Friday, November 29, 2002
IF YOU CAME HERE THROUGH A GOOGLE SEARCH
This is not the most recent entry. For some reason, Google only points people to my archives.
For the most recent entry click here.
LET'S MAKE STAR WARS NERDS CRY
Internet Hoax Pt. II
This ain't no joke. Here's the deal:
I want to start an Internet hoax that the next Star Wars motion picture will include a rap number by Xzibit.
The full story I want to spread:
It seems that George Lucas is afraid that bad word-of-mouth will lead to embarassingly small ticket returns for Star Wars Episode 3. So he's written in a scene in a hip-hop club, where Ewan MacGregor and Anakin end up watching Xzibit, dressed as an alien, deliver a rap number titled "Comin' From Da Dark Side."
Also, Harrison Ford will be seen briefly as Mark Solo, with his young son Han.
Which means that when you get on your favorite chat room, message board, or newsgroup, casually drop a hint. Don't just copy out my story verbatim, that would be pretty obvious. but say things like, "That sounds almost as bad as the 'rap club' scene in the next Star Wars movie," or "I'd like to get paid as much as Harrison Ford will for 3 minute scene in Episode 3."
I'm serious about this! If we all work together, we can collectively get this story into Entertainment Weekly, no lie.
Thursday, November 28, 2002
Here's a Thanksgiving poem that's been a tradition in my family for generations. Why not gather your kids around the fire and read it to them?
Gobbley, the Thanksgiving Turkey
Today's a special day I hear,
The family tells me they're glad I'm near.
They feed me as if it doesn't matter
The cost; and so I grow fatter and fatter.
And they take care of all the littlest things -
My legs are massaged, and so are my wings.
It hasn't been this nice for me since I hatched form the egg,
And crawled out from under my mommy's leg.
And ooh, my neck's tight, but how nice they stretch it,
And if I ask the family for
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
You may have noticed that I've changed the look of my blog. Hopefully this will be easier to read. A cool thing - if you click "REFRESH," then the blog changes colors. Also, you can change the size of the lettering and the font style. All in all, it's very user-friendly.
Someone was telling me I should stay away from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade because it might be a target for Al Qaeda, because Al Qaeda targets things that are precious to America. Can we as a nation start pretending that Gallagher concerts are a precious national resource? I'd like to see a plane flown into the Westbury Music Fair next June 11th, is all I'm saying. (I just made 20 people really mad. One of them - my mother.)
Here's another reprint of a "classic" blog entry:
MORE FUN WITH CHAT
I will admit that there are times when I post things on this blog that are no good.
Today's entry is good.
While looking through my computer for some old writings, I found this file. See, last year, I had entered an AOL Poetry chat room with the intention of fucking with people.
A half-hour later, I had nearly emptied the chat room.
This is long, but the more you read, the funnier it actually gets. The last line is one of the great last lines in dramatic history.
(NOTE: Due to a copying error when I was making the transcript, a portion of it got lost towards the end. But I think you can fill in the blanks.)
OnlineHost: *** You are in "Arts and Entertainment - poetry". ***
Bzumgexbyn: You a smoker?
EntangleMe: My face.
McEneaneyL: I WROTE A POEM
Cynicated: I didn't smoke at all today, Michelle.
McEneaneyL: MAY I SHARE IT?
EntangleMe: Me neither.
Cynicated: Congratulate me.
McEneaneyL: I SAID MAY I SHARE IT?
Bzumgexbyn: Good for you, Cynica; don't smoke a couple more, for me, okay?
EntangleMe: That was my congratulations.
EntangleMe: I'm glad, though.
McEneaneyL: MAY I SHARE MY POEM?
McEneaneyL: THANK YOU
McEneaneyL: I WROTE IT ABOUT MY WIFE
McEneaneyL: IT'S CALLED, "YOUR PUSSY"
Cynicated: Nuclear war is bad for posterity.
McEneaneyL: SOMETIMES YOU MAKE ME BLUE
McEneaneyL: SOMETIMES I MAKE YOU BLACK AND BLUE
LogicFyi: super bon bon
McEneaneyL: AND THEN WE BOTH CRY AND GO BOO HOO
McEneaneyL: BUT THERE'S ONE THING I LOVE ABOUT YOU:
Bzumgexbyn: Alert Jerry Springer. We have a live one.
McEneaneyL: YOUR PUSSY
McEneaneyL: IT IS SO SNAPPY
McEneaneyL: IT MAKES ME HAPPY
McEneaneyL: AND GAY
EntangleMe: My keyboard is broken.
McEneaneyL: BUT NOT THAT WAY
LogicFyi: up the ol' highway
McEneaneyL: IT SMELLS LIKE TUNA FISH
Aynur113: im so glad you can rhyme
McEneaneyL: I TAKE OUT MY BONE AND MAKE A WISH
Cynicated: No W's?
LogicFyi: i'm more gladder
McEneaneyL: BUT WHEN YOU TELL ME THAT YOU FAKE IT
McEneaneyL: IT MAKES ME GLAD I CAN FEEL FREE TO JUST PUSH YOUR FACE IN THE PILLOW AND TAKE IT
Bzumgexbyn: Roman"I likes the sof' gooey center, even if it do smack of mackerel.
McEneaneyL: I'M SO GLAD THAT YOU'RE MINE
LogicFyi: smacks like teen spirit
McEneaneyL: NOT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, BUT BECAUSE IT MEANS YOUR PUSSY IS MINE
Bzumgexbyn: (just stickin' an oar in the water)
McEneaneyL: THE END
McEneaneyL: COPYRIGHT 2001
McEneaneyL: ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
XquisitObscurity: Ahhhhhhhhh ... ignore. One of the only feature's the AOL team coded that's always useful....
EntangleMe: ........My keyboard is broken.
McEneaneyL: NO REPUBLICATION WITHOUT MY EXPRESS WRITTEN CONSENT
Aynur113: im sorry entangle
SeeBrezzy: CY Is that y
SeeBrezzy: And I miss it ..
McEneaneyL: I READ IT TO MY WFIE, AND SHE CRIED
Bzumgexbyn: I daresay.
McEneaneyL: WELL, SHE CONTINUED CRYING
SeeBrezzy: read it again I want to cry
Aynur113: i would cry too
McEneaneyL: BUT THE POINT IS SHE FELT TOUCHED
Cynicated: The clouds look like they should be on a postcard.
McEneaneyL: SHUT UP CYNIC
EntangleMe: They're cutting down my tree, Ari.
McEneaneyL: IM HOLDING A POETRY DISCUSSION
Bzumgexbyn: Shouldn't you be spellin' it 'wahf'?
XquisitObscurity: Anyone interested in hearing a poem ::prepares for flaming::
SeeBrezzy: what clouds Ari
Cynicated: No thanks, McEneaney, try again later.
Cynicated: The clouds in the sky, Julia.
McEneaneyL: GO AHEAD XQUISIT
McEneaneyL: IM LISTENING
Aynur113: me too
SeeBrezzy: I thought MC Put clouds in the room when he was reading..
Shootingstar7118: I'm listening too
McEneaneyL: I SAID IM READY TO HEAR YOUR POETRY, ASSHOLE
XquisitObscurity: I promise it's not totally sucky -- and I proof read! :)
Aynur113: go ahead
SeeBrezzy: hey now ..be nice
XquisitObscurity: :) K!
McEneaneyL: GO AHEAD
McEneaneyL: IM GETTING BORED ALREADY
Cynicated: Why isn't Timmy at my house?
McEneaneyL: THIS BETTER BE GOOD
XquisitObscurity: --- And I'm Not Her ---
Aynur113: im sure it is
XquisitObscurity: She wasn't softer than the clouds ... and her touch was just like mine --
McEneaneyL: NICE TITLE
LogicFyi: i got a hizneadache
XquisitObscurity: though mine had been worn by the men before
XquisitObscurity: I knew your face -- she knows the words that make it twist
McEneaneyL: YOUR WHAT HAD BEEN WORN BY THE MEN?
XquisitObscurity: But you let her writh in your hands like cheap porn...
McEneaneyL: AND WHAT MEN?
XquisitObscurity: And I'm watching.
McEneaneyL: I'M GETTING CONFUSED
XquisitObscurity: And I'm the outsider -- where once I was the small sacrifice you made
McEneaneyL: WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING
XquisitObscurity: And I'm crying -- though I'll choke on the empty salt
McEneaneyL: I KNOW CHEAP PORN, GOOD ANALOGY
XquisitObscurity: She's no prettier than the golden sun, yet your eyes watch only her..
LogicFyi: choke on the load
XquisitObscurity: My shadowed figure caught in the bacground --
McEneaneyL: HEY SALT CANT BE EMPTY
XquisitObscurity: where once it was the object of your praise..
XquisitObscurity: And I'm letting the rain fall across my face --
XquisitObscurity: watching you catch her fraility in your simple hands that were my simple shelter
McEneaneyL: I SAID SALT CANT BE EMPTY
XquisitObscurity: And I'm simply
Aynur113: shut up for a second
Bzumgexbyn: (thing contained for the container, bung wipe)
McEneaneyL: OH I GET IT YOURE TALKING ABOUT CUM
XquisitObscurity: And I'm waiting
McEneaneyL: KEEP GOING
XquisitObscurity: Like a fired hired hand -- with his shovel and his rake
XquisitObscurity: Looking forlorn in your front yard, so neatly tended to
LogicFyi: bow wow
McEneaneyL: RAKE? WHAT THE FUCK?
SeeBrezzy: bye bye..
XquisitObscurity: nothing left for him to do...
McEneaneyL: YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT PORN, AND NOW YARDS AND RAKES?
XquisitObscurity: Nothing left for me to do.
Cynicated: Take care, Julia.
XquisitObscurity: Not here.
McEneaneyL: WHAT IS THIS A MONKEES' SONG??!!!!!
Cynicated: Hi there, Meagan.
Aynur113: yes, its gardening porn
XquisitObscurity: And I am watching
Elfman301: ummm right
XquisitObscurity: ~ Allie 02/16/00
McEneaneyL: WOW - THAT WAS THE WORST THING I'VE EVER READ
Elfman301: Take a step, one faithless step, you stoop to low,
NgAitLy73: i'm listening to Abba =)
LogicFyi: god have mercy on the musically challenged
Elfman301: you cry for all th passing things
ShadowedMidnight: hello everyone
NgAitLy73: abba's cool, logic
Cyan Dragonmyst: hello room
McEneaneyL: HELLO SHADOWED WELCOME TO MY ROOM
XquisitObscurity: hey shadow & cyan
McEneaneyL: I AM GOING TO READ A POEM
Aynur113: not again
McEneaneyL: IT'S ALL ABOUT WHERE THAT LAST POEM CAME FROM
McEneaneyL: IT'S CALLED "MY ASS"
Aynur113: please no
Bzumgexbyn: Drive carefully between the snakes that bask along the road
Aynur113: keep it away
ShadowedMidnight: oh wow.... how creative
McEneaneyL: MY ASS
McEneaneyL: HOW SCENTED LIKE A ROSE
Bzumgexbyn: There might just be something to that 'karma' thing.
McEneaneyL: MY ASS
Elfman301: how incitive
McEneaneyL: I WIPE IT ALONG MY WIFE'S FRESHLY LAUNDERED CLOTHES
Elfman301: karma again
XquisitObscurity: I agree, Bzum...
Elfman301: oh no
Shootingstar7118: must have been inspired...lol
McEneaneyL: MY ASS
NgAitLy73: so this poem is supposed to be good?
Elfman301: how are you disturbed
McEneaneyL: WHICH MY FATHER ENTERED WHEN I WAS THREE
McEneaneyL: MY ASS
McEneaneyL: IT IS A PART OF ME
ShadowedMidnight: *rolls her eyes*
Elfman301: tough crowd
McEneaneyL: THE END
NgAitLy73: in the ass?
WildStar97: I'm breaking all the rules today
Bzumgexbyn: Logic, it's more like an online outpatient ward. Trust me, I know.
WildStar97: smoking in the computer room
XxDisturbededxX: ims perfectionest so i never thing my work is done or right
LogicFyi: i don't trust you
McEneaneyL: AYNUS YOU ARE REALLY HURTING MY FEELINGS
Elfman301: well then
Bzumgexbyn: Very good! You an ex-nutbucket, too?
Aynur113: at least it was short
Bzumgexbyn: Small world.
Cockswain7748444: Obsesive - compulsive neurotic?
LogicFyi: bless you
Aynur113: its just constructive critisism
McEneaneyL: MY NEXT POEM
McEneaneyL: IS THE LAST IN THE TRILOGY
WildStar97: oh good lord
McEneaneyL: I CALL "THE DIRTY PARTS" TRILOGY
McEneaneyL: IT'S CALLED, "I HAVE A BIG DICK"
Cockswain7748444: lets here it - gritting my teeth!
McEneaneyL: I HAVE A BIG DICK
ALWAYS RIA: HELLO EVERYONE
LogicFyi: the cantaloup is cold
Aynur113: i dont want to hear it
NgAitLy73: note the constant screaming
McEneaneyL: WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IT?
Shootingstar7118: more dirty parts oh boy
McEneaneyL: WHEN I SEE A TOILET BOWL
McEneaneyL: I USE MY BIG DICK TO PEE IT
LogicFyi: you pee toilets?
McEneaneyL: WHEN IM IN NORTH CAROLINA
McEneaneyL: OR SOUTH.
WildStar97: at least we know he's a big boy...
Aynur113: whats up with that?
McEneaneyL: I STICK IT IN MY WIFE'S VAGINA
Bzumgexbyn: (poetic license, maybe?)
McEneaneyL: OR IN A WHORE'S MOUTH
Aynur113: do you even have a wife?
LogicFyi: you have the urethra the size of the holland tunnel
McEneaneyL: IF I HAVE THE MONEY
McEneaneyL: AND IF I HAVE THE TIME
McEneaneyL: I COVER MY WIFE WITH HONEY
Cockswain7748444: Clean up your act ladies and gentlemen - I'm off to the lavatory for a breath of fresh air!
McEneaneyL: THEN I COVER HER WITH SLIME
NgAitLy73: bc she's that loyal to you
McEneaneyL: MY DICK, IT'S MY BESTFRIEND
Elfman301: ummm not to be annoying, but i dislike that poem
LogicFyi: did she say, ' i don't know ? '
McEneaneyL: WE'RE LOYAL TO THE VERY END
Bzumgexbyn: Cocks'n, you give the lie to your own s/n.
AyMami76: hola room
NgAitLy73: Elf, that's a given
McEneaneyL: AND WHEN I CUM IT AKES A LONG WHILE
Cyan Dragonmyst: hola Ay
McEneaneyL: BECAUSE MY DICK GIVES A GALLON TO THE MILE
McEneaneyL: ME AND MY DICK
Elfman301: ummm, i think you are quite obsence
McEneaneyL: DONT SWALLOW TOO FAST OR YOULL MAKE YOURSELF SICK
McEneaneyL: DICK DICK DICK
LogicFyi: dicken's cider
McEneaneyL: DICK DICK DICK DICK
McEneaneyL: DICK DICK
McEneaneyL: COCK DICK BALLS
Aynur113: im leaving now but if you do have a wife i feel really feel very sorry for her, send her my condolances
McEneaneyL: DICK DOCK TICK TOCK
McEneaneyL: THE END
McEneaneyL: COPYRIGHT 2001
McEneaneyL: ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WildStar97: *throw rotten fruit at McEneaneyL*
LogicFyi: or used condoms
Glubsss: oh temps suspends ton vol...
WildStar97: or vibrators
McEneaneyL: OKAY, ANY NOTES?
McEneaneyL: I AM VERY CURIOUS
Bzumgexbyn: Good to see you makin' the effort to protect that very valuable property, McE.
LogicFyi: or the ass hairs of a wild donkey
Glubsss: et vous heures propices
WildStar97: Get better topics!
McEneaneyL: YES, WILD, NOTES ON MY POETRY
Glubsss: suspendez votre cours
Sleep in Slavery: hi
NgAitLy73: who speaks french?
McEneaneyL: DAMMIT GLUB, QUIT TALKING RUSSIAN!
AyMami76: how is everyone 2 day?
McEneaneyL: NOW, MY SECOND TRILOGY
Glubsss: not russian...
Elfman301: i speak french
McEneaneyL: IS MORE ABOUT MY CHILDHOOD
Bzumgexbyn: Il n'y a pas des grenouilles dans cette jardin.
Sleep in Slavery: Fauna conzona senza note nera.
WildStar97: I don't think anyone wants to hear ur damn second trilogy!
WildStar97: get a clue
McEneaneyL: THE SECOND TRILOGY IS CALLED "MOMMY, DADDY, DOG: PART 2 OF 14"
NgAitLy73: maybe he'll die in the second trilogy
Bzumgexbyn: Keep a good thought, Ng.
Glubsss: good bzoom
Sleep in Slavery: Sei mah brimast lamia graza vere.
LogicFyi: mortal kombat trilogy
McEneaneyL: NOW I DONT KNOW IF ILL BE ABLE TO GET THROUGH ALL 14 TRILOGIES TODAY
McEneaneyL: BUT I'LL TRY
NgAitLy73: <-- wishful thinker
LogicFyi: wishful spanker
NgAitLy73: ne wishful wankers, tho?
McEneaneyL: THIS FIRST ONE IS CALLED "I FUCKED MOMMY"
LogicFyi: i'm wanking right now
NgAitLy73: then u qualify in my book
AyMami76: i only speak spanish and english
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
LogicFyi: i learned spanguish from rico suave
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
AyMami76: is that o.k.?
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
DjSkribbleChico1: iAM Puerto rican
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
McEneaneyL: I HATE THE JEWS
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
NgAitLy73: and yet his name isn't rico suave
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
McEneaneyL: I LIKE PONIES
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
McEneaneyL: BUT THERE COMES A OH OH OH
McEneaneyL: YES MOMMY
NgAitLy73: don't tell me this is some form of richard simmons porn
LogicFyi: yep - the famous spanish philosopher: rico suave
McEneaneyL: DADDY SAYS I SHOULDNT
McEneaneyL: HE SAYS I AM CHEATING ON HIM
McEneaneyL: BUT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH
McEneaneyL: OH MOMMY
McEneaneyL: NOW COOK ME DINNER
McEneaneyL: THE END
McEneaneyL: COPYRIGHT 2001
NgAitLy73: all rights reserved?
McEneaneyL: AS YOU CAN SEE, I WAS EXPERIMENTING WITH THE ART FORM
LogicFyi: by group w?
Bzumgexbyn: Musta left out the stanzas with the dog.
McEneaneyL: GOING AWAY FROM MY TRADITIONAL RHYME SCHEMES
McEneaneyL: AND EXPLORING MORE PERSONAL TERRITRY
LogicFyi: personal terriers?
McEneaneyL: YOU CAN SEE, I TRIED A LITTLE FREE VERSE
LogicFyi: it wasn't little enough
NgAitLy73: note: "tried"
Bzumgexbyn: You know, for real in-depth personal exploration, I recommend judicious placement of small quantities of high explosive.
McEneaneyL: OF COURSE, BY THE 11TH TRILOGY, I WAS ALMOST SOLIDLY USING BALLAD FORM ABAB VERSE
NgAitLy73: how about abba?
McEneaneyL: BUT WE'LL GET TO THAT
McEneaneyL: SHUT UP
Bzumgexbyn: No, Abba's not explosive enough.
LogicFyi: how about babba booie?
NgAitLy73: Abba's cool
McEneaneyL: NG IF YOU CANT BE CONSTRUCTIVE, LEAVE
NgAitLy73: i can use contruction paper =)
NgAitLy73: but not scissors. i'm not allowed to touch scissors
XquisitObscurity: I agree with Mc...
LogicFyi: she can eat paste
NgAitLy73: who's she?
PinkishlyEvil: i cut with scissors today
LogicFyi: the lesbanoid
Bzumgexbyn: Hey, speakin' of not touching scissors: my brother's in the spin bin ag'in.
PinkishlyEvil: i cut the lemonade container thing.
NgAitLy73: o, of course
XquisitObscurity: spin bin?
McEneaneyL: THE SECOND POEM IN THE TRILOGY
LogicFyi: which reminds me of a joke - but nevermind that
XquisitObscurity: Not up on slang, I'm old...
McEneaneyL: IS CALLED "MY DADDY WAS A PISTOL AND I GOT SHOT IN THE BACK"
NgAitLy73: i find it amusing how he thinks we're listening
Bzumgexbyn: Aye, the spin bin, where you do a few orbits with the loonies.
LogicFyi: i got shot in the debacle
McEneaneyL: I CAN'T WALK!
McEneaneyL: WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?
McEneaneyL: I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS NO MORE
NgAitLy73: a debacle is like a problem...
AyMami76: i'm sorry u got shot sweety!
McEneaneyL: OH DADDY
LogicFyi: it's a part of a particle
Smokeyrunner16: poetry sucks unles its about the south
LogicFyi: a debacle
McEneaneyL: PEELING AWAY THE LAYERS OF THE ONION THAT IS LIFE
NgAitLy73: uh huh...
McEneaneyL: I SEE BENEATH MY SKIN
McEneaneyL: YOUR FELSH
McEneaneyL: YOUR BONES
JUJU2046: HELLO EVERYONE
McEneaneyL: YOUR NERVES
McEneaneyL: YOUR SPINE
LogicFyi: i'm done -
McEneaneyL: YOUR LARGE INTESTINES
Bzumgexbyn: Uh-oh, a metaphor, a metaphor, a metaphor.
McEneaneyL: YOUR SMALL INTESTINES
McEneaneyL: YOUR LIVER
McEneaneyL: YOUR KIDNEY
Smokeyrunner16: your eye
McEneaneyL: YOUR LUNGS
NgAitLy73: o no, onomatopoeia
McEneaneyL: YOUR HEART
McEneaneyL: YOUR WINKY WANG
Smokeyrunner16: your nuts
McEneaneyL: YOUR CELLS
McEneaneyL: YOUR BRAIN
Smokeyrunner16: your shit
McEneaneyL: YOUR CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM
McEneaneyL: YOUR MUSCLES
Smokeyrunner16: your snot
McEneaneyL: EVERYTHING THAT MAKES YOU YOU HAS MADE ME
McEneaneyL: YOU MADE ME
McEneaneyL: WITH YOUR BRAIN
McEneaneyL: WITH YOUR LUNGS
Smokeyrunner16:with your nuts
McEneaneyL: WITH YOUR HEART
McEneaneyL: WITH YOUR BONES
McEneaneyL: WITH YOUR EYES
McEneaneyL: WITH YOUR NERVES
Smokeyrunner16: with your dick
McEneaneyL: WITH YOUR SPINE
XxDisturbededxX: smokey that's not nice
McEneaneyL: AND WITH - YOUR LOVE
McEneaneyL: THE NED
McEneaneyL: COPYRIGHT 2001
Smokeyrunner16: al sshot up u fag
McEneaneyL: SHUT SMOKEY YOU PRISON BITCH
XxDisturbededxX: that was pretty
XxDisturbededxX: what i saw of it
McEneaneyL: THIS LAST POEM IN THE RILOGY
Bzumgexbyn: Did you misspell a word, Disturbed? Like, maybe 'grotesque,' or 'boring,' or 'excruciating?'
McEneaneyL: THANG YOU DISTURBED
McEneaneyL: THIS LAST POEM IN THE TRILOGY
XxDisturbededxX: i thought it was pretty
McEneaneyL: IS ABOUT MAN'S OTHER BEST FRIEND
McEneaneyL: OF COURSE, I EXPLORED HIS FIRST BEST FRIND IN "MY BIG DICK"
Cynicated: What's man's other best friend?
Bzumgexbyn: They'll both be together in this next poem, I'll wager.
McEneaneyL: OF COURSE, IM TALKING ABOUT MY DOG
Cynicated: People discourage me.
McEneaneyL: AND THUS, IVE WRITTEN A POEM ABOUT MY FIRST EVER DOG
McEneaneyL: IT'S CALLED "SIR WOOFERS"
McEneaneyL: OH SIR WOOFERS
McEneaneyL: I LOVED YOU SO MUCH
McEneaneyL: YOUR SILKY HAIR
Bzumgexbyn: Cynica, sweet child, you expect animals to leap to angelic in a few scant myriads of evolution?
McEneaneyL: YOUR PAWS
McEneaneyL: I FEED YOU A MLIK BONE
Cynicated: I expect much, too much of people.
McEneaneyL: AND YOU EAT IT EAGERLY
Cynicated: I'm always disappointed.
McEneaneyL: MOMMY AND DADDY ONLY HAVE ENOUGH MONEY
McEneaneyL: TO FEED YOU MEAGERLY
Cynicated: It's a tiny bit of optimism that just fucking won't die.
McEneaneyL: IF I COULD TAKE THE STARS FROM THE SKY
McEneaneyL: AND SPIN THEM LIKE
Cynicated: [hehe, my grammar was terrible in that last "sentence."]
McEneaneyL: I WOULD GIVE THE SEATER I KNOT TO ANYONE
McEneaneyL: EXCUSE ME, I WAOULD GIVE THE SWEATER I KNIT TO ANYONE
McEneaneyL: NOT TO HAVE GOTTEN CAUGHT FUCKING YOU BEHIND THE BARN
McEneaneyL: THE END
McEneaneyL: COPYRIGHT 2001
Bzumgexbyn: I am still struggling with it. Do I have the sense of it if I read it: "Fucking makes it worth sticking around for a while longer yet."?
McEneaneyL: ALL RIGHS RESERVED
McEneaneyL: NO NEED TO TAHNK ME
McEneaneyL: I WILL ACCEPT NOTES ON TRILOGY 2 NOW
McEneaneyL: HEY - WHERE DID EVERYONE OG?
McEneaneyL: THERE'S ONLY FIVE OF US LEFT NOW!!!
XxDisturbededxX: i'm here
Cynicated: Just get rid of the fucking.
XxDisturbededxX: putting finishing touches on a poem
Cynicated: and, it almost makes sense.
McEneaneyL: ANY NOTES?
McEneaneyL: CYNICA, I DONT TRUST YOU
Cynicated: Stop writing, McEneaneyL.
Cynicated: Good boy. You shouldn't trust me.
Bzumgexbyn: Oh, I got it now. You had 'optimism' as a thing that could die.
Cynicated: Yes. I just had it in a terrible place.
McEneaneyL: THAT'S RIGHT BZUM, THE DOG REPRESENTS MY YOUTHFUL OPTIMISM
McEneaneyL: AND IT DIED
McEneaneyL: GOOD POINT!
XxDisturbededxX: ok it's done
McEneaneyL: SEE, PEOPLE, EVEN GAY GUYS CAN APPRECIATE GOOD POETRY!
McEneaneyL: GO AHEAD DISTURBED
McEneaneyL: SHARE YOUR POEM
McEneaneyL: BEFORE I READ TRILGY 3
XxDisturbededxX: um me?
Cynicated: I have to pee. I'll be right back.
McEneaneyL: CYNICA, THATS DISGUSTING!
XxDisturbededxX: ok i guess
McEneaneyL: GO AHEAD!
XxDisturbededxX: You are snotty, arrogant, and selfish
Bzumgexbyn: I'll have a butt in the back yard. Enjoy the straight line, McE. I'll be back to read it in a few minutes.
McEneaneyL: UH HUH
McEneaneyL: KEEP GOING DISTURBED
XxDisturbededxX: you believe you're definition of perfection
McEneaneyL: DEFINITIONS, LIKE A DICTIONARY
McEneaneyL: KEEP GOING!
XxDisturbededxX: i realize now, that you could never love me as much as you love yourself
McEneaneyL: IF YOU PRINT THIS, YOU MIGHT ACTUALLY WANT TO PHOTOCOPY THE DEFINITON OF PERFECTION FROM THE DICTIONARY
XxDisturbededxX: so i'm leaving you and all the pain you have given me
XxDisturbededxX: I'm tellin gyou now
XxDisturbededxX: I'm walking away
McEneaneyL: AND PRINT IT SIDE-BY-SIDE WITH THE POEM
XxDisturbededxX: I'm saying my last goodbye
McEneaneyL: WALKING AWAY NOT RUNNING
XxDisturbededxX: and i will forever stay away
McEneaneyL: A LOT OF VISUAL IMAGERY GOIUNG ON
XxDisturbededxX: um you have issues
XxDisturbededxX: serious ones
McEneaneyL: ALL RIGHT, YOPUR POEM BORES ME NOW
McEneaneyL: MY TURN AGAN
XxDisturbededxX: ok have fun
McEneaneyL: DISTURBED WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE THAT WAY?
McEneaneyL: DONT BE A BABY
XxDisturbededxX: me? baby?
McEneaneyL: IM TRYING TO BE SUPPIRTIVE
XxDisturbededxX: i'm not the one talking about fucking dogs
McEneaneyL: AND YOU KEEP SHOOTING ME DOWN
Bzumgexbyn: I'm having a beer. Tecate. It's made not more than a handful of miles from here.
XxDisturbededxX: i just said you have issues
McEneaneyL: IT'S ALMOST LIKE YOU DONT WANT ANYONE TO HELP YOU
NgAitLy73: i like how he's trying to act innocent
Bzumgexbyn: It travels very badly.
NgAitLy73: o, i forgot to add 'dis-' in there
Cynicated: There's ink on my lip.
McEneaneyL: DISTURBED, HOW DARE YOU?
Bzumgexbyn: That's not surprising, but it oddly rousing.
McEneaneyL: I TREATED YOU LIKE THE DAUGHTER I NEVER HAD
KF Super17: heh
XxDisturbededxX: um like i said
McEneaneyL: GREETINGS NEWCOMERS
XxDisturbededxX: serious issues
McEneaneyL: WELCOME TO MY ROOM
NgAitLy73: passive entered the room
Raven Nighthawke: what kind of chat is this?
XxDisturbededxX: you know you might want to get that mind checked out
McEneaneyL: IT IS A ROOM FOR ME TO READ MY POETRY
Cynicated: I can't find my smokes.
Cynicated: Oooh. This song is epic.
KF Super17: A room for u????
McEneaneyL: MY NEXT TRILOGY
KF Super17: hahah
Raven Nighthawke: can others share poetry?
McEneaneyL: WHEN IM DONE WITH MY TRILOGIES, RAVEN
McEneaneyL: DISTURBED RUINED IT FOR EVERYBODY
Passiveslv4u: this is an open room Raven,
KF Super17: Don't make me laugh
Passiveslv4u: Hi Gait
McEneaneyL: THIS NEXT TRILOGY IS CALLED "THE SCHOOL DAZED TRILOGY"
Bzumgexbyn: Type, oh, type, thou most fearless of poets. Breast the wave of all-caps foamspew and
(PORTION OF THE TRANSCRIPT MISSING)
NgAitLy73: ...he shouldn't go to health class, then
McEneaneyL: AM I A MASTER?
Bzumgexbyn: Ng, I don't think you're his type: too civil, by half.
McEneaneyL: SERIOUSLY, YES I AM. WHY?
NgAitLy73: but don't use it as an insult
McEneaneyL: YES. WHY?
Jloosedaone: how is that?
McEneaneyL: IT FEELS GOO. WHY?
Bzumgexbyn: Hey, Ng, you gotta use what stings. Clearly, to McE, it's a loaded notion.
NgAitLy73: nonetheless, don't use it as an insult
McEneaneyL: WHY, JLOOSE?
Jloosedaone: then u must challenge me in a private room to a poetic duel
NgAitLy73: do we go around calling ppl niggers?
NgAitLy73: no bc we respect black ppl, and we're openminded about diff. races
McEneaneyL: UM, IF I WERE GAY I'D BE HAPPY TO TRIP OFF TO A PRIVATE ROOM WIHT YOU
NgAitLy73: so y not sexualities?
Jloosedaone: prove yourself
Dreamerz2003: hi all
Jloosedaone: i am not gay!!
Passiveslv4u: oh no, not another Challenge
McEneaneyL: I JUST DID FOR THE LAST HALF-HOUR, ASSHOLE
Bzumgexbyn: Only where that word has the right impact. If I refer to you, it'd be as "Ng," not as
McEneaneyL: JLOOSE, YO PROBABLY WANT TO GET ME ALONE TO TELL ME POEMS
Jloosedaone: i was not here
McEneaneyL: ABOUT SLATHERING MY BODY WITH WHIPPED CREAM
Jloosedaone: hell nooooo!!!
Bzumgexbyn: "Queen Ng." I've no reason to think that having your orientation referred to would sting you, if I said it.
NgAitLy73: no, do you understand that the use of a word that refers to a homosexual is then seens as an insult to all homosexuals
McEneaneyL: YOU PROBABLY READ MY POEM ABOUT MY BIG DICK AND GOT ALL EXCITED
Jloosedaone: i am a master and i hold that record!!
NgAitLy73: the use of the same word then indirectly condescends that entire community
McEneaneyL: THE ONLY THING YOU HOLD IS YOUR BOYFRIEND'S DICK IN YOUR MOUTH
NgAitLy73: whether you mean it or not
Jloosedaone: u must be gay!!
Bzumgexbyn: Nah, I see that people will take offense at what it pleases them to take offense at--but sometimes it's possible to offend deliberately.
McEneaneyL: PLEASE, JLOOSE, DONT BE MAD BECAUSE I HOLD THE MIRROR OF TRUTH UP TO YOU
NgAitLy73: no, it is like another form of ignorance
NgAitLy73: just use another word
McEneaneyL: NG - SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP
Jloosedaone: u r far beneath the realms of a real master bitch!!!
McEneaneyL: IM TALKING ABOUT BEAUTY HERE, NOT HURTFUL WORDS
Bzumgexbyn: Nonsense, Ng. If I let you hold my tongue, what respect can either of us have for the other?
NgAitLy73: y, Mc, your brain doesn't work at that high of a level?
McEneaneyL: JLOOSE, LET'S SEE ONE OF YOUR POEMS, ASSHOLE
NgAitLy73: tell me, do you use the word 'nigger' as an insult?
Jloosedaone: no u r not worthy
NgAitLy73: or any other word that is deliberately linked to another race?
McEneaneyL: GOODBYE ALL
SnowGurlie8: omg...wtf are you people mad about!!1
McEneaneyL: MY WIFE IS LATE WITH DINNER AGAIN
Jloosedaone: why do u call out your name like that!!?
McEneaneyL: AND MUST BE DISCIPLINED
NgAitLy73: y is it that 'gay' and 'faggot' are practically the only ones used?
Bzumgexbyn: Rarely, Ng. I don't have that many occasions to use the term. "Nigger," as I use it,
Jloosedaone: your dog?
Bzumgexbyn: is a pretty TIGHT definition.
Coolcory28034468: anyone got good sad poems?
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
This is another reprint of Classic McEneaney.
AD HOCKED POEMS
There is a new generation of young bohemians who consider themselves too "intellectual" to be taken in by beer ads. So I've been hired, as a representative of this generation, to design ads to appeal to these young people, using classic poetry. Let's see what you think:
I met a traveler from an antiqu land,
Who said: A vast and trunkless leg of aluminum
Stands in the desert. And on its pedestal these words appear:
"I am Budweizymandius, King of Beers:
Look on my malted barley hops ye mighty and despair!"
Nothing beside remains, except further on the beach,
Several young women, their asses bare,
And several six-packs within easy reach.
THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED ROLLING ROCK
Let us go then you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a coed half-drunk upon a couch;
Let us go, through half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
To this cool bar I know.
Oh do not ask "What is it?"
Instead enjoy the crisp cool taste of Rolling Rock.
In the room, the young women come and talk,
Of how much they love that Rolling Rock.
For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the jocks, cheerleaders, bikini teams, thugs,
I have measured out my life with beer mugs.
I know the voices drinking with a drinking fall
Beneath the hip-hop music from a cooler room,
So how should I presume?
Shall I say I have gone at dusk through narrow streets,
And watched the smoke that rises from the exhaust pipes of my cool red sports car, very expensive.
And hunky men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .
I grow horny . . . I grow horny . . .
I shall tell my jokes all corny.
And the bikini girls come and drink Rolling Rock,
And speak of how they love my enormous -
(A WASHED-UP RAPPER LIKE L.L. COOL J. JUMPS INTO THE SCENE, SURROUNDED BY HOOCHIE-MAMA BACKUP DANCERS)
Yo! What up! I ain't Prince Hamlet!
I just want cold refreshment damn it!
We lingered in the chambers of the sea, y'all!
With B-girls wreathed in weed, y'all!
Till human voices wake us and we drown, y'all!
In a pool of ROLLING ROCK!
Monday, November 25, 2002
To celebrate my coming in 18th in the Bob Dylan Fantasy Pool (out of about 1900 contestants - and yes, I know that I'm a dork), I'm reprinting a blog entry from six months ago. Enjoy!
DYLAN HEADED BACK TO MOVIE THEATRES
Bob Dylan will return to the big screen for his first major film role in 15 years. Dylan has signed to star in a drama tentatively titled "Masked & Anonymous," in which he would play Jack Fate.
This sounds very much like a bad late-'80s Schwartzenegger/Stallone/Gibson/Willis cop movie. I've already written the trailer:
THE SCREEN IS BLACK.
We hear some ominous movie trailer music.
FADE IN ON:
EXT. CHICAGO SKYLINE. NIGHT
NARRATOR: In a city of six million souls -
INT. POLICE STATION
We see BOB DYLAN in a suit and tie, carrying a folder under his arm.
One cop -
DYLAN is drinking alone. The BARTENDER (CEDRIC THE ENTERTAINER) is listening to him.
I got thirty-six hours until retirement.
- is about to come face-to-face with terror.
EXT. CHEMICAL PLANT
There is a huge explosion.
A NEWSCASTER making a report.
No one knows where the terrorists will strike next.
INT. CHIEF'S OFFICE
The CHIEF (PETER BOYLE) is chewing DYLAN out.
I've already got half the city council riding my Hershey Highway. Last thing I want is your cowboy antics. Got it, Fate?
Nobody blows up my town but me.
Now he's got just seven hours -
A VIDEO TAPE OF THE CHIEF TERRORIST (JEREMY IRONS)
Ve vant six billion dollars. Or else ve strike a nuclear plant on ze Eastern Seaboard.
- to save a city.
DYLAN swimming underwater with a knife in his teeth.
DYLAN making passionate love to LINDA FIORENTINO.
DYLAN riding a motorcycle and shooting at a car.
DYLAN punching a GERMAN GUY in the face.
EXT. DUNKIN' DONUTS PARKING LOT
DYLAN is talking to a fellow cop (CHRIS TUCKER)
Oh man, why you ain't speak like a normal person?
THE MUSIC STOPS AS IF A NEEDLE HAS BEEN PULLED FROM A RECORD
SAME SCENE A FEW SECONDS LATER
Repeat after me: I'm gettin' jiggy wit' it.
(mumbling worse than ever)
Mumble mumble jiggy.
Man, he is hopeless.
This summer -
DYLAN is holding a CRIMINAL (JOEY PANTS), twisting his arm behind his back.
PANTS: Can't we work this out?
- blame it -
DYLAN: The answer my friend is blow it out your ass.
He twists PANTS' arm harder.
- on a simple twist -
EXT. A CROWD WATCHING DYLAN PULL A KID OUT OF A FIRE WHILE PUNCHING A THUG
Who is he?
INT. JEREMY IRONS SITTING AT A DESK.
IRONS (hissing): Fate.
DYLAN is walking towards the camera, holding a handheld detonator.
- of fate.
DYLAN presses the detonator. There is a huge explosion as the ironworks blows up.
TITLE: MASKED & ANONYMOUS
INT. BOYLE'S OFFICE
DYLAN is standing with BOYLE and a FEMALE COP (LINDA FIORENTINO)
FIORENTINO: You like to go out with a bang, don't you Jack?
TITLE: SUMMER 2003
Saturday, November 23, 2002
Most black sitcoms are written by white people from Harvard making fun of them.
A GREAT CONTEST - GIVE LIAM McENEANEY A FOOT RUB
Simply write a brief essay explaining why you want to give a rising young comedian a foot-rub. Dozens will enter. One may win!
Friday, November 22, 2002
short and sweet
And for Bex: You always said people don't do what they believe in, they just do what's most convenient then they repent ...
JACKO NO SLACKO WHEN HE HAS TO ACTO WACKO
So everyone's in an uproar that Michael Jackson was photographed in Germany dangling a baby out of a hotel window.
Like it's news that Michael Jackson is a danger to kids?
Who is this news to, the three people who believed that he gave that dentist and his family a million bucks for the hell of it?
Here's the news, ready?
Michael Jackson is allowed to have kids.
I firmly believe that there should be an application process.
(angry old man mutter)
Grumble grumble, they can put a man on the moon mutter-mutter ...
SILLY RABBIT, TURNING TRIX IS FOR KIDS
A friend of mine showed me her shampoo which had a picture of a rabbit in a circle with a line through it.
I was like, "Great, no rabbit in my shampoo? Now how am I supposed to get my hare clean?!"
WOKKA WOKKA! Get it? Hare? Hair?
(Liam is buried under a mountain of rotten tomatoes)
Thursday, November 21, 2002
I know I've gone on too much about Ms. McKean, especially since I've had plenty of other InstaCrushes. You know what I'm talking about; you're walking down the street, through the park, supermarket, whatever, and you see someone, and for some reason, in the back of your head it just *clicks* and for a second you have a sudden flash about your future relationship with this person, all the good times ahead for you as a happy couple (usually it's a movie montage scene, with a walk hand-in-hand through the mountains seguing seamlessly into a love scene on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, accompanied by a swampy guitar on the soundtrack). And then you keep walking and never see this person again.
I have three stories; two are about InstaCrushes I've had recently, and one about why you should probably never actually try to pursue it outside the realms of fantasy:
STORY ONE: DISARMING LOVE
I was walking down First Avenue over the summer, around 42nd St. across the way from the UN. I was, as I most often am, completely lost in my thoughts and paying little attention to the world around me. Luckily, I am a large and unfriendly fella, and people tend to make way for me when I am in these walking trances. Anyhow, I look up and see two women walking ahead of me. One was somewhat unremarkable-looking; pretty, but not pretty enough to take special notice of. The other woman, though, was cute; she had red hair that looked like it could have come out a Jell-O box. She was dressed in the way that women can in the summer; somewhat gaily and yet at the same time in a way that was designed so that you would take her seriously. She was wearing a short-sleeved blouse, and I remember noticing that specifically because her left arm ended at her elbow.
To me this made her more beautiful; she had clearly come to grips with this handicap uyears ago, and wasn't going to let it ruin her otherwise happy day walking down First Avenue with her friend, chappting about whatever they were chatting about as she discreetly checked herself out in the windows of the stores she was passing.
I had a brief vision of myself, loving her - not in spite of her handicap, but completely ignoring it. After all, it's the strength of character that really sealed the deal for me. I pictured myself getting into a drunken bar brawl at one of the dives I perform at with some dude who thought it would be funny to make a joke at her expense. Even though I probably would have gotten my ass kicked, that wouldn't be as important to her as the fact that I got my ass kicked for her.
And during our inevitably messy and acrimonious break-up, during the bitter and drawn-out argument that would end it all, I would, even in the heat of anger, take the high road and not bust her chops about her missing arm even once. And she would later realize that, and respect me for that, if nothing else.
Then they stopped at red light and I, being a native New Yorker, ignored that and plowed ahead past them.
STORY TWO: HOT MAMA
Earlier in the Fall, I was walking up 9th Ave. in Chelsea and I spotted a beautiful woman in her early thirties. She was dealing with her four year-old son. As I walked past, I noticed she had no ring on her finger. A single mom.
Before I could say anything, her son darted off away from her. Without even thinking, I darted after him, into the middle of the street. I yanked him away just before he got hit by a cab.
The cab driver took one look at what almost happened and sped away.
I gave the child back to the mother, who was on the verge of tears. She grabbed her son and said, "Look what almost happened!" And then she hugged the kid close to her for a long minute. I excused myself and was about to walk on when she yelled, "Stop!"
I turned around and she walks up to me. "I'm sorry, I didn't get a chance to thank you." She sticks out her hand. "My name's Sam."
"And this is Tommy."
"He's a cute little boy. I'm just glad he's okay."
By this time, little Tommy was hiding behind his mom, clinging to her, peeking at me from behind her leg.
"Yeah, he's a lot to handle. His father ran off on us, and it isn't easy, you know - ?"
She explains that they were about to go to a diner to get something to eat, and would I like to join them? I say I would actually, and afterwardsw we agree that the three of us would go to the Met museum the next weekend. She's using the child as a shield to keep from getting hurt by another guy, and I can't say as how I blame her.
Our third date involves us going to the movies together, sans Tommy. As we sit in the dark theatre watching another shitty Reese Witherspoon monstrosity unfold, her hand rests on mine, and I realize that I am happier than I've ever been in my life.
And I keep walking past them, sad that reality will never live up to that scenario.
STORY THREE: POETRY IN MOTION
It's the summer again. I'm on the E train, on my way from Queens into Manhattan. Getting on at Roosevelt Ave. with me is a tall Asian woman, very pretty. We sit on benches diagonally opposite from each other. We play eye hockey; the game where you look at someone kind of out of the corner of your eye until the look over and catch you. Then they look at you until you look over and notice them looking at you. It's a proud subway sport.
We both get off at West 4th St., which is awkward for me because I'm never sure if a woman who's caught me looking at her will think I'm following her and then run to the nearest subway cop and have me arrested.
I do a show at 7:30. I have another show at 9:30 in the same neighborhood and two hours to kill. But I've come prepared with my notebook; I'm going to sit in Washington Square Park and plow ahead with writing my one-man show.
An hour later, my pen ran out of ink. I decided that that meant I should go get dinner. So I went into an area falafel store.
By the way, the following part of the story is true:
I walk into the falafel store and place an order. I look over and next to me standing at the corner is a vaguely familiar-looking Asian woman. Im about to try one of my patented Liam McEneaney Socially-Retarded Ice-Breakers, when she looks at me and says, "Hey, you're the guy from the subway, right?"
We end up talking and she tells me that she's the hostess at an overpriced neighborhood jazz bar. I tlel her that I'm a comedian. She says, "Oh really, do you make a lot of money?" Which is code for, "Can you afford to maintain my tastes?"
I reply, "I support myself," which as we all know, means, "No."
"Oh." We talk about life in Queens and she tells me a story about how she likes to go to clubs and drink champagne and dance all night.
I give her a flyer for a shwo I'm doing and she asks if I'm not going to give her my phone number. I do, but don't ask for hers in return, and we part ways never to see each other again.
So you see, an InstaCrush can be fun, but it can be an InstaCrushing situation as well if ever borne out in reality.
Blogger hasn't been letting me publish the last couple of days, hence I missed the past couple of days. Don't worry babies,daddy didn't leave you.
If you came to my show Monday night, I have to apologise. Seems The Man thought it would be too dangerous for me to perform my show. And when I say "The Man" I mean "the Building Inspector Man" who found a building code violation in the Theatre. But no worries, I'll be doing it again another time, another place.
When I saw you break down in front of the judge and cry real tears, that was the best acting I saw anybody ever do.
THE CREEPY WHEEL GETS THE GREASE
For those of you who have been following this blog, you'll remember that I developed an InstaCrush on dictionary editor Erin McKean. Well, the other day I received an autographed copy of her latest book - no, not the Oxford American Dictionary, although that would have been funny - the book is Weird and Wonderful Words.
I haven't had a chance to read it yet (I'm making headway through a 1000 page anthology of NY literature, plus I had this one-man show I thought I'd be performing), but I did skim it and it's right up my alley. It's got all these crazy words that you wouldn't think exist, but do. In fact, as soon as I read it, I'm going to post a review. How do you like them apples?
Anyway, reading this book made me realize that I myself could create awesome new words to put in the dictionary.
LIAM'S AWESOME NEW WORDS THAT BELONG IN THE DICTIONARY
contradictionary: The second half of the Thesaurus, where all the antonyms are stored.
crucifixtures: Particularly gory religious fixtures hanging in an otherwise normal home.
Stipe-osuction: When the lead singer of a band sucks all of the soul out of a song.
Actually, these might be Sniglets. Yikes!
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
Monday, November 18, 2002
All the info is to the left.
THAT'S JUST THE WAY I AM
I'm allergic to seafood. But I still enjoy going into a restaurant, pointing out a lobster in the lobster tank, and saying, "You're a feisty one; it will be my pleasure to kill you - bu hoo ho ha ha ha ha!" (That is, of course, the standard Villain Laugh as seen in cartoons, 1930s serials, and crazy "ironic" stage productions.)
Friday, November 15, 2002
I think that working with kids is finally taking its toll.
There are monsters underneath my bed.
There are monsters underneath my bed.
"Good night"'s the last thing I ever said,
There are monsters underneath my bed.
There are monsters underneath my bed,
The want to eat the brains from in my head,
And snack upon the toes at the end of my feet,
And taste my tummy for a special treat.
They'll wait until I fall asleep,
And then over the rug in my room they'll creep,
Until - wait! That sounds like scratching claws - it
Seems to be coming from within my closet.
Outside - oh no! - a terrible groaning,
Like a monster's hungry stomach moaning.
Over there, a terrible shape with horrible horn,
COming for me, I wish I'd never been born!
Oh please let it all be a monstrous dream,
I open my mouth and let out a scream.
And bang! opens the door and in comes my mommy,
Now those monsters will be sorry that they ever saw me.
And then mommy turns on my bedroom light,
I looked around and everything was alright.
Showed me the "shape" was just my coat and my hat,
And the groaing outside? 'Twas the song of a cat!
And the scratching, I felt dumb when she did show,
It was a tree branch brushing against my window.
And though I'm a big boy and shouldn't have let her,
She held my hand softly until she felt better.
Then she kissed me once and turned my lights down,
And said that if I was scared she'd still be around.
And it was all okay, though I'd expected the worst,
But if monsters are real, I hope they take my brother first.
Thursday, November 14, 2002
You ain't from 'round these parts, is you?
At the West 4th St. station (8th St. entrance), I saw three college-age kids; two women, one guy. The three were white, and I mean Utah Missionary White.
The guy was asking the token clerk, "Does the A train stop at 34th St.?"
I guess the token clerk said , "Yes," because the next thing the guy said was, "All right, three round trip tickets please."
Thanks for the tip, Eagle Eye
I was crossing 10th Ave. at night in the rain, and a woman crossing the same way looks at me and says, "Do you need a cab?"
I stared at her uncomprehendingly and she added, "Because there's a cab right behind you."
I looked behind me and sure enough, a cab was pulling out of a gas station. I looked back and the woman was already walking away. I guess she told me what she needed to and split.
At least buy me a drink, big boy.
I was walking along E. 43rd St., on my way to a show, and this small Indian fellow approaches me. He looks at me and says, "Hey my friend, long time no see."
Since I have a memory that isn't always good, I replied, "Uh, hey, yeah. How you been?"
Racking my brains for any remembrance.
He stuck out his hand and I grabbed it. He then kept hold of my hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb.
"Where are you going," he asked.
"Uh, East," I replied, and headed that direction.
"OK," he waved cheerfully as I walked away, "See you later!"
I looked over my shoulder a second later and he was gone.
Men! Right ladies?
MEA (ROBERT) CULPA
I guess I should apologise for the sexist tone of yesterday's blog entry. I certainly meant no offense to any of the women who read this, especially the small-breasted womens. Certainly, you muyst already feel very awkward and self-conscious about your freakishly small-breasted forms without having some snide comedian judging you just because you don't have great big gazongas. Indeed, my language regarding the female form, especially where it concerns gazongas, bazoombas, or - if you prefer - Great Big McBoingBoings, must have come off as incredibly insensitive. So if you are one of those owmen whom nature decided to punish for a sin committed in a past life by endowing (or rather, not endowing) with small breastices, I do apologise here and now. After all, your freakish little lives are alreadsy probably hellish, what with kids throwing stones at you, dogs instinctively trying to attack you, God hating you, etc. And for all that, I do say in utter sincerity that I feel very sorry for you..
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
I find that I am attracted to women who are smart.
I also find that I am attracted to women who have big breasts.
I have a lot of difficulty dealing with anyone, man or woman, who is dumb, but I find that the bigger a woman's breasts are, the easier time I have dealing with her stupidity. In fact, I've found that the size of a woman's breasts are inversely proportional to how dumb she can be before I can't deal with her. For instance, I was once able to talk to porn star Houston for 15 minutes.
I have expressed this in a mathematical equation:
3(x-y) = b-a
x is the woman's bra size
y is the standard bra size I find to be pleasing
b is the standard IQ I enjoy holding a conversation with
a is the woman's actual IQ
I am talking to a woman with a 42 bra size (I know I'm not accounting for the cup size, but that's mathematics with a higher degree of difficulty. That's what grad students are for). Now I find a 34 bra size to be my stnadard level of pleasing. I normally converse at a 130 point IQ level. How dumb can she be?
The equation works out:
Which means that she can tell me all about her affinity for Britney Spears, the movie Titanic, and her love for the novels of Danielle Steele before I get bored and have to call an end to the conversation.
Tomorrow, a binomial theorem for apologizing to all the women who read this blog.
* no class
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
I know I've printed some of this before in a different way, but I'm trying to write this so it's smoother and it all comes together.
Being a teacher, I find that I'm making rules for these kids I never thought I'd have to make for another human being outside of a frat-house. I find myself actually saying things like, "Stop spitting on each other! new rule, no spitting on each other!" And, "Don't show your butt to the other kids. I don't care why, I don't want excuses just stop doing it!"
The thing is, when you tell kids not to do something, they will immediately ask "Why?" And they will keep asking until you want to kill somone, probably yourself. The other day I actually found myself saying:
Don't eat glue!
Because it's bad for you.
I don't know.
Because I failed science in school.
Because I had bad role models at home.
Because my grandparents were bad role models for my parents.
Because they grew up in the Great Depression.
Because in the 1920s our economy had become too reliant on the Stock Market, and when that collapsed out whole economy went under.
I don't know, I just know that everyone was very poor and forced to eat glue.
Until you want to kill yourself.
But I found a way around it. I just said:
Because glue isn't for eating, it's for sniffing.
And that way, if some angry parent comes up to me, I'm just like "Hey, who you going to believe, me or some kid who sniffs glue?"
I find myself having to be a good role model for these kids, now, which is hilariousbecause I was a terrible student. And so I'm in a position where i have to tell these kids to do their homework. I'm like:
Do your homework.
Because if you don't do your homework, then when you grow up the only job you'll be able to get is teaching kids like you.
Tomorrow: A Sexist mathematical equation!
Monday, November 11, 2002
The other day I ran into a friend of mine. Halfway through the course of the conversation, he asked, "How's that woman you've been stalking?"
Now, having been raised in a household by a Jewish mother and an Irish Catholic father, I have a huge degree of residual guilt, so I immediately racked my brains for any woman I'd accidentally behaved inappropriately around. Not being able to think of any, I replied, "What are you talking about?"
"You know," he said, "The woman on your website. The dictionary lady."
And I realized that this simpleton was referring to Erin McKean, the editor of the Oxford American Dictionary whom I immortalized in song last week after hearing her on NPR's The Next Big Thing. (See Nov. 6th for deets. 'Nuff said - Ed.)
Now, I wouldn't consider my behaviour "stalking." Weird, rambly "celebrity crush" postings on a blog, yes, but that's no crime. And I don't think I would stalk Mrs. McKean at any rate. No offense to her, but here's why:
1) Stalking requires a greater degree of focus, concentration, and attention span than I possess.
I mean, I was all set to listen to TNBT this week to see if she was going to be on. But as these things go, it ended up that I was at a friend's house Sunday morning, one hand engaged with a spatula cooking blueberry pancakes, the other hand holding a book open as I read an Al Capp story aloud. (True.) What with my friend only having two ears and one brain with which to hear, it came down to a choice: either the radio show or Al Capp. I'm afraid Capp won.
With that lack of dedication, how could I ever hope to become a full-fledged stalker?
Not to mention that stalking envolves a hell of a lot of research; learning the stalkees' habits, preferences, daily movements, etc. I mean, I barely did homework in school, I don't think I'm going to start now.
Here's what my train of thought would be, were I to be sitting in the bushes outside of an establishment, stalking somebody:
"Hmm, on Saturdays at five, she goes to a laundromat to do her laundry. I'd better make a note of that. Where's my pen? Not in this pocket. This one either. I know I have it, I used it to write a check to Con Ed this morning. Con Ed would be a good character in a Ring Lardner story. Wait, did I leave my pen on my kitchen table after writing the check. I bet I did. Son of a bitch. I should really just invest in a pocket, what do you call those things? Microrecorder. I'll make a note of it. Where'd my pen go? Oh yeah."
Hell, I've barely got my one-man show memorized and it goes up next week (see left for more details).
2)Stalking means creepy/threatening phone calls.
And I'll be honest, I have enough trouble calling a woman on the rare occasion when she's given me her phone number and is expecting my call. Every call from Liam McEneaney to a woman starts with awkward stammering and ends with me cringing so hard I'm nearly in a foetal position.
A stalking call from me would probably go like this:
Erin McKean: Hello?
Liam McEneaney:Uh - Mrs., uh, Erin - er, McKean?
EM: Yes, who is this?
LM: It's Li - er, I mean, uh ... a mystery stalker.
E<: What? Are you on a cell phone? I can barely hear you.
LM: Uh, I said, I'm uh, a mystery stalker.
EM: You're going to have to stop mumbling and speak up.
LM: I said, I'm a mystery stalker.
LM: Uh, yeah. Look, did I catch you at a bad time? Anyway, what, uh, are you wearing?
EM (to someone off the phone): He says he's a stalker. I don't know, that's what he said.
EM: I was talking to my husband.
LM: Oh. (awkward pause) Tell him I said "hi."
EM: He says to tell you he says "hi."
LM: What's he wearing?
LM: Uh, nothing nothing.
EM (laughing): Did you just ask what he's wearing?
LM: Uh, noooooo.
EM: He just asked what you're wearing.
LM: Look, I'd better go.
LM: Uh, I've got a thing to do.
EM: Okay. Bye.
LM (cringing into a ball, hitting his head with his fist): I - am - so - fucking - stupid.
3) Stalking requires an actual physical effort.
Someone sent me a link to Mrs. McKean's biography, and apparently she lives in Illinois. Now, my sister goes to college in Illinois. And if, no matter how much I love her dearly, I'm not going to spend the time and money to visit my sister in the Midwest to have the same nonconversations in person that we have over the phone, there's no way I'm going to make that trip to see a woman I just happen to be psychotically fixated upon. No offense, I'm sure she's a lovely woman and someone worthy of too much inappropriate attention, but I'm a busy man.
4) Stalking requires that you maintain a fantasy relationship with the subject.
Fuck that. First of all, I ain't exactly a whiz at maintaining my relationships here in The Land of Reality.
Secondly, I have such weird self-esteem issues that my subconscious (the land where dreams go to die) would produce one of these fantasy scenarioes:
LIAM AND ERIN ARE SITTING ON A COUNTRY PORCH, SHARING A SWING BENCH. AS THE COOL DUSK BREEZES PLAY GENTLY ACROSS THEIR FACE, THEY EACH SIP LEMONADE FROM A SWEATY GLASS.
LIAM: Oh, Erin, you're finally mine.
A LARGE BRUTE OF A MAN ENTERS THE SCENE. TO SAY HE IS HEAVILY-MUSCLED IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT. EVEN HIS EYES SEEM TO TWITCH WITH THE BRUTE FORCE OF HIS BICEP, MADE ROCK-HARD BY A LIFETIME OF WORK. IN ONE LARGE, HAM-LIKE FIST HE GRIPS AN AXE WITH A HANDLE LIKE A PILLAR FROM THE COLLISEUM. THE OTHER HAND STEADIES A LARGE OAK TREE THAT HE'S GOT SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER.
MAN: What's going on here?
ERIN: Allow me to introduce my son. We call him "Tiny."
LIAM: Uh, pleasure to -
MAN: Dad's out back in the woods, wrestling a bear for supper.
WE HEAR THE SOUND OF A LARGE ANIMAL SCREAMING.
ERIN: Tell him to quit playing with the poor thing and put it out of its misery.
Or, this is scenario number two:
LIAM: Finally, your husband and son are out of the picture in a non-violent way!
ERIN: Liam, I hate to say this, but I think it's time you stopped stalking me.
LIAM: But why?
ERIN: I don't know how to tell you, but -
LIAM: You found someone else.
ERIN: He calls himself "Gordo, Emperor of the Mole People."
LIAM: What's this guy got that I haven't got?
ERIN: Ambition. He's written a 2500 page rant on Pentagon mind rays. And he's number 7 on the CIA's list of People Who Know Too Much. And he said he's going to kill the President for me.
LIAM: What about that alderman I killed?
ERIN: First of all, that was a garbageman, second of all you only winged him.
Of course, there is an upside to stalking.
The fame and the money. In fact, this whole sordid story has a very Made-For-Lifetime-movie feel about it. It could be called Sticks & Stones - "And she thought words could never hurt her." Starring Kelly Ripa as the embattled heroine.
Now, I realize that every celebrity needs a stalker. It's as much a status symbol as a Porsche, an above-ground pool, or an illegal maid. If she has no stalker, how can Mrs. McKean hold her head up in The Stork Club, or whatever the Illinois version of the Stork Club is (probably a Denny's or an IHOP).
Therefore, if Mrs. McKean is reading this, I will offer my services as a stalker under these conditions:
1) Like I said, I ain't going to make much of a physical effort. You have to come to NY.
2) Apparently, staring through someone's window with a telescope is de rigieur for a stalker. But to be honest, hiding in bushes isn't my bag, and I'd rather do it from the comfort of my own apartment anyway. Which means you'll have to stand in the street outside my building and hide in the bushes while I watch you with a telescope.
3) I get bored pretty easily. So I don't want to spend more than five minutes doing this, okay? Also, when we're done, don't try to hang out with me or ask me to show you around town or anything. I hate that touristy shit.
4) I want 50% of the Lifetime money.
5) No cops.
In conclusion, I guess I'm just not stalker material. Sorry Erin, it's really not you, it's me. I can't even guarantee that I'd come to a New York-area appearance and watch anonymously, and then stammering out a brief "That was good" before walking away, hands pushed deep into my coat pockets. In fact the only thing I can guarantee is that tomorrow's entry is going to be short and to the point.
Saturday, November 09, 2002
For my one man show. When you click the link, make sure you click on the link "QUEENS COLLEGE PRESIDENT OUTCLASSED BY STUDENT." For the full story, check out my one-man show next Monday (details to the left):
Link to the shocking story of how The Catholic League had nothing better to do in 1997
I was thinking today about the cartoon shows I used to watch as a kid; G.I. Joe, Transformers, SuperFriendsetc. And about how every show somehow involved an evil scientist who was using the things he created in his evil lab - robot armies, death rays, what have you - to try to conquer the world. But here's my question: where were the scientists going to get the money forthese projects? After all, giant orbiting satellites with death ray lasers don't grow on trees (but you try telling the White House that).
If these guys are like the scientists I know, they probably have to apply for research grants. Who do you apply to for a grant to build a robot dog that will infiltrate the good guys' camp and earn their trust? GE? Lockheed?
Can you imagine what it's like when it's time for the evil geinius scientist when he has to go back to the person who gave him the original grant and ask for more money to continue his research?
CORPORATE GUY: So, come in, please have a seat, Dr. Sinestro.
DR. SINISTER: Um, actually, that's Dr. Sinister.
CG: Oh, yes, my apologies. Hmmm, kind of an unusual name.
DS: It's Latin. It means "left-handed."
CG: I see. Well, enough with the pleasentries. We're both busy men, let's get right to the point. And the point is that you're asking us for another ten million dollar grant. Now we gave you the original ten million, why was it again?
He shuffles through his paper work.
Ah yes, "To Test the Effects of Zero-Gravity Propulsion on the Growth and Development of Daisies."
DS: Uh, yeah.
CG: but according to your summary here, what you actually used the money for was "a giant frog that would eat the President's daughter unless he paid a five trillion dollar ransom."
DS: Uh . . .
CG: Seems that you're casting your net pretty wide there.
DS: Well, you know. I just thought that it would be a more condusive research environment, uh,
DS: Uh, if I controlled the entirety of the free world.
CG: Yes. According to our reprots, though, your gianty frog was returned back to his regular size due to the intervention of a (reads a memo) paramilitary strike force?
DS: Yes, thjat would be my archnemesis Captain Positive and the HappyFun Task Squad.
CG: I'm not sure we like having to deal with a scientist with an arch-nemesis.
DS: It's all a matter of personal style, sir -
CG: Speaking of a personal style, I got a chance to speak with your, er, "lab assistant."
CG: The gentleman with the fangs, yes. Mr. Beastinator explained to myself and Mr. McDonald that you had invented a weather machine -
DS: Ah, yes, the Atmospheritron.
CG: And that you were going to use it to change all the weather patterns in the entire world and flood everything if you weren't made Supreme Ruler of the Earth.
DS: A slight exaggeration.
CG: And that your plan was once again thwarted by this task force -
DS: They broke into my secret lair -
CG: Why do you need a secret lair? So many of the people we fund are happy to have space in a university -
DS: And turned my machine off.
CG: Well, why didn't you just turn the machine back on again?
DS: I don't think you understand. Captain Happy turned it off.
CG: And you just threw it away? That's a very wasteful attitude. We at Conglomicorp couldn't help noticing that that's the kind of invention that could make us millions, if not billions of dollars.
DS: Well, I threw it away.
CG: So make another one. You still have the plans, right?Because, and I'm going to be honest here, if you don't come up with something the boys in Accounting are going to want to nail your hide to the wall for Misappropriation of Funds. Especially for the armour-plated car you had custom-built -
DS: The Sinistermobile?
CG: And the private jet you had completely remodeled?
DS: The Sinister Bird of Prey?
CG: Yes, I don't care if you're Steven Hawking, you don't need a turbojet with laser guns to conduct research on flowers. And another hting, your books are a mess. We're going to want an audit in two weeks -
DS (muttering sinsisterly to himself):Oh yes, you'll get yours and soon.
CG: Excuse me?
DS: Oh, nothing nothing. Listen, do you want to see my pretty frogs? Seems a pity to come all this way . . .
CG: I would, except I know that's just ap loy to assassinate me.
DS: Oh curses! I mean, whatever do you mean?
CG: Trust me. I just went over this last night with Dr. Fang and the Legion of Evil last night. I'll see you two weeks with our accountant.
Friday, November 08, 2002
Last night I only got four hours of sleep. Luckily, my body decided to compensate by having me crash on my couch an hour before I had to go to work. I awoke from my nap, checked my clock, saw I was right on time, got on the subway and headed to work.
As I stood in my living room, my mom started to nag me because - it's a long story - I was wearing the wrong coat. Then I looked around, and realized that since I was home again, I must be dreaming. That's whe nI wrrrreeenched myself out of the dream, got up, and found myself fifteen minutes late for work.
What a crazy day, huh?
Thursday, November 07, 2002
He's aptly named. Why? Because he's a fan of this bizz-logger. Check out what he wrote on his site:
Det er jo så smukt - men hvis man er typen som har brug for lidt comic relief efter sådan en omgang kan man jo læse stand-up komikeren Liam McEneaneys blog
For more of this wisdom, please go to: http://www.ommer.dk
I recently had a woman come up to me and tell me that her cousin had just had a baby. What am I supposed ot say? "Congratulations . . . on someone else's accomplishment that you had no part in. Maybe someday you'll get laid, too."
I feel like I've written this joke before. Please tell me that it isn't true.
I'VE GOT SOME BAD NEWS FOR ALL THE NEW PARENTS OUT THERE
Your newborn baby is ugly. Yes, even yours. I know you think he or she is adorable, with his or her little toesy-woesies and his or her ability to follow you around the room with his or her little eyes.
But that doesn't change the fact that babies are ugly. Now don't get me wrong, I really like kids. Hell, I work with kids professionally. And the kids I work with are some of the damned cutest children you'll ever see.
But they aren't newborns. Newborns are just ugly. Like little wrinkly greaseballs. I know, I know you love to just look at him or her. But let's be honest, you also love to look at a tissue you just blew your nose into. That's because you can't believe that something like that came out of your body. But if I shoved my used hanky under one of these new parents' noses and demanded a compliment on how "cutie-wutie" it is, I'd be locked up in the nuthouse.
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Let me preface this (somewhat creepy, I will admit) blog entry with this explanation:
Even as a young boy, I had always developed crushes on the oddest assortment of women. When I was about 1 or 2, I saw The Maltese Falcon and instantly fell for Mary Astor, who played the femme fatale who killed Spade's partner.
My next big crush came when Columbia University played a birthay tribute to legendary dead jazz singer Billie Holiday. It was her voice, that's the only reason I have for having a crush on a woman who'd died long before I was born.
My point is that I have a tendency to get crushes on the most motley assortment of women; some men prefer supermodels or actresses. Me, I'm not sure what gets my attention.
Saturday night I went to bed, tuned to a local public radio station that was playing classical music. Sunday morning I woke up to a show called The Next Big Thing and Erin McKean, the editor of the Oxford American Dictionary.
The host of the show had her on as a guest in a segment where listeners pitched her ideas for new words for the dictionary. She either told them that it was a "great word!" or turned them down with sweet dispatch and quick wit. One couple (whose tone of voice just told you that they were a smug middle-aged liberal couple calling form their apartment on the Upper West Side, he in a Heathcliff Huxtable sweater and beard to hide the double chin, she with her graying hair pulled back into a bun so it doesn't fall over her Channel 13 sweatshirt) called together on the extension and pitched the word "Phlenyor." Basically, they explained, the most famous "Phlenyor" is "Excuse me while I kiss this guy."
McKean interrupted with, "Oh, you mean a mondegreen." And then she explained that it was named after a misheard lyric from the song "The Bonny Earl of Murray," where someone mistook the line "has laid him on the green," for "Lady Mondegreen."
Personally, I call it "the basis for every Family Circus cartoon drawn," but that's me. The point is that Erin McKean dispatched this couple with true justice; cold, impartial, a little unfair, but also full of compassion. (The reason they called it a "Phlenyor" was that when the wife watched the "Flintstones," she misheard the closing credit lyric as "Phlenyor with the Flintstones" and thought it was the name of the cat.)
Was it the quick wit? The Sarah Vowell-esque baby voice? Or just the fame - that tawdry Public Radio decadence - making me a sort of obscure starfucker?
All I know is that I fell for Erin McKean, in that gently goofy way that a six year-old falls for his grade-school teacher. Now, I didn't want to do anything creepy, like send her weirdo fan mail. And I didn't want to do anything that would cost me money, like buy her flowers. So I wrote this love song for her:
(musically, think somewhere between the Beatles' "Honey Pie" and the Leon Redbone version of "Shine On Harvest Moon," complete with male back-up singers)
Some say love is where you look,
And some say it's where you find it.
But I found a woman to whom I'm an open book,
And now she's defined it.
Erin McKean, Erin McKeen,
I'm Mc - Keen on you if you know what I mean,
Erin McKean, you got me singin' like a canary.
Erin McKean, Erin McKean,
When it comes to definitions you're makin' the scene,
As the editor of the O.A. Dictionary.
MALE BACKUP SINGERS: Ohh, Ayyy, Dictionaaaaryyyy.
You may have heard, I invented a word,
the dictionary's been missing.
That word's "McKeans," and what it means,
is "the thrill of your true love's kissing."
Erin McKean, I'm a Philistine,
You have cause to be wary.
It's absurd, but you play with words,
And I play Pictionary.
MALE BACKUP SINGERS: He doesn't even own a Dictionaaaaryyyy.
LIAM Yes I do.
Erin McKean, Erin McKeen,
I'm Mc - Keen on you if you know what I mean,
You got me dancin' like a goddamn fairy.
Erin McKean, Erin McKean,
How can I say this while keeping it clean,
You look up the definition of beauty,
They got your picture right under it, cutie,
With a referral to "see also: A Root a Root Rootie,"
The one and only editor of the O.A. Dictionary.
MALE BACKUP SINGERS: Ohh, Ayyy, Dictionaaaaryyyy.
Guess who's earned himself a restraining order?
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
So I don't have too much to say today. Instead, why not tune into a Schoolhouse Rocks parody my friend Eric Drysdale cowrote for the Daily Show?
Monday, November 04, 2002
I just stayed home, and every time a kid came to the door, they would open their bag and I would put in a big scoop of ice cream. Because kids love ice cream, except on Halloween apparently.
THE TRAVELIN' SALISBURYS
I've never been to the town of Salisbury, but I do know that whatever they're doin' to their cows, it ain't right.
ROLLIN' WITH THE PLAYS
I enjoy role-playing while - ahem, how do I put this delicately? - "giving a woman the greatest pleasure she's ever known." The problem is that I date a lot of nerdy women, so too many times I get into bed and find four-sided die all over the place. I'm like, "Baby, I don't care if you got a charisma of 18, this ain't happening."
Of course, I'm kidding. But I do like role-playing games, you know, where she plays the sexy stewardess, and I play "Liam, the Guy Getting a Blowjob From a Stewardess."
Or she's a cheerleader, and I'm "Liam, the Guy Getting A Blowjob From a Cheerleader."
Saturday, November 02, 2002
. . . unless you confiscate his antidepressants.
Well, I've been away for a month. I almost quit writing this blog altogether, but then I saw that four people were upset by my absence.
I can't tell you what an ego-boost it is, to see that four people miss your writing. Because let's be honest. If you've seen my act, you know that that's what I'm going for - to entertain up to four people at a time.
While I was gone I was written up in the Irish Echo. Here's a link to that:
Tears of a Clown
TATTOO - WHY DON'T YOU GO GREET OUR GUESTS?
A friend of mine showed me she got a back tattoo, and I mean a tattoo all over her back, from her neck to her ass. It had faeries, and dragons, and unicorns.
She said, "You know, Liam, you should get a tattoo like this."
And you know, I would get a tattoo like that, except I know how to tell my parents that I hate them.