Tuesday, June 29, 2004
The Yankees are playing the Red Sox tonight.
In case you're not up on the BIG RIVALRY, Yankee fans and Red Sox fans HATE each other.
Yankee fans call Red Sox fans "assholes." Red Sox fans call Yankee fans "assholes."
I just want to pull them aside and say, "Hey guys, come on now. You're both right."
I had to call a funeral home this week, and the outgoing message on the answering machine was, "Thank you for calling the so-and-so funeral home. No one is here right now. If this is an emrgency, please call..."
An emergency? I think that if you're calling a funeral home, the emergency is pretty much over.
The guy isn't getting any deader.
Were they getting messages like, "Send someone over! Charlie's coming back to life! He's not ruining another wake!"
By the way, don't worry, everyone in my family's okay. I had to call the home for work. Please, if God forbid anyone in my family were to pass away, I would not be allowed to make the arrangements. I'm irresponsible enough as it is, I can't imagine:
"Hey Liam, did you make arrangements for the funeral today?"
"I said I would! I'll call them."
"Okay, only it's been six months and the neighbors are starting to complain..."
"I said I'd take care of it!"
Sunday, June 27, 2004
I saw a sticker yesterday that said, "NO PUPPET GOVERNMETS IN HAITI AND IRAQ!"
And instead of thinking, "Damn right!" all I could think was, "Man, if puppets were in charge, how cool would that be?"
Maybe the Swedish Chef could be president of Iraq:
"Harbe orbee skoobe torture infidels!'
And then when you watched the news, you'd be thinking, "God those human rights abuses are hilarious! I can't wait to see where Grover applies those taser leads next!"
NOTE TO ME: Joke like that, but not as dark.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
I was told off by a college student for using the word "queer" in its correct context - "that sure is a queer idea." ie, "It seems odd to me."
She told me, "No, you can't use that word in any way. It's an insult to gay people!"
But what about the show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?
"That's different. Gay people have reclaimed the word."
Apparently, gay people have reclaimed the Q-word the way black people have reclaimed the N-word.
I asked her as a white person, what word could I reclaim. She told me, "You can't! White people stole everyone else's culture!"
And I realized she's right. that's why I think white people should do what we've always done and steal someone else's word.
I think white people should reclaim the word "Eskimo."
"You what up, my Eskimo? What up blubber-lover?"
See a pack of white kids with harpoons under their parks, ready for a drive-by seal-cubbing.
And then when a real Eskimo shows up: "Yo my Eski-oh, hey Nanook. Nothing. I was just going to say, 'What up my Escalade-driving pal'?"
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Today at my shitty job I was using the urinal (no, I don't pee sitting down), and I noticed that someone had written right above it, "CRIP 4 LIFE!"
At first I thought, "Hmm, I work with gang people."
Then I thought, "What if it's some guy who'been crippled for life, and the only way he can talk is through magic marker? Or he's so proud of having been crippled he has to let the world know, or at least the urinal-users?"
Then I noticed that that above it, someone had written, "Stop dick ridin'. The real Crips n' Bloods in Cali."
But, they drew a cartoon sun shining around that sentence, as if to say, "Sure you be dick ridin'. But htings ain't as bad as all that. Really, the sun will come out tomorrow - bet your dick ridin' bottom that tomorrow, there'll be sun."
But i guess my main point is, it's nice to express gang pride and all, but aren't they supposed to be involved in drugs and guns and other money-making schemes like that?
If you're in a gang and have the shittiest job on Earth, you should spend less time at the urinal, and more time making sure your gang diversifies into hardware, or bond-trading or something.
"Yo, I'd like to give mad props to my boyz at the McDonald's fry-cooker. Big ups to the janitorial staff of Wast Containment Unit #5."
Sunday, June 20, 2004
I was listening to the radio, when a commercial came on for a new reality show that was so over-the-top absurd that I was convinced that it was either a joke or a prank.
The ad's description was something like...
"We're going to take six debutantes. And drop them via parachute into the Australian outback. Where they have to compete for the affections of Mr. Right. While trying to survive. But what they don't know is..."
And by the time I waited for the "just kidding," the commercial was over. This is apparently a for-real, no-foolin' show.
How am I supposed to think of a little jokey-joke satire of reality TV, when it's already gone over-the-top into self-parody?
And what the hell is the twist going to be? I think it would be funny if the show ended, and the producers came on-camera and told the debutantes, "Look, we've got some bad news. The show's already been cancelled. Apparently this was too dumb, even for FOX. Sorry Candi, no one's even going to see you eat that log full of centipedes for a dance with Mr. Right."
Ladies, I've said it before and I'll say it again*: I may not be Mr. Right, but I am Mr. Won't-Make-You-Go-Through-Some-Bug-Eating-Contest-To-Kiss-Me.
Unless, of course, that's what you want.
* Denotes something I may not have actually said before.
Friday, June 18, 2004
I'm not a Cubs fan. But I feel that when you wear a sports shirt, you should possess some form of the ability that the player has.
Like, I can't wear a Piazza shirt, because I'm not athletic enough to hit homers.
And I can't wear a Clemens shirt, because I can't throw a ball more than two feet.
But I do wear a Sosa shirt because I feel like I am athletic enough to throw my back out sneezing.
Chicago is very proud of being "The Home of the Blues."
Basically, what they're saying is, "Our city is such an awful place to live, that its citizens had to invent a whole new musical form to depict the almost suicidal drudgery that is our day-to-day life."
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Some Chicagoans think I look down on their city.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
I don't look down on Chicago, because I'm from New York, and therefore spend all of my time looking down on Jersey.
Because now I no longer get excited on a first date when the woman tells me she's bisexual.
Not that there's anythign wrong with being bisexual, I just don't think it should be the most interesting thing about you.
You might want to start with, "My favorite movie is..." and work your way up.
What's funny is on these dates, you'll have the same conversation:
"Yeah, I'm bisexual."
"So, you into threesomes?"
"NOOOOO! That's crazy! I don't do that!"
When she says, "I don't do that," what she means is, "I don't do that any more. Should have caught me in college, bozo."
When a woman tells you she's bisexual, she isn't trying to turn you on. She's warning you: "I'm take all my daddy issues out on the guy I'm dating."
Monday, June 14, 2004
My parents totally deny spanking me as a kid.
Which is totally unfair.
I mean, I know they say "This will hurt you more than it hurts me," but they're not allowed to be the ones who get to block it out.
My mom went to Law School when I was 11, which changed everything.
Before law school, the biggest weapon was The Mom Guilt Trip:
MOM: Where were you? you were supposed to be home two hours ago?
LIAM: Uh...I was at the library. Doing my homework.
M: Okay. I just hope you wouldn't lie to your poor mother who worries sick about you and works so hard to keep you safe and make you dinner.
L: Don't worry. I won't.
And that would be the end of it. But Law School, they teach you a few tricks. Suddenly, she became the DA of the house:
M: Mister McEneaney. You claim that you spent the last two hours at the library studying?
L: That's right.
M: I would like to enter into the people's evidence, Exhibit A - Liam's English textbook, which, although he needed it for the homework he was allegedly doing, he left on the kitchen table.
L (sweating): Uh - I was doing my Math Homework.
M: Ah-ha. In that case I'd like to introduce Exhibit B, Liam's Math textbook. Which was on the kitchen table - next to his English book.
L: All right. All right. I was playing video games. I didn't know.
M: Mr. McEneaney, ignorance of the law is no excuse. I would now like to ask the gentleman of the jury for a judgment of sentencing.
The jury was my dad. He hated being drafted for jury duty, because it meant missing football.
DAD: The jury votes for DEATH BY SPANKING.
I once demanded a jury of my peers, which was unfortunate, because the closes thing I had to a peer in thath ouse was my older sister. She was more like an Old West lynch mob:
MOM: I'd like to introduce into evidence -
SISTER: Fergit the evidence. When do we git to the hangin'?
Friday, June 11, 2004
The other night I went to an open bar party. Now, usually i am the very model of restraint, especially when it comes to the demon drink, but I may have had two or six beers. And then a friend may have bought me a coupe of vodka drinks. And then another riend might have bought me a drink. Hell, I may have even befriended myself and bought myself a drink.
Then I went onstage at an open mic to try new material out.
That was fun. Nothing helps a new joke out like forgetting the order in which the sentences are supposed to go.
Then on the sidewalk, a bum came up and asked me for some spare change. I decided to give him all the change in my pocket, which apparently included my housekeys. I realized this a moment later, but the bum had already sprinted off with them. I'm not sure what he thought he was going to do with my keys, as this was on Bleecker St. and I live out in Queens.
So I had to call my roommate. I apparently also had to call my friend Angela, because the next day she played me a voice-mail message I had left her. I will let my drunken voice-mail tell the rest of the story -
"HEY ANG! (drunken pause) You left 'thout say goodbye the fuck? (pause) Some homeless guy (mumble) keys. (pause) I called my roommate and WOKE THAT SHIT THE FUCK UP! (pause) Okay gonna get on subway bye."
Thursday, June 10, 2004
However, it is the sport of people who sing "We Are the Champions."
Beer and then liquor; never sick quicker.
Beer and then beer and then beer and then liquor and then liquor and then beer and then liquor and then unlimited nights and weekends; your friends will tell you take them out of your cell-phone.
It was deemed "offensive to the Craig's List Community" - a "community" that doesn't seem to mind transsexual hookers trying to set up a five-way for pay.
To be fair, it was pretty disgusting. A woman was offering FREE BREAST MILK. She said not to worry, that she was healthy and a vegan.
It's true; when I see a woman offering her breast milk for free (you have to bring a cooler), the first thing I think is, "Man, that is obviously a woman with a healthy outlook."
I would love to meet - no, wait I take that back. I would love to observe from afar both players in this little drama; both the winner who has a cooler-full of frozen breast milk for the giving, and the fella who sees that ad and says, "Man, this stranger I met on the Internet says she's healthy; let me take somthing from out of her body and ingest it into my body."
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Please note it's "vegan." That means no cows were exploited to make it.
Time to kick it into nuetral.
It's a little too hot to be funny today. Hence, the worst joke I've written in a while:
I don't get people who channel the dead. Why would the dead want to talk to anyone?
"He says he misses you."
And so...I should.... kill myself?
If I was a ghost, the only reason I would contact the living would be to mess with their heads:
"The money is buried..."
"The money is buried by the tree."
"The tree in your backyard."
"I live in an apartment."
"Oh, I'm sorry, is this Mike Collins or Mark Collins?"
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
If a sadist practices sadism...
Shouldn't a dentist practice dentism?
And more importantly, if I can turn this slight idea into an article...
Shouldn't I be able to sell it to Reader's Digest for $500?
The cool thing about moms is they have to love you, no matter who you are, no matter what you do.
Like, you could be the lead singer of a punk band called "Mandingo Ate My Baby*," and your mom would tell her friends, "Did you see my son in Rolling Stone? They called his band 'The Most Loathsome in America.' They had his picture and everything."
You could be known as "The Baby-Eater of South Detroit," and your mom would brag: "He's wanted in seven states. The Henderson boy down the street wasn't even wanted in Little League."
* Your hypothetical name would be "Dick Rapist."
Monday, June 07, 2004
I will hold off on publishing a post attacking everything Reagan stood for until the weekend.
Today, Bill O'Reilly called for his "leftist" critics to hold off on attacking Reagan.
First of all, I don't think even the most ardent lefty would attack Reagan right after his death (okay, maybe the most ardent lefty, but they're on WBAI and no one listens to that any more).
Also, I am interested to see if O'Reilly and his ilk do the same after Clinton dies.
I was walking down Queens Boulevard yesterday when I saw it was gone.
The Adult Love Boutique. Gone.
Replaced by a furniture store.
The Adult Love Boutique; as its name implies, it was a place of eternal romance, beauty, and unrequited passions.
Okay, it was a dumpy, run-of-the-mill porn shop. But I do have one strong memory associated with that place.
'Twas the night before Christmas. 1997.
I was broke. Unemployed. I'd just dropped out of high school. I weighed 400+ pounds. I'd been turned down for a job at the GAP. I'd been turned down for a job at McDonald's. Hell, I'd been turned down for a job at White Castle, and they'll circus freaks if they can half-hold a ten dollar bill.
I couldn't afford to buy presents. I couldn't even afford to buy my parents a card.
And so at nine o'clock Christmas Eve, I decided to head out to the Adult Love Boutique and try my chances with finding gainful employment. After all, if there was one place that would hire anyone, that would be it, right? I imagined that you could give your name as "The Baby Eater of South Detroit," and they'd still give you a job there.
The Adult Love Boutique on Queens Boulevard was built in an abandoned Crazy Eddie's. That night, the abandoned lot next door had been turned into an X-Mas tree lot. I could feel the eyes of the degenerate in the wool hat burning into my neck as I stood at the mouth of the alley - along whose side door was the ALB's only entrance, burning into me as I silently convinced myself to walk in. The boarded-up windows in front adding the coup-de-grace, the final "You have failed" note to my adventure. I walked down the alley.
Now, I was 18, and I had never entered a porn shop before, and I was just so overwhelmed that all I could do was wander around, jaw open, staring at everything.
There were more plastic limbs than your average veterans' hospital. There were inflatable people, and inflatable animals. There were shit videos - videos of happy German people smiling as they shat on each other.
And the most surreal part was the TV in the corner, on which was playing the 1997 Kathie Lee Gifford Christmas Special which meant that amongst all this plastic sexuality was a deranged woman coralling her children into an off-key rendition of "O Come All Ye Faithful."
Eventually, I got the courage to walk up to the counter and say, "Um, I was wondering if you guys were um, hiring?"
"Actually, we're looking for a cleaning guy. Would you mind cleaning up?"
"Good. We'll pay you seven dollars an hour every day to come in and mop the floors in the peep show area. And once a week we'll need you to mop the ceiling. Don't worry, we'll supply gloves and a cap."
"Um, sounds great."
"Yes, one thing. You're over twenty-one, right? Okay, only you're going to need ID, because we get arrested once in a while. So I'll tell you what, let me get your number and we'll give you a call."
"Okay, only, if you get the answering machine, don't leave a message because, um, even though I'm over 21, I still live with my parents, and I don't think they'd understand."
The worst part - I didn't get the job. Do you know what it's like to find out you're not-mop-the-peep-show-ceiling material?
Farewell old friend. Though they may offer discount futons, they'll never offer your soul.
EDITED TO ADD: This may be the most heartwarming Christmas story...ever. Can't wait for the movie version with Ralph Billingsley.
Friday, June 04, 2004
Sports pundits are surprised that Stanley Cup action is getting such low ratings.
Americans would rather watch NCAA WOmen's Softball at two in the morning than hockey.
Americans would rather watch their own parents having sex than hockey.
Hockey is about as much fun to watch as some guy filling out his W-2s.
I'm not a fan of hockey.
My local sports radio station plays all the Mets games. So a lot of times, I'll doze off listening to the game, and wake up at two in the morning to a sports call-in show.
Waking up to sports call-in shows is scary. Because there's that moment where you're awake, but your eyes aren't open, and your brain is trying to remember who you are and what you've done with your life.
And the first thing you hear is: "JOE TORRE IS THE ANTICHRIST AND DESERVES TO BE MURDERED!"
And the first thing I think is, "Great. My family['s finally done it. They've finally had me committed."
And hosts of sports talk shows always sound like they're broadcasting from some pit of Hell. Because their callers are these uniformly insane ranters:
"Let's send the San Diego Chicken to KFC! Also my skin itches from the bugs under it, and I it's Barry Bonds' fault!"
If Lithium wasn't so expensive, there'd be no sports talk shows.