Impious since 2006
Aug 17, 2006
Aug 16, 2006
GWB's Greatest Miffs
Joe Scarborough, we all know, was a Congressman in (for?) Florida who wanted the U.S. to get out of the U.N. He has also won many awards from various cover groups. Let's take a look:
But that is not what I am showing you. I would like you to see this segment from his show last night. This is a great piece. The first two minutes are a greatest hits of our fearless leader's verbal prowess. This is eventually followed by the Daily Show's in-depth report on Bush's food obsession. I thought it was a can't miss so . . .
- "Friend of the Taxpayer Award" - Americans for Tax Reform
- "Guardian of Small Business Award" - National Federation of Independent Business
- "Taxpayer's Hero Award" - Council for Citizens Against Government Waste
- "Guardian of Seniors' Rights Award" - 60 Plus Association
But that is not what I am showing you. I would like you to see this segment from his show last night. This is a great piece. The first two minutes are a greatest hits of our fearless leader's verbal prowess. This is eventually followed by the Daily Show's in-depth report on Bush's food obsession. I thought it was a can't miss so . . .
Aug 14, 2006
Rockabye Baby!
It's been a while. I am a new father.I now understand the secret parental code.
When a parent says to you, 'the baby was up all night' directly translates to: 'She was screaming at the highest pitch known to man… all night'. Great if you’re a bachelor trying to impress the neighbors. Not so much for just about any other reason.
So in my travels as a new father, I was given this website today - the Rockabye Baby! Albums.
At first glance, I thought, 'how cute'. However, a much more disturbing thoughts and image began to surround my clouded brain. Yes, that's the Beatles and also the Beach Boys. Uh, Nirvana? Metallica?? Pixies?!
Led Zeppelin?
Tool?
Queens of the Stone Age? Hold on a tick here!
Okay, fine, you had me at the Cure. Some would say the Disintegration album could be used as a substitute for Ambien. But Misty Mountain Hop as a lullaby? And of course there is no sample track of this one. I recommend you try the other ones. The link is provided on the post.
There are many sample tracks to discover – and marvel at the simple ease in which Brain Damage by Pink Floyd transforms into cooing baby music box tunes.I will be buying all of these soon.
And my hope is that when my daughter experiences these albums and artists out of my collection – by either laughing at the large format Compact Disk, or the dusty old iPod – she’ll first sit and wonder. She’ll recognize these tunes, and perhaps transport back to her earlier days. Her days of simple comforts; simple needs. She will be mesmerized by the tunes that she cannot quite remember, but are on the tip of her brain.
That’s when her old man will smile calmly. A bonding moment will exist between the two of us, that she might never understand…
…or I’ll swipe that Doolittle album out of her grubby hands and shoo her off of my dusty old college collection!
“Get away from there! Don’t you have any idea what that’s worth?"
Sit down, it's comedy
One of the most frequent comments that gets slung my way while I am yapping away semi-coherently on the weekends is something along the lines of "you should be a comedian." This happened again over this weekend and I would like to publicly and finally announce that this is a bad idea. Why? I tried it once. {funky flashback music}
In 1987 or so my friends thought it would be a great idea for me to hit the stage with a little humor. Some comedy for unsuspecting Connecticutians. See, they thought I had been especially funny over the past few weeks because they had just discovered marijuana. Sometimes when one is high, not being funny is hysterical.
At the time I had this monster doll-type thing that my friend had left in my Oldsmobile. When you squeezed the belly it made a fart noise. I think it was supposed to growl or something but nope, to the delight of the passengers of my car it farted. I was riffing on the fact that this was supposed to be a gift for my friend's niece on her first birthday. Granted kids love fart noises. In fact, most adults love fart noises. But to really enjoy a fart noise one should be sentient. Y'know be able to understand that this was a fart noise. This child probably would think it just shat itself whenever it heard the noise. And would it be able to even squeeze it? Maybe the parents could potty train the child with the doll. Not funny now but you are not high in an Oldsmobile.
Anyway, they stroked my ego to the point that when they signed me up for open mic night I didn't resist. In fact, I told way too many people about it. When the time came and I was announced, I panicked. I realized that I had not actually prepared anything or had anything particularly witty to say. My friend told me that I should just ask the audience if they've done something or gone somewhere and "riff." Below is my best recollection of my first and only stand-up routine:
Hey, everybody, how are you? {crowds awkwardly shifts in there seats} Uh-huh, I assume that's not too good . . . {One friend chuckles slightly} So, uh, how many of you have ever been to the dentist? {silence} Round of applause, been to the dentist? {Four guys clap, friend starts giggling like a school girl} Yea, I have been to the dentist. {Silence except for my friend who is now slapping his hand against the table and yelling, "Oh no, oh no."} Uh, how many of you have ever been on an airplane? Airplanes anyone? {Two members of the audience clap while my friend falls to the floor} Yea, airplanes . . . {My friend is now coughing up a lung and rolling around on the beer-stained floor} Uh, so anyone go to the beach? {Friend completely loses it everyone else stares} Beach? Sand? Sun? No one, huh? Uh . . . {Friend knock over the round of Shirley Temples I had order for the table} So what sound does a one year old love? . . . {I pick up the doll and squeeze making the fart noise. My friend twitches on the ground. Everyone else cocks their heads like a dog who hears a whistle} Uh, OK, then, goodnight. {My friend clap politely, everyone else discusses my suckiness}
That was my only stand-up time. Feel free to use any material that you may want from it. I don't have the doll but I do have one really stoned friend you could have.
In 1987 or so my friends thought it would be a great idea for me to hit the stage with a little humor. Some comedy for unsuspecting Connecticutians. See, they thought I had been especially funny over the past few weeks because they had just discovered marijuana. Sometimes when one is high, not being funny is hysterical.
At the time I had this monster doll-type thing that my friend had left in my Oldsmobile. When you squeezed the belly it made a fart noise. I think it was supposed to growl or something but nope, to the delight of the passengers of my car it farted. I was riffing on the fact that this was supposed to be a gift for my friend's niece on her first birthday. Granted kids love fart noises. In fact, most adults love fart noises. But to really enjoy a fart noise one should be sentient. Y'know be able to understand that this was a fart noise. This child probably would think it just shat itself whenever it heard the noise. And would it be able to even squeeze it? Maybe the parents could potty train the child with the doll. Not funny now but you are not high in an Oldsmobile.
Anyway, they stroked my ego to the point that when they signed me up for open mic night I didn't resist. In fact, I told way too many people about it. When the time came and I was announced, I panicked. I realized that I had not actually prepared anything or had anything particularly witty to say. My friend told me that I should just ask the audience if they've done something or gone somewhere and "riff." Below is my best recollection of my first and only stand-up routine:
Hey, everybody, how are you? {crowds awkwardly shifts in there seats} Uh-huh, I assume that's not too good . . . {One friend chuckles slightly} So, uh, how many of you have ever been to the dentist? {silence} Round of applause, been to the dentist? {Four guys clap, friend starts giggling like a school girl} Yea, I have been to the dentist. {Silence except for my friend who is now slapping his hand against the table and yelling, "Oh no, oh no."} Uh, how many of you have ever been on an airplane? Airplanes anyone? {Two members of the audience clap while my friend falls to the floor} Yea, airplanes . . . {My friend is now coughing up a lung and rolling around on the beer-stained floor} Uh, so anyone go to the beach? {Friend completely loses it everyone else stares} Beach? Sand? Sun? No one, huh? Uh . . . {Friend knock over the round of Shirley Temples I had order for the table} So what sound does a one year old love? . . . {I pick up the doll and squeeze making the fart noise. My friend twitches on the ground. Everyone else cocks their heads like a dog who hears a whistle} Uh, OK, then, goodnight. {My friend clap politely, everyone else discusses my suckiness}
That was my only stand-up time. Feel free to use any material that you may want from it. I don't have the doll but I do have one really stoned friend you could have.
Aug 11, 2006
Blacksmoke and The Slave
Whoa! This article reminds me of a story from college. We were in an intramural basketball league where once a year our fraternity would play a friendly game against the black fraternity's basketball team. It had a very high turnout of both houses to watch the game and then we would go drinking until some awkward incident would happen then we would all go home until the following year.
In our house there was an elected position called "House Manager." If you won an election you were basically the fix-it bitch to 22 drunk, loud, and violent students. When something broke (which was always an "accident") we would yell for the HM to fix it. It was a bad job to have (although the HM proper never thought so.
One year we had a repeater. A House Manager that was good and calm and able to fix things himself. Dave would actually fix things within a week of them being broken. After a while we started calling him "Slave." Y'know as in "Slave, the hot water went out!" or "Slave, there are firework marks on the roof."
I think we all see where this is going. The drunk 30 or so spectators at the game did not. When Dave hit a big three pointer to bring us within 15 at half we all went crazy. After all, that was the closest we had ever been at half. We were on our feet chanting, "Slave! Slave! Slave!" Suddenly, one of the members of our house, probably a non-drinker, informed us that the "awkward moment" had come early this year. There was silence. The second half saw about 10 spectators from our side all pretending that we were yelling "Dave!"
Our teams were never good. We specifically had one team named "Blacksmoke" that was especially inept. We were so bad we stopped trying to win. In fact, we prided ourselves not on the game so much as the ability to pull off a play or two a game. Our big play had a name I cannot recall. It consisted of three of us doing a weave drill from the back court. Then Bubba (poster Raging Bulls) would attempt a between the legs pass to Killre who would promptly (if we were lucky) lob the ball at the basket from half court. No one could (or wanted to) defend it.
In the penultimate game of the season we found ourselves within two points with about a minute left. We called a timeout. On the sidelines there was a Blacksmoke vote. Should we try to win a game? It was a close vote so it was decided that we would try to win it but we would do so with our big play. "Killre," we spoke very sternly to him, "give us your word that you will try your hardest to sink the half court shot." He did.
The play was on! One member gave a little behind-the-back pass during the weave that was successful. We were getting cocky. After an amazing jump pass between the legs from Bubba, Killre got the ball at half court. Then Killre threw us for a loop. He grandma-shot the ball. You know when you shoot the ball underhand from between your legs? Yea, one of those. In teardropped in a perfect arc towards the hoop. So beautiful was the shot that the rest of the team watched the ball instead of rebounding or boxing out or well, playing. It bounced off the rim straight up. It came back down on the rim and went up, off the backboard, back on the the front rim and away from the basket. Missed.
At the opponents free throw line, our defensive specialist (he got winded running to play offense and we figured we were fine without him) lit up a cigarette and stared at Killre, "I thought you were going to try."
Two unrelated notes: you may remember a few weeks ago I did a little number on drinking games. Well check this one out. I would like to add: "Remembering the rules: 2 seconds."
Finally, I gotta enter the World Series of Poker. Just sit, fold weak hands, and take pictures.
In our house there was an elected position called "House Manager." If you won an election you were basically the fix-it bitch to 22 drunk, loud, and violent students. When something broke (which was always an "accident") we would yell for the HM to fix it. It was a bad job to have (although the HM proper never thought so.
One year we had a repeater. A House Manager that was good and calm and able to fix things himself. Dave would actually fix things within a week of them being broken. After a while we started calling him "Slave." Y'know as in "Slave, the hot water went out!" or "Slave, there are firework marks on the roof."
I think we all see where this is going. The drunk 30 or so spectators at the game did not. When Dave hit a big three pointer to bring us within 15 at half we all went crazy. After all, that was the closest we had ever been at half. We were on our feet chanting, "Slave! Slave! Slave!" Suddenly, one of the members of our house, probably a non-drinker, informed us that the "awkward moment" had come early this year. There was silence. The second half saw about 10 spectators from our side all pretending that we were yelling "Dave!"
Our teams were never good. We specifically had one team named "Blacksmoke" that was especially inept. We were so bad we stopped trying to win. In fact, we prided ourselves not on the game so much as the ability to pull off a play or two a game. Our big play had a name I cannot recall. It consisted of three of us doing a weave drill from the back court. Then Bubba (poster Raging Bulls) would attempt a between the legs pass to Killre who would promptly (if we were lucky) lob the ball at the basket from half court. No one could (or wanted to) defend it.
In the penultimate game of the season we found ourselves within two points with about a minute left. We called a timeout. On the sidelines there was a Blacksmoke vote. Should we try to win a game? It was a close vote so it was decided that we would try to win it but we would do so with our big play. "Killre," we spoke very sternly to him, "give us your word that you will try your hardest to sink the half court shot." He did.
The play was on! One member gave a little behind-the-back pass during the weave that was successful. We were getting cocky. After an amazing jump pass between the legs from Bubba, Killre got the ball at half court. Then Killre threw us for a loop. He grandma-shot the ball. You know when you shoot the ball underhand from between your legs? Yea, one of those. In teardropped in a perfect arc towards the hoop. So beautiful was the shot that the rest of the team watched the ball instead of rebounding or boxing out or well, playing. It bounced off the rim straight up. It came back down on the rim and went up, off the backboard, back on the the front rim and away from the basket. Missed.
At the opponents free throw line, our defensive specialist (he got winded running to play offense and we figured we were fine without him) lit up a cigarette and stared at Killre, "I thought you were going to try."
Two unrelated notes: you may remember a few weeks ago I did a little number on drinking games. Well check this one out. I would like to add: "Remembering the rules: 2 seconds."
Finally, I gotta enter the World Series of Poker. Just sit, fold weak hands, and take pictures.
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