Monday, October 30, 2006


My life is a movie. I know a lot of people say that, and when they do they imagine their lives as distinctly Woody Allen-esque, with overeducated urbanites tossing off witty rejoinders. Or maybe you view your life as a compendium of bittersweet nuggets of poignancy set to pop music, a la Cameron Crowe. Or hell, maybe your life is the spitting image of The Constant Gardener--who's to say? But that's not what I'm talking about. My life is a really crappy movie. The kind of movie that would garner a Metacritic score of 34. The kind of movie that would star Jonathan Silverman and be released straight to video--in Belgium.

Here's a brief glimpse of what I'm talking about:

This afternoon I found myself standing at the elevator bank of an office building, alone--not a soul within sight. As the elevator doors opened and I stepped through, I felt the Asian Chicken Salad I had for lunch shift awkwardly in my stomach. So I...well, how do I say this...I ripped a fart, okay? Don't fucking judge me. What, you've never done passed gas in your life? Your digestive tract is impervious to such things? Anyway, I wasn't too concerned as soon the elevator doors would close and no one would have to know about my little faux pas. But here's the thing: the doors didn't close. They just sat there, motionless. I stood thee calmly for a few moment, wondering what the problem was. Before long, a scent rose up to my nostrils--faintly at first, than like a tidal wave of hot lava. It was a stench so brutal and unyielding, I nearly lost consciousness. My head was immediately filled with visions of war, pestilence and Andy Dufresne crawling through a sewage pipe to escape Shawshank Prison. This smell came from me? From my body?! Even as my mind continued to reel, the elevator doors remained open, as if in silent testimony. "BEHOLD!", they exclaimed, "THIS MAN JUST UNLEASHED A TORRENT OF UNHOLINESS THROUGH HIS ANUS! YES, THIS MAN RIGHT HERE!"

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the elevator doors began to close. Thank you, sweet christ! Redemption! I stopped worrying about the doors and set to wondering if I could hold my breath for 17 floors. Then...horror. Three corporate types (two men and a woman) came around the corner and began rushing towards the elevator doors. In a panic, I began furiously stabbing at the "Doors Close" button, all the while trying to assure the office drones that I was doing everything I could do to make them re-open. With the doors about five inches apart I felt like I was in the clear, but at the last moment this dude got his mitt in between, and the doors began easing back open. The walls started closing in on me as a felt another another wave of awfulness ready itself in my lower intestine. Finally, as the three fastidious-looking business people loaded into the elevator, I freaked out and essentially shoved them out of the way to get back into the lobby. "Pick the wrong elevator?" asked one of the fellows, amiably. I muttered some sort of affirmative response over my shoulder and kept walking. As the elevator doors were finally closing, I heard the woman exclaim, "Oh...god!!".

I stood in the lobby for a solid ten minutes waiting, quite literally, for the smoke to clear. I felt sorry for those poor, innocent professionals--that particular elevator was for Floors 17-25, so they had at least a solid 20 seconds to marinate in the horrific ass-sauna I'd created. Finally, I got into another elevator and went up to the 17th floor. And when I stepped out of the elevator, guess who was standing there? Can you guess...?

No one. the elevator bank was completely empty. Like I said, my life is a crappy movie.

Friday, October 27, 2006


So it's been a couple of days since I posted. My sincere apologies. As you can imagine, the past few days have been a bit of a blur--two separate CD release events, interviews with college newspapers, radio call-ins, blah blah blah. Even though things will continue to be hectic from here on in, I do feel like the next week or two will give me a nice opportunity to get my head back above water. I have about 150 emails I haven't responded to, I haven't hung out with my friends in a while and I haven't really written any new material lately. Also, I'd really love to have sex with my wife sometime soon--she deserves the forty-two seconds of pure ecstasy that only Finny can provide. of course, my mentioning that in a blog entry probably hamstrings any chance I have of getting laid anytime soon. I'll keep you posted on how that goes.

Speaking of the lovely Kambri, I should mention that she's going to be reading a piece from her site Love, Daddy at the Yankee Potroast reading this coming Monday 10/30 at Ace of Clubs. Y.P.R. is a very prestigious and well-respected literary cuddle party, so this is kind of a sweet gig. Anyway, you should check it out and stuff.

And now, apropos of nothing, please enjoy the music video "Breaking the Chains" by Dokken, a band I was very fond of in eighth grade. Stick around for the second and third verses--that's where this becomes a real treasure trove of awfulness.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006


I really think we've painted ourselves into a corner with Kim Jong Il. Our unilateral approach to the war in Iraq and its resulting global backlash has stripped the United States of any leverage at the bargaining table. Sanctions may sound like the answer, but our only realistic option is to re-engage North Korea in six-party

...wait a second, here...

Who the hell cares about North Korea when TWO FOR FLINCHING COMES OUT TODAY?!!! That's right, peoples--the release of my debut CD is really the only news worth knowing. North Korea, Shmorth Shmorea. Can you purchase a resolution to the dicey issue of nuclear proliferation at your local record store or favorite online music provider? No, you can't. Is Kim Jong Il endorsed by Comedy Central? He most certainly is not. Does UN Ambassador John Bolton make you laugh hysterically? Well okay, maybe a little. But the point is, your life will be directly affected by the purchase of my CD far more than it ever will be by a semi-failed nuclear test on the Asian peninsula. That is, until North Korea sells the technology to Iran and we all die in a fiery mushroom cloud.

But until then, it's all about TWO FOR FLINCHING! Buy one, sucka!

P.S. It's not on iTunes yet--that will be another week or so.

Monday, October 23, 2006


Listen, I'm going to keep today's blog entry short. I'm a bit depressed, to be honest. As you know by now, my CD ("Two For Flinching") is being released tomorrow on Comedy Central Records. Understandably, this is a big deal to me--I've always dreamed of a moment like this and what it could mean for the rest of my career. Well, the very first review of "Two For Flinching" is out, and...well, it's pretty darn negative. I'm constantly trying to remind myself that there are always going to be people who don't enjoy what you do and that you can't let that get you down. Still, it really hurts when your pour your heart and soul into a project and some bitter prick hiding behind a keyboard talks shit about you. I mean, I can accept someone not enjoying my work, but some of the stuff in this review seems downright personal. Anyway, you can read it for yourself here. Regardless of what you end up thinking about "Two For Flinching", I think we can all agree that the guy who wrote this review is an asshole.

P.S. Just a reminder to those of you in the NYC area: My CD release performance/party takes place tonight! I'll be doing a full 45 minute set and then selling and signing copies of "Two For Flinching"! Please come to the show and help me get over that hateful reviewer's screed! Here are the 'deets':

A Night of Life-Changing Stand Up Comedy by Christian Finnegan
with a special appearance by Nick Kroll
Mo Pitkin's House of Satisfaction
34 Avenue A (b. 2nd and 3rd st.)

Friday, October 20, 2006


Look, I realize I skipped yesterday's blog entry. I feel awful about it, honestly I do. And to show you how bad I feel, I'm going to punish myself by showing you this:

Yes, that is indeed me . Actually, I'm not really embarassed by that--I was kind of a cute kid. If I want to punish myself, I should show you this:

Not enough for you yet? Still haven't forgiven me? Well, try this one on for size:

And, just for shits and giggles a glimpse into my future:

That is all. I'll try not to let you down again.

Thursday, October 19, 2006


One Night with Bronson Pinchot

Restraining Order!

Les Muffdiverables

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamthong

Thoroughly Palsy-Ridden Millie

Anything Goes (Other Than Ass-Play)

Jesus Christ Relatively Obscure Character Actor

A Man, A Woman, A Dutch Oven

Twyla Tharp presents Down Boys: the Songs of Warrant

The Houston 500*

Seven Mail-Order Brides for Seven Computer Programming Brothers

Ku Klux Kismet

A Bunch of Gay Guys Pretending to be in Love with a Bunch of Annoyingly Cheery Women

142nd St.

* If you don't get this reference, google it--but not from work!

Wednesday, October 18, 2006


As I'm sure you've heard, Madonna's new African baby arrived in London yesterday and was scooped up into the loving arms of a paid employee--and not a moment too soon, as the nation of Malawi has a well-known "30 minutes or it's free" delivery policy. Madonna wasn't at the airport, but she did manage to tour the orphanage and judged young David Banda the cutest (and, therefore, most worthy of a future). I've seen pictures of this kid and not only is he cute as the dickens, he looks fabulous with Madge's new zebra print halter top! To those of you who would question her motives, I would remind you that we are living in a African orphan world, and Madonna is an African orphan girl. Lest we forget, Madonna's true genius is in constantly re-inventing herself--it just so happens that this time out she's reinvented herself as Angelina Jolie's hairy-faced older sister.

Human rights activists are up in arms over the adoption, and they're right--we need to stop all of these financially secure celebrities from stealing kids out of these kick-ass orphanages! They're robbing these children of character-building experiences, like fighting over bowls of mushy rice and bedding down at night sandwiched between 300 of your best friends.

Look, does this whole scheme smell like a desperate attempt to remain socially relevant? Is Madonna a horse's ass? Yep. Should people get off her ass and let her adopt this baby anyway? Ab-so-lutely. If this kid was old enough to speak, I'm sure he'd say, "Listen, I'm fully aware that I'm a PR stunt. But I'm a PR stunt with a mink-lined playpen, fuckface!" Hell, Madonna could be bringing this kid on playdates with John Mark Karr and he'd still have won the lottery.

Opponents have claimed that Madonna was able to skirt Malawi's mandatory eighteen month residency law for prospective adoptive parents, and that if everyone was able to do that it could result in child trafficking rings. Um...yeah. Whatever one may think of Madonna, I think we can all agree that she's probably not selling children on the black market (I have the feeling Michael Musto might pick up on something like that). And it's not as if this is setting some rigid precedent--when some dude in sunglasses pulls his windowless van up to the orphanage, I don't see the government of Malawi saying, "Well...we let Madonna do it, so load 'em on up, I guess!"

So let Madonna or any other huge celebrity go ahead and adopt a Third World baby without a waiting period--lord knows the kids' lives are going to be better for it. And it's unlikely to lead to some sort of nefarious bumrush on the world's orphanages. But this sort of fast-tracking should be reserved only for stars with genuine staying-power. If we start handing these kids out to the Tara Reids and Wilmer Valderramas of the world, it'll only be the matter of a year or two before they find themselves back in abject poverty.

Monday, October 16, 2006


As you may know, Two For Flinching, my debut stand up CD for Comedy Central Records, is being released a week from tomorrow (Tuesday October 24th). I know you're desperate to buy a copy for yourself--not to mention copies for your friends, family, co-workers, recent one-night stands, manicurists, defense attorneys, black market internal organ harvesters and creepy MySpace stalkers. Well, I've got some good news for you: you can pre-order a copy of Two For Flinching this very moment! No need to wait for "The Man" to give you permission--strike back at the status quo buy giving your money to Viacom (and me)!

Seriously, I don't want to be too grandiose about this, but here's the deal: every person who pre-orders a copy of Two For Flinching will achieve fame, financial independence and unyielding sexual gratification. I swear this is true.

For those of you in or around New York City, it gets even better: on Monday, October 23rd, I will be performing a full 45 minute set at Mo Pitkin's House of Satisfaction to celebrate the CD's release. That's right, forty-five full minutes of chicanery, hijinks and heartfelt advice regarding matters of social import. The show will be hosted by the wondrous Nick Kroll, and here's an extra enticement: you;re also invited to a post-show reception where I'll be signing copies of Two For Flinching. And I'm not talking some bland "All the best, Christian" shit--I'm talking about signing your newly-purchased CD in a way that is both personal and potentially insulting! How can you possibly resist?

Here are the show details:

A Night With Christian Finnegan and His Spectacular New Compact Disk Of Life-Altering Stand-Up Comedy

Monday, October 23rd
Mo Pitkin's House of Satisfaction
34 Avenue A (b. 2nd and 3rd st.)
New York, NY 10009
(212) 777-5660

So if you're in or around NYC next monday night, I'd be honored if you'd help me celebrate the biggest moment of my professional career, the release of my very first CD. If you're not in the New York area or you're in the throes of some viciously infectious disease, go ahead and pre-order your copy of Two for Flinching online. Do it and I'll be your BFF!

As always, I thank you for your continued support.

Friday, October 13, 2006


There's a little mini-interview with me in this weekend's Metro (you know, that free newspaper you see littering the streets of major American cities, like Boston, New York and Philly?). Please bask in the important details of what constitutes a typical Christian Finnegan weekend.

Thursday, October 12, 2006


I'm insanely busy this week, so I thought I'd entertain you with a blast from the Tower of Hubris past. This entry comes from 2003 and I still think it's a humdinger of an idea. If anyone knows anybody in the videogame racket, tell 'em to give me a call!



As I've mentioned before on this page, I'm a bit of a Playsation buff. And by "Playstation buff", I mean: complete dork. I was thinking that there should be a brutal fighting game (a la Mortal Kombat, Tekken, etc) that pits various historical figures against each other. I am in no way joking about this--I genuinely think it would be cool. It wouldn't surprise me at all if the idea has already been trademarked. After all, think about it: Mussolini vs. Marcus Aurelius! Cleopatra vs. Ben Franklin! Malcolm X vs. The Lindberg Baby! Of course, each historical figure would have to his his/her own "Special Move". For those of you who are unfamiliar with the fighting game millieu, every character has its own wacky maneuver which, if triggered at the right time, will devastate the other character. So, by pushing a complicated combination of buttons, you can make your character shoot a big blue fireball, perform a brutal spinning head kick, or rip out your opponent's spine. Well, with history, the possibilites for special moves are endless. And you could just keep putting out new editions of the game, with different characters. Here are some ideas for viable historical figures, along with what they're Special Moves might be:

Special Move: The Emancipator
Taking advantage of his rumored Marfan Syndrome (aka Gigantism), Lincoln's hands suddenly become freakishly large and he fatally boxes his opponent's ears.

Special Move: Le Judgement
His opponent weakened, Robespierre pull a guillotine out of his powdered wig and swfitly executes his rival, declaring him an enemy of progress.

Special Move: The Calcutter
Swinging her rosary beads with blinding speed and deadly accuracy, Mother Teresa eviscerates her opponent, spilling his guts out onto the arena floor.

Special Move: The Historical Inevitibility
Marx rips his bourgeois opponent into tousands of tiny, perfectly equal parts. He then sweeps up the pieces and deposits them into the "Dustbin of History".

Special Move: The Mongolian Barbecue
Khan douses his opponent with oil and then roasts him alive on a rotating cast iron grill, which he pulls out of his beard.

Special Move: Knitting Needles of Fury
In a burst of staggeringly violent knitting, Betsy leaves her opponent riddled with gaping, star-shaped holes.

Special Move: A Midsummer Night's Brutality
Quill in hand, Shakespeare carves out his opponent's heart while simultaneously composing a sonnet in his honor.

Special Move: The Back (of the) Buster
After weakening her opponent with her cane, Rosa lifts her opponent high above her head and breaks his spine across her knee.

Special Move: The Nutcracker

Special Move: The Equestrian
His opponent disoriented, Caligula begins fellating a horse. The opposing fighter is so disgusted, he vomits up his own internal organs.

Special Move: The Hunger Strike
Emaciated and insane with hunger, Gandhi pounces on his opponent and begins tearing off hunks of flesh with his teeth.

Special Move: The Blue Period
A vicious chokehold, wherein Picasso gets his pudgy croissant fingers around the opposing fighter's neck and squeezes until his face turns blue and his head pops like a zit. (Alternate Special Move: The Guernica--a pummelling so fierce, the opponent ends up with both eyes on the same side of his face.)

Special Move: The Republicizer
This is basically just a kick to the face while simultaneously having sex with a young boy.

JOHN MERRICK (aka The Elephant Man)
Special Move: The Not-An-Animalizer
Merrick unleashes a tale of woe so heart-wrenching, the opponent begins sobbing uncontrollably. It is at this point that Merrick attacks and brutally headbutts him to death.

Special Move: The Butter Substitute
Carver batters opponent cholesteral...? Okay, this one sucks.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006


This is just a quick update to let you know that Robin Williams' Man of the Year, the sure-to-be-the-most-hilarious-and-socially-relevant film of this young century, drops this Friday! Get out your fucking lawn chairs and save your place in line outside the multiplex!!! Already, predictions are being made and wagers taken up:

* Will Robin break out his hilarious and oh-so-timely Southern evangelist imitation? (Yes)

* What about his even more hilarious swishy queen character? Will we get a taste of that? (You betcha)

* How far into the movie before Robin breaks into his spot-on "black guy" voice? (4 minutes, 22 seconds)

* Will that voice resemble any real-life black person I've encountered over the past 25 years? (Nope. He'll be a baritone Black Panther dude who bellows stuff like 'What it 'tis, ma brutha!")

* Might the film conclude with sort of lazy and self-congratulatory exhoration to ""be honest", "put people before politics", or "be good to each other"?!! (Magic 8-Ball says odds are good)

* When Robin Williams delivers this big social message in the final ten minutes of the film, will he lean forward on the oval office desk? Will he clasp his hands penitently? Will he purse his lips and speak in clipped words as a way of showing that playtime is over and it's time to get all poignant and shit?!! (One can only hope)

And most importantly:

* How awkward will it be when you try to explain to your crestfallen parents and office co-workers why you don't find Robin Williams entertaining?

Only you can answer that one, my friend.

Man of the Year, this Friday, October 13th! Don't miss it!!!!

Monday, October 09, 2006


I'm about to wrap up a six day college swing through Michigan, Illinois and finally Missouri. If there is anyone out there think this sounds glamorous, please stop by my apartment tomorrow so I can punch you in the face. Here's a glamorous situation for you: preparing to do an hour of sexually explicit and liberal elitist comedy material for 700 people at a "family weekend" concert in rural Illinois. I've done plenty of "family weekend" shows, which are always awkward, but this one took the cake--literally everyone from grandparents in USA sweatshirts to five year old girls in pigtails. Needless to say, my dickhole-stabbing joke destroyed! Anyway, it's mostly been a pleasant trip but I'm dying to get home...for 44 hours, at which time I leave for another trip. Sigh.

On the upside, I'm writing to you from the Casino Queen Hotel in East St. Louis, an area world-reknown for it's poverty and squalor. I had no show last night and St. Louis is right on the way from Edwardsville, IL (where I was Saturday night) and Cape Girardeau, MO (where I'll be tonight). I always jump at the chance to get to a casino, maybe because there aren't any in or around NYC. I've been to Harrah's here in St. Louis at least three times, as I find myself passing through here quite a bit the past couple of years. But this time out I wanted a scuzzier experience, and what can I say--the Casino Queen more than delivers! This place is what you might call "extremely ghetto", if you were the kind of douche-y white person who misappropriates terms like "ghetto". The buildings are decrepit, mysterious stains decorate the hideously patterened carpet, and the buffet features a big discount bottle of supermarket-brand salad dressing you just pick up and squeeze yourself. I wasn't really bothered by any of this--I was more upset that I missed the Rod Stewart tribute by one day!

I'll be leaving the Casino Queen in about half an hour with $404 of its money. In fact, this is the second time in less than a month that I will have won a substantial amount of money at a blackjack table (I won $500 a few weeks ago). And here's the sad thing: I'm ten times as proud of the relatively small amount of money I've made gambling than all the money I've legitimately earned on this batch of college shows. Passing through the hotel lobby on my way back up to my room this morning, I couldn't help but look at the desk people and think, "You people are paying me to stay in your hotel! You're paying me to sleep in your bed! You're PAYING me to shit in your toilet! SUCK IT!!!" It's this kind of thinking that creates gambling addictions, I suspect.

Time to get back in my rental car...paid for by The Casino Queen, muthafucka!

Saturday, October 07, 2006


Here is perhaps my favorite 4:09 minutes in recent television history. It's a clip from Ricky Gervais' show "Extras" and it is undisputable proof that Patrick Stewart is an unheralded comic genius. Absolute perfection.

Anyway, enjoy.

(Thanks to Chris Regan for a heads-up on the link.)

Thursday, October 05, 2006


That's right, you read the subject heading correctly--I'm oficially calling 'bullshit' on planetary constellations. Big Dipper? Okay, I'll give you that one. Little Dipper? Iffy at best, but fine. But the rest of them, Ursa Minor and all that nonsense? Sorry Poindexter, I don't buy it. Oh sure, people try to show point them out. "See? Right up there, slightly northwest of Saturn? There's the hunter...and there's his quiver of arrows...and he's riding a steed...?" And all I can think is, "Dude, there's only five fucking stars there." You're filling in some serious gaps. "See? Right up there--it's a giant crab, eating soup!" No, I don't see it.

And you know what else is bullshit? Fresh mozarella. You know, that taste-free white gourmet nastiness? I'm not saying fresh mozarella doesn't exist, mind you--I'm not crazy or nothin'. But I think it's time we all admit that fresh mozarella is a friggin' bust. Time and time again I'll be perusing some restaurant menu and I'll get all excited. "Ooo, fresh mozarealla and tomato salad! That sounds delicious--and classy! Thank god I'm not one of those philistines whoscarfs down un-fresh mozarella!" It's only once I'm chewing a bland slab of gentrified turd that I realize that I've once again been had. I'll take Cheez Whiz any day.

This is Andy Rooney, signing off.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006


REP. KEN CALVERT (CA, 44th Dist.): Recently caught masturbating at the Vietnam Memorial.

REP. LANE EVANS (IL, 17th Dist.): Plays online Scrabble with Ayman Al-Zawahiri.

REP. VERNON J. EHLERS (MI, 3rd Dist.): In 1987, had one-nighter with Terri Schiavo. Never called.

REP. ROBERT E. "BUD" CRAMER (AL, 5th Dist.): Has memorized the entire libretto of Andrew Lloyd Weber's "Starlight Express"--in GERMAN!

REP. DARLENE HOOLEY (OR, 5th Dist.): Upon hiring, forces each and every campaign staffer to "earn his Red Wings".

REP. EDOLPHUS TOWNS (NY, 10th Dist.): Worships the Golden Calf.

REP. TAMMY BALDWIN (WI, 2nd Dist.): Title of her college thesis? "The Case Against Retards".

REP. HAROLD ROGERS (KY, 5th Dist.): Has been overheard describing marital relations with his wife as a "sexual Auschwitz".

REP. WAYNE GILCHREST (MD, 1st Dist.): Using binoculars to look through your bedrom window at this very moment.

REP. DOC HASTINGS (WA, 4th Dist.): Cockfighting enthusiast.

REP. MARCY KAPTUR (OH, 9th Dist.): Needs fifty dollars to make you holler.

REP. NICK RAHALL (WV, 3rd Dist.): Lives in West Virginia.

Monday, October 02, 2006


So in last week's "Self-Analysis Monday" entry, I concluded by saying I'd pick up the saga of my first trip back to my hometown-ish Boston, MA as a bonafide professional comedian. Well, a full week has led me to the conclusiuon that this story ain't all that interesting. So on today's "Self-Analysis Monday", a day I plan on devoting autobiographical vignettes and ruminatios on all of my frustrating and peculiar personality quirks, I will make this very bold declaration: whenever I end a blog entry with a promise to pick up the story at a later date, chances are pretty damn good I'll end up punking out. You, as a potentially faithful Tower of Hubris reader deserve to know that. Seriously, in this one area I am completely and utterly full of shit.

Just to not be a complete liar, here is the rest of my Boston weekend in a nutshell: I did four shows, one of which was awful and one of which was probably in my top ten of all time (the other two were solid, but unremarkable). A bunch of people from my hometown showed up--some expected, some not. A bunch of my relatives showed up to the really great show, which was a relief (Christmas this year would have felt a bit awkward if they'd seen the show where the mic kept shorting out). For the late show Saturday night (solid but unremarkable), a gaggle of the "popular" kids from my jr. high/high school were there. They weren't necessarily the douchebags who made my childhood miserable (well, maybe one or two of them), but they were most certainly friends with said douchebags. I was dismayed to discover that the years had turned them into downright likeable human beings (even Christina Watkins, who apparently I insulted by name on a VH1 show called My Coolest Years a couple of years back--sorry, Christina!). Or maybe they were always fine human beings and I just have a persecuation complex. Split the difference, I suppose. The bottom line is, I'm against this personal growth thing. Douchebags should remain douchebags--it makes life less complicated.

So I guess I continued "The Improper Bostonian" after all, albeit perfunctorily. Seriously though, the next time I end a blog entry with "to be continued", roll your eyes and give your monitor the finger.