I often wonder what the Keebler Elves are doing

Those Keebler Elves are too industrious to be lovable.  As a child I ate their products more often.   There was a trinity of Fudge products:  Fudge Stripes, Deluxe Grahams and a third I always forget.  Then came the E.L. Fudge cookies, which I christened E.L. Honkies.  Those are totally delicious in every way and made for milk the way Jenna Jameson was made for porn.  E.L. Honkies are the closest thing to wiggers I like.  At least their chocolate-insides are authentic.

I don’t know the name of the lead Keebler Elf.  Like I mentioned, he’s not lovable and for good reason:  as MTV wouldn’t let any VJ become too popular because MTV was the star, that’s how it is with the Keebler cookie lineage.  IT is the star.

I’ll have to indulge in some E.L. Honkies on my next Free Day.

Yet another small reason to live.  Sometimes they add up.

Sunday with Pops before the Forest of Surgery

Happy to report the planned minor surgery my father had this morning was a success. I’ll visit him in the hospital Wednesday morning before his release Thursday.

He’d spent last night here (Sunday) and we stayed up talking; he did most of it and I listened gladly.

The old man was raised Catholic, then was nothing for awhile, and now recently due to “superstring theory” and singularities claims he cannot deny the potential for God’s existence as well as some metaphysics (how me made the jump to Lutheran, however, remains an unasked mystery).

I like to pretend my meditating with a realized Master a few years ago–who gave me Shaktipat–sowed seeds of spiritual Awakening in all my family members.

Dad choked up a few times, describing what I would call sparks of satori from his childhood. He was fortunate to grow up in an amazing part of Queens, New York City, called Blissville. He has seen and experienced many things today’s youth will never have known existed. My old man’s view is that progress is great, but has a terrible price, ironically, in things that can’t ever be measured. That sounds generic, yes, but only because I’m too lazy to describe what he talked about in detail.

Rather than leave the pauses to silence, we had a ridiculous movie on the tube while we chatted, which keeps the flow of “the convo” going and drowns out any awkward silences. It’s a useful tactic I’ll adopt if/when I ever engage in deeper discussions, with whom I have no idea.

Deflation

A deflating phone call with I-zikk, a 5-year comic in LA I met at ITT in the mid-90s.

It’s always dangerous to share work with another comic. Supposedly it can be helpful to ‘workshop’ ideas, however in my limited experience, sharing jokes is like sharing unfinished artwork or words, it seems to drain it of life.

Twain wrote, “My books are like water; those of the great geniuses are wine. (Fortunately) everybody drinks water.” Twain didn’t write for the critics, and comics don’t create for other comics, altho the really good ones may earn the praise of being called “a comics’ comedian”.

Only a comedy audience–of any kind–can truly put stand-up humor to the test. If a joke fails 3 different times, it’s time to retire it. My using different material each week is a way of avoiding that for now, ha ha.

I’ve got material to use, but doubt I can focus it in time for Wednesday. I’ll leave work early (to my detriment) to perform if I really want to do it. Work enrages me so the choice is easy.

God damn these stress-filled fury days.

Quoticle – farm of truth

A cat will look down to a man. A dog will look up to a man. But a pig will look you straight in the eye and see his equal.

~ Anon

LCS Penultimate

In the penultimate episode of Last Comic Standing, Gerry Dee was (rightfully) dismissed. Some of his stuff was great but he just wasn’t consistent enough. I’m sure he’ll be back next year.

So now we’re down to Hickory-hick Jon Reep vs. Fat Blackie Lavell Crawford. Based on the performances of this (otherwise terrible) episode, I think Crawford has it. Neither man was much funny, but Crawford had the energy. His cream-colored suit alone is a triumph of modern engineering; looked like a two-legged beige moon.

Compare these guys with their dumbed-down, repetitive banter to a floating genius like Steven Wright or Mitch Hedberg.

Now you see…

I’ll fucking kill you, twerp

A great weakness of mine, this interweb.

Not only is it a great distraction and time waster, it threatens my health.  I’ve walked away from the computer literally ready to kill someone, all over asinine, juvenile comments typed by some dickwad using a made-up name, a dickwad whom in real life I’ll never even meet.

Learning not to take their bait is a sanity-preserving skill, as well as art.  Conflict is inevitable.  They even gave Jesus a bunch of crap and He was only trying to help.

One should learn to accept others’ good and bad reactions with equal grace.

It’s easier said than done.

I like this blog.  It’s like a Leatherman Wave, snapping the barbs off the bait-hooks these chumps toss out, then removing them.

But there are still many, many times I’d love to get a garotte around their necks…

beachy keen

supine bodies, limbs like
bronzed bananas slathered in oils.

beer chest of ice/water only
Titanic nowhere in sight.

clouds drunk on horizon
not spilling a drop.

seagulls squawk
pooping diamonds.

half-assed castle
bucket/pail abandoned.

boobs. legs. long hair
wind-whipped pennant.

sand in the food.
sand in the water.
sand in the sand.

tide a kelp
of words.

are you a quantum nigger too?

Everyone has days where events conspire to remind them they are quantum niggers, slaves to people and things besides themselves. Why quantum? Because whether you’re here or there, you’re fucked, there’s no escape.

Today it was my turn. I left work in a murderous rage.

Hours later, even after a return to the much-hated gym, I’m still furious.

The cockbiters at work will now have to be notified there are jobs within the job I will no longer do, and if they don’t like it they can write me up and fire me, fuck ’em, I don’t care, what the hell is being fired from a company that doesn’t give a shit about its employees? All they care about is the bottom line, which actually hurts business.

Well fuck ’em. I’m just a quantum nigger.

My life is one big shitstain. Unemployment would be horrible, but no day would end feeling as rotten as I do now.

In 4 hours I’ll be awake again for another fuct day. Fucking god-damned prison nightmare. Fuck everyone, punch God in the cunt, slit His throat, rape all the whores at the job, smash the skulls of the bosses with hammers. Smash the till, grab everything green, kill the Brinks faggot rape him with his own gun, steal the rest, smash the glass, shoot a nun, run to mexico, fuck whores, piss on the beach, drink, snort nutmeg, shoot a cop, fuck a dolphin, wipe your ass with a high school yearbook repeat as necessary.

Never quite exhausted

I’d just finished “riffing” in the break room when a guy I didn’t know too well, who had no idea I’m in the stand-up game, said, sans sarcasm, “So when will be seeing your HBO special?”

It was a damned good feeling.  If other people can see something without being prompted on what to look for, then there’s some hope there.

More shit gets written.

letting the motherfuckers get to you

I’m back again before finishing doing anything meaningful. Feel like shit from too-many potato chips. Haven’t even left the house.

I’m getting the jokes on paper but I’m at the point in the process I should’ve been two nights ago.

I won’t be going up tomorrow…I’m not ready.

To top it all off, it’s September 11th. 9-11.  Goddamned fucking mudslime cocksuckers. I cheerfully submit I could go the rest of my life with all the mudslimes on earth eradicated, it wouldn’t make a whit of difference to me except things around here would be more peaceful.  Primarily it’s the Arab mudslimes who are trouble. Muslim majorities in Indonesia and Bangladesh aren’t fanatical (but aren’t really free, either).

Fuck it, I’ve got bigger worries than those assholes. I’m trapped in dangerous, non-productive routines. I cling to the very obstacles in my way.

In other words, I’m human.

I’ll keep getting the comedy down on paper. I’ll be ready for next, next Wednesday. Polished.

When I do that, I’ll have one more victory.