comedy, Death, Gender, My favorites

The Rule of Three, Transitions, and Death

Candy and medicine are flavored the same. This is why two people can taste the same thing and one can say “eww this tastes like medicine” and the other can say “yum this tastes like candy.” The distinction is only based on preconceptions.

Example: A dude tastes a drink – it is pink: “Ewww. This tastes like medicine.”

Example: A guy who loves claiming his open-mindedness tastes a fruit beer that has an emphasis on the fruit part – “Yum, this tastes like candy.”

Example: My dad tastes a piece of vegan bark/bread that he thinks all of my friends should try – “Wow, this tastes like candy and steak. You would love this.”

My dad is an lovable dope mixed with an angry indignant mixed with a lot of homemade tofu. He’s who I both look forward to becoming and who I desperately fear becoming. All of this comes out best when he calls me with questions on “his facebook.” Questions like:

“Who’s this person on my facebook? How’d they write all this stuff on my facebook?”

“How come your friends are always playing with my facebook?”

“This woman wants to be friends with me, but I don’t like her. What do I do?”

The last one is a reasonable facebook concern. I recently was thinking about friendship requests from people who need not request friendship and wrote this:

“Adding you to the audience of my blog so that I can know when you release a new hot track for free is not us being worth uncomfortably connected after you go through a shitty breakup with my friend who I am not quite close enough with to indignantly defriend you through claims of loyalty.”

Loyalty is silly. I like support. I like to support others who I am friends with and I like when my friends support me, but forced support is obnoxious. I don’t want someone supporting me who doesn’t want to support me. I recently supported a friend who would definitely qualify as someone whose boyfriends I will not friend for fear of the last sentence becoming true. Between songs this happened:

Person A (singer): “I’m gonna play this little diddy.”

Person B (audience member): “You’re a little diddy.”


Person A: (Tunes guitar)

Person B: “In a good way.”

Me: Fuck you. First off you are horribly unclever. Had you been insulting I wouldn’t have said that because at least insults demand a certain level of cleverness, but you weren’t at all. This brings me to point #2. What is the good way of being a little diddy, and more importantly, what is the bad way that you feel came through so clearly that you had to apologize for your horrible indiscretion.

There are no quotation marks around my line because I am the gender neutral definition of a pussy.

Of course there isn’t really a gender neutral definition of a pussy. Which is too bad. I would like to see there exist one before I die, but there won’t. We can’t forget the past and we can’t stop using pussy as a term to describe vagina. All of these short pieces were things I wrote on a folder I was carrying around one day. They all relate to death.

a) Candy and medicine are the things you have as a child and a dying person respectively. It seems as though the longer we strive to look at things as candy the longer we will not be a dying person.

b) I don’t want to become my dad because that means I’m closer to being a dying person.

c) That audience member wasted so much of my time as I had to complain in my head about her. I am so much closer to being a dying person because of her.

Okay, so maybe they don’t all relate to death that well, but I am definitely scared of being a dying person.

Death, Depressed, Lazy

6:30 AM Death

I am writing this at 6:30am. It is not because I had some crazy all night party of funtimes and magicfarts – in fact I ditched the opportunity to party after someone else’s fantastic show in order to go to sleep and get up in time for work. Work that was supposed to start at 6:30am. Work that I didn’t have to go to until 12:00pm because I had switched shifts. So, now I’m back home with another five hours of day that I won’t be able to fall asleep during.

Why do I spend so much of the time I’m awake attempting to fall asleep? It’s such a waste. There is literally nothing less productive. It’s like you are saying, I’m going to attempt and fail to do nothing. Doing nothing is at least a thing. Doing nothing is relaxing, but trying to force yourself asleep is a complete waste of everything. And it never works. You just sit there waiting until your body doesn’t want to do awake anymore, and all the methods that don’t involve physically altering the chemicals in your body do nothing because anything else involves thinking, which is counter to sleeping. It’s like yelling yourself into a meditative state – it doesn’t make sense.

Life is so short, yet so much of it is spent doing things that are stupid and worthless. Life is stupid and worthless.

When I can’t get to sleep, it’s usually because I’m having intense (though intensely boring) conversations with myself. They are annoying conversations where one person is trying to be absurd and the other person is annoyed because none of the absurd jokes that the first person is making are funny and therefore not worth keeping me awake over and then a third person comes in and tells them both to quiet down because they are all trying to sleep right now. It’s a horrible conversation to listen to, but it’s what I use to try to and fail to put me to sleep. I always want to be awake because I need to do so much before I die and being asleep just puts you closer to death without accomplishment. My multiple personality disorder (aka: vivid imagination) is keeping me awake though because all of the people in my head want to stay awake as much as possible too. The probability of all of the voices in my head wanting to sleep at the same time is so absurdly minuscule that I could compare it to the size of my dick and people who hadn’t heard much comedy would laugh because they would understand that to be a self-deprecating joke that they were comfortable agreeing with because it had no basis on their actual judgement of the person’s worth as they would never have to see if the joke had an element of truth to it.

What do I do with that time awake anyway? Play video games and hulu.


Life is so short, yet so much of it I spend doing things that are stupid and worthless. I am stupid and worthless.

Death, Lazy


My toilet is broken in that it refuses to drain water out of it. In the 9 months I’ve lived in this apartment, we’ve been flooded 5 times – 3 of them with sewage. I’m leaving next month, as are my roommates (to different places) and we’ve given up trying to fix the constant barrage of water related problems, so we now use our toilet like a pee holding bucket. If I have to take a shit, I go to a local restaurant. This morning I pissed into the shower and then took a shower just to clean that up.

I better not die soon.

I can’t be at this point in my life when it ends. This is the part that I get to reminisce about. I need time to reminisce. Right now I am too close to my terrible life to laugh about it. I want to laugh about it. Since I always assume the worst, I also assume that I am going to die today which means that I either have to change the way my life is run so that I begin reminiscing soon, or I can just reminisce while doing these awful things. Option 2 is easier.

This is what the future-past is. The future-past is living your life so that in the future you can look on your past fondly. It is not about doing the thing that is most enjoyable at the moment, in fact it typically is the opposite because the most interesting moments of your life to look back on are usually the worst. I’m just so good at living in the future-past that I can do it all in one moment. I think this is what blogging has done to people like me. I can tell a story about how I piss in my shower and poop in restaurants and that makes it okay that I do those things because at least I’m capitalizing on that shit right away. It’s like instant-memoirs. You get to live both the terrible life that caused your memoirs to be interesting and the good life of writing about your life for others simultaneously. Living in the future-past means you are constantly stuck in the present.

Did that blow your mind?

It didn’t blow mine either. I’m just so scared of death that I try to live all parts of my life at once. I guess that’s why I have three jobs and just applied to two more, but I won’t work at any of them more than 18 hrs a week.

Death, Horny

Thinkin’ ‘Bout De’th

People mistake me for being somewhere between the ages of 28 and 32 nowadays. Until about a year ago, I was mistaken for being between the ages of 15-18. How come I have to skip all the good years?

When I was a teenager I comforted myself with the fact that despite my babyfaced patheticness was preventing me from getting laid now, that same babyfacedness would help me score when I was in my 30s and was still looking a healthy 24. Nope. I just went from one type of person who doesn’t get laid to another type of person who doesn’t get laid.

I think in high school I just wanted to assume that before I died I’d get to experience being a man of sex – a person who would enjoy sexual arts whenever he wanted. That’s not to say I was absurdly horny, or that I only thought about sex, it was just that that was the type of life that seemed most opposite of the life I had and I wanted to experience all lives. Now, I’ve come to the realization that the playah lifestyle is not one I will get to experience, and that makes me sad. Again, not because of my inability to get laid, but because it means I’m close enough to death to scratch things off my bucket list that I never even tried to accomplish.

So, death has been a pretty consistent worry for me all of my life, but now it has gotten worse as I realize how much work must go into being famous enough to have the affect I need to have on the world. This means that I will be writing once a day about what instance made me think about and fear death most in that day. Y’know because this is supposed to be a funny blog. This will last as long as it lasts.

Death, Nostalgia

Award Winning Storyteller: H2$

My mouth’s ability to rock harder than I pretend my dick rocks has been validated by three randomly chosen groups of drunks in a bar. By this I mean that I won the latest Moth StorySlam telling this story.

I now get to join a bunch of ridiculously good storytellers at the GrandSlam and tell some story that’ll probably have to do with my fear of my penis.

Success is a frightening concept. When you realize that you’ve done something that is successful – you’ve gotten something that you’ve desired for a long time – you assume that your life will be better. I’ve spent the first three hours of my day glad that I bought Veggie Stix and carrot juice to celebrate my victory, but was too lazy to return these snacks to the kitchen at the end of the night because now I have breakfast resting next to my bed. Breakfast that I must eat while watching Glee and smelling the awful smell of an armpit that has sweat nervously through a performance and not been washed. This is what success feels like? This feels similar to the failure I’m so used to experiencing.

I made a joke in my story about how I spent my days jerking off to hulu and that joke wouldn’t have been possible had I not spent days jerking off to hulu. This action is the epitome of my failure – my lack of desire to participate in society, opting instead for an insular, masturbatory (in so many ways) life spent creating a perfectly carved out indentation in my mattress. In order to achieve success, you must drive through failure – the future-past.

Retirement seemed like a crock to me. My parents attempted to retire last year and for a couple of months they managed to do so. They spent their days playing on the computer, with their horses, on their kayaks, in the garden – and they loved it. My dad called me once and said: “I get it now. I get why you don’t do anything – it’s so much fun.” The concept of retirement was always dumb to me. Retirement was the idea that you would put off your ability to adventure for a time when you were physically incapable of enjoying the world. Now I recognize that I have set myself up for a constant series of retirements. I want to bite the bullet and then talk about how ammunition tastes. I want to go through a series of lives, and I think I can. I don’t have to put all the misery in one half and the happiness in the other. I can alternate like a sine wave over the x-axis – constantly switching from shit that I have to put up with to getting to enjoy the shit I put up with.


Attention Whoring, Death, Nostalgia

Am I Pedo? No Just Learning

One of my most popular blog posts is  one I titled “Fucking Children.” It is a very funny entry that details my insecurities of being seen as a child. That’s not the reason it’s one of my most popular posts. The reason is that it is titled “Fucking Children” and there are a lot of perverts on the internet.

I spent yesterday’s beautiful sunlight sitting and sweating in central park as I watched children play. I was sweating because I accidentally wore a sports coat. I didn’t accidentally wear it, that’s misleading. I put it on, went outside, realized its inappropriateness, was too lazy to go back in and suffered the rest of the day. I was watching children because I found it mildly arousing.. ehem… interesting.

I saw a group of kids spend ten full minutes discussing what sound they were going to make in order to indicate that they were starting their game of soccer. I saw a kid get distracted from his game of “throw the paper plate” by a stick on the ground that he then hit the ground with for 20 minutes. I saw a kid get angry because his friends refused to play tag with him and scream back through tears: “You just want to make up your own game and be king! Well I hate you!”

They are so useless, and their arguments are useless, and their frustrations are useless. But we allow it because we assume that all of this useless energy is helping them learn. I agree. It is helping them learn.

What about us? More importantly, what about me? Why can’t I spend 20 minutes discussing the rules to soccer instead of playing it? Why can’t I bash a stick into the ground for a half hour? Why can’t I cry when people don’t want to play tag? I’m not annoying, childish and useless. I’m just learning.

comedy, Death, Indignant

Laughing at Darfur*

I’ve talked before about my grandmother’s death and how it formed my desire to create comedy, but talking about something once has never stopped me from talking about it again.

She had Alzheimer’s and it was the funniest disease in the world. Senility is hilarious. I don’t think everybody thinks this, but I do think that everybody I have come to respect thinks this.

People constantly refer to comedy as a form of escape from the world that surrounds them. Well that sounds depressing. I enjoy this world around me, and I do not need to laugh in order to forget that all the awful things around me exist. Comedy can and should be a magnifying glass instead of a diversion. Comedy should focus your attention onto these horrible things so that we can change them. Comedy just allows us to have a good time while we think about awful things. There is no reason we should have to hate ourselves in order to change the world, instead we should enjoy thinking and acting upon the pieces of this world we find destructive.

The best teachers don’t bore their students, but the best teachers don’t use games as a reward for learning. The best teachers use games as a method of learning. Learning should be fun. Alternately, fun can be learning. Comedy can and should be learning. Just because you are laughing doesn’t mean that you don’t care. It means you care a lot. Not reacting means you don’t care.

My grandma’s Alzheimer’s was hilarious to me and finding it hilarious pointed toward a deeper truth about senility. It pointed to how fragile our minds were and how the simple lack of specific chemicals or whatever could change a person’s perspective on the world. My grandma’s Alzheimer’s is the reason I understand that we all perceive the world differently, and we can’t assume our beliefs to be that of others. My grandma’s Alzheimer’s was also hilarious.

That comic made me LOL as the kids are saying. It also made me remember my grandma and want to write this blog entry. Laughing is so good for this world. Do it more often. And do it without thinking about why you are laughing, that’s the best kind.

*About the title: This is a reference that maybe three people will get about a joke I wrote into a sketch that never got performed about Darfur. It didn’t make fun of the people in Darfur, in fact it was very sympathetic to the plight of the people in Darfur, but we were very aware that people would be unnecessarily offended because they wouldn’t like that they laughed at it. I hate those people. They are dumb. Those hypothetical people who were offended at the joke I never performed are dumb.