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.)

Monday, May 17, 2004


The New Paltz Sonneteers

The Youngstown Reflux

The Ft. Lauderdale Aging Prom Queens

The Terre Haute Doors Cover Bands

The Tucson Donkey Punch

The "Austin" Sarcastics

The Portland Pro-Hemp Activists

The Houston Silent-but-deadly

The Detroit Deadbeat Dads

The Iowa Crusty Gym Sock

The Pawtucket Retahds

The Butte Fuckers

Sunday, May 16, 2004


So Gwynnie and Mr. Coldplay have decided to name their child Apple. I'm sure they were dismayed that Blanket was already taken. There is something infuriating about parents who express their creativity by sadlling their kids with ridiculous names. Oh, you named your son Bookbag? Wow, you must be reeaaaally fucking deep. Almost as deep as me--have you met my little darlings, Clippership, Myopia and Fruit Roll-Up? Meanwhile, those poor kids better develop a taste for toilet water, as those precious novelty names of theirs equal years of swirlies and Indian Burns.

My future son and daughter's names? Masterly Thundercock Finnegan and Snatchy Ballstomper Finnegan.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004

Yes, dear friends--it is time. Presenting:


INFINITE JEST by David Foster Wallace -- Why on earth would I want to learn a "trade" when I can spend the next four years of my life proctoring exams and handing out syllabi?

A PEOPLE'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES by Howard Zinn -- Sometimes I watch Fox News, just so I can feel something.

SOUTH OF NO NORTH by Charles Bukowski -- I've cultivated an air of gritty "realism" that resembles nothing people actually experience in their lives.

SUPERFUDGE by Judy Blume -- Though I'd never say it out loud, I've found parenting to be a bit of a letdown.

A HEARTBREAKING WORK OF STAGGERING GENIUS by Dave Eggers -- No one must ever know my true feelings about literary readings--my standing in the community could be compromised!

AGAINST ALL ENEMIES by Richard Clarke -- I'm gearing up for the big Thanksgiving political showdown with Dad.

FATHERLAND by Robert Harris -- So what if I collect Nazi memorabilia? For the last time, I'm a history buff!

MISERY by Steven King -- Oh, you're a comedian? Wow! I hope you don't use me in one of your skits!

SIDDHARTHA by Herman Hesse -- Whenever I go out for the evening, I make sure to leave a selection of sex-friendly alt rock in my CD changer...just in case.

EMMA by Jane Austen -- Why does every guy I go home with already have Portishead cued up?

RUBYFRUIT JUNGLE by Rita Mae Brown -- No, you can leave it long in the back--just trim the top and sides, please.

SLAUGHTERHOUSE 5 by Kurt Vonnegut -- I am an extremely intelligent and insightful 12th grader.

HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN by J.K. Rowling -- I am and extremely intelligent and insightful 7th grader.

THE ART OF THE DEAL by Donald Trump -- I am neither intelligent nor insightful, but I am capable of embracing a life of empty values and soul-crushing corporate drudgery, both of which should come in handy as I settle into three-plus decades of middle management.

WHERE I'M CALLING FROM by Raymond Carver -- My poignant silences ain't all that poignant.

GET IN THE VAN: LIFE ON THE ROAD WITH BLACK FLAG by Henry Rollins -- I live in the fear that someone might discover I once owned a "Rokken with Dokken" t-shirt.

PRIVATE PARTS by Howard Stern -- You've heard of the "exception to the rule"? Well, I'm the rule. Nice to meet you, fag.

GEEK LOVE by Katherine Dunn -- I'm under the mistaken impression that no one can possibly understand what it's like to be me.

A CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES by John Kennedy Toole -- Attention, ladies and gentlemen: it's time for one of my thrice hourly eye-rolls!

TED WILLIAMS: THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN AMERICAN HERO by Leigh Montville -- I swear, everything thing is "gay this" and "gay that" nowadays--enough already!

THE DEVIL WORE PRADA by Lauren Weisberger -- My interests are without merit, my passions without meaning. When I pass from this earth, I will have left the world...nothing.

CLANS OF THE ALPHANE MOON by Phillip K. Dick -- Hey, give that back! Very funny guys, ha ha ha. Now come on, give it ba-- OWW!

TRAINSPOTTING by Irvine Welsh -- Regardless of what I tell you, I absolutely did not read the book first.

Monday, May 10, 2004


Is there a more succinct condemnation of our bullshit generation than the current fad known as "Google bombing"? For those of you who don't know, this is where e-pranksters rig it so that when you Google a particular word or phrase, a theoretically hilarious and/or poignant site comes up as #1 on the search list. For instance, if you Google the phrase "miserable failure", George W. Bush's bio tops the search list. Zing! Gotcha, George! Now tech saavy republicans have joined the fray by linking to the Google search for the word "waffles". Ouch! In your face, Democratic nominee for president!!

This is truly the lowest rung of political activism. It doesn't even hold water as a silly gag, as there is no lamer prank than the kind that requires you to let other people know you've pulled it. Upon setting the whole thing up, the douchebag probably walked over to one of his co-workers' cubicles and said, "Hey dude, Google 'waffles'. No seriously, do it. ...Because I did something totally awesome, that why. ...Bang! There it is! Read it and weep, Democrats!"

You'd have to let people know. Because think about it: what possible reason could a person have to Google waffles? Is there someone saying, "Boy, I could really go for a waffle right now...but where in the world could I ever find one? I'd better do some online research on the subject. Okay, let's see...waffles waffles waffles... What's this...John Kerry? Dear Christ, I had no idea! MY MIND HAS BEEN BLOWN!!!" So the point of this bold partisan initiative is to target computer-owning breakfast lovers? Not even computer-owning breakfast lovers, but politically undecided computer-owning breakfast lovers?!! Yeesh. It ain't exactly The March on Selma, is it?

This generation sucks dong.

Friday, May 07, 2004

MATT, KATIE & ME (and countless other people)

So here's a wrap-up of my week on The Today Show.

The surreal quality of this particular assignment (scroll down to the May 3rd entry for details) revealed itself from the moment I walked in the door Monday morning, as I found myself standing next to the Olsen Twins. No joke. In a city where brushes with celebrity are rather commonplace, this one felt particularly weird. Perhaps it was how they were acting--Mary Kate and Ashley were facing eachother, delicately holding hands and whispering to eachother, their faces no more than three inches apart--it looked like some sort of creepy Wiccan prayer ritual. If you're thinking that this was in any way titallating, you'd be wrong. Contrary to the hack "I want to fuck the Olsen twins" jokes that get bandied about these days, it was impossible to view these girls in sexual context. As far as I'm concerned, they're nine years old.

Sitting in the green room, I was joking with one of the producers about the many things I could say on the Today Show to get myself kicked off. She mentioned that on Thursday we (the panel) are supposed to give our predictions about how the show will end, and I said it would be great if, over the end credits tease (the thing where there's an additional little scene playing alongside the credits), they just showed Phoebe slumped over on a table, with sleeping pills scattered all over the table and floor. Some PR woman from TV Guide heard us laughing and asked me to repeat what I said for the entire room (about twenty people). Against my better judgment, I did, and everyone stared at me as if I'd just taken a crap on a the American flag. Sweet.

Monday's segment was I was polite, perhaps to a fault. I didn't want to step on anyone and, as a result, I didn't really get to say much. I got a couple of lines in, but all in all, I felt kind of wallflower-ish. But being the first day, I didn't get too bent out of shape by it. Tuesday was definitely sucky, though. The segment was really short, and a solid chunk of it was devoted to one of the panelists moving around big cardboard heads on a magnetic board (long story). I got in one or two lackluster comments, but mostly I just sat there smiling awkwardly, like Benny from L.A. Law. This, of course, seems to be the day that everyone from VH1 (the people who hooked me up with the gig) chose to check out. Score!

Wednesday and Thursday were sooo much better, thankfully. I can say that I was reasonably chuckle-worthy on Wednesday, mostly due the my decision to insert myself into the conversation at all costs. It meant being maybe a tad pushy, but such is life. And I was proud to have worked in a joke about Chandler and Monica moving to the suburbs anf getting heavily involved in "The Lifestyle"--you know, key parties and whatnot. Oh, and I also got in a slightly watered down version the suicide finale joke that had made everyone in the green room disgusted with me three days prior. Ah, small victories.

Friday morning's final segment was a bit bizarre. The previous night, I'd been roasted by a bunch of my comedian friends--a very fun and very drunken affair. I staggered back to Kambri's around 1am and watched the big Friends series finale, which Kambri had been kind enough to tape for me (she even cut out all the commercials--quite a catch, eh?). I went to bed at 2:30am and woke up at 5:20am, still thoroughly 'faced. The segment itself was pretty good--not quite as zing-y as Wednesday and Thursday, but certainly not a droolfest like Monday and Tuesday. At least I can say that I appeared on live network television with a slight buzz.

That's it mo-fos. Here's a picture Kambri took of me with one of the other panelists and Katie Couric. Feel free to use it as Exhibit A in the "Finnegan is a fucking sell-out" debate.

Tuesday, May 04, 2004


Look, I have to run to get over to The Today Show to give my historically vital analysis of Friends, so I'll keep this short:

Tonight, I am hosting the latest installment of SOB STORIES at the Marquee. You should all absolutely come. This month's theme is "Tragic Drunkenness", which should provide for some embarrassing and enlightening moments. The oh-so-awesome lineup includes to long-awaited NYC return of Mr. Eddie Pepitone (Last Comic Standing, King of Queens), in addition to a few other fantastic comic minds, many of whom you may recognize from the tee-vee.

Here are the details:

TUESDAY, MAY 4, 2004
Sob Stories with host Christian Finnegan
The Marquee
356 Bowery (btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!

Prsented by PSNBC, network television's only professional development lab and performance space, in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions. For more info, visit

Be there, winners! If you're good, maybe I'll tell you all about me bumping into the Olsen Twins while waiting for an elevator yesterday!

Sunday, May 02, 2004


So, I've hesitated mentioning this here, but I suppose it's time to come clean: all this week, I will be appearing on The Today Show. Yes, the one with Katie Couric and Matt Lauer. And why have I been invited to appear on such a big-ass show, you ask? Well, I will be participating in a weeklong panel discussing the final epsiode of Friends. Yep, I will be taking my half-assed snarkiness to live network television. Each segment is only 5-6 minutes long, but it's still a pretty sweet gig.

At first, I wasn't sure I was the best person for something like this--I think Friends is well-written and funny, but I would hardly call myself a fanatic. But I was assured that my main role will be to "bounce off" those one the panel who actually are experts. So get ready for my ill-informed critique and unwarranted attacks on Matt LeBlanc and Courtney Cox!

It should be a fun, if surreal, experience. The main thing I'm concerned about is my tendency to swear a lot when nervous. I don't think Katie and Matt will like it much if I liberally sprinkle my analysis with "fuckface", "asswipe" and, of course, "douchebag". But who knows--we'll see!

Anyway, if you're around/awake in the AM, throw on your TV and check my shit out. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday's segments are scheduled for 9:05am. Thursday and Friday's will probably be a tad earlier.