Wednesday, March 31, 2004


Dear friends of TOH, tomorrow is my birthday. I know you've all been putting hours of thought and effort into my gift(s), but I do get a vague sense that there may be a few of you who've been slacking a bit. And to those who have chosen to let tomorrow's momentous festivities pass without showing proper fealty, I have but one word: Shame! My birthday is not going to celebrate itself, people. I want things! And when the day of reckoning comes, I shan't forget who among you failed to shower me with the material adulation I so richly deserve!

But fear not, prodigal sons and daughters. You still have today to head out to your favorite upscale shopping emporium and plunk down a few hundred bucks on some sort of functional offering. To that end, I have compiled this short birthday wishlist. Go ahead and pick me up any of the following:

* Velvet painting of me holding a tiger cub

* Solar-powered colonic machine

* Autographed photo First Lady Laura Bush having sex with Skeletor (photo can be real or doctored)

* Smoking, beret-wearing, nihilism-spouting Gila monster

* Sandpaper dancebelt

* XXL Gummi worm (11' or longer ONLY!)

* America's favorite new boardgame, "Roll the Motherfucking Dice, You Goddamn Cocksucker!"

* Cocaine-filled pinata

* Single passenger plane with "SAY HELLO TO THE MAYOR OF BONER CITY" banner attached to the back

* Home murder-suicide kit

There you have it, folks--let's get shopping. As far as giftwrap is concerned, I'm partial to the kind that has racecars on it. Thanks in advance.

Monday, March 29, 2004


"Fields of Blood, Sea of Forever" by Necrosophmore

"Turn on the Gas" by Head in the Oven

"We Are Under the Mistaken Impression that People are Frightened of Us" by Deathful Embracement

"Picked Last for Nocturnal Gym" by Pasty and Pouty

"Boo Fucking Hoo, blubber blubber blubber" by Children of the Darned

"I'd Say Something Chilling, but I'm Too Busy Sucking in My Cheeks" by Heart Taster

"Unfathomable Soul Decay" by As Soon as We're Old Enough to Have Real Bags Under Our Eyes, This Goth Thing Will Probably Lose its Appeal

"Electric Youth" by Debbie Gibson

Wednesday, March 24, 2004


Over the past three days, I've spent probably 4-6 hours staring at the screen, trying to think of something even remotely funny to post on this site, to no avail. I feel as if I have to take a huge dump, but when I sit down on the shitter, nothing happens. Glorious metaphors like that one are a product of my current humor drought.

I could post another one of my idiotic lists, but to what end? It's all so damned bleak.

Fuck this. I'm not going to give in to Writer's Block. I refuse! I will now look around my desk for exactly one minute, after which I will type something resembling a joke. Ready...go:

I tend to chew the shit out of my pens. I'm not sure why, but there's not one writing impliment on my desk that doesn't look like dipped into a garbage disposal. There's nothing that makes you feel less classy than when someone asks to borrow a pencil and then recoils in abject horror when you try to hand him a grizzled, saliva-coated nub. I think my pen-gnawing habit would make me a rather lousy secret agent. While trying to plan my route into the super-secret island fortress, I'd put the end of my high-tech spy pen in my mouth and immediately blow up my face. Scotland Yard frowns on that.

Whew! Genius? Nope. But at least it's something. I have to go run an errand now, but when I get back I'll do this little masturbatory exercise a few more times.

Saturday, March 20, 2004

Increasingly Thin Premise productions presents:


PATRIOT GAMES by Tom Clancy -- Technically speaking, I'm retired. But I'm more than ready to defend my country against foreigners and/or rap music.

THE BELL JAR by Sylvia Plath -- Did everyone just hear me sigh miserably? No? Okay, I'll do it again.

THE CORRECTIONS by Jonathan Franzen -- I like to go to parties and people-watch. And by "people-watch", I mean "stand in the corner and pass judgment on anyone I'm too nervous to chat with".

MEN ARE FROM MARS, WOMEN ARE FROM VENUS by Dr. John Gray -- Will someone please explain why my husband is no longer interested in sleeping with me?

LIES AND THE LYING LIARS WHO TELL THEM by Al Franken -- When imitating those who think differently than I do, it's fun to employ an exaggerated "redneck" accent.

LET FREEDOM RING: WINNING THE WAR OF LIBERTY OVER LIBERALISM by Sean Hannity -- When imitating those who think differently than I do, it's fun to employ an exaggerated "gay" lisp.

CATCHER IN THE RYE by J.D. Salinger -- My intellectual growth stalled in the tenth grade.

THE HOLY BIBLE -- I am capable of instilling even the most benign gesture with an infuriating air of smugness.

THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY by Robert James Waller -- Will someone please explain why I'm no longer interested in sleeping with my husband?

THE FOUNTAINHEAD by Ayn Rand -- My dormant sex life is a direct result of my first-date habit of lecturing women on the perils of Altruism.

THE ANARCHIST'S COOKBOOK by William Powell -- There's a difference between being a revolutionary and being a loser. If anyone could fill me in on exactly what that difference is, I'd be forever grateful.

THE VAMPIRE LESTAT by Anne Rice -- My high school classmates and I have one thing in common: we all spend a lot of time thinking about my death.

PERSONAL POWER by Tony Robbins -- Life is a cornucopia of Opportunity! I'm going to take the world by storm! The rest of my life begins right now! Or, to be more specific, right after this one last bong hit.

THE WATCHMEN by Alan Moore -- From deep within my parents' basement, I silently observe the folly of Humankind.

WHATEVER YOU SAY I AM: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF EMINEM by Anthony Bozza -- I wear a nametag and visor.

Friday, March 19, 2004


I'm going to post something in a little while, as soon as I can finish it. But in the meantime, this little movie thingy is pretty funny.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004


Tonight is the debut of "Sob Stories", presented by PSNBC (in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions).

Please come out and enjoy...ME! And, I suppose I should also mention:

GREG PROOPS from "Who's Line is it Anyway?"
FRED ARMISEN from "Saturday Night Live"!
LAURIE KILMARTIN from "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn
ROB PARAVONIAN from Comedy Central's "Premium Blend"
AND MORE! (Who among us isn't a big fan of 'more'?)

SOB STORIES, with host Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St.)

For more info, visit Ballyhoo Promotions.

Monday, March 15, 2004


"The Rageful Despondent Sorrow Within" by Stonefinger

"Food Court Frontin'" by Da Retards

"The Sorrowful Ragelike Despondency Within" by Wifesmack

"Funkin' wit da Cancahhh Payshints" by Hugz Not Drugz

"Eternal Majesty" by Rap Plus Rock Minus Taste Equals Us

"Whoz Titz R Theeez?" by Lord Reginald and Masta Jizz

"The Despondently Sorrowing Rageness Within" by Soulhate

"Depressed and Muscle-y" by Fifteen Years Ago We Would Have Been a Hair Band

"Supermodel to the World" by RuPaul

Saturday, March 13, 2004


"Journey to Planet Cheetos" by Dipstar

"Live from Ernie's Tofu BBQ" by Metaphysical Terrepin Brigade

"Get Out and Hug Something!" by Mary Jane's Red Hairs

"We Have a Very Well Thought Out Political Agenda" by Global Love Solution

"Something in Here Smells Horrible" by Ironical Jones

"Going Absolutely Nowhere" by No Seriously

"74 Minutes of Aimless Noodling from Guys Who Practice a Lot but Have No Real Melodic Gifts" by Fudgepuppet

"The Hits--Chapter One" by Backstreet Boys

Thursday, March 11, 2004


Okay, it's been a while since I did any serious show-plugging, so here goes:

This coming Tuesday (March 16th), I am going to be hosting the first in what will become a monthly series of shows, called "Sob Stories". What is it, yo? Don't worry, I'll tell you. "Sob Stories" will feature some of New York's brightest comedy minds presenting epic tales of trauma and personal triumph. Each month, comedians, writers and...well, comedy writers will ruminate on a particular subject. This Tuesday's inaugural theme: CRAPPY ROOMMATES.

Perhaps the most exciting thing about "Sob Stories" is that it's presented by PSNBC, network television's only performance space and development lab. That makes for a bonafide professional-like show and, most importantly, great guests. Case in point, Tuesday's lineup features Greg Proops, who you probably know from "Who's Line is it Anyway", "Comedy Central Presents" and countless other things. The lineup isn;t completely firmed up yet, but it will definitely include the inesteemable Laurie Kilmartin and the magnificent rock stylings of Rob Paravonian.

I should also note that publicity for "Sob Stories" is going to be handled by Ballyhoo Promotions. This shit is going to be top-notch all the way! Here's the pertinent info:

SOB STORIES, with host Christian Finnegan
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St.)

So get your asses into the seats this coming Tuesday. You WILL be reminded.

Tuesday, March 09, 2004


So what else have I been so busy with?

* I hosted a reality show pilot this past Saturday. Yes, that's correct: I'm now directly contributing to the downfall of American society. I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to say about it, contractually, but...well, it was a very odd experience--less comedy and more riot control. I only found out about it a few days before it was shot, so as you can imagine, it was sort of a whirlwind kind of situation. I have no idea what will happen with it from here, but there is the outside possibility (very outside, probably) that you will one day be flipping through your basic cable channels and think to yourself, "I can't believe what an asshole this guy is." My fingers are crossed!

* Lastly, I've spent every ouce of free time over the past week readying my apartment to show to potential renters on Sunday. I haven't talked about it at all in this forum, but I'm once again in the process of looking for a roommate. There are a couple of promising prospects, but I haven't settled on anyone quite yet. My main criteria? In order to live with me, you have to be a better person than I am--cleaner, more organized, more responsible. Luckily, this is not terribly difficult. But I've gotten a lot better over the past couple of years. At least I've finally gotten to the point where I no longer find slobbishness poetic. Letting empty pizza boxes collect in the kitchen doesn't make you appear deep, and letting some sticky mystery substance accumulate on your desk, coffee table and mousepad won't make your screenplay brilliant.

As evidence of my hard-earned appreciation for general domestic order, I asked my dad for a vacuum cleaner for Christmas. My dad decided to do me one better and bought me a Roomba. It's great--now, instead of spending a tedious 45 seconds dragging a vacuum across the carpet, I get to spend a delightful 45 minutes following around a glorified Furby as it consistently gets wedged under the couch and fails to find it's way over to the left half of the room. Make no mistake--watching the Roomba slowly work its way around a table leg is absolutely mesmerizing and I'm definitely looking forward to getting high the next time I need to do some vacuuming. But is it the nature of a new home appliance to more than quadruple your work time? At one point, the Roomba passed over a tiny scrap of paper and I found myself picking up the scrap and, instead of just throwing it in the garbage, placing it the path of my robotic breakthrough, in hopes that it would pick the goddamn thing up. I did this four times.

Okay, enough.

Monday, March 08, 2004


Thus, the long four day span in between blog entries ended.

Hi there, folks. Sorry I've been so shitty with the whole TOH thing lately. I have just completed one of the busier weeks in my life. That said, there were a few times over the past few days when I sat down to write a blog entry, stared at the screen for about twenty minutes, felt an intense sizzling sensation behind my eyes, and decided to blow it off. It's all I can do right now to not shut off the computer and spend the day (no work today, thankfully) watching old episodes of "The Wire" on HBO InDemand.

So what have I been so busy doing this past week?

* First off, there's work. I'm starting to adjust to the whole get-up-in-the-morning-and-go-to-work-like-a-normal-adult schedule, but it's still a trial. I find that most places of business, even television production offices, don't approve of my daily post-lunch purge/masturbate/nap/Snood ritual.

* Secondly, I joined a gym. My workout history is spotty to say the least, but it's high time I made another attempt at ridding myself of bulk. I figure, either I'll get stick with it this time and finally work myself into shape, or I'll simply be paying an $85-a-month Fat Tax.

Why will this attempt at health modification be more successful than past ventures? Maybe because I actually shelled out for a reputable gym (New York Sports Club) this time, as opposed to the Fitness Equipment Bargain Bins of years past. The last gym I belonged to was a tiny place around the corner from my apartment in Astoria, Queens. They had two treadmills, one of which had a dust-laden "Out of Service" sign hanging from it. There was also a knock-off Stairmaster, called a "Step Champion", I believe. I'm reasonably certain that this particular "gym" is a front for the Russian mob. The place was always empty. There were never more than two other people working out at the same time, except for a couple of evenings a week, when it would be full of little Russian children being taken through 1950's style fitness moves by a swarthy man in a polo shirt and sweat-slacks. There were, however, a number of times when I'd be jumping rope or fucking around with the medicine ball (yes, they had one), and some random dude in a suit would walk in and take the elevator upstairs. Sketchy, I tell you.

Okay, I have a lot more to write, but I'm going to go ahead and post what I have, just so that there will be something up on my goddamn website.

Thursday, March 04, 2004


I'm all for gay marriage. In fact, I'm looking forward to the day when straight people stop getting married altogether, because they think it's "too gay". Someday soon, a guy will be saying to his friends, "Hey, did you hear Rob and Karen got engaged? For real. Yeah, I always sort of wondered about that guy. Seriously, have you ever seen the what he holds his wine glass? First that Pet Shop Boys box set, now this!"

The whole marriage thing is pretty damn fey, when you think about it. Diamond rings, bouquets, expensive gowns--just how different is a large scale wedding from a party at Liberace's* house?

I think lesbians will be the model for what a good marriage should be. Gay men? I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of gay men who are on longterm committed relationships. The majority, even. But I think it's only a matter of time before an "anonymous marriage" subculture develops in the gay community, with guys wantonly tying the knot three or four times a night, often under the influence of mood altering drugs. Soon, thrill-seeking gay men will be getting married at highway rest areas, and in public rest rooms through a hole in the wall. That's right, folks: glory chapels.

Never let it be said that I can't give an informed analysis of the important political issues of the day.

* I know referencing Liberace is a bit "played out", but I had no luck coming up with a modern-day equivalent. The closest I could come up with are Sigfried and Roy. But these days, you can't invoke Sigfried and Roy as a punchline, without the accompanying tiger mauling imagery (Damn you, Roy!). So I had to accept that when it comes to ornately costumed, hyper-flaming gay celebrities go, Liberace is still the gold standard.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004


I know I haven't posted in a couple of days. Life has been kicking my ass of late. I truly hope to post something semi-funny by lunchtime. But in the meantime, check this shit out. Once again, god bless the internet.

Oh, and I should mention that the above link was provided to me by my girlfriend, the most gracious, magnanimous, e-generous woman ever to put mouse to mousepad. God bless you, Kambri Crews.

(Um, will that do, sweetheart?)