The Liam McEneaney Experience

I'm in Boston. I went to the Mets/Red Sox game last night. More when I get back.

ME STILL AM WUV YOO!

I was meeting some friends in Central Park the other day (yeah, I'm unemployed. jealous much, people who know where your next dollar's coming from?), and I decided to walk up the west side of Central Park. It was a pleasant day, and I was enjoying the feeling of surrounded by a canopy of green leaves. I noticed one or two people in white t-shirts with blue shorts, marathon numbers attached to the backs of their shorts. But I ignored htem, because the world of organized exercise is as foreign to me as the idea of organized, well, anything organized really.

I walked on, finding more and more of these runner-types surrounding me. Suddenly I'm in a crush of young professionals in their jogging outfits, and I find out too late that I am trapped in the JP MORGAN/CHASE CORPORATE DOUCHEBAG ENDURANCE CHALLENGE.

The biggest corporations in New York City competing Central Park to see whose employees mind sacrificing their precious little non-work free time the least. Not for charity, mind you - this was corporate America torturing their employees "just because."

At one point, I am surrounded by drones jogging along side-paths, going off into the bushes to pee, all these people on all sides of me whom I couldn't help be aware are the reason why people like me can't aford to live in this city any more. And I'm in my jeans and my Mets jersey and my long hair and my unshaven chin, and I'm getting sidelong glances from guys who probably still get together for brewskis with their compatriots from Phi beta Daterape, and we're all passing a Central Park lake, and the most godawful stench comes in off the water, and I say, "Ahhh, smells like Corporate America."

I realized too late that if I ever wanted to find a woman with a job and a career and the kind of money it takes to support my extravagent lifestyle, that was the place. So many driven, career-oriented Type As, and they say opposites attract right?

My point is, come see this show:

JUNE 26th
"Tell Your Friends!"
at The Lolita Bar
266 Broome St., off of Allen St.
Take the F train to Delancey St.
8:00pm - FREE SHOW

WITH:

TODD HANSON
who is the head writer for "The Onion"

TOM SHILLUE
from "Late Night w/ Conan O'Brien," "The Daily Show w/ Jon Stewart," and his own "Comedy Central presents" 1/2 hour special.

JASON TRACHTENBERG
is the paterfamilias of the Trachtenberg Family Slideshow Players, having appeared on Late Night w/ Conan O'Brien and toured extensively through Europe and the United States

LIAM McENEANEY
from Comedy Central's "Premium Blend," "Best Week Ever," and a writer for "Friday Night w/ Greg Giraldo"

CLAUDIA COGAN
is a regular at the UCB Theatre, and has appeared on Sirius Sattelite Radio's Raw Dog Comedy station.

AND OUR HOUSE BAND - A Brief View of the Hudson, a folk-rock duo that blows away audiences at every show they play.
Here's what the press has said:
* "BEST FOLK DUO"
"It's rare that we like a band from the first chord. Yet the first time we saw folk duo A Brief View of the Hudson play at the Bowery Poetry Club we were hooked.
Ann Enzminger and Nicholas Nace incorporate many of the best characteristics of both country music and classic rock without sounding derivative...Enzminger is a tiny woman, a hair taller than five feet, but with an opera-trained voice as big and sweet as a bowling ball?size Hershey Kiss. Nace's twangy talk-singing adds a quirky and ear-catching roughness; we crave the combination time and again." - The NY Press
* "It is not often that a band sounds like nothing you've ever heard & still sounds good. That's what you get from A Brief View of the Hudson." - The NY Sun
* "A Brief View of the Hudson features Ann Enzminger's arrestingly powerful vocals, which are well tuned to the duo's graceful songs of indie-folk heartbreak." -Time Out NY

WHAT THE PRESS HAS SAID ABOUT "TELL YOUR FRIENDS!"
* Time Out New York called it a "DON'T MISS" twice now, and said: "With a slew of talented stand-ups . . . and folk-rock duo 'A Brief View of the Hudson,' Liam McEneaney's new show?and 'workout comedy room'?is sure to please."
* The NY Daily News made it a Monday pick of the day.
* AM New York put it in their "Best Bets" section.
* "Editor's Pick!" - clubfreetime.com
* The Onion says, "Though it's pegged as a 'workout room' for comics to test their new(ish) material, Liam McEneaney's weekly show Tell Your Friends flexes enough comedic muscle to pull its weight alongside more established downtown shows. Demetri Martin, Slovin & Allen, and Late Night With Conan O'Brien writer Brian Kiley are among the stand-ups who have squeezed into Lolita's narrow space since the show's debut this summer, alongside the surprisingly tolerable resident folk duo A Brief View of the Hudson."

Produced by Mike Collins & Liam McEneaney

Any questions so far? Seriously, I'll answer any questions, as long as they aren't obnoxious.

Just post them in the comments section below.

When I was a kid, they would always tell me in school that the great thing about America is that anyone could grow up to be the President. And I assumed that, like everything else they taught us, that was a huge lie.

Because why would you want anyone who wanted to be President of the United States? There's a lot of stupid people in this country, and the beauty of the system is that it keeps them from ever doing anything stupid, like nuking North Korea 'cause a' whut they did to mah uncle in the war.

But Bush is president, and I've been watching him over the last six years, and I'm like, "Damn, I think I could be President of the United States." Hell, I could get up in front of the UN and say, "The US has decided to replace dollars with cigarettes, we're going to do a prison-style barter currency/ Oh, and thailand is our bitch." And I would still be way more popular with the rest of the world than our actual President.

You klnow who was opposed to Bush's Anti-Gay Marriage Constitutional Amendment? Rev. Fred Phelps, the "God Hates Fags" guy. From yesterday's NY Daily News:

President Bush might as well give up on his bold political bid to court evangelicals with anti-gay legislation. The Rev. Fred Phelps, mastermind of the virulent "God Hates Fags" campaign, calls Bush a "demagogue without any core values." Phelps tells Rolling Stone's Tim Dickinson that Bush is "only doing this because he's losing what core support he had, and anyone with half a brain can see it. He's shameless." Even Kevin Phillips, the Nixon strategist who wooed Southern Democrats to the GOP, finds Bush's pandering unseemly: "Homophobia is replacing the set of flag and race issues of a generation ago. It's the last refuge of the scoundrel.""

BEFORE he was "Larry the Cable Guy"
he was Florida comedian Dan Whitney:


Thanks to deadfrog.com for finding this.

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PLEASE UNDERSTAND, this is a real ad


aired by a local news station after getting made fun of by The Daily Show. Nice work, guys.

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IGGY POP does some crowd work


It's good to see a master at work. Any comedian knows, it's all, "Where you from?", "What do you do for a living?", and, "You're a double-asshole with a double set of little pink titties."

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PSA for "Chow Daddy" in kids' public schol cafeterias


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LATE NIGHT TV Promo - "We're The One!"


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FUN WITH Local Childrens' Television!


Patches & Pockets learn a lesson about how the police are constantly observing their behaviour to keep them in line. That guy's performance is so bad, he might be an actual cop.

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WHY WAS I absolutely obsessed with this show as a child?

OR this one?


OR this one?


MAYBE I watched too much TV:

Genuinely Annoyed and Upset: Yo, you trying to teach me the register?

Manager: Yeah.

Genuinely Annoyed and Upset: Oh no, I don't do that register shit.

Manager: Why not?

Genuinely Annoyed and Upset: Oh no, they got all kinds problems with people stealing. (beat) I mean, they know I don't do that shit...

Then I left.

I'm going to start this story by saying that if you plan to go anywhere, I'm the guy to get your tickets.

A few years ago in April, I told some friends I'd meet them at a Mets game. Now, I was sick - my allergies are bad, especialy under the influence of New York's super-pollen that can eat through those biohazard suits. So you'll have to picture me showing up to the game in a down vest, a wool hat, and holding a plastic shopping bag with a box of tissues.

I got to Shea Stadium late, during the third inning, and apparently the cheap seats were sold out. The only tickets left were $38, and I was standing next to the ticket gate contemplating the wisdom of spending forty bucks to watch the Mets lose for six innings.

A cop leaning against a gate then looked in my direction and, pointing, said, "Hey you!" I looked around, and he said, "Come over here!" I looked all around me, to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else. But he pointed again, and said, "Yeah, you! Come over here!" I walked over to the cop, thinking about the Stadium's strict post-9/11 security precautions, already silently cursing the NYPD for telling me I couldn't walk into a game I wasn't sure I could afford because I had a box in a plastic bag.

I approached the cop, and he said, "Listen - "
And he pulled a game ticket out of his pocket and said, "Someone gave this to me and I can't use it."
It was for a box seat behind first base.

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I've never been to a show at the Metropolitan Opera House before, and it's one of those classic New York activities you should experience at least once.

I hadn't intended to go to the ballet last week. Or, to be honest, ever. It's not high on my "to do before I die" list, but I was talking to a friend yesterday, trying to figure out what movie we should see. It was a hard choice, because all of the movies out right now are pretty terrible.

I wanted to see United 93, because after a long day at work you need a good laugh. My friend wanted to see the new Edward Norton movie because she's a woman, and as a joke she said, "Do you want to go see Cinderella at the American Ballet Theatre?"

And I said "You know what? I would like to go see the ballet. I've never been to the ballet, and I'm all about trying new experiences." This got her excited, because she had been trying to figure out what gay friend she should ask to go with her. Zing!

We agreed that I would go to the box office and pick up the tickets, which as I noted at the beginning of this post, is always the best policy.

To make a long story short, when I got to the box office, I asked if they had any of the cheapest seats left, because when you roll with Liam McEneaney you go first-class all the way.

The guy in the box office, though, said, "You're a student, right?"
I sad, "Well, I don't have student ID."
And he said, "No, it's pretty obvious you're a student."
And I got the student discount on Orchestra seats, the best seats in the house.
What, just because I have hair that looks like it was applied

Interesting thing about Met employees is if you ask them for directions anywhere, they will give you the answer in stage directions. Stage directions, if you don't spend your life immeresed in the world of the theatre as I do, is the opposite of regular directions, because you're giving directions as if you're onstage facing an audience.

I found this out first when I asked an usher which way my seats were, and he said way over to the right. Of course, he meant the left. Then I asked another usher where the bathrooms were, and she also gave me the answer in stage directions. Then I asked a third usher for directions to see if I would again get stage directions, and I did.

If any of you fellas ever need a sugarmama GMILF, the ballet at the Metropolitan Opera House is definitely the place to be. There were so many old Jews, it was like being at the Shoah taping. Oh, so now that joke is offensive? Well, yes, yes it is.

The ballet itself was very good. A lot of flying leaps, a lot of pleayes - pliayes - pleeayes - eh, knee-bendy-twisty-things, and some pirooetes - ah, fuck it. There was a lot of ballet stuff. But working on a show the last few months kind of affected the way I watched it. For instance, there was a SPOILER ALERT ball at which Cinderella meets her Prince Charming, and there's a procession of dancers carrying magnificently-polished golden goblets, and all I could see was all the PAs sitting there every night before the show, polishing these prop goblets and bitching: "Oh great, I can't believe I went through four years of theatre school so I could polish cups. I could have swum across the Rio Grande and gotten paid more for this job. Oh, the glamour of showbiz."

Anyways, I recommend the ballet. Make like yogurt and get some culture.

I've been super busy. Please enjoy this poemtry what I wrote myself, and don't dare steal it and post it on another website or I will eat votre foie sauté à la sauce de vos cerveaux:

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints.
Other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life
When I was suffering from anguish, sorrow, or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord, "You promised me, Lord,
That if I followed you, you would walk with me always.
But I noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
There have only been one set of prints in the sand.
Why, When I have needed you most, you have not been there for me?"
The Lord replied,
"The times when you have seen only one set of footprints
Is when I carried you."

Then I replied, "Yeah, but why didn't you carry me more? I mean my whole life was pretty bad and I could have used more of an assist."
And God replied, "What am I your mommy? I'm a very busy guy."
And I looked on the beach and I noticed that there was a point where there were footsteps and the outline of a body being dragged through the sand, and I said, "What the fuck is that?"
God looked at me and said, "Uh, yeah. You were drunk."
And I said, "No fucking way. I'd remember being that drunk."
And God said, "Okay, look, I didn't want to have to say this, but you could stand to lose a few pounds. I can't be carrying you all over the place if you keep eating Pop Tarts like they were communion wafers."
And I said, "Pop Tarts are healthy, they got fruit in the middle."
And God rolled his eyes and said "Whatever."
So I said, "Look, I don't know what kind of wacko goes carrying people around when they're asleep, but as far as I'm concerned, you can go to hell."
And then I looked further down the beach and saw elephant tracks, alongside which looked like the comically oversized prints of clown shoes.
But when I turned to ask God about them, he was gone.
God is kind of an asshole.

I enrolled in a health insurance plan today, which means that now I can have the diabetes-triggered stroke that I'm constantly paranoid about. It also means I can finally have that third arm removed.

The last time I had health insurance was in 2000 - you know, back when Bill Clinton was treating the country so shitty that I had an awesome dot-com job that gave me the best health insurance plan you'd ever heard of.

2000, I had a really bad finger infection. It was summer, and I was at my friend's beach house in Connecticut and I noticed that my finger was swollen right under the nail to a genuinely alarming degree. I get back into Manhattan at two in the morning and go right to the Mt. Sinai Hospital Emergency Room. Surprisingly, I'm able to see a doctor right away.

If you're not in New York, the Emergency Room waiting rooms are famous for being great places to catch up on things you always meant to do - read Moby Dick cover-to-cover; knit an entire scarf; build a civilization and watch it crumble into dust three generations later.

This is true - there was a guy who was told that he had to stop smoking in the emergency room, not because it was a health hazard but because there was a tribe of cave people in a corner who didn't know what fire was.

I got in and I was treated by an intern, a nice young fella who told me it was an infection and that he was going to prescribe antibiotics. Then he said, "I'm also going to prescribe you a painkiller. What do you want, some codeine?"

And I said, "I don't know."

Then he winked at me and said, "Don't worry, we'll get you something good."

He then prescribed me a month's worth of Vicodin, with two months' refills.

I don't know if you've ever taken Vicodin, but man, there's a reason that shit is super-addictive; it kills every kind of pain including the pain of existance. After a week when my infection was completely healed, I had to give it away because it was too good.

Maybe htey aren't paranoid schizophrenics; maybe Jesus really does want us all to stand in the sidewalk with our pants off screaming at the tops of our lungs.

You'd feel pretty stupid if you died and got to Heaven only to find a bunch of guys with no pants on, hanging around with Jesus, wearing tinfoil helmets.

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If you need proof that there might be a God, just check out the pig. There is not one part of the pig that isn't completely tasty. No animal could evolve that delicious by accident.

But then again, every part of the pig is both delicious and really bad for you. In fact, almost everything that's tasty will kill you. If there is a God, he's kind of an asshole: "You like those flowers and tress, huh? Well, in that case you're going to love - allergy season. Enjoy, suckers."

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I went to an art showing a friend of mine was in, and I was taken by this guy's exhibit - a bunch of rusty cans welded to a discarded refrigerator with the door off.

I asked what kind of art that was, and he started telling me how it symbolized the disposable nature of consumerist culture -

And I stopped him and said, "Oh, I get it, you're a bullshit artist. Good work."