Friday, August 30, 2002
I WILL PAY YOU $5000 A WEEK TO WORK AT HOME
That's right, $5,000 a week. Sound to good to be true?
And all you have to do is clip personal ads out of the newspaper, put them in envelopes, and burn them in a metal garbage can. And you, too, can earn $5,000 a week.
How can I afford to pay anyone $5,000 a week? Simple! Using a new metastatized technique called "lying." Simply put, this "lying" allows me to get you to work, and alows you to believe that very soon, you will receive FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS A WEEK for doing practically nothing!
Here's some testimonials:
"Before, I was unemployed and broke. Thanks to Liam McEneaney's fantastic 'lying' technique, I am sporadically employed and worth hundreds of thousands of dollars on paper. Thanks Liam!"
- Sheila R., Janesville, Wisconsin.
Sheila did it, and she's a morbidly obese housewife with a third-grade education. That's right, she can't read or write! You should find out where she lives and throw rocks at her house while taunting her!
Also, if you want to make TEN GRAND IN JUST ONE NIGHT you can kill my wife. She's, um, very sick anyway, so it's not like she's going to live much longer. It's one of those diseases where you seem very healthy and normal until you drop dead one day, you know? But seriously, I've met this woman in the secretarial pool, and um, that's not improtant. I'll be out of the house this Saturday "taking my kids to the movies," so if it'll be easy; she'll probably be at home on the couch, eating Haagen Dazs out of the container and masturbating to a Brad Pitt movie. Maybe she'll be on the phone with that hellion mother-in-law of mine, dissecting my flaws. Whatever, anyway, make TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS A WEEK. And if my friend Jerry was serious, you can have the opportunity to make FIFTEEN, MAYBE TWENTY GRAND MORE!
Look, forget that bullshit about the burning personal ads thing, okay? I just wanted to get a gauge on what kind of man you were, how desperate you were for work. I got a gun, no one can trace it, serial numbers filed off, see? I'll have a rock-solid alibi, you're from the next township over so's no one will suspect you. Just do my wife, please. I'll take care of you buddy. Seriously.
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That's right, $5,000 a week. Sound to good to be true?
And all you have to do is clip personal ads out of the newspaper, put them in envelopes, and burn them in a metal garbage can. And you, too, can earn $5,000 a week.
How can I afford to pay anyone $5,000 a week? Simple! Using a new metastatized technique called "lying." Simply put, this "lying" allows me to get you to work, and alows you to believe that very soon, you will receive FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS A WEEK for doing practically nothing!
Here's some testimonials:
"Before, I was unemployed and broke. Thanks to Liam McEneaney's fantastic 'lying' technique, I am sporadically employed and worth hundreds of thousands of dollars on paper. Thanks Liam!"
- Sheila R., Janesville, Wisconsin.
Sheila did it, and she's a morbidly obese housewife with a third-grade education. That's right, she can't read or write! You should find out where she lives and throw rocks at her house while taunting her!
Also, if you want to make TEN GRAND IN JUST ONE NIGHT you can kill my wife. She's, um, very sick anyway, so it's not like she's going to live much longer. It's one of those diseases where you seem very healthy and normal until you drop dead one day, you know? But seriously, I've met this woman in the secretarial pool, and um, that's not improtant. I'll be out of the house this Saturday "taking my kids to the movies," so if it'll be easy; she'll probably be at home on the couch, eating Haagen Dazs out of the container and masturbating to a Brad Pitt movie. Maybe she'll be on the phone with that hellion mother-in-law of mine, dissecting my flaws. Whatever, anyway, make TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS A WEEK. And if my friend Jerry was serious, you can have the opportunity to make FIFTEEN, MAYBE TWENTY GRAND MORE!
Look, forget that bullshit about the burning personal ads thing, okay? I just wanted to get a gauge on what kind of man you were, how desperate you were for work. I got a gun, no one can trace it, serial numbers filed off, see? I'll have a rock-solid alibi, you're from the next township over so's no one will suspect you. Just do my wife, please. I'll take care of you buddy. Seriously.
Thursday, August 29, 2002
CASE CLOTHES-ED!
Speaking of my encounters with the homeless, one night, about six years ago, before I became such a snappy dresser, I was riding the E train home, and this homeless guy next to me started a conversation. Halfway through he said, "You know, I know where you can get some clothes. For free. They have these donated clothes bins at the Salvation Army." And I was dressed in what I thought were my "good" clothes.
RE: "THE GRIN REAPER (see below)
If that "How much does it smile to cost?" crack wass an Anti-Semitic slur, there's really nothing I can do about it. I mean, it's not like you accuse a homeless guy of a hate crime. What are you going to say? "Hey, Mr. Sleeps On The Street and Bums Change for Sterno Wine, quit oppressing me! With your clearly lower social status, you'll really hurt the good name of jews among the Passed Out on the Curb Community!"
I am going to Hell, yes yes.
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Speaking of my encounters with the homeless, one night, about six years ago, before I became such a snappy dresser, I was riding the E train home, and this homeless guy next to me started a conversation. Halfway through he said, "You know, I know where you can get some clothes. For free. They have these donated clothes bins at the Salvation Army." And I was dressed in what I thought were my "good" clothes.
RE: "THE GRIN REAPER (see below)
If that "How much does it smile to cost?" crack wass an Anti-Semitic slur, there's really nothing I can do about it. I mean, it's not like you accuse a homeless guy of a hate crime. What are you going to say? "Hey, Mr. Sleeps On The Street and Bums Change for Sterno Wine, quit oppressing me! With your clearly lower social status, you'll really hurt the good name of jews among the Passed Out on the Curb Community!"
I am going to Hell, yes yes.
Tuesday, August 27, 2002
GRIN REAPER
I was walking down the street last night, when a homeless man leaning on a building with some friends said, "Cheer up man, how much does it cost to smile?"
So I smiled at him, and he said, "That's better!"
How depressed do I look that a guy who begs for spare change has to tell me to cheer up?
NOTE TO LIAM: "How much does it cost?" Anti-Semitic slur? Call ADL today.
THE IMMORTAL LAUNDRY QUANDRY
I find that the closer I get to laundry day, the nicer I dress. That's because I like to save my nice clothes in case I have a last-minute meeting or something.
So the day before laundry day, I find myself in conversations like, "Hey buddy, that tuxedo's nice, but we don't dress that formally here at the bottle return center."
Now get in line behind that homeless guy. And don't forget to give him a smile, you Jew."
At the same time, women don't appreciate that when I show up to a date wearing a greasy "New York Fuckin' City" t-shirt and sweat pants, it's only because I care so very, very much.
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I was walking down the street last night, when a homeless man leaning on a building with some friends said, "Cheer up man, how much does it cost to smile?"
So I smiled at him, and he said, "That's better!"
How depressed do I look that a guy who begs for spare change has to tell me to cheer up?
NOTE TO LIAM: "How much does it cost?" Anti-Semitic slur? Call ADL today.
THE IMMORTAL LAUNDRY QUANDRY
I find that the closer I get to laundry day, the nicer I dress. That's because I like to save my nice clothes in case I have a last-minute meeting or something.
So the day before laundry day, I find myself in conversations like, "Hey buddy, that tuxedo's nice, but we don't dress that formally here at the bottle return center."
Now get in line behind that homeless guy. And don't forget to give him a smile, you Jew."
At the same time, women don't appreciate that when I show up to a date wearing a greasy "New York Fuckin' City" t-shirt and sweat pants, it's only because I care so very, very much.
Monday, August 26, 2002
THE ULTIMATE LATE NIGHT SKETCH COMEDY SHOW SKETCH
BOB and JANE are at a company party.
BOB: Gosh, Jane, this sure is a nice party.
JANE: It was really nice of Mr. White to throw this party for all of us employees at MegaTech.
BOB sees someone across the room.
BOB: Uh-oh, don't look now.
JANE (looking around): What? Where?
BOB: No, don't make eye contact. Great, he's coming over here.
JANE: Who?
RECURRING CHARACTER MAN, dressed in a wacky way that most people aren't dressed, walks over.
RECURRING CHARACTER MAN: Hey everyone. What's my catch-phrase?
BOB: Hi, Recurring Character Man.
JANE: Hi, Recurring Character Man.
RCM: Hey Bob, guess what?
BOB: What?
RCM: My catch phrase!
BOB: That's great, Recurring Character Man. Look, I have to go get some alcohol from the bar.
RCM: You guys can't have any alcohol. I drank it all. To get up the courage to tell you something.
JANE (concerned): What?
RCM: My catch-phrase!
BOB: Way to go.
MR. WHITE walks over.
MR. WHITE: Recurring Character Man. Bob. Jane.
BOB: Hi, Mr. White.
JANE: Hi Mr. White.
RCM: My catch phrase!
MR. WHITE: I hate to have to tell you this, but due to a glitch in accounting, only one of you gets a Christmas bonus this year.
BOB: Why?
RCM: Uh oh.
JANE: Recurring Character Man, you work in accounting, don't you?
RCM: Did I tell you guys my catch phrase yet?
BOB: Recurring Character Man, how could you?
RCM: I have a movie out, called "Recurring Character Man: The Movie." Check it out!
JANE: Oh, Recurring Character Man, you rascal!
BLACKOUT
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BOB and JANE are at a company party.
BOB: Gosh, Jane, this sure is a nice party.
JANE: It was really nice of Mr. White to throw this party for all of us employees at MegaTech.
BOB sees someone across the room.
BOB: Uh-oh, don't look now.
JANE (looking around): What? Where?
BOB: No, don't make eye contact. Great, he's coming over here.
JANE: Who?
RECURRING CHARACTER MAN, dressed in a wacky way that most people aren't dressed, walks over.
RECURRING CHARACTER MAN: Hey everyone. What's my catch-phrase?
BOB: Hi, Recurring Character Man.
JANE: Hi, Recurring Character Man.
RCM: Hey Bob, guess what?
BOB: What?
RCM: My catch phrase!
BOB: That's great, Recurring Character Man. Look, I have to go get some alcohol from the bar.
RCM: You guys can't have any alcohol. I drank it all. To get up the courage to tell you something.
JANE (concerned): What?
RCM: My catch-phrase!
BOB: Way to go.
MR. WHITE walks over.
MR. WHITE: Recurring Character Man. Bob. Jane.
BOB: Hi, Mr. White.
JANE: Hi Mr. White.
RCM: My catch phrase!
MR. WHITE: I hate to have to tell you this, but due to a glitch in accounting, only one of you gets a Christmas bonus this year.
BOB: Why?
RCM: Uh oh.
JANE: Recurring Character Man, you work in accounting, don't you?
RCM: Did I tell you guys my catch phrase yet?
BOB: Recurring Character Man, how could you?
RCM: I have a movie out, called "Recurring Character Man: The Movie." Check it out!
JANE: Oh, Recurring Character Man, you rascal!
BLACKOUT
Friday, August 23, 2002
GODDAMMIT
The government has commissioned a $23 million $23 million study to find out what caused the Twin Towers to collapse on September 11th. $23 million!
I can sum it up in one sentence: Two planes were flown into them.
I mean what else do they want to know? The government claims that it wants to use this study to make future building codes stricter so that future buildings can be safer. I can just imagine this panel's recommendations:
1. Don't fly planes into buildings.
2. Uh, also, don't, uh, fly planes into buildings.
3. These new buildings will be much safer if you don't fly planes into them.
4. I hope you don't expect your money back because we already spent it on lunch.
I BOUGHT BABY SHAMPOO
And now my hair keeps me up all night crying.
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The government has commissioned a $23 million $23 million study to find out what caused the Twin Towers to collapse on September 11th. $23 million!
I can sum it up in one sentence: Two planes were flown into them.
I mean what else do they want to know? The government claims that it wants to use this study to make future building codes stricter so that future buildings can be safer. I can just imagine this panel's recommendations:
1. Don't fly planes into buildings.
2. Uh, also, don't, uh, fly planes into buildings.
3. These new buildings will be much safer if you don't fly planes into them.
4. I hope you don't expect your money back because we already spent it on lunch.
I BOUGHT BABY SHAMPOO
And now my hair keeps me up all night crying.
Wednesday, August 21, 2002
IF YOU'RE IN NY
Why not stop by my one-man show? Details in the column on the left.
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Why not stop by my one-man show? Details in the column on the left.
AIN'T GOT NO LOVE FOR NO HOS
I was walking down the street, and I got solicited by a prosititute. Thge thing is, they can't just come right out and ask, "Do you want to have sex for money?" Because i might be an undercover cop, especially when I'm wearing my Member's Only jacket and stone-washed jeans.
So they ask questions thath ave nothing to do with sex-for-money. The thing is though that the answers to their questions is always, "Yes," even though I'm not answering their real question. I mean, "Yes I do want a date, and yes I would like some company. But no, I wouldn't want to pay fifty dollars for a blowjob."
I CALL HER MONICA "BLEWINSKY" HAHAHAHAHAHA
I was reading a gossip column with a friend of mine, and there was a picture of Monica Lewinsky crossing the street. And my friend remarked, "Looks like she's really let herself go." And the thing is that he sounded surprised.
Like, "Yeah, she really seemed to have it all together a few years ago when she was defending herself on TV for blowing a married man in the Oval Office. No self-esteem issues there. I wonder when she fell apart?"
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I was walking down the street, and I got solicited by a prosititute. Thge thing is, they can't just come right out and ask, "Do you want to have sex for money?" Because i might be an undercover cop, especially when I'm wearing my Member's Only jacket and stone-washed jeans.
So they ask questions thath ave nothing to do with sex-for-money. The thing is though that the answers to their questions is always, "Yes," even though I'm not answering their real question. I mean, "Yes I do want a date, and yes I would like some company. But no, I wouldn't want to pay fifty dollars for a blowjob."
I CALL HER MONICA "BLEWINSKY" HAHAHAHAHAHA
I was reading a gossip column with a friend of mine, and there was a picture of Monica Lewinsky crossing the street. And my friend remarked, "Looks like she's really let herself go." And the thing is that he sounded surprised.
Like, "Yeah, she really seemed to have it all together a few years ago when she was defending herself on TV for blowing a married man in the Oval Office. No self-esteem issues there. I wonder when she fell apart?"
Tuesday, August 20, 2002
AS A PUBLIC SERVICE, I'D LIKE TO SHARE
OTHER ALERT LEVELS
I'm sure we're all familiar with Red, Yellow, and Blue, the beloved terrorism alertness levels that the Bush administration deploys every time a story breaks about an administration official getting involved in an insider trading scam. But did you know about these other levels?
* CODE MAUVE: Al Qaeda planning to redecorate American homes
* CODE POLKA DOT: Hundreds of terrorists planning to smuggle into US in one tiny clown car.
* CODE BURNT UMBER: Terrorists have taken the Crayola factory.
* CODE ULTRAVIOLET: Bin Laden in his parents' rec room listening to "Dark Side of the Moon"
* CODE KHAKI: Al Qaeda has infiltrated the Gap.
* CODE PAISLEY: Terrorists have struck 1967.
* CODE PINK: Al Qaeda planning to throw '70s theme disco party.
* CODE PUCE: Mohammed Atta working behind the counter at Laura Ashley
* CODE OHMYGODWEREALLGONNADIE: Someone found out about Cheney's little "mess" in '84.
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OTHER ALERT LEVELS
I'm sure we're all familiar with Red, Yellow, and Blue, the beloved terrorism alertness levels that the Bush administration deploys every time a story breaks about an administration official getting involved in an insider trading scam. But did you know about these other levels?
* CODE MAUVE: Al Qaeda planning to redecorate American homes
* CODE POLKA DOT: Hundreds of terrorists planning to smuggle into US in one tiny clown car.
* CODE BURNT UMBER: Terrorists have taken the Crayola factory.
* CODE ULTRAVIOLET: Bin Laden in his parents' rec room listening to "Dark Side of the Moon"
* CODE KHAKI: Al Qaeda has infiltrated the Gap.
* CODE PAISLEY: Terrorists have struck 1967.
* CODE PINK: Al Qaeda planning to throw '70s theme disco party.
* CODE PUCE: Mohammed Atta working behind the counter at Laura Ashley
* CODE OHMYGODWEREALLGONNADIE: Someone found out about Cheney's little "mess" in '84.
Tuesday, August 13, 2002
TODAY'S BLOG ENTRY IS ABOUT YOU!
Yes, you have inspired today's entry. This is 100% based on your ligfe, personality, and what I perceive to be your flaws.
There's no mistaking it, you're the only person about whom these words could ever have been written.
Confratulations, you are just as important as your paranoid little mind thought.
By the way, maybe it's time to kill your neighbors.
MORE ABOUT DRUNK FRIENDS
I like being friends with alcoholics, specifically black-out drunks. Not for any sordid reasons, but because I can make their lives more exciting just by the way I lie about the things they did the night before.
I tell them that they did exciting things like, "Oh, dude, you don't remember? When you led the state police on a 100 mph chase through New Mexico and then used that drawbridge as a ramp and landed in the middle of that whorehouse drug deal and hooked up with all those chicks? It was fucking awesome!"
And then their chronic alcoholism becomes a gateway to adventure!
This also makes me feel better about stealing their wallets.
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Yes, you have inspired today's entry. This is 100% based on your ligfe, personality, and what I perceive to be your flaws.
There's no mistaking it, you're the only person about whom these words could ever have been written.
Confratulations, you are just as important as your paranoid little mind thought.
By the way, maybe it's time to kill your neighbors.
MORE ABOUT DRUNK FRIENDS
I like being friends with alcoholics, specifically black-out drunks. Not for any sordid reasons, but because I can make their lives more exciting just by the way I lie about the things they did the night before.
I tell them that they did exciting things like, "Oh, dude, you don't remember? When you led the state police on a 100 mph chase through New Mexico and then used that drawbridge as a ramp and landed in the middle of that whorehouse drug deal and hooked up with all those chicks? It was fucking awesome!"
And then their chronic alcoholism becomes a gateway to adventure!
This also makes me feel better about stealing their wallets.
Monday, August 12, 2002
"When they show the destruction of society on color TV, I want to be able to look out over Los Angeles and make sure they get it right."
- Phil Ochs
PIE A LA MODE OF TRANSPORTATION
Why do people bring their bikes on the subway? The whole point of a bicycle is that it's a mode of transporatation that takes you from one place to another. You don't put one mode of transportation on another!
"What's that strapped to the roof of your car?"
"Oh that? That's my horse."
"Sweet. Let me help you get it on that bus."
OLD FRIENDS, SAT ON A PARK BENCH LIKE BOOKENDS
D'you have one of these friends where you meet them one day and you're like, "Hmm, what's wrong with this guy? He's acting funny." And then you realize, "Oh, he's sober. No wonder; he isn't slurring his words or shitting his pants."
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- Phil Ochs
PIE A LA MODE OF TRANSPORTATION
Why do people bring their bikes on the subway? The whole point of a bicycle is that it's a mode of transporatation that takes you from one place to another. You don't put one mode of transportation on another!
"What's that strapped to the roof of your car?"
"Oh that? That's my horse."
"Sweet. Let me help you get it on that bus."
OLD FRIENDS, SAT ON A PARK BENCH LIKE BOOKENDS
D'you have one of these friends where you meet them one day and you're like, "Hmm, what's wrong with this guy? He's acting funny." And then you realize, "Oh, he's sober. No wonder; he isn't slurring his words or shitting his pants."
Friday, August 09, 2002
I WAS WALKING UP 7th AVENUE AT 13th ST.
and I passed a church whose bulletin board read: "Today's Sermon: I'VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH JESUS"
I was fascinated by the idea of someone who has a bone to pick with Jesus. It sounds like it's not too serious, but it's still serious enough that they might land an appearance on the Judge Hatchett show.
So I wrote a little play:
FRANK: Hey Jesus, could you come in here? I got a bone to pick with you.
JESUS: What's up, dude?
FRANK: Dude, I can't believe I have to ask you this again, but what's up with you not cleaning up the bathroom?
JESUS: But -
FRANK: Seriously, I thought we agreed that we'd all chip in on the housework -
JESUS: But I'm an ethereal heavenly manifestation -
FRANK: Look, you're everywhere, right?
JESUS: Yeah -
FRANK: And that means you spend time in the bathroom, right?
JESUS: Well, yeah -
FRANK: So you therefore have a responsibility to help clean up the bathroom -
JESUS: Don't get all Aquinas on me -
FRANK: Hey, if I gotta get theological on your ass, look, Jesus -
JESUS: What?
FRANK: Let's talk about the long-distance bill.
JESUS: Oh, hey come on man, I already told you I only talk to people either through physical visitations or prayers -
FRANK: Are you f'ing kidding me? Who else in this apartment knows someone who lives in Galilee?
JESUS: I don't know, maybe -
FRANK: What about this 17 minute call to "The Infinite Cosmos"?
JESUS: Maybe it was Charles.
FRANK: Charles? Dude, he's never even home. And when he is, he makes calls on his cell-phone. Not only that, but I know you drink my milk.
JESUS: What?
FRANK: And out of the container. I found bits of fish and loaf floating in it. It was f'ing gross, dude.
JESUS: Whatever dude. You done? 'Cause I'm kinda busy, you know, dying to redeem mankind -
FRANK: F you, dude. You did that once, two thousand years ago.
JESUS: What the f is your problem? I f'ing died for your f'ing sins, a-hole.
FRANK: Why do you keep having to throw it back in my face?
JESUS: Oh, me, I hate you. Don't play in a lightning storm.
FRANK: Yeah, whatever.
JESUS: Whatever, dude.
FRANK: Whatever.
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and I passed a church whose bulletin board read: "Today's Sermon: I'VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH JESUS"
I was fascinated by the idea of someone who has a bone to pick with Jesus. It sounds like it's not too serious, but it's still serious enough that they might land an appearance on the Judge Hatchett show.
So I wrote a little play:
FRANK: Hey Jesus, could you come in here? I got a bone to pick with you.
JESUS: What's up, dude?
FRANK: Dude, I can't believe I have to ask you this again, but what's up with you not cleaning up the bathroom?
JESUS: But -
FRANK: Seriously, I thought we agreed that we'd all chip in on the housework -
JESUS: But I'm an ethereal heavenly manifestation -
FRANK: Look, you're everywhere, right?
JESUS: Yeah -
FRANK: And that means you spend time in the bathroom, right?
JESUS: Well, yeah -
FRANK: So you therefore have a responsibility to help clean up the bathroom -
JESUS: Don't get all Aquinas on me -
FRANK: Hey, if I gotta get theological on your ass, look, Jesus -
JESUS: What?
FRANK: Let's talk about the long-distance bill.
JESUS: Oh, hey come on man, I already told you I only talk to people either through physical visitations or prayers -
FRANK: Are you f'ing kidding me? Who else in this apartment knows someone who lives in Galilee?
JESUS: I don't know, maybe -
FRANK: What about this 17 minute call to "The Infinite Cosmos"?
JESUS: Maybe it was Charles.
FRANK: Charles? Dude, he's never even home. And when he is, he makes calls on his cell-phone. Not only that, but I know you drink my milk.
JESUS: What?
FRANK: And out of the container. I found bits of fish and loaf floating in it. It was f'ing gross, dude.
JESUS: Whatever dude. You done? 'Cause I'm kinda busy, you know, dying to redeem mankind -
FRANK: F you, dude. You did that once, two thousand years ago.
JESUS: What the f is your problem? I f'ing died for your f'ing sins, a-hole.
FRANK: Why do you keep having to throw it back in my face?
JESUS: Oh, me, I hate you. Don't play in a lightning storm.
FRANK: Yeah, whatever.
JESUS: Whatever, dude.
FRANK: Whatever.
Thursday, August 08, 2002
ON QUEENS BOULEVARD YESTERDAY
I was on my way to the subway. Now, before I go further with this story, I should explain that on the block over from where I live, there's a tattoo parlor. Why it's called a "Tatto Parlor" is beyond me; it's not like you'll find three Masterpiece Theatre characters sitting around, sipping tea, and saying, "Oh my, that's a delightful flaming cobra holding a banner that reads "New York Giants 4Ever". But I digress.
I walk past the tattoo parlor, and there's a couple of girls, about sixteen, hanging out in front of the futon store. One of the girls stops me and says, "Excuse me, could you do me a favor?" And of course, I stop and listen, because I've read Penthouse Forum.
And she says, "Listen, I'm seventeen, and I want to get a belly-button piercing, and my mom says it's ok," I'm sure, "but she isn't here and I need someone who's an adult to go in and sign a release form for me."
And all I could think was, "Whatever happened to beer, man? I would very happily buy you a six-pack of Bud or some Lucky Strikes or something."
OTHER ONE-MAN SHOWS I'VE DONE
Of course I'm doing my show, Instant Karma! at Surf Reality the next two Wednesdays (the 14th and the 21st) at 8:00pm. In case you've forgotten, Surf Reality is at 172 Allen Street, the 2nd Floor. That's a block and a half south of Houston and 1st Ave. Whatever.
Anyway, here's a quick list of other one-man shows I've done:
* The Notorious M.c.E.N.E.A.N.E.Y.
* That's Interntainment! A Musical Journey Through the Clinton Administration with the Capitol Steps
* Pesto Change-o: 581 Characters in 17 Minutes
* Joel, Martin, and Idol: The Three Billys Go Gruff
* Dude, Where's My Karma?
* I'm the One I Want, When It's Closing Time and the More Attractive People Have Gone Home
* Stories My Super Told Me
* Look at What I Can Do!: One Comedian's Last Desperate Bid to Get in a Comedy Festival
* Hack Like Me
* Behind the Muzak
* Got Milken? My Special Friendship with a White Collar Criminal
* Shagadelic, Baby! 35 Minutes of Other People's Characters Done Badly
* Liam McEneaney Live: Runteldat!
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I was on my way to the subway. Now, before I go further with this story, I should explain that on the block over from where I live, there's a tattoo parlor. Why it's called a "Tatto Parlor" is beyond me; it's not like you'll find three Masterpiece Theatre characters sitting around, sipping tea, and saying, "Oh my, that's a delightful flaming cobra holding a banner that reads "New York Giants 4Ever". But I digress.
I walk past the tattoo parlor, and there's a couple of girls, about sixteen, hanging out in front of the futon store. One of the girls stops me and says, "Excuse me, could you do me a favor?" And of course, I stop and listen, because I've read Penthouse Forum.
And she says, "Listen, I'm seventeen, and I want to get a belly-button piercing, and my mom says it's ok," I'm sure, "but she isn't here and I need someone who's an adult to go in and sign a release form for me."
And all I could think was, "Whatever happened to beer, man? I would very happily buy you a six-pack of Bud or some Lucky Strikes or something."
OTHER ONE-MAN SHOWS I'VE DONE
Of course I'm doing my show, Instant Karma! at Surf Reality the next two Wednesdays (the 14th and the 21st) at 8:00pm. In case you've forgotten, Surf Reality is at 172 Allen Street, the 2nd Floor. That's a block and a half south of Houston and 1st Ave. Whatever.
Anyway, here's a quick list of other one-man shows I've done:
* The Notorious M.c.E.N.E.A.N.E.Y.
* That's Interntainment! A Musical Journey Through the Clinton Administration with the Capitol Steps
* Pesto Change-o: 581 Characters in 17 Minutes
* Joel, Martin, and Idol: The Three Billys Go Gruff
* Dude, Where's My Karma?
* I'm the One I Want, When It's Closing Time and the More Attractive People Have Gone Home
* Stories My Super Told Me
* Look at What I Can Do!: One Comedian's Last Desperate Bid to Get in a Comedy Festival
* Hack Like Me
* Behind the Muzak
* Got Milken? My Special Friendship with a White Collar Criminal
* Shagadelic, Baby! 35 Minutes of Other People's Characters Done Badly
* Liam McEneaney Live: Runteldat!
Wednesday, August 07, 2002
I WAS ON VACATION IN OCEAN GROVE, NJ
Now, to give you an idea of how swinging and happening this town is, I saw a billboard outside of a community center which read:
7PM - TEEN PARTY
9PM - Rev. Scott Johnson
Whew! Those teens sure must be having an awesome time!
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Now, to give you an idea of how swinging and happening this town is, I saw a billboard outside of a community center which read:
7PM - TEEN PARTY
9PM - Rev. Scott Johnson
Whew! Those teens sure must be having an awesome time!
YOU WILL HATE THIS JOKE
A friend of mine was telling me that if you want to have sex with a cat, you have to unhinge its hips first. This is disturbing to me, because now if my buddy invites me over to his place to have sex with a cat, how do I know he really wants bestiality, and isn't just some freak who likes to unhinge animals?
As you cann see, my life is filled with dilemmas.
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A friend of mine was telling me that if you want to have sex with a cat, you have to unhinge its hips first. This is disturbing to me, because now if my buddy invites me over to his place to have sex with a cat, how do I know he really wants bestiality, and isn't just some freak who likes to unhinge animals?
As you cann see, my life is filled with dilemmas.
YESTERDAY IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY, I HUNG ONE MORE YEAR ON THE LINE. I SHOULD BE DEPRESSED, MY LIFE'S A MESS ... SO I AM!
Actually, August first was my birthday. What'd you get me?
I am now 26 years old, and I'm finding less and less good reasons for hanging out at my old Junior High School.
Let's be honest, security guards don't want to hear that "it's hard to meet women."
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Actually, August first was my birthday. What'd you get me?
I am now 26 years old, and I'm finding less and less good reasons for hanging out at my old Junior High School.
Let's be honest, security guards don't want to hear that "it's hard to meet women."
Monday, August 05, 2002
GUESS WHO'S BACK, BACK AGAIN
Yes, I took a little week-long vacation from writing this blog, but now I'm back and full o' pep n' chatter. Today, I talk about my trip to see a band at the Central Park SummerStage (a free concert series held every year in New York City).
DEVIL WENT DOWN TO SHEEP'S MEADOW
My friend Whitney, who is from Arkansas, told me on my birthday that he and his wife were going to see the Charlie Daniels Band at Central Park SummerStage. I immediately said, "I'm there dude." And I was, even though I couldn't find them.
Now, I'm no Charlie Daniels Band fan. Even though he's written some excellent songs and he's a great player whose career extends back to one of my favorite albums, Dylan's "Nashville Skyline," I've always mentally relegated them to the "Albums You Buy at a Truck Stop Counter" category.
But holy shit was the Fat Man great. He is a great, great, great live musician who played fiddle, mandolin, and guitar beautifully.
The opening act was the Drive-By Truckers, who rocked. When I heard that their new album is a double-CD titled "Southern Rock Opera," a tribute to bands like Skynyrd and Molly Hatchett, I was prepared for the worst. But they rocked out a (then) half-empty SummerStage crowd. They actually made me wish I could afford the $39.99 that I'm sure their album costs.
By the time Charlie Daniels took the stage, the crowd had pretty much filled up. Unfortunately, that meant that a whole group of shirtless frat-boy meatheads had muscled their way to the front of the crowd, and were whooping it up with drunken, wild abandon. They apparently mistook it for a Limp Bizkit concert.
BY THE WAY: If you're a frat guy who has love handles, a shirt might be the best thing. Especially if your social skills are such that your best "move" with the ladies is to scream something inappropriate and rush at them in a vaguely threatening way. At one point, two of these frat guys had picked upt that there was a trio of Asian women next to me, and they offered to give two of them shoulder rides. What that meant was that one of the guys ended up dumping the girl over his shoulders on her head. Beauty.
Charlie Daniels was exactly what you would expect Charlie Daniels to be. Early on he played a crowd favorite, and when he started singing "This ain't no rag, it's a flag, and we don't wear it on our heads," this guy up at the front of the stage unfurled an American flag on a pole he had gotten past security.
I was also near some genuine white trash, middle-aged greybeards rocking out. One of them, who looked like a grizzled Tommy Chong character, took stock of the Asian trio, staggered past me, leaned in, and whispered, "The Sushi Sisters. I'd sure like to eat them." I chuckled politely, and he stared at me in a way that indicated he expected a more serious reply.
I chuckled slightly more assiduously and broke off eye contact.
I think Daniels looked really unhappy. First of all, the heat was really brutal. I actually sweated so much I ruined my shirt. And he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of black pants. Plus, he's pretty old, so he was switching up the songlist; he sang a song, then his keyboardist sang a song, then he sang a song, then his guitarist, then an intrumental, and so on.
It was his first appearance in New York in 26 years, and I fear it may be his last; he wasn't impressed by the meatheads. During a slow passage where he was singing a gospel number, they started woohooing, screaming, and shouting "Veronica! " Veronica was one of the drunk middle-aged white trash ladies, and she had just started dumping water on them from a jug.
Also, he was playing a lot of stuff from a new album, so this guy who looked like Screech's slightly dorkier brother kept shouting, "Play the old stuff, Charlie!" And every time Daniels made one of his trademark right wing statements (you know, something really unreasonable like, "I love America," or, "Cops and firefighters are heroes"), the Tommy Chong guy, who was standing front and center, gave him the finger and said, "Fuck you man!" What the hell was this guy expecting, a "Save the Rainforests" speech?
During the song "Simple Man," I wondered what the lone black security guard up front though of a sea of mostly-white faces dancing to a song celebrating a culture of vigilantiism and lynching.
During the encore, when Daniels played "Devil Came Down to Georgia," the shirtless meatheads started chanting along the lyrics of what i'm sure was the only song they knew. So, to spite them, Daniels started singing it faster, ruining a great song that I'd looked forward to hearing live.
As I was leaving, I turned on my cell phone and sure enough, there was a message from Whitney that he'd left during Drive-By Truckers telling me where he and his wife were. But he didn't leave his number, so I couldn't ring him back. Ah well.
|
Yes, I took a little week-long vacation from writing this blog, but now I'm back and full o' pep n' chatter. Today, I talk about my trip to see a band at the Central Park SummerStage (a free concert series held every year in New York City).
DEVIL WENT DOWN TO SHEEP'S MEADOW
My friend Whitney, who is from Arkansas, told me on my birthday that he and his wife were going to see the Charlie Daniels Band at Central Park SummerStage. I immediately said, "I'm there dude." And I was, even though I couldn't find them.
Now, I'm no Charlie Daniels Band fan. Even though he's written some excellent songs and he's a great player whose career extends back to one of my favorite albums, Dylan's "Nashville Skyline," I've always mentally relegated them to the "Albums You Buy at a Truck Stop Counter" category.
But holy shit was the Fat Man great. He is a great, great, great live musician who played fiddle, mandolin, and guitar beautifully.
The opening act was the Drive-By Truckers, who rocked. When I heard that their new album is a double-CD titled "Southern Rock Opera," a tribute to bands like Skynyrd and Molly Hatchett, I was prepared for the worst. But they rocked out a (then) half-empty SummerStage crowd. They actually made me wish I could afford the $39.99 that I'm sure their album costs.
By the time Charlie Daniels took the stage, the crowd had pretty much filled up. Unfortunately, that meant that a whole group of shirtless frat-boy meatheads had muscled their way to the front of the crowd, and were whooping it up with drunken, wild abandon. They apparently mistook it for a Limp Bizkit concert.
BY THE WAY: If you're a frat guy who has love handles, a shirt might be the best thing. Especially if your social skills are such that your best "move" with the ladies is to scream something inappropriate and rush at them in a vaguely threatening way. At one point, two of these frat guys had picked upt that there was a trio of Asian women next to me, and they offered to give two of them shoulder rides. What that meant was that one of the guys ended up dumping the girl over his shoulders on her head. Beauty.
Charlie Daniels was exactly what you would expect Charlie Daniels to be. Early on he played a crowd favorite, and when he started singing "This ain't no rag, it's a flag, and we don't wear it on our heads," this guy up at the front of the stage unfurled an American flag on a pole he had gotten past security.
I was also near some genuine white trash, middle-aged greybeards rocking out. One of them, who looked like a grizzled Tommy Chong character, took stock of the Asian trio, staggered past me, leaned in, and whispered, "The Sushi Sisters. I'd sure like to eat them." I chuckled politely, and he stared at me in a way that indicated he expected a more serious reply.
I chuckled slightly more assiduously and broke off eye contact.
I think Daniels looked really unhappy. First of all, the heat was really brutal. I actually sweated so much I ruined my shirt. And he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of black pants. Plus, he's pretty old, so he was switching up the songlist; he sang a song, then his keyboardist sang a song, then he sang a song, then his guitarist, then an intrumental, and so on.
It was his first appearance in New York in 26 years, and I fear it may be his last; he wasn't impressed by the meatheads. During a slow passage where he was singing a gospel number, they started woohooing, screaming, and shouting "Veronica! " Veronica was one of the drunk middle-aged white trash ladies, and she had just started dumping water on them from a jug.
Also, he was playing a lot of stuff from a new album, so this guy who looked like Screech's slightly dorkier brother kept shouting, "Play the old stuff, Charlie!" And every time Daniels made one of his trademark right wing statements (you know, something really unreasonable like, "I love America," or, "Cops and firefighters are heroes"), the Tommy Chong guy, who was standing front and center, gave him the finger and said, "Fuck you man!" What the hell was this guy expecting, a "Save the Rainforests" speech?
During the song "Simple Man," I wondered what the lone black security guard up front though of a sea of mostly-white faces dancing to a song celebrating a culture of vigilantiism and lynching.
During the encore, when Daniels played "Devil Came Down to Georgia," the shirtless meatheads started chanting along the lyrics of what i'm sure was the only song they knew. So, to spite them, Daniels started singing it faster, ruining a great song that I'd looked forward to hearing live.
As I was leaving, I turned on my cell phone and sure enough, there was a message from Whitney that he'd left during Drive-By Truckers telling me where he and his wife were. But he didn't leave his number, so I couldn't ring him back. Ah well.
