The Liam McEneaney Experience

I know it's real super-hot out, but I do have a request:
If you do not work out,
If you do not eat right,
If you do not lift weights,
Please do NOT take your shirt off in public.

I keep turning around and saying, "Oh my god, that pregnant lady has a beard! Why is she walking around topless?"

That's all. I'm tired this week.

I started posting this last week when circumstances forced me to an Internet cafe, but i had to log off before finishing it. Below is a fuller version, that makes it part of somethng else I'm working on:

I was dating a woman, and she got mad at me because she asked, "What's your biggest fantasy?"
And I replied, "Well, let's see, it's me and you - and another woman..."
And she exploded: "Ugghhh, that's so gross!"

Like, what the fuck was she expecting when she asked that question?
"Well, let's see, it's me - and you - in a field of cotton candy - riding across a rainbow on big, beautiful unicorns!"

And she said, "No! I expected something more romantic!"

And I said, "Oh, a more romantic fantasy? Okay, I'm sorry. How about this? I imagine me and you, in a snowbound cabin in the woods, snuggled under a blanket, watching an old Jimmy Stewart movie. Then your girlfriend comes in with three steaming cups of cocoa. That's when the backrubs start."

And then the next day, this woman had the cast-iron nerve to forgive me!
She said, "Oh don't worry, Liam, I know that's what guys fantasize about all the time."

And I said, "You have no idea what guys fantasize about all the time. You want to know what I fantasize about all the time?

"I'm walking down the street, and I hear a woman scream for help. I see her being dragged into the bushes by a big guy with a knife. So I run over, pulling out a crowbar that, for some reason, I carry with me in my knapsack, and I say, 'Hey, ugly, didn't your mommy tell you to always pick on someone your own size?' And KLANG! I hit him across the face with the crowbar.

"He shakes his head and then says, 'You're a mighty big man with that crowbar in your hand. Let's see you put it down and take me mano a mano.' I say, 'All right, you wanna tango?' and I put the crowbar down. He then pulls out a Saturday Night Special pistol from his jeans and points it at my heart and say, 'Dance is over, pal.'

"That's when I pull out a .45 Luger hand cannon and point it at his face and I say, 'You got a choice, son. You can fire that gun, and you might hurt me with that pea shooter, but I'll kill you with this little baby right here. Or you can walk away.'

"But it's too late; he's already wet his pants and started crying. And that's what i fantasize about all the time. Oh yeah, I might think about a threesome once in a while, but I guarantee I have this fantasy twenty times a day."

A SWEATBAND ON YOUR HEAD MAKES ONE OF TWO POSSIBLE FASHION STATEMENTS
Either a) "I just came from running a marathon."
Or b) "I just came from 1985."

Either way, you've come a long way, and are probably thirsty.

* * * * * *

JUST WILD ABOUT HARRY.
HARRY POTTER THAT IS!
OH MY, L-TO-THE-O-TO-THE-MOTHER-F'ING-L!
I've been reading the new Harry Potter book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,

I don't know if you've finished it or not, but basically about 200 pages in, he kills the bad guy Lord Voldemoort, and the whole war is over.
Then, the next 500 pages is a weird Judy Blume coming-of-age story about Harry falling in love with some girl he meets on summer vacation. Very weird.

I understand that the next and final book is the story of Harry quitting wizarding and going to Law School.

Oops, I meant to put a ***SPOILER ALERT*** up on the top there! Sorry!

I failed shop, as I said.

The kids who did well in hop - I wouldn't say they were dumb. They were just smart about different things. Like, they could make a gun out of anything. You gave these kids a stapler and five minutes with a bolt-cutter, and you'd be an accessory to a bank robbery.

I made the mistake of walking up to these four guys sitting around a desk and talking, and saying, "Hey guys, what's up?"
One guy, "Scary Lou," said, "We're just talkin'."

Now what I should have said was - nothing, and walked away.
Instead, what I said was, "Oh yeah? What about?"

And "Scary Lou" replied, "Oh, we're just trying to figure out if we should join the Army or the Mob. if we join the Army, we make a lot less money, but we do et to blow stuff up."

And we five of us sat there for about twenty minutes trying to figure out which job opportunity allowed for more killing.

Finally, they compromised and joined the NYPD.

* * * * *

I failed shop for the simple reason that I am unable to build anything.
If you gave me a hammer, a nail, and a two-by-four, and put me in a room by myself for a half-hour, you'd come back to find that I'd broken the nail, the two-by-four, the hammer, and a window, and my thumb. That's a lot of things for me to theoretically break, and I should probably narrow it down.

* * * * *
I was so bad at shop, the shop teacher - who was missing three fingers - refused to let me near the rotary blade because he didn't think that I could be trusted near it because, and I quote, "You might hurt yourself."

Three fingers.

If you're missing more than, oh say, zero fingers, maybe teaching shop isn't for you. Maybe English is more your subject. That way, if you slip when holding The Sun Also Rises, guess what? You still have five fingers.

Still don't have a new keyboard, so I'm blogging from Times Square, the WOrld's Most Famous Food Court. not that i regret the junkies, pimps, and murderers leaving the area, mind you. I'm just saying they would have cut quite a swath through the fat Midwestern tourists walking like there's a .00092 MPH speed limit on the sidewalks.

TRUE, YET BORING, STORY
I was on the subway today, and I sat down. On the floor in front of me was a trucker cap and a skateboard (with a banjo painted on it, above the grafitti-style lettering "CABALLERO!") wityh the wheels taken off, and all I could think was, "It looks like a hipster exploded."

Which was immediately followed by the thought, "God I hope so."

AND HERE'S THE JOKE...
The truth shall set you free. Especially free of a relationship with a woman, if you're a guy dumb enough to answer a question truthfully.

I was dating a woman, and she got mad at me because she asked, "What's your biggest fantasy?"
And I replied, "Well, let's see, it's me and you - and another woman..."
And she exploded: "Ugghhh, that's so gross!"

Like, what the fuck was she expecting when she asked that question?
"Well, let's see, it's me - and you - in a field of cotton candy - riding across a rainbow on big, beautiful unicorns!"

I feel like Travis Pickle.

Yeah, so the keyboard on my computer is busted-ass. Hopefully, it'll be boo-boo-all-gone tomorrow. But right now, I can't check out my favorite Suicide Girl (Natasha - her hobbies include "Never dayting a loser like you in real life.")

I was at an INternet Cafe earlier, and one of their rules of conduct was, "No lying on the floor and making noises." If I wasn't running out of time, I'd come up with some hilarious scenarioes that would necessitate that rule.

See you suckas later!

Love and kisses and smooches and inappropriate grabbing,
Professor Liam Q. Krazy

* What's green and wants to know who you're talking to?

Nothing's more fun than standing in a pub full of Irishmen, having a sing-along, singing the old Irish folk tunes.

Interesting thing about the Irish. You watch their faces when they're singing; when they're singing songs about war and fighting, they're smiling ear-to-ear. The gorier the song, the bigger the smile:
"And the mustard gas gave little Peggy the cough,
While Johnny came home with his legs blown off."
Big smiles. Like they just ate their happy pills.

But then they start singing a love song, and every Irish face frowns. It's like a funeral's taking place. They put their hats over their hearts.
There's a reason. And the reason is this:
No Irish love song ends happy.
Any Irish folksong that starts: "The other day, I met me true love faire," ends with, "And I shot her as she sat on a strange man's knee."

If you believed their folksongs, the leading cause of death in Ireland is being taken out by eighteen platoons of English infantry, followed in a close second by making the mistake of falling in love with a bonny lassie.

Yesterday, I told a story about how I once pretended to work for the Salvation Army.
I never worked for the Salvation Army.
I did, however, work for the Salvation Navy.
I was a Salvation Navy Seal.
We used to kidnap poor people and make them eat a hot meal.

* * * * *

I was walking by a Burger King the other night. They had a take-out window with this painted on the ground:
"TAKE OUT
WINDOW
LANE."

Which was annoying, because I was hanging out with my friend Lane at the time.

He had to run home and get a crowbar and a toolbox.

It was doubly annoying because once he got the window, he had to take it out.
I guess for a nice time.
But he didn't have enough money for a movie or roller-skating.
So he took it for a meal at Burger King.
Which is where it had wanted to be in the first place.

When I was 18, my friend Josh and I went to a classy little place in Manhattan, Times Square, called Peepland. Peepland was this place New York used to have a lot of, where you could go in to a booth in back, put money a slot, a little window would open, and a heroin addicti n her underwear would do absolutely nothing until you gave her twenty bucks.

But I decided I was going to get laid, and so I hatched a cunning plan. I knew that women like two kinds of guys - guys with English accents, and guys who do charity work. Yeah. I was slick. I was going to pretend that I was an Eglish guywho worked for the Salvation Army. Look out, ladies, Liam's got your number!

So Josh and I went in, we went into our seperate booths, put the money in, the windows opened. And the lady in front of my window said, "Yeah, you want me to do something, it'll cost you twenty bucks."

And I said, "Oh, sorry guv'nor, I don't have a lot of money, working at the Salvation Army keeps me poor but honest, tally-ho pip-pip." Okay, I didn't say "tally ho pip pip," but I wanted to give you, the reader, an idea of how unconvincing my English accent was.

And the laides made fun of me and my friend for the next four or five minutes until the windows closed, and the nkept making fun of us all theway out the door. The plans of best-laid mice, and all that.

What's sad is that now I know that if I'd really wanted to get laid there, all I needed was fifty bucks and the name of a good doctor.

* A zombie shooting video game. If it's two am, and you need to procrastinate.

* I don't know what this is, except a dead chick bouncing off bubbles. You can toss her by dragging your mouse over her. Freaky, yet addictive.

* Winkyshock dissects and lampoons the mundane day-to-day drudgery of life among the cubicle-dwellers, in dialogue form.

What if they gave an orgy, and nobody came?

I wrote the above sentence when I was 16 or 17.

I already had secret dreams of being a stand-up comedian. I actually wrote quite a few bits, which I may share here at a future time.

One of the things I thought I'd do was write and sell jokes to comedy sensation YAKOV SMIRNOFF! Why Yakov Smirnoff? Because I'd read some article about a comedian who'd gotten his start selling jokes to big-time comedians, and who is bigger in the big-time than Yakov Smirnoff?

Here, for the first time anywhere in public are the jokes i would have sold to Yakov Smirnoff, straight, unedited and for real, complete with hilarious broken English, from my high school writing notebook:

I recently saw movie on HBO; "Citizen X," about police in Communist Russia who spent ten years looking for mass-murderer named "Citizen X." Now, although movie does not explain it, I know why it took ten years for police to find "Citizen X." It is because, under Soviet system, they were more interested in finding "Citizen Y." As in, "Citizen, why do we have to wait ten hours for bread?" or "Citizen, why can't we visit United States?" Or, "Citizen, why do we have to live ten families in one apartment?"

I went to New York City, and I visit Museum of Television and Radio. What an educational place! I found out that a ventriloquist, Edgar Bergen, had a radio show. It was the most popular show in the US! Only in America could ventriloquist have popular radio show! And only in America could audience miss the absurdity!
Of course, in Russia, we had popular ventriloquist show, too. It was called, "Evening News."

I was in club, and girl told me, "I am a Gal Friday." I say, what are you the rest of the week?

Oof.

It would say, "HATE SPEECH IS FOR FAGS!"

So there's a lot of talk about Hillary Clinton running for President in 2008.

I think the problem is that there's two people who would be thrilled if she did - Hillary Clinton, and whoever was running against her.

People hate Hillary Clinton. Usually to see someone that universally reviled, federal law is forcing them to go door-to-door in their neighborhood identifying themselves as a sex offender.

The only way the Democrats could win that election would be if somehow Jesus Christ were on the ballot box as her running mate.

Even so, there would be a lot of Red Staters saying, "Hmm, well, he is the son of God, but Hillary's the Devil. Guess I better cut my losses and stay home this year."

For your birthday present, I'm giving you this joke I wrote for Joke-of-the-Day.com, when I was a writer there five years ago. It pops all over the Internet; on Kiwanis Club sites, Christian bulletin Boards, Sailor Moon fanfiction, and more.

The below is actually takne from poet Rod McKuen's official website. Enjoy:

ATTACK OF THE TERRIBLE PUNS
"You may have already seen this.... ," writes Coral. No, My Love, and I hope I never see it again.

BUNGLE IN THE JUNGLE
In 1873, a team of German explorers and their three dogs decided to penetrate the heart of the South American jungle. After twelve years, they had set up a fort in an Incan town, the centerpiece of which was a large idol with a huge ruby for an eye.

The German church had sent out their best man, Friar Wilhelm Werks three times to check on the progress of the fort, and each time the appearance of the idol had sent him into fits of screaming, complete with shouts, curses, and rending of garments. Each time, he screamed so loud that he sent the dogs running for cover. And each time, he left with a warning that the next time he visited, the idol had better be torn down.

The commander of the fort, Hans Brickner, received a message that Friar Werks would be coming to visit again in a fortnight. He quickly called a meeting with his top commanders. All five agreed that the Friar would explode when he saw the idol still standing.

"But," said Commander Brickner, "there's nothing to be done. If we take down the idol, we will anger the local tribe, and without their cooperation we're dead."

His second-in-command, Herr Kommandant Wagner said, "In that case, we'd better make sure we put the dogs away."

"Why?"

"You know how scared the dogs get when Friar Werks goes off on the Fort of Jewel Eye."

Parents always tell the same lie. And that lie is - "I'm not telling you this again . . ."

In my entire childhood, the phrase, "And I'm not telling you again . . ." was always followed by the same thing again, but louder.

"Liam, take out the garbage."
"Okay."
"Now."
"Okay."
"I'm not telling you again . . ."
"Good."
"Liam, take out the garbage! I'm not telling you again."

And then two minutes later, this is always followed by what seemed to be the dumbest question on Earth:
"What are you doing? I thought I told you to take out the garbage."
"You said you wouldn't bring it up again I wasn't going to bring it up - it seems to make you really angry."

And then, here comes the ultimate parent lie:
"Now I'm telling you for the last time..."

Because once they tell you something for the last time, that's it. you will never, ever hear the end of it. Thirty years down the road, you're a grown adult living in your own house with your own family - "I know how much you hate to take out the garbage."

"You said you wouldn't bring that up again."