Thursday, December 30, 2004


Okay, so let's just skip the part where I apologize for not posting in two weeks, okay? Life is short, and none of us need another round of soul searching, I-promise-I'm-going-to-post-every-day-from-now-on bullshit. I've been on vacation from my brain and that's that. Rather than re-hash my almost completed (thank christ) holiday season--maybe I'll do that sometime soon, maybe not--I want to talk about another couple of random things.

First off, what does it say that the feeling of dizzying euphoria I used to get from spotting a woman with a fantastic ass is now reserved for the moment when I open my mailbox and seeing the new Pottery Barn catalogue? Oh wait, I know exactly what it says: I've metamorphasized into a middle-aged queen. That's what being in a longterm relationship does to you, fellas--it turns you into a fag.

In other news, there was an item in today's Daily News about two Long Island women who were using their hot dog van as a de facto whorehouse. In between selling hot dogs, french fries and knishes, they would invite dudes into the back of the can and perform sex acts upon them. Pretty funny, eh? You probably think I could have a field day with a story like this, being that I am a stand-up comedy professional. Well...not necessarily. You see, this kind of story is what I like to call "Comedic Fool's Gold". A story about two chicks using a "weiner wagon" (the Daily News' term, not mine) as a...well, weiner wagon is so ridiculous, so immediately comedy-ready, that it becomes too easy a target. You see, the role of a comedian is to take a topic that's universal, mundane, or even tragic and find the humor in it. It is this ability that separates the gifted social satirist from Jay Leno's opening monlogue on The Tonight Show. Sure, maybe you can get laughs out of it for a day or two, but before long you're competing with Kevin, the guy from Accounting who thinks he's hilarious. Of course, there are many comics (the cast majority, really) who ignore this unspoken rule. They say "fuck it, a laugh's a laugh". In the stand up comedy business, we call these people "hacks". A hack is a comic who spends the bulk of his time on stage telling jokes that any corporate drone/TV anchorman/Jay Leno is capable of telling, or has in fact already told. He'd so a bit wher the punchline would be something like, "Hey, nothing a lady likes more than a foot-long!" or perhaps "For an extra ten bucks, they put your weiner inbetween a couple of buns!". Or, if you're someone's dad, maybe you'd go the pun route, a la "Wow, there's an opportunity I'd relish!"

Hey...wait a minute...that's genius! Watch out, world--someone's just added a new bit to his A-List!

Monday, December 13, 2004


Look, I realize there are only eleven or so shopping days left until Christmas and you guys are probably saying to yourselves, "What does Christian want? How will I show him how important he is to me during this very special holiday season?!" Well, fear not, kids--allow me to take the guess work out of it for you. I know it's a bit tacky, but rather than end up with a bunch of stuff I don't want, I've taken the time to list a few of the items I'm hoping to receive from...well, you. So get buying, people!


* Sharper Image (tm) Ballsack Demagnetizer

* A signed copy of "Fuckstain Heart Attack: The Collected Poems of Huey Lewis"

* "Undead Noregian Assholes III: Blood Spurten" for Xbox

* Apple's new "iBong"

* $50 Gift certificate from "Functional Dildo Mart"

* One year subscription to "Office Bathroom Stall Nap Enthusiast" magazine

* "Mr. Dialysis" Home Kidney Failure Kit (Ages 3 and Up)

* Candycane codpiece

* 18" of actor Rene Auberjonois used dental floss

* A faithful rendering of Van Gogh's "Waterlillies" using only earwax and boogers

* The book-on-tape version of The Holy Qu'ran, read by a drunken Nick Nolte

* Perspective

Tuesday, December 07, 2004


Look, I ain't gonna beg. I'm just going to say that if you miss tonight's installment of 'Sob Stories" (see below for details)...well, you're a bad person. The theme is "Holiday Cheer" so if you don't show up, I guess we'll be left to assume that you have some sort of problem with the holliday season--a time when families, friends and loved ones put aside their petty grievances and join together in our common hope for peace on earth and goodwill towards men. . "But I live in Wisconsin," you're saying. "Surely you can't expect me to fly to New York for a comedy show!" And to this, my answer is: if world peace and goodwill toward men meant a goddamn fucking thing to you, you'd find a way to be there.

Thanks for ruining Christmas, asshole.

Friday, December 03, 2004

We Interrupt Your Regular Broadcast

Hello Tower of Hubris readers. Kambri Crews, here. Here is an update on two upcoming shows in which you can see your beloved Christian Finnegan perform in chronological order:

My Coolest Years premieres this weekend on VH1. Christian Finnegan will appear in the episodes Summer Vacation and First Time, premiering Sunday, December 5th at 12:30 PM and Saturday, December 11th at 10:00 PM, respectively. Click here for additional air dates/times.

Sob Stories, with Christian hosting, will feature guests Lizz Winstead (creator of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart), Rob Huebel ("Inconsiderate Cell Phone Man" and a million commercials -- a most excellent story-teller), Ophira Eisenberg (Premium Blend, Us Weekly Fashion Police) and Seth Morris (UCB all star).

Here's the promotional blurb that subscribers received along with this picture that ran in Time Out NY:

Going home for the holidays? Get a preview of the horrors that await you at this month's Sob Stories, as comics recount tales of undercooked turkeys, humilating family reunions, lame presents and a host of other holiday disappointments.

The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: Holiday Cheer

We're really hoping to pack the audience this time around for this consistently excellent show. So grab a friend and come on down.

If you want to be notified of updates like these, please join the list. We won't sell your information and you'll receive about two or three emails a month. Check out the last newsletter which has information on a free movie screening and more.

And, just for fun, my new favorite photo of me and Christian taken at the Jeff Foxworthy Roast after party at Strata which will grace the front of our Christmas cards:

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Monday, November 29, 2004


I...can't...go on any longer. It has me and it won't let go. Two and a half hours today. Over six hours yesterday, at least three the day before. My health is failing, my hands are shaking and I feel as if the slightest incident may bring me to tears. When I close my eyes, I can see apparitions calling me, taunting me. Cruelty, thy name is "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas".

Why oh why did I allow this beast into my life? I feel like Frodo, doomed to shoulder an unholy force (in this case, a Playstation controller) that is slowly driving me insane. Yes, just in case my admitting to being completely obsessed with a video game wasn't dorky enough, I just threw in a "Lord of the Rings" reference to boot.

Anyway, it's been a banner weekend in the life of Christian Finnegan. Over the course of the last 48 hours, I've left my home for a grand total of 40 minutes. The only people I've spoken to are Kambri, the dude who makes my deli sandwiches and a couple of delivery men. What HAVE I done? Well, a lot. First of all, I rooted out the traitors in the Grove Street Family street gang (I never did trust Ryder and "Big Smoke"). Then I did a bit of dirty work for corrupt police officers Tenpenny and Pulaski--they've framed me for a muder, you see. Earlier today, I took a flamethrower to Mr. Truth's marijuana fields and shot down a police copter with a rocket launcher. I'm currently working as a freelance "soldier" for a pimp named Jizzy B, but that's just a ruse so I can get to the REAL players and make some serious shit go down. Silly you, you probably thought I hadn't posted because I'd gone away for the holiday weekend! Get your head out of your ass!

I am a sad, sad man.

Speaking of the holiday, I trust you all had a pleasant Thanksgiving? Or, if not "pleasant", I trust that none of you said anything to a family member that can't be taken back? No? Ugh. Well, don't feel too bad about it--we all kind of already knew that Aunt Karen was a "Donut Bumper" (nice wording, btw). As for me, I stayed in town, primarily because visiting my family would entail dealing with Penn Station. And on the day before Thanksgiving, Penn Station takes on a distinct "Pacers vs. Pistons" vibe. Seriously, people gather around the big board waiting for their track number to come up and once it does, all holy fucking hell breaks loose--punching, screaming, babies getting trampled, teenagers looting Hudson News and Bennigan's. F that.

Instead, Kambri and I inaugurated what we both hope will become a holiday tradition: Thanksgiving dinner at The Rainbow Room. It was pretty sweet--great food, unbelievable views and the rare opportunity to feel like I have something resembling "class". If you are so inclined, you can see a picture of us dressed up all fancy-like on Kambri's site. She looks ungodly beautiful, I look like a pasty, heavyset member of the Putterman family.

Okay, I suppose that's all for now. In case you're racking your brain, I give you this photographic reminder of the erstwhile Duracell pitchmen known as "The Puttermans". Enjoy:

Friday, November 19, 2004


Coyote With Adult Acne

Chief Buffalo Who Mounts Other Male Buffalo

50 Wampum

She Who Will Not Trim Pubes

Runs for Comptroller

Fights Bravely With Spear...IN BED!

Fisted Owl

Princess Ticking Biological Clock

Wears Sacred Goggles While Drinking

Hates Puerto Ricans

Chief Embarassing Puka Shell Necklace

Hangs Nagel Painting in Teepee

Thunder Thighs

Little Sparrow Who Calls Big Sparrow Fifteen Times A Day Even When She Knows He's Busy (What Does She Think, Big Sparrow Has Nothing Better To Do With Afternoon Than Listen To Little Sparrow Babble On About How Copy Machine in Office Have Paper Jam? Give Big Sparrow Break!)

Toilet Paper Stuck To Moccasin

Crazier Horse

Monday, November 15, 2004


I'm going to get back to posting shit on a regular basis, I swear. Today marks the very last day in my much whined-about "busy period". And what am I going to be so busy doing today? Sleeping. For you see, it is currently 8:03am and I have pulled what the young folks like to call an "all-nighter" to finish up some work for that 1-800-FLOWERS project I mentioned on this site a few weeks ago.

It's strange, I used to pull two or three all-nighters a week, but now that I'm older my body is starting to fail me. My hands have begun to shake my head feels as if, were I to tilt my head to one side, brain-matter would drip out of my ear. Back in my youth, I would never get this feeling until mid-afternoon. Part of me digs it, as it's as close as I'll ever get to knowing what it feels like to do hard drugs.

To give you an idea of how tired I am, I just spent a solid eight minutes staring at the screen after typing that last sentence. I'm not even sure what I was thinking about.

Okay, time for beddie-bye. Like I said, as of tomorrow, my schedule is looking pretty relaxed until Christmas, so that means I'll be beck to writing on a regular basis--maybe not EVERY day, but enough to make it worth wasting a few moments of your workday every now and then. Have a nice day, winners!

Wednesday, November 03, 2004


(sigh) I just wanted to see how it felt to type that. Ugh. I need to put my head in between my knees for a moment.

I don't even know what to say about this fucking situation. It's down to Kerry's lawyers trying to wring 125,000 provisonal ballots out of Ohio, and you know what? It ain't gonna happen. Me, I'd rather swallow the bitter pill and just sulk in private. I'm sure there are a few million people who are currently pounding the shit out of their keyboards, decrying the state of our nation, planning their exoduses (exodi?) to Canada, so I think I'll just sit this tragic moment in history out. Suffice to say, fuck this noise.

This week has already been a real doozy for me and it's about to get moreso. First (and most importantly), this election nonsense. In a few hours, I get on a plane to Sonoma, California for a college show. Sixteen hours later, I'll be flying back to NYC for the very last episode of "Tough Crowd" and the accompanying sure-to-be-melancholy wrap party. The next morning I go into my office to clear out my shit, and then get into a car to drive to Malborough, Massachusetts for a "NACA" conference. This is where you mill around a suburban Best Western for a couple of days, trying to impress nineteen year-old college students, so that they'll offer you work. Three cheers for whoring!! Yippee!!

Fuck it. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, America.

Thursday, October 28, 2004


Fun show at Fresno State earlier tonight--good turnout, friendly audience. It was such a good show, in fact, I really have nothing to say about it. It's funny how I can write paragraph after paragraph about a shitty gig, but have nothing to say about the relatively good ones.

But enough about that. The important thing is that, sitting across the aisle on the plane from me this morning, was legendary crooner and national treasure Tony Bennett. I have no idea why Tony Bennett would need to take a 35 seat, coach-only puddle jumper from Los Angeles to Fresno, but there you have it. Even cooler, he was nattily dressed in an expensive suit, with a ruby red pocket square and slightly-too-large-for-his-face tinted sunglasses. I like it when celebrities go the extra mile to be who they "are" in public, even if it means sacrificing a bit of comfort. You think Tony Bennett, you think classy suit and pocket square--to see him farting around in sweat pants and a Cookie Puss t-shirt would just seem...I don't know, not right.

Seeing Tony Bennett look so "Tony Bennett" makes me think that maybe I should start to cultivate a "look". Sure, I look hot as hell in my pastiche of Old Navy and The Gap, but maybe it's time for more memorable performance-wear. Here are a few ideas for my new "look":

* Urban Pirate
* Breakdancing Satanist
* Faggy Spaceman
* Hooker with a Heart of Gold
* Native American Jello Wrestler
* Lobster Boy Chic
* Grunge Barrister
* Stroke Victim Nouveau
* "Brendan", that creepy neighborhood kid who tortures small animals

If you have any suggestions, speak now or forever hold your peace.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004


As I've mentioned here on a number of occasions, I am not a Boston Red Sox fan, despite my having spent the first 18 years of my life in Massachusetts. Still, I must say that I am very happy for Red Sox fans everywhere, including my family and childhood friends. I watched the game tonight with a few transplanted New Englanders, including one dude who is easily the most intense baseball fanatic I will ever meet. And when the game finally came to an end, my friend was crying, jumping up and down, screaming to the heavens and basically having a religious experience in front of my eyes. I must say, it was pretty amazing. Of course, if I was cynical I could mention that ten seconds later he started an enthusiastically received chant of "Yankees suck", thereby proving that even in a moment of supreme glory, Red Sox fans (and the city of Boston in general) will always need feel the need to measure themselves in terms of how they relate to the Yankees (and New York in general). But I won't.

In all seriousness, congratulations to everyone from my prodigal hometown.

And on a completely different note, I should briefly mention that beloved character actor John C. Reilly told me he enjoyed my set last night. An old friend of mine from NYC now lives out here and produces a really hip monthly vaudeville show. Apparently Jay Mohr was supposed to make an appearance, but he bailed, so my friend asked me if I wanted to swing by after what turned out to be a semi-lackluster USC show. I did and it was definitely surreal in that bizarre L.A. kind of way. Apparently, people were upset because famous photographer Bruce Weber had reserved the majority of the tables, meaning that other movers and shakers folks were actually made to stand (Heaven forfend!). Luckily, they found a seat for Marisa Tomei (WHEW!) and someone named Samantha Ronson (should I know who she is?), but John C. Reilly was forced to mill around by the bar, where sightlines to the stage were extremely limited. But I guess he saw enough of my set that he felt compelled to give me props--either that, or he just felt awkward that I happened to be standing there next to him and tossed me one of those "Good Job comments that I wrote about a couple of weeks back. Still, it was pretty neat.

In other strange "celebrity" sightings, members of the seminal punk band The Misfits were staying here at the Best Western Sunset Plaza last night, and I saw some weird looking dude I recognized from "Melrose Place" (Grant Show, maybe?) sitting in the window of a shitty Mexican restaurant. Hollywood glitz, baby!

Tuesday, October 26, 2004


I'm not sure how many of you know this, but last week marked the 30th anniversary of Dungeons & Dragons. That's right, 30--which, incidentally, is the age at which most D&D players lose their virginity. But seriously, it's hard not to feel a tad nostalgiac. If you were a suburban teenager in the 1980's chances are you have, at some point, sat in some kid's basement with the "Monster Manual" (or "Fiend Folio", if you were more advanced) and a pad of graph paper, weilding an imaginary broadsword with one hand and a far-more-real bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in the other. Of course, the fascination for most of us lasted only a brief time--I think I lost interest after about six weeks. But for some, like my older brother (Hi, John!), D&D was less a passing trend and more an all-encompassing way of life. It seems like only yesterday that the living room of my house was filled every Friday night with my older brother's ragtag collection of greasy-haired, scoliosis-wracked, B.O.-laden friends, fighting over who was weilding whatever fucking amulet or how much damage a +3 mace would do against a neutral evil Drow Elf wearing ringmail. Ah, memories.

Anyway, there's no debating that 30 years is something of an accomplishment for a game that consists of kids sitting around a table and pretending to do shit. I plan on celebrating by coming back to my hotel after tonight's gig, buying a six-pack of Lonely Inebriation potions, using my Wand of Remote Control to flip channels and treating my penis like a melee weapon.

Happy aniversary, Dungeons & Dragons! We raise up a flagon of mead in your honor.

Monday, October 25, 2004


Alright, enough of this non-posting shit--I'm back...and as marginally funny as ever!

Rather than try and think of some grand p[ost that would somehow make up for the fact that I haven;t written shit lately, I'm just going to type for a while and that will hopefully get me on a roll for the week. I'm probably going to have a good bit of downtime this week, so I plan on posting something every damn day, even if it's nothing funny. Anyway, where do I start...

In a few hours, I'll be headed to Los Angeles. This will be second of three trips to California I'm taking over the course of three weeks. I'm doing a little mini-tour of West Coast colleges, sponsored by FHM Magazine. I still have very high hopes for the three gigs I have this week and the one or two more I have in the weeks following. But the first one, last Tuesday at Cal State San Marcos, was...well, very odd. Cal State San Marcos is a very tiny school that was founded less than a decade ago, and less than 10% of the students live on campus. Already, that didn't bode well for a huge turnout. But then, the clincher: it was pouring rain. Now I know what you're thinking: So what? A little rain never hurt anyone! Well, someone should spread the word to Southern California, because in the greater San Diego area, you would have thought this light drizzle was a biblical plague of locusts. I've actually written on this subject before, the LAST time I did a college gig in Southern California.

The upshot is, in a performance space that was designed to seat 250 people, a mere 30-35 students actually showed the fuck up. Behold, the mighty drawing power of Christian Finnegan! Oh, but wait--it gets better: the "performance space" I speak of? It was a lecture hall. Yes, a lecture hall. Now you're probably thinking, "Surely he doesn't mean, like, a classroom!" Yes, I mean that I performed a full show in a fully lit classroom, standing in front of a projection screen, playing to a smattering of kids in tiered seats with mini-desks attached. It was a truly bizarre aligning of the shitty-gig planets.

Strange thing is, I actually had a lot of fun. The situation was so surreal, I couldn't even be bummed by it. and this kids who DID show up were a pretty cool group and I ended up doing a full hour and ten minutes, which is probably the longest set I've ever done, and there was still a good bit of material I never got to. I guess you could call that a "moral victory", right? That said, I sincerely hope that this week's shows won't fall into the same category--I've had enough character-building experiences to last a fucking lifetime. I'm not even going to TELL you about the horrifying gig I did two days later, at the Columbia University Computer Science Department 25th Anniversary Banquet (no, I'm not kidding). Tonight, I'm at Cal State Long Beach, tomorrow I'm at USC and on Thursday, I head upstate to Cal State Fresno. I've been told that one of the shows (I can't remember which) is going to be taking place in a 1300 seat theatre, so I have reasonably high hopes. We shall see.

Alright, I'm going to get some shut-eye before I drag my ass to JFK. I'll have my brand-spanking-new laptop with me, so I'll be posting from sunny California.

Saturday, October 23, 2004


Jesus in a Wheelchair

Homeless Wizard

King Bloodfart

Stem Cell Manny


Spewbeard the Pirate

Friday, October 15, 2004


So I don't write for an entire week and then as soon as I come back I ask for a favor? Jeez, what a dick.

I've been hired to write this Valentines Day promotional booklet for 1-800-FLOWERS, whicvh is the main reason I haven't posted in a week. It's called the "Thoughtless Male Survival Guide" and I'm sure my girlfriend would claim it's the tome I was born to write. I know it sounds kind of silly, but I'll be getting a good deal of press for it, come February (barring unforseen catastrophes). Anyway, part of this little booklet is going to be me explaining to guys the right and wrong ways to deal with various relationship oriented fuck-ups. I'm supposed to come up with 25-30 different scenarios, and then write a little funny DO/DON'T thing about each. Problem is, coming up with the scenarios is proving more difficult than I would have thought. I was hoping you guys might have some ideas--ways you've screwed up (gentlemen), things boyfriends/husbands have to piss you off (ladies), etc.

Here are a few examples:

* You girlfriend catches you checking out another woman's ass on the sidewalk.
* A friend inadvertently reveals that you've been sharing the intimate details of your relationship with outsiders.
* You fail to notice your girlfriend's new hairdo.
* You mistakenly call your wife by an ex-girlfriend's name.
* Your girlfriend opens up your internet browser and discovers your porno habits.

Anything spring to mind? If you would be so kind as to let me know, I'd be oh-so-grateful. As an early reward, I present to you this 14 clip of a pretty amazing kids show that's supposedly been picked up by MTV. If it makes it past two airings, I'll be suprised and impressed.

Thursday, October 07, 2004


Every once in a while, I like to share a bit of wisdom with those just starting out in the world of stand-up comedy. So I offer you new comics some advice: when you bomb (and trust me, you bomb--repeatedly), other stand up comics will react to you in a variety of ways. It's important you learn to decipher these "friendly" comments, so as to determine what is well-intentioned critique and what is bitter, self-centered assholery. So I will now provide you short list of things a fellow comic might say to you after a not-so-spectacular set, followed (in italics) by what each comment truly means. Please keep in mind that I am guilty of having used all of these bullshit platitudes at one time or another, and I'm sure plenty of people have used them on me. Anyway...enjoy!

COMMENT: "Good job."

TRANSLATION: You were a forgettable part of a lackluster evening. I am complimenting you only because I have a vague notion that you performed and now we've found ourselves standing around the bar, socializing with the same group of people. I remember that you weren't offensively bad, but if you asked me right now what I liked about your set, I'd probably say something vague, like "You said something up top that I really loved," and then excuse myself to go to the men's room.

COMMENT: "The audience really sucked tonight."

TRANSLATION: I like you as a person, so I am going to help you shift the blame for what just transpired off of your either half-written or over-written jokes and non-existent stage presence to a group of people whose only crime was to spend their hard-earned money and time trying to be entertained by you.

COMMENT: "Hey, how much time are we supposed to do?"

TRANSLATION: Thanks for going way over your allotted fucking time, asshole. There are seven other comics on the lineup, you goddamn prima dona, including ME! And with every moment that passes before I go up, the chances of the already-dwindling audience calling it a night increases, thereby robbing me of the opportunity to validate my pathetic excuse for a comedy career. And don't give me that 'I didnt see the light' bullshit--I saw you acknowledge the light, and you went ahead and did another ten minutes. Just because your closer didn't get laughs, that doesn't mean you get to keep toggling through bits until you elicit a chuckle substantial enough for you to slink offstage. You went way over your time and I want to let you know it. Of course, I'm putting in the form of a questions, so as to deny accountability.

COMMENT: "You've really been getting better lately."

TRANSLATION: Despite my having written you off as someone who will do nothing for the world of comedy other than clog up the works, tonight you somehow managed to make me laugh in spite of myself. Still, because of my deep-seeded resentment for anyone trying to succeed in my chosen field, I'm unable to pay you a straightforward compliment. Therefore, I will subtly imply that, for you, being funny is not the norm, while simultaneously positing myself as someone whose respect and judgment should mean something to you.

COMMENT: "You brought out the classics tonight."

TRANSLATION: When the fuck are you going to write some new material? I just wasted eight precious minutes of my life listening to you tell jokes I heard you tell four years ago. And let's be honest, here: your 'gold' ain't all that golden, something I hope to underscore by my use of the mock-grandiose "classics".

COMMENT: "A couple of those bits I hadn't heard before."

TRANSLATION: When the fuck are you going to write some new material? The fact that I isolated a "couple" of new bits is meant to convey just how rarely you come up with anything new. Also, note that I never suggested that these "new bits" were the least bit funny.

COMMENT: "I didn't see your set. How did it go?"

TRANSLATION: I absolutely saw your set and you bombed horribly. In fact, getting a blowjob in front of my mother would be less awkward than the comedic dirty bomb you just unleashed on the audience. Luckily, I'm reasonably confident you didn't see me standing in the room, so I can get away with claiming not have seen you perform, rather than force us both to acknowledge how awful you were (and are, if you want my honest opinion). I'm also asking how your set went because I'm curious to see what your response will be. I'm kind of hoping you'll claim it went really well, so when I meet up with my friends at the bar later, we can have a good laugh at what a deluded fuck you are.

Hope this helps, Mr. and Ms. Young Comedian. Now get out there and make America laugh!

Tuesday, October 05, 2004


I realize this is a tad late in the game, but those of you in the New York area should really consider coming out to tonight's installment of Sob Stories at the Marquee. It's a wicked awesome (to use my native Massachusetts-ian dialect) lineup, including DC Benny, Tom Shillue, Jackie Kashian and The Onion's Andy Selsberg. Tonight's theme is "Performance Anxieties", which should lend itself to laughs galore. That's right, galore. GALORE!

The 'deets':

PSNBC presents Sob Stories
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones/E. 4th St.)
Doors 7:30; Show at 8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!

For more info, click here.

Come on out and feel the love. You shan't regret it.

Monday, October 04, 2004


Who's in Bed with Mommy This Week?

Where the Mild Things Are

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Jonathan Silverman Movie

If You Can't Remember It, It Didn't Happen!

Jesus Let Your Hamster Die

James and the Giant Bee-atch

Cedric and Cindy's Kooky Crazy Custody Hearing

One Day You'll Wake Up and Feel Genuine Disgust at Who You've Become

The Protocols of the Elders of Sillyville

Everybody Poops (Blood)

Garrett Gopher and the All-Male Bookstore

Make Way for Racist Ducklings

Integrating Ivestments and the Tax Code: Using the Tax Code to Enhance Returns and Add Value

Horton Hears a Very Funny AIDS Joke

Learn How to Throw a Baseball, You Goddamn Fairy!

Tuesday, September 28, 2004


I know I haven't posted in nearly a week, and I don't want to pretend that this is a genuine entry, 'cause it ain't. This is just a bold-faced plug to let you all know that I'm going to be appearing on "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" tonight. Should be interesting. For those of you who don't already know, I've been on the writing staff there for over a year, but I've never actually appeared as a panelist. The thing about Tough Crowd is, the format is very tricky--it looks likes it's just a bunch of silly banter, but I've seen many a great comic come off looking bad on the show. When people suck on Tough Crowd, it's usually for one of three reasons: they don't prepare enough (and don't have the charm and charisma to pull of "winging it"), they prepare too much and spend the whole show awkwardly trying to cram their jokes in, or they simply freeze up and stare into the camera, aka "Cindy Brady Syndrome". I've seen it happen time and time again and told myself "Boy, if I ever get to do the show..." Well, I guess now we'll find out.

The show tapes this evening and then airs tonight at 11:30pm (in NYC, at least), right after "The Daily Show". Check it out, if you're so inclined.

Oh, and as far as posting some actual "comedy" goes, I'll be posting something relatively weighty very soon, probaby tomorrow evening.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004


I keep seeing ads for this show Lost, which appears to be a mixture of Survivor. ER and The X Files (I know what you're thinking: Finally!). To my eye, this show has the makings of a show that everyone pretends to love for two months and then gets cancelled after one season. There's such a thing as too much "drama", and I think a show about a group of people (all with their own personal issues and plotlines, of course) who crash land on an deserted island and then discover it just happens to be home to some sort of...well, monster. That seems like one premise too many. I am happy, though, that network TV has finally found another I-didn't-ask-for-this-responsibility-but-somehow-I-will-shoulder-the-weight role for Matthew Fox, aka The Man Who Holds Americas Hair Back.

I'm not sure how well I would handle finding myself on a deserted island, especially under stressful circumstances (like, say, a plane crash/monster type situation). My current way of dealing with stress is to lock myself in my apartment and play Madden 2005 until the feeling passes. That seems rather impractical on a deserted island. Plus, I get really cranky if I don't give my hair a good shampooing every day. I'm sure that I'd end up being that guy who'd bitch and moan and get on everyone's nerves. Eventually me and my fellow survivors would be trudging through the trees, searching for some sign of fresh water and/or civilization, when the sound of a snapping branch breaks the silence. All of the castaways stop and look around, worriedly. All of them except me, of course. "Did you guys just hear something?", the requisite hot-babe-who's-been-through-hard-times says. "WHAT'S THE DAMN HOLD UP?!" I turn back and bellow, displaying the ill temper that's made me the least-liked person on the island. The Matthew Fox type guy takes a cautious step towards me and whispers, "Christian...don't...move..." I stand there facing them, with my back towards a dense thicket of bushes and trees. "LOOK," I shout. "YOU GUYS CAN PUSSYFOOT AROUND AS MUCH AS YOU WaNT, BUT I'M GOING TO GET THE HELL OFF OF THIS DAMN ISLAND! YOU HEAR ME? I'M GETTING OUT OF HERE!!!" It's at this precise moment that an unseen force grabs me and I disappear into the bushes. What follows is fifteen seconds of terrified screaming and pleas for help. One of the other survivors begins to step forward to help me, but he he is held back by the more sensible among them. There is no helping me--I'm already dead. The hot-babe-who's-been-through-hard-times collapses into Matthew Fox's ever-capable arms.

And now, a word from our sponsors.

Thursday, September 16, 2004


The Pontiac Deathrattle

The Bentley Pretense

The Plymouth P.O.S.

The Lexus DUI Series

The Audi Hatecrime

The Isuzu Ennui

The Geo Bone Cancer

The Peugeot Stench

The Chevy Airbags-are-for-fags

The Kia Cockblock

The Mercedes-Benz Reichmobile

The Ferrari Orphanmaker

The Maxi Cooper

The Land Rover Overcompensator

The Volkswagen Gunt

Monday, September 13, 2004


I've had e-fucking-nough with the presidential election. I'm so fucking sick of of campaign-related horsepoop, I'm tempted to move to Brunei. Can we just go ahead and vote now? We're ready, right? We should amend the constitution so that, in years like this, we the people can look around at each other and say "Are we good? Okay, let's do this." But no, we have to endure seven more weeks of hokey sloganeering, make-believe anecdotes about "real" Americans (e.g. "I was recently talking with Edna May Jensen from Terre Haute, Indiana and she told me that her prescription drug costs blah blah blah blah bleeccch...") and around-the-clock punditry. And for who's benefit? The "undecided" voters? The most jelly-brained 2% of the American population? Anyone who doesn't know who he/she's voting for this far along in the game is someone who's vote we, as a nation, probably don't need.

I think Bush is an fucking embarassment, but it's no mystery to me why so many people like him. Bush and Kerry personify the perpetual (and very American) battle between "Common Sense" and "Intellectualism". In a nutshell, if you think that life is simple (good, evil, right, wrong, etc.), Bush is probably your guy. And if you think that life is very complicated and that what might be "right" for one person isn't necessarily right for another person, you're probably voting for Kerry--or, to be more specific, against Bush. The point I'm trying to make is, I understand why someone would vote for Bush, loathe him though I do. But the difference is pretty damn stark--how could anyone still be undecided? It's not a complicated menu, people--Christ, there are only two entrees. Pick one! (Okay, technically speaking, I there is a third entree, but do us all a favor and don't pick that one.)

What could you possible be expecting to learn between now and November that's going to make up your mind? Nothing good, that's for sure. Trust me, you already know every single good thing about about Bush and Kerry. In fact, had that shit drilled into your head for the past six months. And don't give me that crap about the debates. The presidential debates prove nothing, save how good a candidate is at memorization. How are you supposed to size someone up when they're just reciting their "talking points"? I wish we could insert some genuine spontaineity back into the debate process. Hell, what's stopping Kerry from just turning to Bush and asking, "Okay, George. Quick: what's nine times nine?" I would give three to one odds it would take bush at least ten seconds to answer. And to be fair, Bush could turn around and say "Okay, John Kerry, perhaps you can explain to America why in the world anyone would want a president who looks like the Scream mask."

Tuesday, September 07, 2004


So tomorrow, being the Wednesday after Labor Day, is the traditional "back to school" day. At least, that's the way it was in my youth. It's funny, I'm 31 and this week still gives me a restless, excited feeling. Much more than January 1st, I think of the Wednesday after Labor Day as being the true start of the new year. Just to make tomorrow feel extra special, I picked up a new Dukes of Hazard Trapper Keeper (my old one was worn aropund the edges) and I've laid out a sassy new outfit next to my bed--say hello to Chess King, baby!

If you're still in high school or college, you should get down on your knees and kiss the sticky cafeteria floor. I'm not going to tell you that these are the best days of your life--only douchebags say that. But I will say that you're in the midst of the most dependable days of your life. Being a student gives gives your vapid, meaningless life the illusion of structure. There are classes to be attended, homework to be done, pop quizzes to stress over. Shit needs to get done, and if you don't come through, there are consequences--bad grades, detention, etc. Even if you rebel and decide not to do what's expected of you, the educational system will drag your ass along and continue to give you a nice, sturdy framework against which to rebel. Compare that to the relatively weightless world of adulthood, where I'm expected to create my own reasons for getting up in the morning. Fuck that noise.

So enjoy it while it lasts, etudiantes. And if you're out of school but want to spend an hour or so reliving the highs, lows, triumphs and embarrassments of scholastic life, come out to tonight's installment of Sob Stories at The Marquee. The theme, obviously, is "Back to School" and the show will feature lots of fantastic guests, including Todd Hanson (head writer for The Onion), Todd Levin, Bob Powers and more!

Here's the relevant info:

SOB STORIES, hosted by Christian Finnegan (that's me)
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: BACK TO SCHOOL

Please show up. Funny will be made.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004


A quick promo: Tonight I can be seen on McEnroe, doing five minutes of stand-up and another two minutes of semi-awkward banter. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about (and judging by the shows "niche" viewership, that's pretty much all of you), McEnroe is a talk show on CNBC, hosted by tennis champ John McEnroe. I actually taped the episode a couple of weeks ago, but it airs tonight at 10pm and then again at 1:00am. Check it out, if you can. Here in NYC, CNBC is channel 15 on yout Time Warner Cable box.

And here are a couple of more things about my little LA sojourn:

* Friday evening, Kambri and I attended Craig Kilborn's final Late, Late Show taping, I've always felt that Kilborn is unfairly dismissed. The show, on the whole, isn't as funny as Conan, but Kilborn has his own charm--he's always had a great Bill Murray/Tim Matheson in Animal House/Caddyshack-era Chevy Chase thing going. Anyway, the taping was pretty sweet. Being Craig's final show, the guest list was pretty stellar, including Will Ferrell, Vince Vaughn and (most importantly) Adam West. The only less-than-perfect aspect was that Kambri and I were actually seated in the studio audience for Kilborn (as opposed to the way we spent Kimmel, hanging in the green room). Now, being that I work at a TV show, I know that all tapings run the risk of growing tedious. This particular taping, being that it was a "special night", seemed to go on about 45 minutes longer than Schindler's List. Still, it was pretty cool to watch the whole thing go down.

* After the taping, Kambri and I headed downstairs and found ourselves in a Price is Right storage room (both shows tape in the same building). I suggested to Kambri that we should have sex on one of the giant set pieces, but she chickened the fuck out. What a wimp. She heard a little noise from some distant corner of the building and scurried out of the room like a coke-addled chipmunk. If you want to read her bullshit revisionist version of the moment, you can check it out here.

Sunday, August 29, 2004


At long last, I have returned from sunny Los Angeles. All in all, I would say the trip was a blast. In fact, there were moments of the type people daydream about when they imagine living in LA. The whole laptop thing didn't exactly work out for us, so I was unable to give you on-the-fly updates. But now, I am proud to give you a chronological account of our glorious trip:

* We got into town on Wednesday morning and cruised over to Enterprise to pick up our sweet Hyundai Sonata (upgraded from a Geo Metro, muthafucka--you know how I roll). Kambri, in addition to her dual role as my publicist and "thang", also was kind enough to drive my ass around Los Angeles. For reasons that are too boring to go into (read: vehicular homocide), I don't have a valid drivers license. So instead, I embraced my role as "navigator" and I'm proud to say that I only needed to be yelled at for giving crappy directions four or five times!

* Our hotel stank like a salami fart. I'm sorry, that's the only way to say it. Kambri tried to tell me it was just stale cigarette smoke, but, I know what cigarettes smell like. And I think I have a pretty good idea of what stale cigarettes would smell like. But Room 217 of the Best Western Sunset Plaza? Salami fart. On the upside, the hotel was perfectly situated, within a ten minute drive of pretty much everywhere we needed to go. I know LA has the reputation of being a sprawling metropolis, but as far as I'm concerned everything you need is within a few square miles of Sunset and Sweetzer.

* Wednesday night my managers held a big showcase thingy at The Laugh Factory, which was the reason I went out there in the first place. It was pretty damned sweet, with the room split 50/50 between regular audience members and industry. For those of you who aren't pretentious douchebags, the term "industry" generally refers to anyone employed on the decision-making side of the entertainment business--producers, casting agents, development executives and their many hangers-on. Industry audiences tend to suck shit, in terms of crowd response--they've seen it all and, rather than enjoy a show organically, they tend to watch everything with a critical eye. Well, I guess "critical" really isn't the word. It's more of an "Are other people liking this?" eye. Nevertheless, this particular audience was great, and everyone on the show had a damn fine set. Afterwards, we did what all movers and shakers do after a victorious night: we ate at a second rate, garishly lit Jewish deli. Hollywood! Yes!

* Kambri and I spent the majority of Thursday lounging around at the pool, and in typical Christian Finnegan fashion, I got sunbburned. Nothing as freakish as my "White Seal" period (see June 15th), but I'm still notably pink on the left side of my body.

* That evening, we went to see a taping of Jimmy Kimmel Live. A friend of mine is a producer on the show (industry, muthafuckas!), so he got us into the green room, which is something of a "scene" in LA, due to its open bar. It was filled with..well, exactly the kind of people you'd expect to find in that situation: greasy hipsters and their vapid-looking women. If the Kimmel green room was a bar in NYC, I'd avoid it like the freakin' plague. But in the scheme of our little trip, I loved it. And not everyone in the room was a pretentious Hollywood type. No, the highlight of our green room experience had to be our long (some might say exhaustively long) conversation with Jay Maynard (you'll want to take a few minutes to enjoy that site, trust me). I've said it before and I'll say it again: jealous much?

* The best part of the Kimmel experience was that The Cure (one of my favorite bands of all fucking time) just happened to be performing that night. There was a big stage set up behind the studio and, after the show was over, The Cure treated the 1500 or so spectators to a few additional songs. I'm sure banging out "Inbetween Days" and "Just Like Heaven" wasn't the highpoint of Robert Smith's career, but for me, it was damn near euphoric. It made me want to smear red lipstick all over my face.

There's more, but I need to get my ass into bed now. I'll finish up tomorrow.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004


In a few hours, the lovely Kambri and I will be jetting off to Los Angeles for a few days of light schmoozing. I'll be performing at a fancy-schmancy "industry showcase" tonight at the Laugh Factory, so if you are an Angelino, put down the mirror covered in blow, climb out of your heart-shaped jacuzzi and come out to the show.

I've only been to LA a few times, and never for more than a few days at a clip. I have mixed feelings about the town, on the whole. Sure, 75% of the work in TV and film is out there, and tooling around the Hollywood Hills in a rented car gives me an undeniable psychic boner. But I think of it not so much as a place where dreams are not "made", so much as "pitched, re-pitched, optioned, developed for eighteen months and eventually drained of anything remotely funny and/or interesting by a UPN junior executive."

I will say this, though: I don't buy into that "LA sucks" nonsense that most New Yorkers blithely parrot. NYC is and always will be my home. I didn't move here for professional reasons--I lived here for six years before I ever considered getting involved with stand-up. It was just a lucky turn of events that when I did, I was already where I needed to be (geographically speaking, of course). So in I never thought of the the Big Apple and the "Big Orange" (Um...yeah) as being diametrically opposed--in my mind, LA is just any other city-that's-not-New-York. But as far as those cities go, it's certainly not the steaming cauldron of shit my friends and colleagues make it out to be. In fact, it has often reminded me of nothing more than a bunch of New Yorkers, transplanted to the suburbs. And like any place, it has its positive aspects and its negative ones. On the upside: the weather, the abundance of really good Mexican food and the relative accessibility of the natural world. On the downside: I'm pretty sure they shoot Reba there.

Anyway, I'll have my laptop with me, so I'll try and check in from the road. In this case, that "road" happens to be the Sunset Strip, where we'll be staying. I'll tell Nikki Sixx you all say hello.

Monday, August 23, 2004


* At last, the Fatty Arbuckle trapper keeper was mine.

* Did Elsa ever truly love me, or was she merely the nurse I paid to assist me with my penile splint? I fear I may never know.

* If music be the food of love, then binge! And then purge! And then see a therapist!

* Capt. Brock Westerly had two big things going for him: the respect and admiration of his troops and the complete discography of Manhattan Transfer.

* Staving off death for one last moment, Galaxor reached for the ringing phone. "Good afternoon..." he uttered with his final breath, "...Bed Bath & Beyond?"

* Aunt Margaret discovered her little ping pong ball trick quite by accident, one drunken Thanksgiving night.

* By daybreak, the the villagers would all be burned alive and I'd be playing bass for Hoobastank.

* Every night, young Timmy Lewis climbed into his pajamas, knelt beside his bed and prayed to God for the biggest cock in Grade Three.

* A lot of people will try and tell you a tapeworm is not a proper housepet. But then, they've never met Stretchy.

* Herpes schmerpes--one way or another, the field hockey team was getting new uniforms.

Thursday, August 19, 2004


Have you caught Olympic Fever yet? I haven't, but I did recently suffer a bout of the 24 Hour Olympic Flu. I was in on the toilet all night long, shitting rings. (rim shot) Hello! Come on, people!

Anyhoo, I was watching gymnastics a couple of days ago and I have one question: what the fuck happened to the horse? You remember the horse--that tan thing that 14 year old freaks of nature vault off of, and the thing that your Nazi gym teacher made you basically dry hump in order to pass 2nd Grade phys ed. Well, the Olympics have apparently done away with the classic dildo-esque model we all remember from our youth, in favor of some new mushroomy thing. Apparently they got rid of the old vaulting horse because it was deemed "dangerous". And in response, I have but one word: Exactly. Why the fuck do you think I'm watching Olympic gymnastics in the first place? To see some Romanian girl with a hardluck story (is there any other kind?) score a perfect ten? Hell, no. I watch because I know there there is the chance, however slight, that I might get to see a growth-stunted anorexic totally wreck herself on national TV. Call me cruel, but that's good TV.

But seriously, what is the IOC doing, making the Olympics safer, especially when you consider what they're up against nowadays? If you want to compete with Fear Factor, you need to be making the events more dangerous, not less. For instance, the long jump--why not add a shark tank? You know, not a huge one. Most of the athletes would clear it no problem. But every once in a while... And instead of just having a guy chuck the javelin out into the middle of a field, why not have two javelin throwers throwing simultaneously, in opposite directions? Of course, each thrower would have his leg chained to a nearby post, so as to cut down on dodge-ability. And would it be so hard to have one of the Greco-Roman wrestlers pull out a folding chair every once in a while? Let's get some goddamn excitement, here.

* I can't tell if this is the best subject heading I've ever come up with, or the worst. Your thoughts?

Friday, August 13, 2004


I realize I promised a blog entry every fday this week, but if reading this site has taight you one thing, it's that I'm a goddamn lying bastard. But, in an attempt to make up for my horrible inaction, I present:

WHAT YOUR FAVORITE ALBUM SAYS ABOUT YOU, Part CCXII (or whatever it really is)

MODEST MOUSE, "The Lonesome Crowded West" -- As I enter my Thirties, I'm finding it more and more exhausting to remain above it all.

MAROON 5, "Songs About Jane" -- Boy, applying for this Gap card was the best decision I ever made. Ten percent off every purchase! Sweet!

JURASSIC 5, "Quality Control" -- Despite my best attempts to embrace what I perceive to be 'hip hop culture', black teenagers still mock me openly.

KOOL MOE DEE, "Knowledge is King" -- Despite the fact that I am a black man, black teenagers still mock me openly.

VAN HALEN, "OU812" -- Did you know Sammy Hagar has his own brand of tequila? How cool is that? Fucking rock 'n roll, baby! Cabo Wabo! WHOOOOOOO!!! ...Oh shit, I'm late picking up the kids from soccer practice.

ASHLEE SIMPSON, "Autobiography" -- The Brooklyn Bridge? For sale? Wow, what a fantastic investment opportunity. Where's my checkbook?

FRANZ FERDINAND, "Franz Ferdinand" -- Do these glasses look okay? I'm worried they don't make me look nerdy enough.

ALAN JACKSON, "High Mileage" -- My wardrobe has queer undertones I'm completely unaware of.

SCISSOR SISTERS, "Scissor Sisters" -- My wardrobe has queer overtones I'm acutely aware of.

TOM WAITS, "Small Change" -- I like to meditate on life's big issues, such as "Why am I sitting alone in a bar on a Tuesday afternoon?"

RAY CHARLES, "The Very Best of Ray Charles" -- I went out and bought this album the week after Ray Charles died, so I could back up all of my bullshit about having been a lifetime Ray Charles fan.

LORETTA LYNN, "Van Lear Rose" -- I went out and bought this album because the White Stripes guy plays on it, but it will also come in handy in a few years, when I go around saying I've been a lifetime Loretta Lynn fan.

GIPSY KINGS, "The Best of the Gipsy Kings" -- I manage a three-star tapas restaurant.

BLACK FLAG, "Damaged" -- You know, back in the day, the mosh pit used to mean something.

BOB DYLAN, "Saved" -- You'd never know it, but I'm something of a controversial figure within my tiny online discussion group.

THE CURE, "Disintegration" -- Remember when I was completely miserable and would threaten suicide on a weekly basis? Man, those were the days.

JIMMY BUFFET, "Songs You Know By Heart" -- People foolishly think that smoking pot and being 'square' are incongruous. I am living proof that they are not.

LLOYD BANKS, "Hungry for More" -- Yo, Jurassic 5 fan. I'm about to make a very blatant pass at your girlfriend. Check it out. It's like you're not even here, yo.

SALIVA, "Back Into Your System" -- Odds are, before the weekend's over I'll attempt to light a fart.

CELINE DION, "New Day: Live in Vegas" -- I can't wait for Andy's party; this is going to be the funniest birthday present ever.

Sunday, August 08, 2004


So Friday was the big night, everything went great and all was right with the world. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, scroll down a bit. I actually wrote a really long blog entry about the taping earlier today, and then promptly deleted it by accident. Yes! Anyway, I will now try to recreate the pure genius of that lost blog entry.

The whole experience was surreal from beginning to end--from trying to explain what an "iPod" is to an octogenarian livery driver to sitting around in my dressing room drinking all the bottled water I could handle (jealous much?) to the performance itself to the many hours of drinking and drunken conversation that followed.

I have to say, I'm genuinely happy with the way the actual taping went, and I have no reason I won't be extremely proud of the show when it airs. But as I am a typical self-loathing comedian, it is in my nature to address that less-than-perfect aspects first. So...

The lighting in the (oh so very) beautiful Hudson Theater was such that I could make out the facial detail of just about everyone on the orchestra level. It was like doing comedy in 600 seat living room. That wouldn't have been so disconcerting if my entire guest list hadn't been sitting right in front of the stage. When it comes to an important show, friends and peers tend to be less-than-ideal audience members (especially if they've heard most of your set twenty times before). When you do comedy, you want to see people laughing unreservedly, as opposed to nervously 'rooting' for you. The producers actually offered to seat all of my friends up in the balcony, but I said, "Nah, I don't get phased by that stuff." What a douchebag. That said, the audience was absolutely fantastic and I don't think my performance was adversely affected.

The other semi-weird thing was that I flubbed a couple of lines and had to go back and do them over again. Apparently, this is par for the course in these half-hour tapings. But it was completely foreign experience to me. When you fuck something up during a regular set, you cut your losses and move on--there are no second chances. So it was bizarre to launch into a bit that the studio had heard me do thirty seconds earlier. But in a TV taping, it's all getting it down perfectly for the cameras, so I did what needed to be done, dammit. Thankfully, the audience kind of rallied behind me and the bit got nearly as good a response the second time around, if not better.

But all nitpicking aside, it was definitely the highlight of my comedy life and I imagine I'll never forget it. Afterwards, I went to a midtown bar with about fifty friends and drank beer after shot after beer. It was pure bliss.

So now that the Comedy Central Presents taping is officially in the books, I'll get back to to posting semi-funny shit on a more regular basis. In fact, i'm going to declare it right now: a TOH entry every damn day this week! So let it be typed, so let it be done!

Monday, August 02, 2004


So did you miss me? Did you struggle to fill the 45-60 seconds of your workday usually devoted to reading my horsepoop? I know it was a long, cold week without me, but I had to stop writing for a week, in order to clear out all the suckers. I figure anyone who hasn't abandoned this stupid little website by now must be a true TOH reader. So for those of you who are back, half-expecting to see the same informational entry that has been collecting dust for the past eight days, I thank you.

Just about every waking moment these days is spent contemplating/freakingout about this Comedy Central thing on Friday. I genuinely look forward to being done with it, so I can stop poring over the same comedy pits (thinking they're going to suddenly become more hilarious) and go back to thinking of brand new poo-poo and pee-pee jokes.

But just to prove how totally non-funny I am these days, I'll try this:


The I.O.U. Party

The Soldiers of Islam Party

The Ungroomed Vagina Party

The Half-Assed Indie Rock Hipster "Party"

The Wicked Retahhhded Pahhhty

The Key Party

The Need-fifty-dollars-to-make-you-holla Party

The Party Hearty Party

The Vicious Hitler-Loving Queers Party

The Danzacrats

Okay, that's all I got. Sad, no?

Saturday, July 24, 2004



While one Mr. F. Christian Finnegan gets drunk with Charlie Murphy in North Carolina, I, Kambri Crews, devoted webmaster, girlfriend, over-user of commas and dashes, sit here toiling away in promotion of Mr. Finnegan without the perks of health benefits, a retirement plan or, hell, even a promise that said Mssrs. Finnegan & Murphy will not attempt a friendly re-enactment of their anal rape scene from the "Mad Real World" sketch as seen on the special features section of Chappelle's Show Season 1 DVD as a way of bonding through nostalgia.

Since there are no guarantees in life, promote away I will:

Get your tickets to see Christian tape his 1/2 hour special for Comedy Central Presents.

The Hudson Theater
145 West 44th Street
New York, NY, 10036

Now scheduled for 6:00 PM

Click here for FREE tickets!

Incidentally, for those extra special Christian Finnegan fans looking for new masturbatory fodder*, I've updated the Photos page.

*Pipe down, Grandma, your limited edition nude-y pic is en route.  Happy early Grandparents' Day! 

-- Kambri
Quantities are limited. Act now while supplies last. Not responsible for anything whatsoever.

Friday, July 23, 2004


I'm going to go ahead and apologize for this now. Sorry.

So I've been doing a lot of stage time lately, preparing for this half-hour thingy on August 6th. And to be honest, it hasn't really been a whole lot of fun. I'm 100% in practice mode--spitting out (mostly) the same material every time, trying to iron out the kinks, timing everything out, etc. So a lot of my sets lately have been kind of workmanlike. I'm not worried about it affecting the taping--in fact, I know that when I'm standing there trying to process how surreal the environment is, I'll be glad I spent so much time banging this shit into my subconscious. But in the meantime, it's a bit of a drag. So yesterday afternoon I was trying to figure out how I be a bit more "in the moment" while I rehearse this stuff.

Cut to last night. I had a hour or two to kill between getting off of work and my gig at Stand Up NY, so I went to a restaurant and had a pleasant dinner and tried to plow through 15 pages of a book. Walking over to the club afterwards, I knew something was amiss--it seems my chicken penne with plum tomatoes, basil and fresh mozzarella was feeling rowdy. As I stood out at the bar waiting for my spot, I knew I was in trouble. And I'm not talking "Gee, I need to spend a little quality time in the mens room" trouble. I'm talking "feces may very well explode out of my ass at any moment, and I will be absolutely powerless to stop it" trouble. Standing in the corner of club, waiting to be called to the stage, I was in full-on panic mode. Sweat was pouring down my forehead and I was nervously shifting my weight back and forth. Various scenarios went through my head, all of them rather horrible. Was I to be known among my peers as "that jackass who once shit his pants onstage"? Right before I walked up the stage, the manager leaned in and told me one another comic had to cancel, so I was welcome to add an additional five minutes to my set. Ugh. Sweet Jesus.

Here's the kicker: I had my best set in weeks. Months, maybe. Everything felt fresh again, as if what I was saying had a sense of...well, urgency. I feel like I've stumbled upon an important discovery. Henceforth, I will eat a piece of week-old fish that has been left out in the hot sun prior to every important stand up gig. I'll let you know how it goes.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004


So last week I read Jay Mohr's book, Gasping for Airtime, which is his account of the two years he spent languishing as a "featured player" on Saturday Night Live. Despite the fact that Last Comic Standing has left me thinking that Jay Mohr is something of a douchebag, I found the book pretty interesting. I've always been fascinated with SNL, even in the years before I ever considered going into comedy as a career--there is no book, film, or even album that has had such a massive influence on me. And likewise, nothing has consistently so filled me with rage. But even in those years that the show has royally sucked (and there have been many), I've found myself captivated. A friend of mine compares SNL to an abusive husband who is constantly beating you, but you keep coming back, thinking he's going to change.

Anyway, reading Mohr's book has definitely rekindled my childhood dreams of being an SNL cast member. But that's not really the trajectory my little "career" is taking. I used to be in a sketch comedy group, but for the past five or so years, I've been pretty much solely devoted to stand up. And I think history has proven that stand up comics just don't do so well on SNL. Plus, I'm probably a bit too old. Still, I can dream. It's about having characters, man. So in that spirit, I'm contemplating spending the months following this Comedy Central thingy working on a few bonafide wacky sketch characters. You can add this to the list of things I plan on doing after August 6th, but will probably never really devote myself to fully (along with writing a screenplay, working on a spec script, doing a "What Your Favorite Album Says About You" book, getting in shape, ironing out my various personality quirks with a therapist and cleaning my bathroom.)

So I was doing some thinking yesterday and it occurred to me that I already do have a few probably-crappy characters rattling around in my brain (and in the TOH archives), such as:

* Chet Van Orr, 80's movie asshole-for-hire

* Pryce Martinez, investigative reporter for the Channel Six action squad "You Should Be Ashamed" report

* Pavel Pedrovsky, the "bad boy" of Ukrainian figure skating

* Dr. Cockblock, the evil genius who maliciously stops superheroes from getting laid (and there is also his counterpart, Captain Tries-Too-Hard, the superhero who ruins evil get-togethers with his desperate and annoying personality)

And then I spent a few minutes this morning comoing up with a few more. And no, these aren't completely serious. But they're not completely unserious, either. Anyway, here's what I've come up with this morning:

* Larry Caffee, the guy who inexplicably thinks everyone from Michigan is a homo

* Frrrrrrp, the space alien who desperately wants to establish friendly ties with the people of Earth, but whose language unfortunately sounds exactly like a series of wet farts.

* Sister Ann "Beermeister" Kelly, the nun who acts like a frat boy

* Dr. Todd Berger, indie hipster physician

* Sgt. Ron Roxley, Soldier of Wheel of Fortune

* Andrew, the stroke victim who everyone thinks is drunk

* Hugz, the learning disabled rapper

* El Strongo, Mexican Arm Wrestling Champion (Phantom Limb Division)

Yes, I know: I am a genius. True, some of these need a bit of fleshing out. But then again, looking at SNL over the past few years, maybe not.

Thursday, July 15, 2004


Okay, so I'm a dick. What can I say? Like Tony Blair, I take full responsibility for this travesty. I've been going a little nutsy for the past month or two, and I guess it finally caught up to me in the form of my shameful re-posting of a link. I am a penis.

So what have I been so busy with? I suppose it's about time I should just be out with it. I am going to be taping an episode of Comedy Central Presents on Friday, August 6th. For those of you unfamiliar with this program, it's a stand up comedy showcase where one comic does a full half hour in front of a few hundred people at the very beautiful Hudson Theater here in New York.

In terms of stand-up, this is far and away the biggest thing that's ever happened for me. It goes beyond mere exposure and airtime (although that's pretty damned sweet, too). Doing your own half hour special is a massive rite of passage in the comedy world, and I feel pretty overwhelmed at the opportunity. So as you can imagine, this half-hour thingy has been pretty much dominating my life for the past month or two--I think about it morning, noon and night. I've been doing long sets on the road for the past couple of years, so doing 28 minutes (it eventually gets edited down to 22) is not really so intimidating in and of itself. The question has been, exactly which 28 minutes will I be doing. The kind of set I would do for a crowd of thirtysomething couples in Doylestown, PA who don't know me from Adam is somewhat different than the set I would do for a bunch of media-saturated "hipsters" on the Lower East Side. Each type of set has its positives and negatives and each represents at least part of what I think I'm "about", as a comic. But marrying the two sensibilities has been a challenging (and ongoing!) process. So one of the reasons I haven't been writing a whole lot lately is that I'm not really in that mode these days--I'm editing, rearranging, pruning. And performing--a lot. Any new shit I do come up with these days is being funnelled into Tough Crowd, where I am employed dring the day, and Best Week Ever, where I come up with new and exciting ways to call Britney Spears a whore.

So that's the long and short of it. Like I said, the taping takes place on Friday, August 6th at around 8:30-ish. There will be two half hour shows taped at once, mine and that of the very funny Godfrey, who you might recognize as the current spokesdude for 7-Up. If you live in or around NYC and think you might like to see the taping, that is definitely do-able. The tickets are free and relatively plentiful, but they do require putting yourself on some sort of list. As we get closer to the actual date of the show, I will post exactly what one needs to do to reserve a seat.

Thanks for your ongoing support and readership. After August 6th, I will never again be so scatterbrained as to post the same link twice. Well, maybe I shouldn't make any promises...

I'll write something a little later in the day, but in the meantime, you really need to check this shit out. I think My favorite is the Orson Welles thing, althought they're all pretty great.

Like I said, i'll write something later. Seriously.

Monday, July 12, 2004


Hey there, you! Welcome to Monday! This is your week--I can feel it! This is the week you finally stand up to your boss! This is the week you patch things up with Mom! This is the week you'll get the attention from that boy or girl you've been furtively masturbating to for the past four months! This is the week you figure out how to siphon electricity for your squat! This is the week you learn conversational Portugese! This is the week you get the Big Country cover band back together! This is the week you punch a homeless guy in the face! This is the week you stop talking shit about Santa Claus! This is the week you drive for three hours, pull off the highway onto a deserted road, pull up behind an abandoned grain silo and dump the "package"! This is the week you get to work on that ransom note you've been kicking around! This is the week those balls finally drop! This is the week that celebrity you hate overdoses on drugs and dies alone in a motel room! This is the week your My Little Pony collection sells on eBay! This is the week the sky turns back, the rivers run red with blood and the Dark Lord Satan calls in your marker! THIS IS YOUR WEEK!

Now get out there and win!

Friday, July 09, 2004


A few random thoughts/tidbits:

* Wednesday night, I stayed out drinking until 6am Thursday morning. This will never, ever, ever happen again. I am old. I am frail. I spent the entirety of Thursday sweating and shitting (sometimes simultaneously). This visual brought to you by the good people at Makers Mark.

* A couple of days ago, I nearly got into a fistfight on my subway platform. Some seemingly insane dude got right up in my face, to the point where his nose was pressed up against mine. Then, as he backed away, he took an open-handed swing at my face. At first, I had no idea how to react--it was completely out of the blue, and it took my a moment to know he wasn't joking around. When I finally came to my senses, my only thought was, "YES! I'm finally going to get into the fistfight I've been fantasizing about for the pas fifteen years! I, Christian Finnegan, shall punch! And be punched!" I'm not kidding about this--I am desperate to fight someone, anyone. So why didn't I actually "mix it up" with this dude? Because I was on my way to get my new headshots taken. That may be the lamest reason ever to not fight someone. Somewhere, the ghost of Ernest Hemingway was caling me a queer.

* I've heard of capital trials where a murderer is found not guilty by reason of insanity, after it's revealed that he has Multiple Personality Disorder. Well, what if you have multiple personalities, but it just so happens that each and every one of those personalities is a murderer? Can you still use that defense? Because even thought you're insane, you're still 100% murderer. Just a thought.

* I'm doing a great show on Wednesday called "Stand Up Smackdown" (you can find info about it on my calendar, or here), where comics go head-to-head in a vicious battle of wit and/or buffoonery. I will be taking on Chuck Nice, my fellow "Best Week Ever" panelist. At some point tomorrow, I have to email the producers and tell them what I want my entrance music to be--the whole thing has a pseudo WWF feel, obviously). Anyway, I've spent the last three days trying to decide on what the perfect I'm-about-to-fuck-you-up theme music would be. So far, I'm leaning towards "Hate to Feel" by Alice in Chains or "My Tortured Soul" by Probot. Any suggestions?

Thursday, July 08, 2004


Things will return to normal here tomorrow morning. I promise it. This is not the demise of TOH, just a necessary hiatus. Thank you for your patience.

In the meantime, check out this action. Pure genius. They're all great, but I must have watched the Orson Welles thing 25 times.

Tomorrow morning, dinks!

Thursday, July 01, 2004


Harry Potter and the Unfilled Ice Trays

Harry Potter and the Conspicuous Cold Sore

Harry Potter and the Sucka M.C.

Harry Potter and the Flaming Bag of Dog Poo

Harry Potter and the Crazy Wizard Guy Who Does Lots of Weird Shit

Harry Potter and the Extremely Disturbing Homoerotic Torture Fan Fiction
(NOTE: I was going to include a link here to an insanely violent and, yes, homoerotic piece of Harry Potter fan fiction I stumbled across on the web last night, but my computer here at work will not let me go to the page. Oh, and never you mind how I happened to 'stumble across' said piece of fan fiction. I was googling medieval torture devices, I swear! I suspect that I am now on some sort of FBI watchlist. Hooray!)

Harry Potter and the Order of Shrimp Lo Mein

Harry Potter and the Feisty Dick Puncher

Harry Potter and Awkward Morning-After Brunch with Dobby

Harry Potter and the Relatively Uneventful Semester

Harry Potter and the Heroic Aryan Brotherhood

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Dead Prostitutes and Drifters

Harry Potter and the Low Fixed Rate Mortgage

Harry Potter and That Lazy, No-Good Son of Yours

And, so you can join in the fun:

Harry Potter and the _______________

Monday, June 28, 2004


The Jostler

The Banana Hammock

Mr. Toad's Coke-Fueled Anonymous Gay Sex Rampage

The Haunted Tapas Bar

Pirates of the Catskills

Quality Time With an Elderly Relative: The Ride!

The Donkey Punch

Sophie's Choice Express

The Friendly Felcher

Dead Spouse Mountain

Hepatitis Falls

The Pepsi Grudgefuck

It's a Small, Yet Inexhaustably Cruel World

The Raging Douchebag

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Today is my beautiful girlfriend's birthday. In honor of this momentous occasion, I thought I would mention...


* Her laughter often gets takes on a strange cornpone inflection, something along the lines of "GA-HILK!" She often sounds like a redneck Pee Wee Herman. I find it utterly infectious.

* Kambri hates children. No, seriously--she fucking loathes them. Oh sure, she may find herself smiling at a specific child every now and then, but that sort of bland, "I believe the children are our future" horseshit? She's having none of it. She and I are very much in accord on this one. Strangely, there is a part of me that believes that would make us good parents, in the same way that you'd rather date someone who wasn't really "looking" than someone who was willing to jump at the first person who came along. We certainly wouldn't fall prey to that "my child is so fucking magical" crap that leads otherwise perfectly sensible adults to drag their little fucking brats to restaurants, movie theaters and...well, anywhere.

* She's way too hot for me, but is kind enough not to rub my face in it. I ued to get enraged whenever I saw a beautiful woman with a schlub. I am now that very schlub. Sweet!

* Her self-proclaimed theme song is "She's Got Balls" by AC/DC. Go Limewire that shit--you'll soon see that a woman would be hardpressed to pick a cooler theme song. I am 100% in favor of "personal theme songs", by the way. I just spent 20 minutes trying to figure out what mine would be, to no avail. Maybe Superdrag's "Lighting the Way". Or "Moonage Daydream" by David Bowie. Or perhaps Queensryche's "Screaming in Digital". (Okay, that last one was a joke. It is a cool song, though.)

* Kambri puts on her high heels before she puts her pants on. Always. It's extremely impractical and not just a little bit hot.

Obviously, there's lots more. But that stuff is "none of your bees wax", as all the kids are saying these days. Bottom line is, I fucking love my girlfriend. There. What, my unfettered sincerity a bit too much for you, Mr./Ms. Ironic-Distance? Well, suck it!

(By the way, if you'd like to drop Kambri a happy birthday note, you can do so here. You know, just saying.)

Saturday, June 19, 2004


Last night I did this show called "Sara Schaeffer is Obsessed with You", which is sort of like a live late night talk show kind of thingy. I was billed as a "celebrity guest". whihc of course is a stretch that even a Pilates instructor would be impressed by. You know, someone should really come up with a way to imply irony more forcefully than with everyday quotation marks--like uber quotation marks. Maybe it's just a matter of doubling up. So anyway, I was billed as a ""celebrity guest"". I sat down with the host and had a proper interview. And what did I learn about myself? I learned that I'm capable of being incredibly boring. I was so conscious of not coming off like a pretentious jack-ass, I just stammered awkwardly for the first ten minutes, determined to let people know that i was fully aware of how ridiculous I thought the situation was. But who the fuck wants to watch that? Eventually, I realized that the only way to make a "spontaneous" (just normal quotation marks there) onstage conversation interesting is if you are a teensy bit pretentious. So I spent the rest of my time onstage quoting Baudelaire and doing interpretive dance. Suffice to say, I was brilliant.

I know this isn't even remotely interesting. But I figured I should probably post something, right? It's not my fault that my life hasn't been very interesting lately. I spend all of my free time uploading music from my CD collection onto my comnputer, and then over to my relatively brand new iPod. I'm not kidding--that's pretty much all I've done for the last two weeks. I'm going through my CDs alphabetically, picking which songs I want to bother transferring--I don't want to waste any of those 20GB, after all. So far I've loaded up 844 songs and I'm mid-way through the letter "D". Surprisingly, I've already come across around 20 CDs from which I didn't want to take even one song. Why do I keep them? To impress people with my huge, throbbing CD collection (which I should mention is held in a tall, vaguely phallic wooden tower)? Perhaps. But it's more that I simply can't bear the idea of getting rid of music, no matter how little it actually gets listened to. So there they sit, the unlistend CDs by bands whose names were barely recognizable when I bought them, even less so now. Alice Donut? Check. Cliffs of Doneen? Yep. Dog Society?! What the fuck was I thinking? But it's not just albums I don't like--I can't even get rid of albums I don't even own anymore. Three years ago, I left a CD carrying case on an airplane, holding 25 of my favorite albums. It was very tragic. And yet, I still have all the cases sitting up on a shelf, like corpses, to remined me of what i once had. Here lies "Pet Sounds". And "Purple Rain". And the first Weezer album. Sniff sniff. I don't know what my deal is--do I secretly hope these CDs will one day find their way home, like lost puppies?

I dare to dream.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004


I'm in the midst of a crazy busy week, kiddos. I'm truly sorry for the lack of posts. After the past few months of semi-neglect, TOH is due for a renaissance. Sadly, it shan't be today. But it shall come--this I pledge!

But while we're waiting for that to happen, check out this creepy shit.

And speaking of creepy shit, remember how I said I'd post a photo of my freakish facial sunburn? Well, we never ended up taking one when it was at the height of it's freakishness, but this one will give you an idea of what later turned into a painful, blistery mess. If you look you can see a distinct triangle under my left eye and a "T" under my right. You can also see a nice ruddy tint around my hairline--also a very attractive look.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The White Seal:

I was contemplating posting a picture of my hot girlfriend lounging by the pool in a bikini, but I decided not to call into such sharp relief just how out of my fucking league she is.

Friday, June 11, 2004


What can I say, folks? Ever since getting back from Anguilla on Wednesday night, I've been running around attending to all of the crap I let pile up while I let my flesh burn in the beautiful Carribean sun. So what does that mean for you fine folks? No damned TOH entries.

Sadly, it looks like I still can't write something worthwhile. I was just about to start composing what was sure to be the most smashingly brilliant comedic treatise ever written when I was informed by one of the Production Assistants here in my office that I am, in fact, the last person here. That, of course, is code for: "Can you please get the fuck out of here so I can go home?"

So it looks like you'll have to go yet another evening without knowing my stupid opinions on the British Virgin Islands, Ronald Reagan's deadness, The Chronicles of Riddick, testicles, boogers or whatever I was going to come up with for this entry. I should mention that if you want to read about a few of the more interesting moments of my recent vacation, you can check out my lovely girlfriend's site--she's a far better traveloguist than me, anyway.

Oh, and I should mention that I had a little piece on Comedy Central's Shorties Watching Shorties this past week. You can check it out here, yo.

Monday, June 07, 2004


Why, oh why do I always think I can defeat the sun?

Immediately after posting my Saturday entry, Kambri and I went out and spent three hours relaxing on the beautiful Anguillan beach. A gave myself what I thought to be a very liberal slathering of SPF30, but never bothered to reapply after swimming. "I'm going to get a little color," I told myself. "I want people to know I've been somewhere!" Well, mission accomplished. Unfortunately, anyone taking a look at me would have to assume that the place I've been is the fiery rings of Hell. My stomach and chest look positively lobsteresque, and the rest of my body is covered with large splotches of sunburn, due to my haphazard Coppertone application method. Best of all is my face. I seem to have missed the patches of skin on either side of my nose, so I know have two very discernible red shapes under my eyes--a triangle under my left and a "T" under my right. I've spent the last two days trying to decide what I look like, and I've come down to three possibilities: a) a raccoon, b) A Mauri tribesman, or c) a supergenius determined to kill Batman. I will make sure to take a picture of my hideous face and post it for your pleasure and ridicule when I get back to NYC.

Ta ta for now.

Saturday, June 05, 2004


As I write this, I would like you all to imagine the languid breeze pushing through the palm fronds and delicate plinking of steel drums in the background.

And why, do you ask? Because I'm in the Carribean, muthafucka!

Yes, I am currently on the beautiful island of Anguilla, in the Biritsh Virgin Islands for a wedding (today) and mini-vacation (until Wednesday night). Kambri and I have been planning this trip for about eight months now, despite my never having mentioned it to you, the loyal (and otherwise) TOH readership. What can I say? I was worried that if you knew I'd be chilling on the beach with a rum punch in my hand, you'd have been forced to take a hard look at the bleak walking death that is your life. I wanted to spare you that humiliation.

Anyway, I'm not suyre what kind of posts you can be expecting from me over the next few days--I do have access to a computer, but I imagine that the longer I'm here in semi-praradise, the less funny I will become. For instance, I think I'm being completely hilarious right now! Damn you, Leisure!!

Talk to you soon, suckas.

Wednesday, June 02, 2004


I have something in The Onion's "Say Something Funny" column today. And it's actually something that was culled from the TOH archives. You can see it HERE.

And if you're curious, that's the lovely Kambri's pet chihuahua, Paquita Borgita Borgato Chorizo Jimenez.

Tuesday, June 01, 2004


Dearest friends,

You are very lucky boys and girls--those of you in NYC area, that is. For tonight at 8pm, you will all be nestled into the cozy confines of the Marquee, eagerly awaiting the start of this month's installment of SOB STORIES. And what makes me so sure you'll be there? Maybe it's this month's sure-to-thrill theme: Our Painful Adolescence. Or maybe it's because we'll be sporting a lineup that kicks so much ass, you won't be able to sit comfortably for a week! Because your ass will be bruised! From all the kicking!

Tonight (assuming you're reading this Tuesday morning), please welcome:

COLIN QUINN, host of "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn" (convenient, eh?) and former SNL Weekend Update anchor

ED HELMS, fulltime correspondent for "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart"

TOM SHILLUE, as seen on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" and Comedy Central's "Premium Blend"

And, in an exciting return engagement...MORE!

I, Christian Finnegan, will be your host. Come join my guests and I, as we dredge up years of teenage humiliation for your personal enjoyment! Here are the wheres and whens:

SOB STORIES, hosted by Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, June 1st
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
Doors open at 7:30, show starts at 8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!
This month's theme: Our Painful Adolescence

NOTE: Comedy is a fickle mistress -- lineup subject to change

SOB STORIES is produced by PSNBC, network televisions only performance and development lab, in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions. For more information, visit

See you there, you lucky fools.

Christian Finnegan,
comedy peddler

Sunday, May 30, 2004


"Viet Congo" by Sgt. James P. Harris and the Valley Forge Sound Machine

"Your Dick or Mine?" by The Hounds of Heck

"Fight Ya Moms" by RiTardo with K-Bee and Supapoop (featuring Mastah Elektrishin)

"Barf Party" by Tina and the Bulemics

"Let's Have an Awkward Makeout Session and then Never Speak of it Again" by Treyshawn Mack

"Chew It" by Gary

"Funkfullly Yours" by The White Power Horns

"Your Love Gave Me Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma" by The Wonder Factory

"Eternal Jism Sacrifice" by Blood Knob

"Happy Birthday" (Trad.)

Wednesday, May 26, 2004


I went to a birthday party a couple of nights ago and I still haven't fully recovered. Of course, a "birthday party" ain't what it used to be, eh? When you're a kid, birthday parties are the shit. There was drama and pageantry, props--crepe paper, special hats, and novelty paper plates. And even better, there was usually some epic event to look forward to. Maybe it was just bowling or maybe you went to the roller rink to awkwardly skate around to Def Leppard's "Photograph" and stare at that one girl who'd gone ahead and sprouted breasts. And, assuming the kid's parents weren't dicks, there'd be a sleepover involved. But all of that changes once you're an adult. Nowadays, a "birthday party" is just an excuse to hang around a bar all night with your equally dour friends. It's code for "Let's get together and drink until out piss smells likie bourbon!" There are no sleepovers, unless you count crashing on some dude's couch because you're too wasted to drive. And those big birthday "events"? A thing of the past. Even if you tried to plan some sort of grand expedition, who in the world would be up for it? "You want to go where? Roller Skating? With my knee?! Not a freakin' chance, dude. I'll just meet up with you guys afterward, at the bar."

I also don't like it when people throw birthday parties for themselves. I don't know, it just seems kind of presumptuous. "Hey, it's my birthday tomorrow night! Make sure you clear off your schedule so you can bask in my presence on this very special day! Aren't you so very happy that I exist? Oh, and just because I said 'no presents' doesn't mean I won't make a mental note of whether you offered to buy me a drink!" My feeling is, having a birthday party should be like running for president--somebody's got to nominate you. I'll be the judge of whether your birth is worth celebrating, jack-ass.

Monday, May 24, 2004


I promise to write something a bit later today. But in the meantime, check this shit out. Seriously, spend a little time perusing this site--it's worth it. You'll also get a bit of an idea why it's sometimes difficult to admit to being a stand up comedian.

Thursday, May 20, 2004


* Earlier today, this office dude made some really lame joke when we both tried to push the elevator button at the same time. He then proceeded to bust out laughing at his own hilariousness. When I simply stood there with a polite smile on my face, he got kind of annoyed and asked, "WHAT, YOU GOT NO SENSE OF HUMOR?". This is truly a pet peeve of mine--the idea that having a "sense of humor" means giggling like a mongoloid every time some dipshit tries to make a yukyuk . I have no sense of humor because I don't find you funny? Dude, it's precisely my sense of humor that stopped me from laughing at your weak-ass joke. There was no humor to be sensed, you prick.

* I recently saw an obese man wearing a very expensive looking double-breasted suit. Being that they went out of style over fifteen years ago, I found this noteworthy. But I can see what the appeal of a double-breasted suit would be for a fat guy. That's his way of decalaring to the world, "Fat? Me? Impossible! Look at all of the extra fabric I have on my sportcoat! If I was fat, how would I be able to button my jacket all the way!"

* In perhaps the least manly day of my life, I spent nearly $450 at "Bed Bath & Beyond" last week and could easily have spent $1000 more. The high/low point? When I found myself very clearly having the following thought: "Hmmm, maybe I should consider buying a bedskirt!" I think it's time for me to admit that I've reached the point in my life where I want...stuff. Yes, I'm now a fucking consumer and I don't feel particularly bad about it. I spent the entirety of my Twenties sleeping on a broken futon, storing my clothes in stacked milk crates and pretending that living like a college Freshman somehow made me deep. Well, F that. I'm ready to own all that "adult" shit I used to deem frivolous and self-indulgent. Bath mat? Check. Dish rack? Yep, got one. Fabric shower curtain with separate liner? Damn straight, muthafucka. In fact, if you want to know what a shallow consumer I've become, I've got two words for you: isotonic pillow. Now I've got two more words for you: jealous much?

* How did dudes rate hot chicks before the "1 to 10" scale was invented?

(Note: I just spent five minutes trying to write a funny conversation between two cavemen comparing hot cavebabes to fire and rocks. It was breathtakingly unfunny. Time for bed.)