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 No, this is a case of your parents foisting their own outdated concept of "coolness" onto a helpless youth.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.