AMERICA'S LEAST POPULAR AMUSEMENT PARK RIDES
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...
A FEW QUICK THINGS I LOVE ABOUT KAMBRI
* 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.)
A FEW QUICK THINGS I LOVE ABOUT KAMBRI
* 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
SATURDAY NIGHT'S ALRIGHT FOR LACKLUSTER WRITING
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.
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
THIS, THAT, THE OTHER THING
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.
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
I SUCK
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.
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
I SAW RED
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.
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
INSERT LAME "HEY, MON" JOKE HERE
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.
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
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
PLUGGY McPLUGGERTON
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 www.ballyhoopromotions.net.
See you there, you lucky fools.
Christian Finnegan,
comedy peddler
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 www.ballyhoopromotions.net.
See you there, you lucky fools.
Christian Finnegan,
comedy peddler
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