Wednesday, December 31, 2003


* Linger awkwardly as a loving couple attempts to enjoy a poignant New Year kiss. Get right up close and whisper, "Three more months, tops".

* Spike the champagne with Metamucil.

* At exactly 11:59:30pm, loudly announce that you just found out that your entire family has been brutally murdered. See who still insists on counting down to midnight.

* Cover the beverage table with religious pamphlets.

* Spice up the party by locking yourself in the bathroom and downing a bottle of Advil in a desperate cry for help. Write short suicide note on mirror with lipstick.

* Show off your fresh 2004 pubic hairdo! (I'm going with a sassy bob)

Happy New Year, muthafuckas. Try not to act like a tool.

Monday, December 29, 2003


10. THAT OBNOXIOUS PSEUDO HIPSTER GUY FROM THE 'CRAZY WORLD' ANTI-SMOKING ADS (Ohhhhhh, how I hate thee. Hate. Haaaaaaate. You make me want to start up a three pack a day habit.)

9. SANTA BARBARA DISTRICT ATTORNEY TOM SNEDDON (This travesty of justice must stop. Leave Michael alone! Let he who hasn't molested a boy or three cast the first stone! Tom Sneddon is a cold man!)

8. THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS FUTURE (Okay, I need to change my ways. I get it, already. But it's December 29th, fer chrissake! Time to move on. And stop eating my food, you damned freeloader.)

7. DAME JUDI DENCH (Am I right, or am I right?)

6. THE NAMELESS, FACELESS 'EXPERTS' ON PRETTY MUCH EVERY SHOW TO AIR ON VH1 IN 2003 (Here's the kicker: I'm occasionally one of them! But I'm not too deluded to recognize that we, collectively, are an asshole. Oh, and if anyone from VH1 programming is reading this: just kidding!! Ha ha ha ha ha! I love you guys! Call me!!!!)

5. SARA LEE (Nice apple crumb pie, ASSHOLE!)

4. SADDAM INSANE (No, this is not a reference to former Iraqi dictator Saddam Insane, as read through the evocative journalistic prism that is the New York Post. No, Saddam Insane is the name of a guy who works behind the counter at Chirp'n Chicken, down the road from my apartment. He always shorts me on napkins. I'm like, "Can I get a few more napkins, please?" And he hands me two more and is like, "You want more, twenty-five cents." And I'm like, "What the fuck, dick--they cost like .00000005 cents apiece." And he, like, just stands there. Whatever, asshole. Bummer about the name, though.)

3. DR. JONATHAN FABER (Sterile? Yeah, right! I don't think so, pal!)

2. THE MINNESOTA VIKINGS' SECONDARY (Do you fuckers realize what you did yesterday? You cost me $75,000!!! Play the ball, not the man! THE BALL!!! Now I have to leave the country! Thanks, fuckers.)

1. YOU (Oh, don't act all innocent--you know why.)

Sunday, December 28, 2003


Know this about the Parker Brothers classic, Monopoly: by games end, at least one person will be totally pissed off. Seriously, can you recall one time in your life when you and your parents/siblings/loved ones/in-laws/cell mates made it to the bitter end of a Monopoly endurathon without someone threatening violence/retribution/divorce/disinheritance?

What makes Monopoly such a remarkable/shitty game is how closely it mirrors who you really are. If you are a patient and organized financial planner in real life, this will reveal itself in the game--you acquire worthwhile properties at a sensible pace, never falling victim to momentary whim and ego, never overextending yourself. And if you are the kind of person who tends to "live for today", throwing around money the minute you get it, indulging in momentary extravaganzas, only to find yourself having to scrape and grovel every time some unforeseen expense (you know, like emergency dentistry or rent) pops up, this too will reveal itself in how you play Monopoly. I'll let you guess which type I am.

For the first half of the game, I'm buying up shit left and right, without a care in the world. "Oriental Avenue? Sure, I'll take that. Electric Company? Fuck yeah, lay that shit on me! Ventnor? Absolutely! I don't care if I'll only have $177 left--I'll be passing 'GO' in a couple of turns, and that's $200 more I have coming to me right there! So as long as I don't roll anything lower than a nine, I'm home free!" Cut to 45 minutes later, when I'm mortgaging off my once formidable fleet of properties in order to pay off whoever was smart enough to buy up all the goddamn railroads. Fuck you, B&O! From that point, it's just a slow march toward The Inevitable. I have $32 to my name and no income to speak of, other than what I might be able to score via 'Community Chest'. I am on edge. I am near defeat. I am looking desperately to blame my situation on intricate conspiracies and arbitrary distractions. Jiggling the dice in my hand for far longer than is necessary, I stare bleakly at the gauntlet of hotels between my sad little top hat and the relative safety of 'Luxury Tax'. And I wonder, "Just how the fuck am I going to get through this?"

That, friends, is my adult life in a nutshell.

Friday, December 26, 2003


I should probably write something snarky and hilarious to commemorate yesterday's Noel. But I am unable. The whole day was simply too good. All the family members who were able to attend were in fantastic spirits and I had the woman I love at my side. For one day (and perhaps one day only), I have not the energy to talk shit about anything or anyone. Not even myself.

It was a great holiday and I feel humbled and appreciative. I would say more but, simply put, this ain't that kind o' blog. It's difficult enough for me to get through these few sentences without undercutting the genuine sentiment with a cheap laugh. Right there, for instance--I was going to type "undercutting the genuine sentiment with a dick joke", but I decided that even typing the words "dick joke" would take away from what I was saying. But now, I've gone and typed it anyway (twice, even!), as a way of explaining what I was not going to do. So I have already screwed up my attempt to write a 100% sincere entry about having perhaps the most poignant Christmas of my life? Probably.

Anyway, Merry Post-Christmas, for those of you who celebrate that sort of thing. I'll go back to blithe ridicule now.

Tuesday, December 23, 2003


Want to make a big splash on Christmas Day? Enjoy making people feel shitty about themselves? Well, upon opening a gift from a dear friend, family member or loved one, I urge you give one of these a whirl:

"Well, I guess I finally know what you really think of me."

"Great. I needed a new piece of shit."

"This is so sweet of you, grandpa. Especially given that this is probably your last Christmas."

"Jesus, how do you sleep?"

"I'm so relieved you didn't let taste get in the way of buying me this gift."

"Whoop-de-damn-do. Next."

"You know, I'd return this but I don't think the 99 cent store gives out refunds."

"Buying me this CD walkman isn't going to make up for years of shitty parenting. Just so you know."

"Hey, thanks! I was actually thinking about getting the same thing for you, but I needed weed money."

"You are a horrible person and this is a terrible Christmas present. I hate you."


"Wow, I don't deserve this. I mean, who are we kidding--neither do you. But I definitely don't deserve this."

Monday, December 22, 2003


"The Two Thousand and Third Noel"

"Egg Nog Makes You Pretty"

"I Saw Daddy Giving it to Santa (In the Butt)"

"Pediatrics Ward Christmas "

"Baby Jesus Fucked my Girlfriend"

"Did Thou Keep Thy Receipt?"

"The Seven Car Yuletide Tragedy"

"Night of the Reigndeer: The Unholy Wrath of Prancer"

"All I Want for Christmas is Not to be Audited"

"Please Don't Hit Me, it's Christmas"

"I Forget to Poke Airholes in your Present (So Long, Winkles)"

"More Tinsel, Bitch!"

"My Name is Santa, and I have a Problem"

"Joy to the World (Except Karen)"

Saturday, December 20, 2003


After two days of site maintenance-related grief, things at Tower of Hubris finally seem to be back up to speed. And what is this post, you ask? Nothing but an elaborate test, really. So read yesterday's thingy--it's funny, kind of.

Friday, December 19, 2003


For you, the loyal TOH readership: A holiday trivia nugget with which to amaze your friends and family:

Did you know that the popular Yuletide carol "The Twelve Days of Christmas" was originally titled "The Thirty-One Days of Christmas"? Yep, no shit! And in case you're curious, here's what the protagonist of the song's true love gave to her from Day 31 to Day 13:

On the thirty-first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:

Thirty-one ugly sweaters,

thirty Virgin Megastore gift cards,

twenty-nine bottles of Body Shop lavender foot scrub,

twenty-eight travel size Yahtzees,

twenty-seven Far Side calendars a-wasting,

twenty-six coffee mugs emblazoned with humorous statements related to how one's ethnic heritage contributes to his/her ability to perform sexually,

twenty-five pit bulls a-fucking,

twenty-four critically acclaimed novels I'll give lip service to reading,

twenty-three "free hug" coupons,

twenty-two tearful apologies for what happened three days ago,

twenty-one autographed photos of REO Speedwagon vocalist Kevin Cronin,

twenty unlaundered dance belts a-stinking,

nineteen drunken punches to the face and ribs,

eighteen cans of Pabst emptying,

seventeen Metrocards expiring,

sixteen unwanted tickets to that new Boy George/Rosie O'Donnell musical,

fifteen beef jerky flavored dental dams,

fourteen two pound bags of uncut Columbian cocaine,

thirteen venereal diseases a-spreading...

And you know how the rest goes: twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, etc. But don't sell this wonderful song short, people--be sure to sing the entire thirty-one day version on Christmas Eve to help get your family in the holiday mood!

Wednesday, December 17, 2003


Just a reminder to check out Smoking Gun TV tonight on Court TV at 8:30pm. Alternately, you can see it Friday at 11:00pm or Sunday at 11:30pm. My prediction for the show: funny.

If you need to refresh your memory about when it's on or to find out about other appearances, both on TV and in person, you can check my calendar (which is, admittedly, a tad sparse right now). This is the last time I will annoy you people with this.

Go back to your online shopping.

Tuesday, December 16, 2003



Take this as a lesson, fellas: if you're going to hack off your own penis (and who among us hasn't seriously considered it at least once or twice?), make sure to rehearse your story a few times. Because apparently people will ask, and talk about embarassing!

Monday, December 15, 2003


Hey there, my little Christmas elves! Feliz Navidad from El Taco Grande! That's right, o little children of Bethlehem--it's your main man on the West Pole, sending good cheer over the sexotronic mental airwaves of WDAVE!

And speaking of poles, how about you naughty little Nancies come on over here and sit on Santa Dave's lap and we'll talk about the first thing that pops up?! Whooooo! That's what you call a double-trouble-super-bubble entendre, my little stocking stuffers! Let the festivilities begin! I'm ready to roll up my greensleeves and get my halls sufficiently decked!

Now I know, technicality-wise, this here holy infant ain't exactly tender and mild. In fact, I'm what you might call a Member of the Tribe--and I ain't talking about the Navajo! But that doesn't mean your little Yuletide cowpoke doesn't like having his candycane unwrapped every once in a while! Know what I'm saying, Good King Wencelaus? After all, it's like Telly Savalas once said to Joan of Arc: "No need for presents when you've got my presence!" I've got me a list, and I'm not just checking it twice--I'm correcting the spelling and scanning it for interplanetary crossword puzzle clues! So if ol' Rudolph wants to drive my sleigh tonight, he'd better get himself a degree in Eastern Folklore and an oil change! So holiday greetings to you, yours and whoever else's the Great Eye in the Sky has hanging around on the ol' Popcorn String of Life!


P.S. Super wassail tree stand magnet parade, Blitzen!

Saturday, December 13, 2003


You know, I'll be posting a reminder in a couple of days, but I wanted to give you fine folks a heads-up:

On Wednesday, December 17th, I will be appearing on the show Smoking Gun TV on Court TV. As you may have guessed, it's being produced in conjunction with the creators of the very popular Smoking Gun website. The show is hosted by former Daily Show correspondent Mo Rocca and I have every reason to believe it will be very, very funny. I am a field correspondent and I'll be filing a report on the plight of Ms. Michelle Padilla, a young churchgoing woman who, in a moment of carefree self-expression, was caught on camera and transformed into an unwilling Girls Gone Wild cover girl. Yes, folks, this is serious journalism.

(Must...not...make "hard news" joke... Must...resist...)

Anyway, the show debtus on 12/17 at 8:30pm and then re-airs on Friday, 12/19 at 11:00pm and Sunday, 12/21 at 11:30pm. You can read the press release here.

Oh, and as far as that first link goes? You know, this one? Well, they seem to have replaced my picture with that of a sweaty fat guy. I mean, sweet christ, never have I been so horrified at a picture of myself. Ever. There was one day we shot in the San Diego heat without a makeup person and of course they had to pull a still from that day. Ugh. Horrendous, I tell you.

Anyway, watch the show. And then go on to the message boards and talk about how fucking cool I am, so they'll give me more work. What could be more fun?

Friday, December 12, 2003


A couple of days ago, I saw the move Love Actually. Here are my thoughts:

If irony is truly dead, Love Actually is the film that may singlehandedly bring it back to life. After penning a popular string of exercises in romantic whimsy, such as Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill, screenwriter Richard Curtis has ascended to the director chair and delivered a film so staggeringly cheesy, it amounts to an act of cultural bravery. Love Actually is comprised on nine (yes, nine!) vignettes on the many faces of...well, love. I mean, what the fuck did you think I was going to say?

Curtis seems to have conceived Love Actually as a sweetness endurathon, designed to find out just how much bullshit an audience is willing to swallow. "Okay, we've got Colin Firth overcoming a language barrier to find marital bliss with his Portugese housekeeper. Not cheesy enough for you? How about Liam Neeson playing a grieving widower who helps his precocious step-son win over his first love? No? Did I mention the precocious step-son's first love is a black girl?! Had enough yet? Well, try Laura Linney on for size! I mean, she gives up a promising sexual fling just to take care of her invalid brother! Whom she loves! I mean, this guy is totally fucked in the head, but she loves him! Love love love love love! Give up yet? Do you? DO YOU?!!" Perhaps most brutal is the film's final twenty minutes, which feels something like running a midieval gauntlet designed by Care Bears. You are pummelled again and again, as each and every story is resolved and adorned with a tiny little metaphorical bow, assuring you once and for all that love is indeed a wonderful thing. It is a very bold message and upon leaving the theater, you may feel compelled to murder a prostitute, just for the feeling of equilibrium.

Oh, and the most sickening part of the Love Actually experience? I actually kind of enjoyed it.

Don't tell.

Thursday, December 11, 2003


"The Lady in Red" by Chris DeBurgh

"Chicken Soup with Rice" by Carole King

"Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" by Edith Piaf

"I Love the Nightlife" by Alicia Bridges

"Hey You" by Pink Floyd

"Born Free" by Andy Williams

"Flying Purple People Eater" by Sheb Wooley

"Chains of Love" by Erasure

"Is That All There Is?" by Peggy Lee

"Heal the World" by Michael Jackson

"Itsy Bitsy Spider" (Trad.)

Anything involving Edie Brickell

Wednesday, December 10, 2003


Earlier this week, I promised an avid TOH reader that I would post something every single day this week. Thereofre, in accordance with that pledge, I present to you this piece of shit entry. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say. Zilch. It happens, you know.

I should mention that it is currently 8:36am (never mind the time signature--that thing is all f'ed up) and that I have not yet gone to sleep. Why is this, you ask? Beats the shit out of me. This is the third night in a row I have have seen daylight before going to bed. I'm always something of a night owl, but this is just ridiculous. You know you have a fucked up sleep schedule when not only do you see TV stations go off the air, you seem them come back on the air a few hours later. This is nonsense. I'm too old to be living like a college Sophmore during Finals Week. I think I may need to start giving myself roofies.

I'm suddenly exhausted, so I'm going to go sleep for an hour or two. Maybe I'll write something worthwile a bit later. But maybe not. The important thing is that I posted something, right? Um, right? Fine I'll try to write a joke before I go. Here goes:

The best thing about fucking a household pet is, you never have to fghwophir your efe[o daedppn Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Tuesday, December 09, 2003


TOPIC FOR DISCUSSION: I think artists today have it too easy and that makes for across-the-board mediocrity. It is therefore my opinion that we should re-start the Blacklist. Of course, that Communist rhetoric doesn't motivate people the way it used to, so we'll have to find something more interesting to persecute people for. Maybe I'll go after people who don't wash their hands after peeing. Or people who misuse the term "per se" (meaning: just about everyone). Or people who own Nickelback albums. I don't know what it's going to be yet, but this I can guarantee: names will be named.

I'll get working on it. And speaking of names being named, have fun floating around here for a while. I'll think you'll all agree with me when I say "Egads!"

Monday, December 08, 2003

THIS IS DANGEROUS... (and not particularly funny, just so you know)

I made the plunge. After consciously avoiding it for months and months, I finally started buying online music from iTunes. As big a music dork as I am, my friends are always shocked to find out that I never got in on the whole Napster/Limewire thing. There are actually a few reasons why I've avoided downloading tunes, legally and otherwise, until now:

1) As much as I look forward to the day when the major record companies crumble and fall into the sea (and it ain't gonna be too many years from now), I've always gotten tripped up on the ethical implications of file-sharing. I have no problem with uploading an occasional tune from a CD I actually own and sending it to a friend who might dig it, or vice-versa. But on a broad scale, it just seems a little fucked up, even if the vast majority of the money I spend on CDs is going straight into the pockets of the same people who are pushing Avril Lavigne, Clay Aiken and "Crunk" down my throat.

2) When it gets right down to it, I'm an "album" kind of guy. When of the things I enjoy most is buying an album based on liking one or two songs, and discovering a whole bunch of even better songs I'd never have heard if I'd simply downloaded the singles off the web. And there's a real art to putting together a true collection of songs. A great album is like those 1970s Japanese cartoon robots that came together to form one megarobot (a la Starvengers)--the sum is greater than the parts. Also, I like the tactile aspect of holding something in my hand, with cover art, an insert, etc. Call me a traditionalist.

3) I am afraid. I am afraid that once I open the Pandora's box of having access to new music any damn time I feel like it, I will never do anything productive again. And I honestly feel that if you can acquire anything at the drop of a hat, things will inevitably start to seem less valuable to you. I think back to how much I used to love certain albums in junior high and high school--I knew every single word, every single guitar solo, every drum fill by heart. And most of that music sucked! Contrast that with now, where I pick up great albums just about every week and I'll be lucky if I can remember more than a couple of song titles. I have this feeling that once you give yourself over to furious downloading, the actual enjoyment factor becomes something of an afterthought. Music is still a bit precious to me, and I want to keep it that way. And yes, I realize how "totally gay" that sounds.

That said, the iTunes store just makes it too damned easy. In little over an hour, I downloaded 15 wonderful tunes at the very reasonable price of $.99 apiece. I told myself that I could spend the approximate price of one CD and I managed to stick to it. I actually like that the songs aren't free, and not just for the ethics factor. A dollar isn't going to break my bank (at least, not at the moment), but the mere fact that I'm spending something forces me to ask myself, Do I really want this? Do I really need to have an MP3 of "Fly High Michelle" by Enuff Z'Nuff? No, I don't think I do.

Also, I'm going to limit myself to songs from albums I'm pretty sure suck, or from albums I once owned on cassette but know I'm never going to bother replacing. I find myself wanting to download two songs from the same album, I'm going to try and force myself to go out and buy the damned CD. We'll see how long that lasts.

Just in case you're curious, here are the songs I've purchased, in the order I downloaded them. And no, I'm not joking. Remember, I mentioned that today's entry wasn't particularly funny.


* "Milkshake" by Kelis
(Just go ahead and try to tell me this song doesn't rule. Try it! TRY IT!)

* "Boys Better" by The Dandy Warhols
(This song makes me wish I was really lanky so I could wear trendy clothes, suck in my cheeks and look sassy. Alas...)

* "Forbidden Colours" by David Sylvian and Ruyuchi Sakamoto
(This is a fleshed out version of the main theme music from the movie Merry Christmas, Mister Lawrence, complete with vocals. It's very beautiful.)

* "Desert Search for Techno Allah" by Mr. Bungle
(A great tune off of Disco Volante, which was a sloppy mess, otherwise.)

* "Who Are You" by "Tom Waits"
(Again: great song, so-so album.)

* "Sometimes Salvation" by The Black Crowes
(Shut up. It's a good song.)

* "Here Comes The Flood" by Peter Gabriel
(I love this song so damned much, but I know I'll never get around to buying the the whole album on CD.)

* "When it Began" by The Replacements
(A lot of old school indie purists don't consider anything off of All Shook Down to be the "real" Replacements, but I couldn't give two shits. This is a great tune, even if it was essentially a Paul Westerberg solo project.)

* "You Never Even Called Me by My Name" by David Allen Coe
(Many years ago, after being cruelly dumped and moving into a neighborhood where I knew absolutely no one, I found myself spending two to four nights a week sitting alone in a country western bar called Doc Holliday's. I would drink Southern Comfort and ginger ale and try to make chit chat with the ruffians. I suppose I thought I was being gritty and poetic. Man, what a d-bag I was. But I did come to really love a few country songs, this one in particular. It's got a great singalong.)

* "Space Age Love Song" by A Flock of Seagulls
(Laugh all you want, it's a beautiful pop song. And the guy's guitar sound rules.)

* "Let it Whip" by The Dazz Band
(This song is very important, in the context of contemporary social mores Okay, I'll admit it: this song kind of sucks. But I really loved it when I was a kid.)

* "Just My Imagination (Runnin' Away with Me)" by The Temptations
(A true classic. Just about perfect.)

* "What A Fool Believes" by The Doobie Brothers
(I will go to my grave swearing this is a great song. Hard to get a lot of people to agree with me on this one, I know. But I think we CAN all agree that it's fun to imitate Michael McDonald's singing voice.)

* "Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time)" by The Delfonics
(Another classic. I probably shouldn't mention that my girlfriend thinks this song was written by New Kids on the Block, should I? Nah, that would be too embarrassing for her.)

* "Joey" by Concrete Blond
(This song wasn't really like anything else Concrete Blond recoded, and I'm sure they probably came to hate playing it live. But the fact is, it's the best thing they ever did. If you think you don't know the song, trust me--you do.)

That's it. Oof. My fingers are cramping. Never have I written so much about so little. I hope the three of you who read this far enjoyed it.

Sunday, December 07, 2003


Through the ever-evolving magic of dork gadgetry, I present to you an audio recording of the "Three's Company" theme song, as performed by The Moz himself. (See below) You're quite welcome.

Powered by audblogaudio post powered by audblog

NOTE: In the four hours since posting this, I have contemplated deleting it seven times. How long will it be until the embarrassment becomes too much to bear? We shall see...

Friday, December 05, 2003


Earlier today, I met a woman who works for a digital animation studio. They specialize in feature-length 3D animated movies, a la Toy Story and Monsters, Inc. At one point, she mentioned that they're currently listening to pitches, so if I ever come up with anything good, I should let her know. The only thing to keep in mind, she said, was that her company is interested, primarily, in stories about animals.

Well, I have to be honest: it's never really occurred to me to write about animals. Call me Species-ist, but I generally spend most of my creative time thinking in terms of human beings. But still, you have to take your career opportunities where you can get them, so I spent a little time last night coming up with some really great animal characters, around whom I'll write a string of worldwide blockbuster animated features. Let me know if any of these little critters sounds promising:

* On-the-Wagon Winky, a once-fearsome tiger who's working on his twelve steps, turning his life over to a higher power, and trying his best to take things one day at a time.

* Chester, the camel who only fucks models

* Sprinkles, an orphaned kitten who's taken in by a kind old alley cat and taught about the international Zionist conspiracy.

* Miss Darla, the eastern dwarf mongoose who survives years of incest and physical abuse to become the Kenyan animal community's most famous activist and talk show host.

* Alfonso, the gay-bashing pelican

* Terrence Trent Beaver, a wildly talented and vaguely effiminate beaver who becomes an overnight woodland superstar but soon falls fall prey to his own messianic complex and overblown ego, eventually reducing his once promising career to little more than a humorous footnote in the annals of forestry.

* Vicki, the mentally retarded sea turtle who runs a Bob Seger webzine.

* Maurice, the koala who find out his wife has been sleeping with a grizzly bear and responds by opening fire in a crowded fast food restaurant, killing twelve and critically injuring another three, before turning the gun on himself.

* Slutty badgers

Okay, that last one needs a bit of fleshing out, but I think the potential is pretty obvious. I can't wait for the merchandising tie-ins. Happy Meal residuals, here I come!

Wednesday, December 03, 2003


Stanley Tucci: Exposed!

The Captain Lou Albano sex tape

Golden Girls Gone Wild

Members of Ratt buttfucking members of Dokken

Motel 6 Heiress Edna Furbidge: Live on Tape!

The Maya Angelou sex tape

Domo Arigato, Dennis DeYoung: The Video Styx Doesn't Want You to See!

The infamous John Madden turkey baster video

Suveillance camera footage of F. Murray Abraham jerking off at Chuck E. Cheese

The Barbara Bush 500

Monday, December 01, 2003


You know, as we enter the holiday season, a time of mirth and good cheer, I think it's importat to keep something in mind: responding to someone wishing you a "Merry Christmas" by saying "Happy Kwanzaa" isn't nearly as hilarious as you think it is. At best it's a lame joke, and at worst perhaps a teensy bit racist. Yes, I know--"Kwanzaa" is a strange sounding word and it kind of makes you giggle to say it. But by throwing out a sarcastic "Happy Kwanzaa", essentially what you're saying is, "Can you imagine how wacky it would be if I actually participated in this stupid-sounding heathen jubilee? What a crazy bunch, those Africans!"

Very racist.

I don't want to put too fine a point on it, though. Mostly it's just a lame joke. Although I will admit, it's hard not to chuckle a little bit when you read the lyrics to the traditional "Kawnzaa song". Someone might want to work on a re-write.

Saturday, November 29, 2003


You know, the last couple of months has been kind of busy for me, so I hope you'll forgive me for letting this juicy little tidbit of news slip by unnoticed. As you may remember, Lord Dio is something of a celebrity here at Tower of Hubris (see July 2, 2002). Let's just hope his little accident was truly accidental. After all, I know he's upset about people using their thumbs when making "devil horns", but this seems a bit extreme.

By the way, I know you Spinal Tap fans are probably bursting at the seams to start making "tragic gardening accident jokes, but I beg you to refrain. Besides, Ronnie James is not the only one to fall victim to a perilous nursery.

Okay, back to your life.

Friday, November 28, 2003


Greetings and Happy Post-Thanksgiving. Hope you're enjoying the relative peace and quiet of this Friday evening, after spending yesterday being reminded of how much you hate your extended family. Yes, I know your story--you crammed your face with food for six hours straight, in a desperate attempt to not "lose your shit" on anyone. And it's a pretty effective strategy, I think. Just eat and eat and eat until it hurts to breathe. That way, when a relative says one too many stupid and/or offensive things, you can simply say, "You know, Uncle Pete I'd love to punch you in the face. Unfortunately, I'm just a little too fat right now. So consider yourself lucky, bitch. And pass the mashed potatoes."

It actually makes perfect sense that turkey is the traditional Thanksgiving meal. The tryptophan helps to ensure that by the time you are truly at wit's end and ready to mow down your entire clan with a sub-machine gun, it'll be nippy-nap time. "What did you just say to me, Aunt Carol? You...I can't Okay, THAT'S IT: I'M GOING TO KILL EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU MOTHER--Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..."

I should note that I am, of course, describing your extended families, not mine. All of my aunts/uncles/cousins are kind and levelheaded. Of course, this may be because most of them are reformed alcoholics, which means that all of our holiday functions are bone dry. I often regret that I am not old enough to remember the liquor-soaked Finnegan family holidays--you know, the evenings that convinced some of them to clean up their acts. I feel like a kid who was ten minutes too late for the circus. But all of my dad's relatives are top-notch folks. I don't really have much contact with family on my mother's side, being that they all live in Georgia. But I have the feeling that they could have supplied me with the angry and potentially violent Thanksgiving festivities I so gleefully mythologize. I often think about what it would be like to be forced to spend long periods of time with my now-deceased "Southern gent" of a grandfather, who used to call my house routinely to make sure that neither my older brother or I was dating a black girl.

No, I'm not joking about this.

I should mention that my Thanksgiving kicked ass. Due to my rather hectic travel schedule over the past couple months, and to avoid the LA Riots-esque feel of Penn Station on Thanksgiving weekend (seriously, it's fucking brutal), Kambri and I decided to stay in scenic Astoria and cook a Lil' Butterball for ourselves. It was, perhaps, the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner I've ever tasted and I have my very beautiful girlfriend to thank for it.

(I am so gonna get laid for typing that, dudes...)

Oh, and in the spirit of all this "thanks" stuff, thanks for continuing to check in at the good ol' Tower of Hubris. You are all the best person ever. No, don't argue. You are.

Wednesday, November 26, 2003


* Tomorrow officially marks the beginning of the holiday season--or, as I like to call it, "March Madness for alcoholics". Between now and the beginning of 2004, I suspect I'll be drinking enough to merit my own Tom Waits song. In anticipation, I've been doing some heavy stretching first thing every morning. Last year, I came in totally out of game shape and I ended up spraining my liver after a paltry four Christmas parties.

* I've always considered Thanksgiving to be the mentally retarded younger brother of the holiday family--frustrating, kind of a pain in the ass to make time for, yet still somehow able to warm your heart from time to time. Christmas is the cool older sister who occasionally loans you money, and Easter is the cousin you used to hang out with all the time as kids but haven't really spoken to since he got all religious 'n shit. July 4th is the boring adopted Korean kid whom everyone seems to think the world of, like he's some freakin' golden boy, or something. And Valentines Day? Valentines Day is the really great chick who eventually got sick of your bullshit.

* There aren't any Google entries for the phrase "hot pilgrim sex". You know, FYI.

Monday, November 24, 2003


I'm about to go hypertext nutty!

First off, as maybe a couple of you know, I am a contributing writer for Jest Magazine, an incredibly great new(ish) humor monthly published here in NYC. In fact, most of that "Favorite Album/Movie" stuff I post on this site ends up in there. In addition to that, some of the best comedy writers in New York (including writers for "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart" and "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn") submit really great essays, cartoons and random flights of whimsy.

Why do I bring this up, you ask? Because tonight and tonight only, NYC's best comedy show, "Eating It" at Luna Lounge is hosting an event called "Jest Live", and it's going to kick ass. This is no mere reading--there will be slideshows, sketches and all sorts of other fun stuff. I, personally, will not be reading, but I'll be there with bells on to enjoy the delights of Todd Levin, Bob Powers and Jon Corbett's live interview with a member of the Black Israelites. You should all come out and support that shit. Or, better yet go to the Jest website and subcribe.

Secondly, at least once or twice, I've posted a link to one of my favorite sites, Rock and Roll Confidential's "Hall of Douchebags". Well, the folks at RRC have "taken it to another level", as a rapper might say. They've produced a 22 minute profile of one of HofD's illustrious members, The Legion. It is simply too fantastic for words. It takes a few minutes to load, but if you have a fast connection and want to treat yourself, you really need to go here.

Oh, and if you want to book a celebrity impersonator, "mentalist", or some other kind of marginal jackhole entertainmer for your next birthday party/christening/wake, here's the place for one stop shopping! (BTW, This cornocopeia of pathos was brought to my attention by Sir Liam)

C'est finit!

Friday, November 21, 2003


THE BIG CHILL -- Hey kids, wanna hang out with your dad tonight? You know, just listen to some tunes and 'shoot the shit'? No? Oh...okay. Have a nice time, then. (sigh)

BAD BOYS II -- You can catch me every other Friday, kickin' it in line at the check cashing place.

SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE -- Be warned: I've been actively planning my wedding day since Age 9.

RUSHMORE -- My adolescence wasn't nearly as traumatic as I make it out to be.

THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI -- No one needs one of those fancy little portable phones, you know. Oh, and by the way, what the heck is a "palm pilot"?

THE MATRIX -- In an alternate universe, I'd totally have a girlfriend.

COMING TO AMERICA -- Me, a racist? That's crazy; I think black people are hilarious!

REANIMATOR � Cross me and you�ll wish you never laid eyes on this PC gaming message board.

DONNIE DARKO � Horn-rimmed glasses? Check. Fastidiously �messy � hair? Check. Aloof, couldn�t-be-bothered facial expression? Check. Looks like I finally found the photo for my profile!

A couple more to come, probably...

Wednesday, November 19, 2003


In Sunday's 'comments' section, Ms. Lordana Sabbatinellini mocked my online resume--she very accurately noted that "remedial Spanish" is the kind of bullshit people put down in lieu of something genuinely meaningful. How right you are, Madam! What you may not understand, however, is that a performer's resume functions slightly different than that of someone in more traditional field of employment. The "Special Talents" section, while ridiculously cheesy, is semi-important when going in on auditions. That's where a casting douchebag can take a quick look and say "Hey, apparently this guy can sing. Maybe I�ll cast him that new musical production of Weekend at Bernie�s!�

Similarly, there may come a time when I�m auditioning for a role where I�d need to speak a bit of Spanish�nothing impressive, just a few words here and there. And my having �remedial Spanish� in my resume is my way of telling them �Yes, I can pull that shit off.� It�s not just a language thing�my ability to stumble through a serviceable rendition of Pink Floyd�s �Wish you Were Here� allows me to present myself a guitar player. In the end, �Special Talents� is just a list of the various things you can fake.

Now, have I ever actually studied Spanish in my life? That would be a No. When, upon entry into high school, I was given the choice between Spanish (a language I would find useful on a daily basis) and French (a near-dead language from an irrelevant culture), I for some reason chose the road not worth traveling. So what right do I have to claim knowledge of �remedial Spanish�, you ask? Simple: I spent nearly four years of my life working in the restaurants New York City. You see, at least 60% of every kitchen staff in New York is Latino�same with the busboys, barbacks and dishwashers. This is not a stereotype or value judgment; it�s a simple statement of fact. The other 40% is comprised of Middle Easterners, Eastern Europeans, and the occasional college student or burnout. But there are always enough Latinos so that Spanish is spoken freely and openly.

In fact, I was often communicated to in Spanish directly, from some busboy who wanted his tip-out money or some cook who was angry at me for�well, any number of reasons. And this is how I learned some semblance of �remedial� Spanish. Can I read it? No. Do I know how any of the words are spelled? No fucking clue. But I do have a verbal mastery over a number of aggressive verbal commands, such as:

�Hurry up!�


�Take this!�

�Go away!�

�Hey, asshole!�

�Asshole, over here!�


�Hey, you�re a faggot!�

�I said move, faggot!�

�That girl over there has nice breasts!�

�That girl over there is a whore!�

and, �Do you like boys, faggot?�

For some reason, Latino kitchen workers always seemed inordinately concerned with the perils of butt piracy.

I should mention that I also do know one complete Spanish sentence, but that I learned it not from a busboy or food prep guy, but from this Mexican kid I went to boarding school with. The sentence? �Your mother�s vagina smells like beer.�

No, no�you�re quite welcome.

P.S. Despite my brave face on the issue, I still think I'll nix "special talents" section from my online resume. Viva peer pressure!

Tuesday, November 18, 2003


I'm too damned busy. Fuck. Tired. Going to bed.

I suck.


I'll write something good tomorrow night. Until then, why not revisit the magic that is David?

(I genuinely pity those of you who are unable to get this to load properly.)

Sunday, November 16, 2003


Diaper Rash

Effiminate Trucker

Mrs. Garrett Sans Serif

Bleeding Ulcer

Banana Hammock


Drunken Airline Pilot

Effeminate Trucker Bold

Star Wars Geek

Sexual Geyser

Tragic Birthday Party Mishap

Gothic Nutpunch


Times New Mongolian

Thursday, November 13, 2003


I'm still in Cali, this time at an internet cafe in Riverside. I'll continue the zoo anecdotes when I'm in the cozy (and free) confines of my own living room tonight/tomorrow morning. Until then, I will just say that tonight's comedy show at UC Riverside was slightly underattended. I was told my the Student Activities people that this was because of the major storm currently pounding inland California. I should note that this "major storm" is little more than a persistent drizzle. I'm not kidding--if I was in New York and had to walk somewhere in this weather, I probably wouldn't even bring an umbrella with me. And yet, everyone here is acting as if the apocalypse has arrived. The local news was in panic mode--round the clock coverage, storm warnings scrolling accross the bottom of the screen. The message read something like "WARNING: A STRANGE UNKNOWN LIQUID SEEMS TO BE FALLING FROM THE SKY! UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU ATTEMPT TO LEAVE YOUR HOME! THIS IS IT, FOLKS! DOOMSDAY! BOARD UP YOUR WINDOWS, EUTHANIZE YOUR PETS, AND MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD! AAAIIIIIIGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!


In other news, the "Budget Motel" I'm bedding down in tonight is perhaps the shittiest place I've ever stayed. The whole place has that intense ammonia scent that I associate with kindergarten bathroom stalls and peep show theaters. It's the kind of smell that makes you ask yourself "What the hell kind of substances are they mopping up around here that would require such a ballistic cleaning agent scent?" Definitely something to ponder. I don't think I'll pull back the covers, lest I acquite Hepatitis.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003


So I spent most of yesterday afternoon at the world famous San Diego Zoo, home of renowned late night talk show guest Jack Hannah, if I'm not mistaken. It was...well, different. So what did a almost-as-jaded-as-he-pretends-to-be city boy like me think of his adventure in the climate-controlled, wheelchair accessible safari?

Well, the main thing I noticed was that all the "wild" animals in the San Diego Zoo are notably more civilized than the human beings paying to look at them. The various rhinos, gazelles and giant anteaters seem to have a decidedly laidback attitude about life--they're not out to impress anyone and they certainly don't feel the need to draw attention to themselves. Humans, on the other hand, tend to act like complete morons. From a sociological standpoint, I think watching an African warthog casually mill around in a pile of hay doesn't provide nearly the intellectual appeal as watching a pudgy, fannypacked housewife scream obscenities at her children from 75 yards away, while simultaneously trying to operate a camcorder and eat an ice cream cone. And the thousands of rampaging children are even worse. The run around unsupervised, throw shit at eachother, violently bang on the glass to try and get attention--in short, acting like monkeys. But actually, now that I've been to the zoo and actually seen the animals do their thing, I can say that to compare children to monkeys is an egregious insult to monkeys. No, the monkeys were not jumping around like howling mongoloids, they pretty much just sat there, eating, sleeping, and occasionally pulling clumps of crap from their ratty hair. In this, it seems to me that monkeys are not unlike potheads.

There's more to write about my zoo experience, but just writing this has cost me almost $7.00. See how committed I am to the world of bloggery? I'll write more later.

Go out and punch a child in the face for me.

* That's from a Scorpions song, I'll have you know. I'm extremely cool.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003


I posted something last night and it didn't take. What the F? I'm spending $.20 a minute to sit in a San Diego Kinko's to write lame jokey-jokes for a bunch of anonymous people in Internetland, and it doesn't even work? Lame, dude. Real lame.

Well, I'm trying it again.

Here are my grades for San Diego, after about 22 hours of being here:

Note: Everyone here is ridiculously friendly, but there seems to be a high number of belligerent retarded people here. Not sure why. I've already seen two, myabe three (One of them was just a drunken homeless guy, I think). I was warned to back away from one guy, while getting my lunch just a few minutes ago. "You should probably take a few steps back," his handler said, "He likes to grab."

Note: 74 degrees, mo-fo! Sweeeet. Still, I give it a minus, simply because I can't help but imagine how brutal it must be from May to September

Note: I'm staying in the "Gaslamp Quarter", which is supposed to be quaint, I suppose. But it feels like an outdoor liquor mall. Lots of cheesy theme bars, lots of really loud "blues" bands, a la Ghost World. Last night, I went out looking for a quick bite to eat at 8:30pm, and all of the take out places were closed. 8:30pm!! So I asked the desk woman at my hotel where I could go for a quiet burger and a beer--somewhere laidback. She told me she knew just the place: TGI Fridays. Sigh.

THE ZOO: To be announced
Note: I'm on my way there now. All will be revealed.


I went out at 8:30pm (Pacific Time) to get a quick bite to eat and found that pretty much all of the fast food places had already closed. What the fuck? Oh, and I'm currently spending $.20 a minute at Kinko's just to type shit like that.

In other news, I wore makeup today. I'm going to go back to my hotel room now, set up the mirror in front of my bed, and masturbate straight through 'till daybreak.

Sleep well!

Monday, November 10, 2003


I'm about to fly to San Diego for a top secret mission (which I'll write about it in a few days). I was going to get up early (earlier)and write a fantastic blog entry, but I repeatedly hit the snooze until it was so late that the time on the clock jolted me from my warm bed. I'm still way too fucking tired. Boo damned hoo.

I guess I shouldn't have spent four hours last night watching this.

I'll check in from from the sunny Southwest tonight or tomorrow morning. Until then, nobody touch my stuff.

Friday, November 07, 2003


Inspired by the "8 Minute Abs" exercise craze, this is my "8 Minute Blog Entry". People think that you need to spend hours a day writing in order to keep their websites fit and interesting, but I am here to tell you that by spending only 8 minutes a day, three or four times a week, you can sculpt that sexy blog you've always wanted. How does it work, you ask? Well, you simply sit down and write nonstop for 8 minutes, and whatever comes out, comes out. But wait, you might ask, how are you going to write anything remotely funny and/or interesting in 8 minutes? Well, I'd answer that question, but I don't really have time right now. You see, the important thing is simply that I keep typing for the entire 8 minutes. So what now? I've convinced myself to type, but I have absolutely nothing to say. Well, I could complain about how I had to get up at 7:40 this morning. You see, I'm more a 10, 11:00am kind of guy. this morning crap doesn't agree with me. And yet, I'm still slogging through a stupid paragraph or tow, simply because I care about you, the TOH reader. How about some respect, here? I can't be interesting every day. No, there are going to be those days when you say Man, this site sucks shit--I'm going to go look at naked teenage boys, instead. But that's okay, folks. I'm not going for perpetual brilliance, here. I figure, if I can pinch off two or three relatively funny entries a week (yes, I know: wonderful image), that would be better than most of these silly little blog thingies. Christ, only a minute left? This just shows you what an incredibly shitty typist I am. Seriously, I think I type something like 12 words a minute. Shit, I have to type something interesting before the 8 minutes is up. Thinking...thinking...thinking... Well, there was this one time where I was--

Sorry, time's up. Man, what a workout.

Thursday, November 06, 2003


As you may have heard, CBS recently bowed to political pressure and cancelled their $9mil miniseries, The Reagans. Critics, such as have labelled the made-for-TV saga an unabashed hatchet job. They claim that the film is politically biased, meanspirited and historically inaccurate. Among the "problematic" aspects of the The Reagans:

* The scene where Ron proposes to Nancy in a TGI Fridays restroom.

* A since-deleted scene in which Reagan and Soviet Premier Yuri Andropov attempt to settle the Cold War over a hot dog eating contest.

* The implication that Pres. Reagan was somehow connected to the deaths of both Biggie and Tupac. In reality, no link between the President and Tupac Shakur has ever been firmly estalished.

* The casting of That 70's Show's Topher Grace as former Secretary of State, James A. Baker.

* The Reagans portrays the former president as having been insensitive to those afflicted with AIDS. A family spokesperson has gone to great lengths to point out that the former president never discriminated between AIDS sufferers and other "hellbound buttfuckers".

* A fiery monologue at the end of Episode Two, where the recently elected Commander in Chief outlines his plan to invade Poland.

* The miniseries' questionable soundtrack and its first single, "Trickle Down (Ronnie's Theme)" by G-Unit w/ Peggy Noonan, feat. Rah Digga and Pharrell

* The scene in which Reagan, upon visiting Washington D.C. for the first time, declares (in a Cuban accent), "This town is like a great big pussy just waiting to get fucked."

* Really crappy CGI

* The shocking final scene of the miniseries, in which Pres. Reagan reveals that the whole "Alzheimers thing" is just a ploy to stay out of prison.

Go figure.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003


Christ, I don't know what to tell you folks. I've got nuthin'. Must be those seven Tequizas I downed with lunch.

This, I promise: hilarity by sunrise tomorrow.

Bank on it, mo-fo.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003


While you're visiting the wonderful Tower of Hubris site, make sure to read up on combat strategy.

Oh, and remember: Christmas is right around the corner!

Sunday, November 02, 2003

Fuck, albums--it's time to expand my creative repetoire (in a very obvious way). It's...


My favorite movie (or "film", if you're a dick) is:

AUSTIN POWERS IN GOLDMEMBER -- I consider myself the funniest guy in Accounts Receivable.

LOVE STORY -- I am doomed to a life of romantic disappointment.

RESEVOIR DOGS -- Check out my extensive collection of pronographic Japanese comic books!

THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION -- Just because I consider myself extremely philosophical, don't make the mistake of assuming I've actually read any philosophy.

PRETTY WOMAN -- My sorority sisters and I compete to see how many free drinks we can con guys into buying us.

MIDNIGHT EXPRESS -- Until I work up the courage to tell my wife I'm gay, this will have to do.

BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S -- I'm not nearly as cute and idiosyncratic as I fancy myself.

THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK -- I wonder what George Lucas is doing right at this very moment. Is he eating? Sleeping? Editing? Did he get my letter?

GREASE -- My relentless enthusiasm and determination to see the sunny side of life inspires intense hatred in those around me.

REPO MAN -- Anyone who a) works for a living, b) won't loan me money, and/or c) demands that I pay back the money already loaned to me is a Fascist.

THE BREAKFAST CLUB -- I jokingly refer to high school as being the best years of my life (but the sad thing is, I'm not really joking).

CASABLANCA -- I'm under the mistaken impression that drinking merlot makes me appear deep.

PAY IT FORWARD -- I'm just kidding--that movie sucks!

Friday, October 31, 2003


You know, I was looking online for pictures of kiddie Halloween costumes a few days ago (research for my upcoming NAMBLA meeting*), and it struck me just how many kids can look forward to a serious pummeling this year. Like this youngster, for instance:

Cheese? You're dressing as cheese? And let me live somewhere in the vicinity of Green Bay, Wisconsin? Well kid, take off the cheesehead and you're just a nerd in drag. All that time you spend running the slide projector, I would've thought you'd have had time to come up with something less beating-worthy. Enjoy the atomic wedgie that is sure to be coming your way. And 15 more years of virginity.

Or what about Leathuh, here:

Just try and convince me not to punch you in the face, kid. And the sad thing is, no child would ever actually choose this costume for himself. No, this is a case of your parents foisting their own outdated concept of "coolness" onto a helpless youth. What the hell do a leather jacket (or, in this case, a shiny plastic jacket) and Wayfarers mean to a kid born in the mid 1990's? I'm sure you've never even heard of Fonzie, much less want to emulate him. Or what, is someone in your family a huge fan of The Outsiders? In a Sha Na Na tribute band? Somehow, I doubt it. No, if these horrible parents had let you put together your own idea of what it means to be cool (or at least the vision of coolness currently sold to you by America's marketing execs), you'd buy yourself a LeBron James jersey, throw on some baggy, and sport a a diamond encrusted dollar sign (or cross) around your neck. Then you'd be thought of as cool by your peers. Instead, you can expect to be the victim of a repeated facial eggings.

And speaking of sticky liquids hitting a ki d in the face...

Oh. Oh god. You...poor...poor...child. Like a lamb to the slaughter. If a Catholic priest were ever to molest you, dear boy, he could probably rightfully claim entrapment. Happy Halloween, junior. Hope you like the taste of toilet water.

* Do I need to mention that this is a joke? I don't, do I? No, of course not.

Thursday, October 30, 2003

A FEW HALLOWEEN COSTUME IDEAS (in case you're still looking)

Werewolf with hard-on

Burn Ward Pete

Racist nun

Gene Simmons (sans makeup)

Tooth Fairy with Down Syndrome

Sultry altar boy


Mentally-ill, potentially violent and feces-covered "hobo"

Ye Olde Gay Guy

Knocked-up, chain smoking Catwoman

The Honorable Mel Martinez, U.S. Secretary of Housing and Urban Development


Jermaine Jackson

* The food, not the person

Tuesday, October 28, 2003


Okay, here's the deal. I only have a brief moment of computer access, so that means no intricate and hilarious blog entry today. So in the meantime, let me say, simply:

Fuck Wayne Brady.

Toodles, knobgobblers!

p.s. Seriously, fuck that guy.

Monday, October 27, 2003


I would like to state for the record my full support for backyard wrestling. Seriously, what kind of country are we living in if two semi-autistic Long Island teenagers in facepaint aren't free to bash each other in the face with patio chairs?

I was arguing with a friend of mine recently about the dangers posed by this kind of activity and she said "if someone doesn't put an end to this backyard wrestling thing, one of these kids is going to die," to which I say...and?! You see, I'm a big believer in the law of averages. The way I see it, and every time some zitfaced mongoloid calling himself "Dr. Satanfucker" jumps off of his garage and accidentally brains himself on the corner of the family picnic table, we as a nation get just a teensy bit smarter.

I mean, let's be honest--these aren't exactly the future business leaders of America we're losing, here. There are no aspiring Albert Einsteins in the A.W.L., folks. I'm quite sure Bill Gates didn't spend his adolescence setting himself on fire and referring to calling himself as El Retardo Grande. Colin Powell didn't become Secretary of State by having his friends videotape him getting repeatedly hit in the nuts with a whiffle bat. And George W. Bush didn't become leader of the free world by spending his formative years acting like a complete idio--

Um, scratch that.

When you think about it, our Commander-in-Chief actually sounds a bit like a professional wrestler now and then, with all of that "bring 'em on" nonsense and his constant references to "evildoers". You get the feeling that, like me, President Bush stood up in front of the television and cheered on January 23rd, 1984, when Hulk Hogan defeated the diabolical Iron Sheik for the WWF Championship. Yes, I'm quite certain George W. Bush is a Hulkamaniac. And if we do ever capture Osama Bin Laden, I hope our President will have the decency to meet him in the steel cage.

Saturday, October 25, 2003


Simply put, this rules. Make sure you read all the way to the bottom of the page.

(thanks to dot-todd for the link.)

Friday, October 24, 2003


Dearly beloved,

We are gathered here today (in an anonymous, blind CC kind of way) to remember Portable Comedy, which ends its run at the Gershwin Hotel tonight, Friday 10/24.

I know you probably have a few questions, so let us now address them:

A: Yep, no foolin'. As I mentioned in last week's email, the Gershwin is in the process of renovating the entire lobby area and turning it into some fancy schmancy cafe type thing.

A: Yeah yeah yeah, I know what I said. But it turns out that ain't gonna happen. So tonight is it. Last chance. C'est finit.

A: As of now, that information is classified. And by "classified", I mean that I have no freakin' clue. But if Portable Comedy ever DOES rise from the ashes, it won't be until 2004. And it won't be at the Gershwin.

A: Fear not. And please, call me Christian. Even though I will no longer be sending out a weekly promotional Email, I may will probably drop you a note every now and then, just to keep you updated on the magical world of Me. You can also find out what's happening in Finneganville by checking out my website, includes a calendar, photos, video clips, and daily writings of the semi-hilarious variety!

A: Well that's not a question, technically speaking, but I get your point. If, with the conclusion of Portable Comedy's run at the Gershwin Hotel, you'd like to sever your relationship with this Email list, just reply to this Email with the word "remove" in the subject heading. No hard feelings, sir or madam.

A: Oh! Yeah! Thanks for reminding me.

Please come out to tonight's final installment of Portable Comedy and enjoy the talents of:

KURT METZGER (Kurt has written for "Chappelle's Show" on Comedy Central and "Never Mind the Buzzcocks" on VH1)

ANDREA ROSEN (Andrea is the host of the oh-so-great PieHole show out at Galapagos Arts Space in Williamsburg)

RUSTY WARD (Rusty recently taped an episode of "Premium Blend" for Comedy Central. It's, like, gonna be on TV!)

SHELAGH RATNER (Shelagh is one of the superstars of the Moth Reading Series, as seen on Trio)

NELLIE STEVENS (After making a triumphant Portable Comedy debut a few months ago, Nellie is back to send us off in style)

ADAM WADE (This dude has a freakin' fan club! Seriously--I just Googled him. 273 members! Holy crap!)


And for the final time, here are the details:

7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison)

And remember, aspiring drunkards: FREE VODKA!!!

Please come out and make the last show a memorable one. Thanks for all your support.

Christian Finnegan,
funny interesting AND funny ha-ha

Thursday, October 23, 2003


This has been really bumming me out all day. What a sad waste of a colossal talent. Listen to "Say Yes" (from the album "Either/Or") and tell me it's not one of the most perfect little pop songs ever written. Crap. Oh well. I guess I'll stop acting like a 14 year old about the whole thing.

I'll write something funny tonight or tomorrow morning.

Wednesday, October 22, 2003


Monday, October 20, 2003


I don't really have anything special to post today, so I thought I'd include a few more "favorite album" thingies. So...

THE GET UP KIDS �Something to Write Home About� � Don�t let the fact that I�m wearing terrycloth wristbands make you think I�m good at sports.

MONKS OF SHERAB LING MONASTERY �Sacred Tibetan Chant� � I am currently serving 10-12 for aggravated homicide.

WEIRD AL YANKOVIC �Dare to be Stupid� � Whatever you do, stay away from the crusty athletic sock underneath my bed.

THE ALLMAN BROTHERS �Eat a Peach� � I don�t care what that blood test says�I ain�t your daddy!

RUSH �2112� � You may also know me as Philius, 5th level Magic User and keeper of the Ring of Vixnar!

Sunday, October 19, 2003


I realize this is a tad late, but I feel compelled to speak for a moment on the infamous baseball team from my childhood hometown.

Ever since the Boston Red Sox suffered yet another collapse at the hands of the Yankees last week, people have been going out of their way to console me. It's been the end of pretty much every conversation I've had for the past four days. "Hey man, you going to [INSERT NAME OF COMEDY SHOW, BAR, OR COMEDY SHOW IN BAR HERE] tonight? If so, can you bring that penis pump I let you borrow?" And then, as a little add-on, "By the way, sorry about the Red Sox."

I guess I appreciate this kind of consideration, but here's my dirty little secret: I could not give two steaming shits about the Boston Red Sox. In fact, I'm a freakin' Yankees fan. Now, I spent my entire childhood in the Boston area and I have a certain degree of affection for the Red Sox players of my youth, such as Jim Rice, Dwight "Dewey" Evans and, of course, Yaz. But affection for the Boston Red Sox as an institution? Fuck that noise.

There's something about the self-righteous whining of a hardcore Red Sox fan (and they're pretty much all hardcore) that just puts me to sleep. Oh, you're singularly cursed? You've gotten so close, so many times and have never been able to win the World Series? Man, I feel so sorry for Zzzzzzzzzzz...

But on a larger level, I think I hate the Red Sox because every single kid who made my life as a young lad miserable was a diehard Red Sox fan. So I tend to associate that ornate red "B" symbol with Assholery. And sure, if I'd grown up in the New York area, maybe I'd hold the same feelings aagainst the Yankees (or Mets). But the simple fact is, no one wearing a Yankees hat has ever held me down and farted on my head. No one wearing a Yankees hat has ever snuck up behind me while I was urinating on a tree and aggressively yanked my pants upward, causing me to piss all the way down the front of my pants. And no one wearing a Yankees hat has ever called me Christina Finnefag.

And that's why I say long live The Curse.

Friday, October 17, 2003



If you haven't been to Portable Comedy lately, you'll want to get on that tout de suite. Why, you ask? Because once October ends, Portable Comedy at the Gershwin Hotel will be a thing of the past. Yes, 'tis true. The fine people who own the Gershwin Hotel have decided to gut the hotel's lobby and replace it with something even MORE attractive to fannypacked midwesterners and wandering Eurotrash. Anyway, I have been informed that they will no longer be renting out the space for comedy shows, so...c'est finit. The show may return again sometime in the future in a different space, but this month's shows will definitely be the last of 2003.

So what does that mean to you, purveyor of topnotch comedy and free vodka? It means that there are only two or three (still awaiting confirmation on a final Halloween show) more chances to come on out and see the comedy show that "Time Out New York" has been recommending for over two full years!

And luckily for you all, tonight's show kicks anus. That's right, I said anus.

Please come and enjoy the hilariousness of:

ANDRES du BOUCHET (Host of Giant Tuesday Night of Amazing Inventions, perhaps the VERY BEST comedy show in NYC. Seriously, it's that good. And so is he.)

RITCH DUNCAN (Editor-in-Chief of Jest Magazine, which was recently praised in the Village Voice's "Best of NY" issue. Copies of Jest Magazine will be available at the show--gratis, of course.)

ERIN FOLEY (She's appeared on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and at comedy clubs all over the city.)

LIAM McENEANEY (He's also appeared on "Premium Blend" and is a contributing writer for Jest Magazine.)

KAREN SNEIDER (She's a contributing writer for Jest Magazine and doyenne of the underground comic scene.)



Here, again, is the where and when:

7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave)

Show up, before it's too late!

Christian Finnegan,

Thursday, October 16, 2003

Holy crap, it's...


REM "Automatic for the People" -- There was a time when I wanted to affect global change. These days, I just want health insurance.

UNCLE CRACKER -- I've never read a book that wasn't assigned to me by a teacher (and even those I skimmed).

COLDPLAY "A Rush of Blood to the Head" -- I am like khakis: too square for the rock club, not square enough to impress anyone in the boardroom.

LIL JON & THE EAST SIDE BOYZ "Kings of Crunk" -- I enjoy making exagerrated hand gestures while speaking.

CLAY AIKEN "Measure of the Man" -- Punch me in the face. Right now. Seriously, I'm begging you.

PEACHES "The Teaches of Peaches" -- I only listen to music when I can be sure that other people are listening to me listening to it.

KEITH SWEAT "Make it Last Forever" -- My daughter's teenage friends avoid being left alone in a room with me.

DIRTY DANCING "Original Motion Picture Soundtrack" -- No less than four men have come out of the closet since dating me.

WILL SMITH "Big Willie Style" -- I have a serious heart condition and must avoid excitement at all costs.

THE SCORPIONS "Love at First Sting" -- Ich bin total standig in schaukeln und in partying!

NOTE: A couple of these are modified versions of old ones. Not that anyone would have noticed...

Tuesday, October 14, 2003


You know, try as I might I just can't figure out whether or not this is for real. Seriously, check it out, including the various links along the lefthand side--you'll be reading along thinking "Oh, surely this is a joke", and you'll come across something and think "Holy shit, I think they're serious". The fact that one of the group's main stated goals is to shut down a rather well known fake religious website (Landover Baptist) makes me suspicious, but I just don't know, man... If it's a fraud, then it's an extremely thorough and well-executed one. And if it's for real? Well, then it's even more of a treasure.

Lambuel's thoughts on Hinduism and Atheism are especially insightful, I think.

(Thanks to John Batchley for the link.)

Monday, October 13, 2003


I joined a Fantasy Football league this year. Yes, I know--I'm extremely cool. Thing is, it's only six weeks into the season and I'm already bored shitless by it. I love sports, but I just don't have the energy to labor over some Yahoo site week after week to make sure that I have the proper wide receivers "playing" that day, and the proper running back on the bench. But the set-up of Fantasy Football still intrigues me. What I''d like is if there were a Fantasy Scandal League whereby each competitor would select a "team" of particularly scandal-prone celebrities and be allotted points according to how much trouble their �draft picks� got into that week.

And, just like with Fantasy Football, there could be some sort weekly report, to give you on advice on who you should trade, who you should keep, etc.

A la...

And now it�s time for the Fantasy Scandal Report, brought to you by the law offices of Robert Shapiro�if you�re a celeb in trouble, call Shapiro on the double!

Those of you who were smart enough to grab up R. Kelly can expect big numbers this week, as details of the R&B crooner and amateur videographer�s romp with an underage girl are finally made public in a preliminary court hearing. With more girls coming forward every day, Kelly is definitely having an MVP type season. Just sit back and rake in the points.

After a long period of relative normalcy, Courtney Love came roaring back onto the Fantasy Scandal radar this past week after she was arrested for breaking windows at the Beverly Hills home of her ex-boyfriend/producer. Courtney�s stock could soar even higher if, as expected, it�s determined she was acting under the influence of a controlled substance. Talk about hitting the jackpot! All of you who got frustrated with all of Courtney�s �rational behavior� and traded her have to be kicking yourselves right about now. But it�s just goes to show you, folks--you can never count out a veteran like Courtney Love.

On the other hand, I think it may finally be time to dump Robert Downey Jr. from your Fantasy Scandal rosters. I never thought I�d say this, but it appears that sobriety is agreeing with Downey this time around. It may come back to haunt me, but I don�t think you can count on him falling off the wagon any time soon. Better to trade him now, while his value is still high. For one Downey Jr., you should be able to pick up three or four Corey Feldman types.

My Fantasy Scandal Sleeper of the Week is former �American Idol� runner-up Justin Guarini. Sure, he�s all smiles and dandelions on the outside, but Guarini has been distraught lately over poor record sales and the box office failure of From Justin to Kelly. Insiders tell Guarini�s about to snap and is even money to brandish a firearm in someone�s face by year�s end. Hard to believe, I know. But just think about how many points you�d be racking up right now if you�d followed my advice to trade for Kobe Bryant a few months ago! Other solid trade prospects include Matthew Perry, Haley Joel Osmont and Winona Ryder, who finishes up her public service this week and just might be feeling rambunctious again.

And for the 412th week in a row, my Fantasy Scandal Dud is�you guessed it: Betty White.

Saturday, October 11, 2003


It's my dad's birthday. He turns 59 today. That's pretty cool I guess, but in ten years, his birthday is going to be so hilarious. 69, dude! WOOOOOOOOO!

Anyway, please say it with me, people:


My dad is truly an ace and in all sincerity, I want to take this moment to thank him in advance for all of the love, the support, and for the three hundred bucks I plan on guilting him into loaning me until the end of the month.

Friday, October 10, 2003


Dearest friends,

The nightmare is over. Remember that wave of emptiness and that washed over you last Friday night at 10:00pm? That was the feeling of there being no Portable Comedy with which to give your life meaning. And WHY was there no show last week? Was it because:

A) I, your host, decided to skip the show in favor of a six hour self-administered pelvic massage?

B) All of the comics booked for last week's show decided to boycott in response to the new "100% California Recall material" policy I'd planned on instituting?

C) The Fire Department shut the show down after seeing how hot I looked in my sequined chaps and "FREE MUSTACHE RIDES" t-shirt?

D) The Gershwin Hotel cancelled the event so they could hold their annual "Finnish Saunafest", where stockbroker-cum-scenesters and their Mojito-swilling girlfriends strip, don terrycloth robes and awkwardly socialize to bad techno music?

The answer is, of course, D. But have no fear, frugal fans of comedy excellence: PORTABLE COMEDY IS BACK TOMORROW NIGHT, FRIDAY 10/10! Now's your chance to see why the show is recommended every darned week in "Time Out New York".

Please come join me, a fresh supply of FREE frathouse vodka and my guests:

CHRIS REGAN (Two time Emmy Award-winning writer for "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart")

ROB PARAVONIAN (He's appeared on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend", "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" and VH1's "Backyard Barbecue")

ALLEGRA BARNETT (She performs regulalry at big time comedy clubs, like Stand Up NY and Carolines on Broadway)

BRYAN OLSEN (He's appeared in the Toyota Comedy Festival and is a veteran of Boston's beloved "Comedy Studio")

MAX LANCE (Probably the youngest guy ever passed at the world famous Comic Strip Live--the youngest I'VE ever met, at least)

And MORE, people! That's right, I said it: MORE!

Here are the all-important details:

7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison Ave.)

If you don't come to the show, I'll sic my white tiger on you.

Wednesday, October 08, 2003


In yesterday's 'comments' section, a woman who is definitely not my step-mother asked for (nay, demanded) my take on the election of Arnold Schwarzenegger to the Governorship of California.

A perfectly reasonable request, I suppose. I am a comedian. This is a comedy website. And the election of an Austrian bodybuilder, horrible movie actor and serial groper whose father just happened to be an active member of the Nazi Party to the most powerful seat in the fifth largest economy in the world is, ostensibly, "funny". And yet, I have to this day never written a single joke about the California recall. You see, it's just too damn...there.

You see, every once in a while, something will appear in the news that is so ridiculously joke-ready, it becomes virtually untouchable, by virtue of its obviousity (yes, i just made that word up). I mean, why would I want to touch "Governor Scwarzenegger" when the territory has been covered by every late night monologue writer, open mic comic and middle-aged tax attorney in the civilized universe? I mean, there are peripheral things about the Governor-elect that I do think are funny--for example, his desperate need to work movie catch phrases into every single speech. And I suppose I could write a semi-funny pseudo testimonal about "Ahnold" (spelling it that way never gets old, by the way) inappropriately touching my male breasts in 1985 while I was working as an extra on the set of Red Sonja, but do I have anything truly revelatory to say about the situation? I think I'll just leave the Schwarzenneger jokes to those "hilarious" Emails that your aunt in Wisconsin is constantly forwarding to you.

In case you're keeping score, here are a few other seemingly obvious joke topics I've left untouched over the past few years:

* The Catholic priest scandal
* The Mike Tyson ear-biting incident
* Marv Albert
* Osama tapes
* Siegfried and Roy (pre neck-biting)

Although, now that cracking jokes about Siegfried and Roy has been rendered completely inappropriate, I suddenly feel compelled to add my two cents. After all, think about it: Siegfried and Roy have gone from being a cautionary tale to being...well, a completely different kind of cautionary tale. I mean, I know the guy is barely clinging to life, but at what point in a life spent fucking with wild animals for the amusement of fannypacked morons are you officially "asking for it"?

That's probably not very nice, is it? I guess from this point forward, I'll keep all of my "gay lion tamer" jokes to Siegfried and Siegfried alone.

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

So I'm back in New York and very happy about it. I mean, South Florida is grand and all, but there really is nothing like New York City in the Fall. Everyone has a genuinely invigorating "let's get to work" mindset and the crisp autumnal air does a wonderful job of masking the sidewalks' familiar urine-ee scent.

By the way, I know it's verboten for a stand up comedian to bring up the subject of air travel, but I pulled a notably boneheaded move in the West Palm Beach airport and I feel like I need to share. Kambri and I had just gotten through the security checkpoint, her about ten feet in front of me. She called back to me to ask what gate we were looking for. "C4," I said. And then, for some inexplicable reason, I added, "Like the explosive!" Yes, I was bellowing about explosives in a crowded airport.

I really don't know what came over me. Am I truly that big of a moron? I wasn't trying to be funny, I was just trying to make it clear that I'd said C4, as opposed to D4, E4, etc. Man, I wish I could have bottled the withering look of horror and disgust that Kambri flashed in my direction--the minute we made eye contact, I felt like one of those guys with the melting faces at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. But who could blame her--I almost got us sent to Guantanamo, fer chrissake. Luckily, Karma gave me a hall pass.

And now, a picture of me and my far-too-hot-for-me girlfriend on the balcony of the condo where we were staying:

See how she's strategically positioned so as to partially mask my husky frame? I'm always thinking, people.

Sunday, October 05, 2003


Have I ever mentioned how much I hate dance clubs? Even at my youngest and most indiscriminantly horny, I was never been able to rationalize the idea of standing around some cramped Douchebag Preservation Zone, listening to horrible techno music and sipping on a $14 Rolling Rock, all on the hopes of getting blue-balled by some drunken sorority girl. Never understood it.

That's why it's so odd to me that there are people my age that are still so enamored of that scene. Guys who are waaaaaay past college, with steady girlfriends and jobs--why would they subject themselves to that bullshit? After one of last night's shows, this 30-something "playa" invited me and Kambri to hang with down on Clematis Street, which is where all the clubs here in West Palm Beach are, apparently. "I've worked at all the clubs, dawg," he said. "Flow, Passion, Razor, all of them. But now I've got a job at Wachovia." I asked him if "Wachovia" was down on Clematis Street, and he looked it me like I was from Mars. "Dude, Wachovia is a bank." Ah. I mean, now that I think about it, I guess I have heard of Wachovia Bank, but how was I supposed to know, necessarily? Wachovia seems as likely a name for a club as anything. In fact, you can pretty much pick any noun out of the dictionary and it would make a perfectly suitable name for a discotheque. In fact, just looking around the room I'm sitting in, I can come up with at least five good club names:

"Hey man, let's go down to Mirror tonight."

"Dude, you should have seen all the hot chicks at Fountain last weekend."

"This place is beat. Let's head over to Monitor."

"Check it out--I'm on the guest list at Ceiling Fan tonight!"

"So I figure I'll take her out for a candelight dinner and then it's off for a night of dancing at HP 1200 Series Lazer Printer. And then, I'll totally try to get in her pants."

Clubs can blow me. Long live shitty Irish Pubs!

Thursday, October 02, 2003


Later this morning, I'll be flying down to West Palm Beach for the weekend. And thank god--lord knows I need a relief from all this bonechilling seventy-four degree weather. Lest you think I'm just some pampered dilletante jetting around the country on a moment's whim, I'll have you know that this is a business trip. I'll be opening for Richard Lewis at the Palm Beach Improv. I'm actually intimidated, but not in the usual way. On the one hand, Richard Lewis is probably the most "established" comic I've ever worked with. I mean, the guy was a regular on Carson, fer chrissake. Oh, and for you youngsters out there, that would be Johnny Carson, not the TRL guy. So it will be weird trying to earn the respect of someone who's pretty much seen it all at this point. On the other hand, when you've been around as long as a guy like Richard Lewis has, I'm sure you probably don't give two shits about the dweeb who's opening for you, and I'll be shocked if he speaks more than 50 words to me all weekend. He certainly ain't gonna want to sit through my act, I'm thinking. Unless I pull some seriously noteworthy shit, like closing my set with fifteen minutes of hilarious child molestation material. Then, he'll have to pay attention to me, right? If for no other reason, than for an answer to the question, "Where the hell is the audience going?" Hey, negative attention is better than no attention at all, am I right?

Interesting note: In the preceding paragraph, I was all set to type the words "hilarious September 11th material". But then I decided that making a joking reference to September 11th is kind of cheap, even in the context of joking about saying inappropriate things onstage. So I decided, for some reason, that child molestation was a more benign (hence jokeworthy) topic. I'm not sure if that makes me an ethical person, or the biggest shithead ever.

Serisouly though, you have to admit, child molestation is pretty funny.

To help me make the most of the weekend, the lovely Kambri will be accompanying me on this little Floridian voyage. This makes me very happy, as I've learned that days on the road tend to feel like fucking dog years. She says she's excited for us to spend time together away from New York, but I honestly think she's just in it for the swimming pool at the condo where we'll be staying. Chicks dig chlorine, fellas. Of course, if we do go swimming, that means I'll finally have to take off my shirt in her presence--that seems a bit intimate, considering we've only been dating for eight months. I hope to acquire washboard abs by noon.

Anyway, I suspect I'll be posting from the relatively cheesy confines of the West Palm Beach Public Library, where I wrote from for a few days last year (see December 6th and December 8th). I'll try to find new and interesting things to say about South Florida. It ain't gonna be easy, though.

Tuesday, September 30, 2003


As I'm sure you know, cell phone plans are getting more and more specialized--some companies give you unlimited off-peak minutes, others let you call your friends and family for free and a couple have begun letting you rollover your unused minutes from month to month. Well folks, that's just the tip of the telecommunications iceberg. Check out some of the new cell phone plans that will be offered within the next year:

The Sprint PCS "Reach Out and Stalk Someone" Plan
Key feature: All calls to ex-girlfriends/boyfriends between the hours of 1-5am are free, provided that the calls are "just to make sure everything is okay". (Additional feature: Phone is Caller ID-proof)

The Cingular Wireless "Get Back Into the Will" Plan
Key feature: Unlimited minutes alloted for calls to elderly parents, grandparents or anyone else nearing death who you've drunkenly alienated in the past five years.

The T-Mobile "Talk Shit About Rob" Plan
Key feature: Free conference calling, designated explcitly for discussions about how Rob Faber of Goffstown, New Hampshire is a total fucking a-hole. Did you hear what he said to Amy at Smitty's party last weekend? What a dick.

The AT&T "Gun in Mouth" Plan
Key feature: 1200 free minutes a week to wonder what the fuck you did wrong while your girlfriend sighs audibly, threatens to hang up, and sobs quietly to herself.

The Verizon "No, my name is not Homo Homostein" Plan
Key feature: Upon activation, your phone number will be given a random group of 14 year old teenage boys, who will prank call you incessantly for upwards of three months. On the upside, these minutes will be free.

The Nokia "Stabbing Pain to the Abdomen Whenever You Answer Your Phone" Plan
Key feature: 800 anytime minutes and unlimited nights and weekends, all for the cool low price of $39.99 per month!

Monday, September 29, 2003


We're all headed to Carson City, NV on November 2nd!

There's so much to love about this site, I don't know where the hell to begin.

Sunday, September 28, 2003


I'm writing this from the rather nondescript Concourse Hotel in Columbus, OH. Earlier this evening (yesterday, technically speaking), I did the first date of the Comedy Central "No Class" Comedy Tour with Ed Helms and Doug Stanhope at Ohio University. I had a really great time at the show--nothing feeds the ego like performing for 1800 entertainment-starved kids. Afterwards, we drove the 90 minutes back to Columbus (where we're flying out of tomorrow) and sat in the hotel bar and we drank ridiculously cheap beers until Last Call. There was a reception here earlier in the evening, the evidence being the gaggle of fat dudes in formalwear downing Coors Lights with their doughy baby-machine wives.

Perhaps the strangest and most wonderful moment of the hotel bar experience: We were sitting in a booth chatting and At one point, someone at our table mentioned the word "midget", and a way-too-old-to-be-dressing-sexy woman with a defiantly non-ironic mullet wheeled around and shouted, "THAT MIDGET IS A FUCKING ASSHOLE!" Then, after noticing that we had no idea what she was talking about, "ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THE SAME MIDGET? THE ONE FROM FROM BEFORE?" More silence, then the bizarre kicker, "HE TOOK A PISS ON MY LEG!" We all just stared at her awkwardly, until she turned back to her friend and starting babbling about something else. It was like the lamest "Twin Peaks" episode ever.

At least five times in the 12 or do hours I've been here, I've thought to myself, "Holy shit...people live here." I mean, college kids living here I can understand. Most schools are in shitty little one horse towns, and that's one of the things that makes college...well, college. Granted, I went to NYU, so I don't really know what the fuck I'm talking about. But it seems to me that for most kids, college towns are like strange little suburban vortexes where drunken 18-22 year olds get to make all the rules--kind of like Lord of the Flies with midterms. But the locals? Egads. I'd rather take an icepick to the eyeball once a day for the next forty years than to actually try to make a life here. After all, there's apparently an incontionent midget terrorizing the Columbus area--best to get back to NYC, where I can keep my legs urine-free.

Okay, I'm not even making sense at this point. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go crawl into my crappy little hotel bed and watch Sportscenter until I pass out.

Friday, September 26, 2003


Lest ye forget, tonight marks yet another sure-to-be-magnificent installment of PORTABLE COMEDY at the Gershwin Hotel! Now, as most of you are probably aware, tonight is Rosh HaShanna. But seriously, think about it--what better way to spend one of the holiest days on the Jewish calendar than with a guy with the word "Christ" in his first name? So get your repenting done early and come on on down and witness the comedy magic of:

ANDREW DONNELLY (He's appeared on Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" and in countless national commercials)

JONATHAN CORBETT (He's also appeared on "Premium Blend" and has appeared at the prestigious Montreal Comedy Festival)

AMANDA MELSON (A favorite all over NYC, especially at Portable Comedy)

OPHIRA EISENBERG (She's had her own half-hour special on Canadian television)

BRETT GELMAN (He's a member of "Mr. A$$", one of the most popular sketch groups in residence at The Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre)

DAN ALLEN (As seen at Carolines and The Comic Strip)

And, take a walk down memory lane with TOZER & STU!

You want details? I got details for you:

7 East 27th Street
(b. 5th and Madison)
And, don't forget: FREE FRAT HOUSE VODKA!

Come on down. Attendance will be taken.

Christian Finnegan,
blowing a horn in the name of comedy