lack any sort of physique (let alone a healthy one) and risk judgment from other members, you permanently fix yourself to the sofa. You essentially decide that in order to fit in at the commercial’s gym, you’d first have to join a less reputable gym filled with ugly people that you feel comfortable around until you developed into a worthy specimen. In other words, there’s a lot of work involved just to start the work that’s involved. Clearly, not worth it.
And that’s me. I decided that getting old, fat me up and off the couch is a work-out in itself. It’s such a heavy burden to bear, in fact, that such work usually deserves a salty/sugary/fat laden snack or two, or three, or just gimme the whole box, dammit!
The cycle will continue until one day, I look out from the body of an enormous gastropod only to see that TLC is filming in my living room. Yes, the TV that I ignored for so long will find me out once again, thus, showing me what a waste I’ve become. I imagine that the producers of “House Whale” will try convincing me of some exotic and new gastric bypass surgery that, in the event it doesn’t kill me, will take me down a size or two, or three, or just gimme…
Unfortunately, after some initial excitement, I imagine the brochures that the producers show me to sell their fancy surgery are riddled with svelte recovering fat freaks. I will again hold that I could only accept the exotic bypass procedure if first I incurred a smaller surgery at a less reputable clinic. The producers will discuss the issue and ultimately reject my claim. I will wither away into a fifteen hundred pound puddle of tears and nothing more.
No matter how hard I work-out, there is no way I will ever lose the ugly head.
This is no joke...he needs a smoke. It's part of his identity.
Life is a test of finding your niche. Your self-worth is determined by the relationships that you create. Phrases like “match made in Heaven” or “balance is best” come to mind. After all, acceptance is human nature. It’s as important to discover yourself as it is to find people who value you for the person you claim to be.
These discoveries may include finding a mate that loves you exactly the same as you love it; eating the right diet that tastes good but doesn’t make you fat; smoking the right brand of cigarettes; landing the right job; watching just a little less TV than the American average and other things. But these life long quests can lead to some not-so-good outcomes. Mixing the desire to be accepted with self-satisfying behavior is absurdly difficult.
There is a major conflict that stands between these two endeavors. If in the attempt to discover yourself you fail, then your record will be tarnished. To find out what things you like, you may venture into territory that’s not suited to your interests. In doing so, you discover that the activity which you are participating, is, in fact, deviant behavior.
Maybe you try tea in place of coffee or do a different type of work out at the gym or, perhaps you journeyed into the bi-sexual section of your Netflix account. Now you’re being solicited movie titles like Harry, Dick and Sue and Boys on the Side. Your wife logs into the account and boom; now you’re in therapy.
You didn’t find what you were looking for and, as a result of your curiosity, you get singled-out and mocked.
Unfortunately, because of the fear of judgment and exclusion you face by discovering yourself, you hesitate to ever step “outside the box”. And so it happens. You ultimately wave your God given right to be your own person and stick to the mainstream. The perfect pair…you and everybody else.
I’ve been applying to jobs here and now just to appease some of my friends at the corporate office. My attitude has been that I’ve got so much on my plate there’s no real reason to be looking for a job in any serious regard. That all changed yesterday when I had an epiphany of sorts. I don’t need to work, I want to work! Although dickin’ around on the Interwebs is phenomenally entertaining and fun and keeps me busy most of the day, it just doesn’t pay a whole lot. Yeah, blogging and jerking off at the computer is work for me, but it’s not enough.
Money Talks and also sucks
Money talks and walks and I was at a baseball game once and I saw the pitcher, a crisp five-dollar bill right up from the minors miff a pitch; apparently money also balks. Money isn’t the only reason I want to work but it doesn’t hurt. Recently, I attended a Jefferson County workforce-center seminar that introduced me to the idea that working for a living isn’t all that bad. ”It’s not?” I distastefully murmured. It’s what the Communists call Utopia. It’s what I call sweet salad dressing. The delicious aftertaste to an otherwise bland heap of roughage.
Life is work. It’s just that and if the work doesn’t pay, you need to move on. So that’s what I’m proposing here. I am moving on. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still be blogging my face off and pursuing my dreams of successful dreaming. I will just be adding a paycheck to it…somehow. I hear Craigslist is popular.
If you’ve got any ideas or know a guy who is looking for my type of talent (you know? The 6’2″, handsome and well-groomed type of talent), then drop me a line. I’ll see you on the other side.
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