AMERICA'S LEAST POPULAR PROFESSIONAL SPORTS TEAMS, Pt. III

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

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME...PROBABLY GETS HIS ASS KICKED

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.

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

WHAT MY FAVORITE BOOK SAYS ABOUT ME, Part II

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.

ASK NOT WHAT YOUR SEARCH ENGINE CAN DO FOR YOU...

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 johnkerry.com 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.

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 decidedly...eh. 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.

SOB STORIES, MACH III

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 www.ballyhoopromotions.net.

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!

FINNEGA-NBC

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.

GAME ON*

So I've been extremely busy lately. So busy, in fact, that I've been suffereing from a strange source of . You see, there are so many thing I should be doing, to actually do one of them would be to not do all of the others. Therefore, I've found that the best answer is to spend hours sitting at my desk, staring off into the oblivion . Of course, while sitting there vacant and slack-jawed like a late-period Randall Patrick McMurphy, I have managed to play a few hundred games of Snood.

Ah, Snood. There's no time limit and it requires absolutely no thought. The perfect timewaster. As soon as I finish this one last game," I say to myself, "I'll get to work. ...Um, as soon as I finish this one last game, I'll get to work. ...As soon as I finish...as soon...as soon... Fuck it, I'll do my work tomorrow. You're not the boss of me!" See, life's challenges are vague and impossible to pin down. Will I live a healthy and happy life? Will I ever reach my professional potential? Will I someday become financially solvent? Who the fuck knows--this is some daunting shit, yo. But in Snood, everything is clear-cut. If I shoot this green thingy at the other green thingies, all of those other thingies will fall down. I'm a winner! Wheeeeeeeeeee!

And that's the what a good game is for: to provide you an with arbitrary feeling of accomplishment completely separate from the challenges of real life. Games are meant to be an escape, are they not? That's why I don't understand why people still play Monopoly.

I ask you: has there ever been a game of Monopoly that didn't end with a fight? It's never, "Wow, what a wonderful game of Monopoly! Let's go have some apple cider!" Nope, most games of monopoly end with someone finally declaring, "FUCK THIS!" and knocking all of the pieces off the board, throwing Community Chest cards in the air, etc. It's a damned contentious game, that Monopoly. The reason for this is, the game will inevitably reveal who you really are, fininancially speaking. Whatever your personal relationship with money is, it will eventually represent itself on the Monopoly board. Now some of you out there are probably good with money--you have steady jobs, you pay your bills on time, you don't overextend yourself, etc. You are probably "da shit", when it comes to playing Monopoly. But then, there's that other kind of person. The kind of guy who likes to live for the moment. The kind of guy who doesn't want to meditate on silly things like "budgeting". Hell, why not spend it if you've got it, right? Well, this will also affect your Monopoly technique.

During the first hour of Monopoly, I'm having a great time, buying everything in sight. "Marvin Gardins? Absofuckinglutely. St. James Place? Bring that shit! Electric Company, Waterworks, I want it all! Yes, I'm aware I only have $60 left. But I'm going to be passing GO in, like, three turns and that's another $200 right there--so I can spend as if I have $260, really. I mean, as long as I don't roll a 3, 5, 8, 9 or 12, I'm like totally fine!" It's a wonderful time, that first hour. So much optimism, so much joy.

Cut to ninety minutes later. Your once proud fleet of properties has been completely mortgaged off. You have $11 to your name. And your pathetic little top hat is sitting there, facing down a gauntlet of hotels between you and the relative safety of Luxury Tax (that's always a wonderful point in the game, when you're hoping to land on Luxury Tax...). And you stare down at the board and you say to yourself, "How did it come to this?"

I think that pretty much sums up my adult life.

So I suck at Monopoly and, by extension, adulthood. But I don't consider myself a stupid person. There are plenty of games I'm good at. Trivial Pursuit, for instance. But what the hell good is that going to do me--it has the word "trivial" in the title, for chrissake! I think that there are two kinds of intelligent people in this world: those who are "Monopoly Smart" and those who are "Trivial Pursuit Smart". People who are Monopoly Smart are patient and responsible. They think longterm. They set goals, and then go about doing all of the little things necessary to make those goals a reality. A Trivial Pursuit Smart person, on the other hand, is a guy who knows a whole lot shit...but very rarely ends up doing a whole lot of shit.

On the upside, someone who's Trivial Pursuit Smart is a whole lot more fun to drink with.


* A chunk of this post may seem very familiar to some of you, as it's kind of a re-written version of a former post. But I'm trying to beef it up and turn it into a longer bit, so bear with me. Thanks.

THE TIME IS NOW!

Wow, what a glorious Monday morning! It's the beginning of a fantastic week, a time to make all of your dreams come true! You are a wonderful person and it's time for the world to see you shine! I tell you, it's gonna be great! Every moment of every day brings new experiences, new friends, and new opportunities to stop attending those "White Power" meetings! So get on out there and awaken the potential inside of you! Yeah!

THINGS I EXPECT TO FIND IN MY APARTMENT, FOLLOWING MY "SPRING CLEANING"*

Fourteen empty Tequiza bottles

Stack of Packaging Digest back issues

Receipt from important business dinner at Arthur Treacher's

Skittle (dirty, still edible)

Human kidney, fresh

Clay bust of Lionel Richie, purchased from local blind artist

"World's Greatest Grandpa" dance belt

Sense of decency

Autographed photo of Keith Sweat bashing a pinata

The afikomen

Bear trap, with unidentified animal limb

"Polio Pete" action figure

Magic Beans

Remote control for "Smitty IX", my beer guzzling, high-fiving, fart lighting fratboy robot

$2.19 in loose Nepalese rupees

My "Edward James Olmos Home Poch-Marking Kit"

Rosebud


* Scheduled for late August 2005

WE MEN ARE SO VISUAL

I'm back from sunny Miami and I must say, I'm feeling tanned (well sunburnt, anyway) and rested. At the risk of being a royal douchebag, here is photographic proof of my "mac daddy" status:



Pretty sweet, eh?

I was headlining that night, since all of the big comics skip Thursdays, for the most part. The night was sponsored by WBBD (or something), "Miami's #1 Place for Hip-Hop and R&B". The stations wacky morning zoo team served as the night's emcees (their wacky stage name adorns the marquee along with mine, but I'm not going to re-type it, just in case they're obsessive Googlers). Their "set" was comprised of throwing promotional beach balls to women in the audience, while saying hilarious things like "Any ladies out there want to get their hands on a couple of balls?" Genius. They also made some comment about how they couldn't guarantee how good the show would be, since they couldn't vouch for the lineup. Thanks, fellas.

I was brought to the stage with 40 seconds of blaring hip-hop--something from the "Krunk" genre, I believe. I should mention that it only took me about 4 seconds to reach the stage, so for the remaining 35 seconds I got to stand there and wait for them to turn the shit off. I guess I was supposed to use this time to "groove" to the music, the way the kid who went on before me did. I beg of you all: if I ever begin my comedy set by silently grooving to my entrance music, please work a shotgun into my mouth and give the trigger a yank.

But as is typical, I'm spending too much time accentuating the negative. The rest of my sets (opening for David Alan Grier) were pretty damned sweet. Mr. Grier and I got along swimmingly, which can be seen here:



Boy, we were like two peas in a pod! But then, I made a crucial mistake. I brought up Jumanji. It had a rather chilling effect, as you can tell:



Yeesh, did I feel like a schmuck!

The last bit of photography I'm going to share is a picture of me and my very beautiful girlfriend (who, I should mention, took all of these pictures):



Yep, say it with me: Awwwwww...

Alright, that's all I have for now. I'm going to post more of my Miami pictures on my "PHOTOS" page sometime over the next week. Toodles.

MIAMI NICE!

Yes, that was the lamest TOH subject heading of all time.

So Kambri and I have been in Miami for two days now and still no sign of Gloria Estefan. I feel cheated. One would think, given her high profile in Miami-related news and cultural discussions, that she would be be making the rounds at all the local hotels, greeting visitors. "Hello and welcome to Miami, home of me, Gloria Estefan!"

Anyway, I don't have a whole lot to report at this time, and that's exactly the way we wanted it. It was pretty cloudy yesterday, but we did manage to plant ourselves by the pool for an hour or two. Other than that, we've eaten (lord, have we eaten) and slept (christ, have we slept)--I've got three words for you: California King, motherfuckers! The shows at the Miami Improv have gone swimmingly, so far. I'm opening for David Alan Grier (I call him DAG*), who is a very funny human being and seemingly a fine fellow to boot.

Pretty damn boring entry, eh? That just goes to show you how at peace with the world I am while on vacation. I am like totally Zen, dude. There is absolutely nothing that could get me--GOD DAMMIT, KAMBRI! DON'T TOUCH THAT! I LEFT THAT THERE FOR A REASON! WELL, MAYBE I'M GOING TO EAT THE PEEL, EVER THINK OF THAT?!! NEVER MIND THAT! BECAUSE I SAID SO, THAT'S WHY!!! OH AND BY THE FREAKIN' WAY, WHY AM I TYPING THIS, AS OPPOSED TO JUST SAYING IT OUT LOUD?! THIS FUCKING BLOG ENTRY MAKES NO SENSE!!!

Yeah. Um, yeah. That's all I got. Hope you're having a delightful weekend.


* No I don't.

HELLO, DADE COUNTY!

So tomorrow the lovely Kambri and I will be heading down to Miami (or "mee-AHH-me", as the Cuban coochie girls say), where I will doing a weekend of sets at the Improv. I've never been to Miami before, but I'm bringing along some roller skates, a mesh tank top and a thong, so I should fit in just fine.

Miami is the only city in the country that seems to give New Yorkers pause. When I tell people I'm going there, a strange look washes over their faces--a mix of jealousy, awe and nonspecific fear. The subtext of this particular look seems to be, "Wow, Miami! The sun and sand! The exciting nightlife! And all those sexy bodies! Man, that sounds amazing. Um...hope you don't get your throat slit or accidentally fuck a tranny!"

Still, I'm really excited to go. After a rather hectic few months, I need some serious "chill at the pool" time. Kambri and I plan on spending our days like freakin' barnacles, just laying in the sun and daydreaming about nothing in particular. I don't think I could live like that forever, but for four days? Hell yes. I honestly don't see how anything gets done in South Florida--it's too goddamned nice out all the time.

People think Floridians lack culture or profundity, but that's unfair--they're simply adapting to their environment. The reality of sunny, eighty-five degree days in the middle of January cannot help but alter one's priorities. There's a reason there are no Ivy League universities in Key West. I've said this before, but you will never find true academic rigor in a place where guys have to spend an inordinate amount of time with their shirts off in public. Do you think Einstein would have come up with the Theory of Relativity if he lived in South Beach? No, he'd be too busy doing crunches all day. He'd still be a smart guy, but his mind wouldn't be on physics. No, more likely he'd be one of those annoying 'intellectual' meatheads at the gym, singing the praises of the revolutionary new bodybuilding supplement he concocted. "Yeah, I call it E=MC Squared. Because Energy equals Muscle Conditioning, dude! And squared because...well, it comes in a square can."

EAT YOUR HEART OUT, JOHN GUARE

Tomorrow night, my friend Bryan and I are appearing in a sketch comedy show called "BELOW THE BELT" (Details can be found on my calendar page). We're doing two sketches, one written by and and one by me. For shits and giggles, I thought I would post the sketch I wrote, entitled, "NewsBusters". Am I posting it because it's brilliant and hilarious? Hardly. In fact, I fear it may kinda suck. But I definitely feel the urge to post something and this is what I've got handy.

I will be playing the part of "Pryce Martinez", a name that might be familiar to the the four of you who have been reading TOH since its inception. Please enjoy wasting the next four minutes of your life. Here 'tis:
_________________________________________

NEWSBUSTERS


INT. BELT THEATRE - NIGHT

Bryan enters, wearing homemade Indian headdress.

BRYAN
I am Chief Magicpubes. I have travelled many moons to be here. I have crossed mountains high and valleys low. I have seen fire and I have seen rain. And now, thanks to the strength of the water buffalo, I have arrived in the land of the Paleface. It is time for Chief Magicpubes to summon the Great Spirit. O Great Spirit, I now call upon you now...

(PRYCE MARTINEZ enters, holding a microphone. He speaks directly to the audience).

PRYCE
I'm on Manhattan's west side, in what can only be called an off-off-off Broadway playhouse. The lights have been hung, the audience is excited; it looks like any other night at the theater...or does it? I'm Pryce Martinez from the Channel 6 NewsBusters and this is the "You Should Be Ashamed" report!

BRYAN
Um...hello?

PRYCE
They call it the Belt Theater, but what unsuspecting audience members don't know is, they're the ones who are about to be belted...by a lackluster comedy skit.

BRYAN
Can I help you?

PRYCE
I'm standing next to an actor in a silly costume. A silly, poorly constructed and racist costume. Let's see what he has to say for himself!

(Pryce rushes over to Bryan and thrusts the microphone into Bryan's face after each question.)

PRYCE
Sir, would you care to explain the true nature of this skit show?

BRYAN
What?

PRYCE
Please answer the question!

BRYAN
I don't even know what you're talking about.

PRYCE
Why won't you answer my questions, sir? What are you trying to hide?

BRYAN
Would you mind getting that microphone out of my face?

(Bryan pushes Pryce's arm away.)

PRYCE
Whoa! Do not push me, sir! I'm simply doing my job. There is no cause for violence.

BRYAN
I-I'm not. I just don't know what's going on.

PRYCE
Well, let me clear things up for you: I'm Pryce Martinez from the Channel 6 NewsBusters and YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!

BRYAN
(Exasperated,)
ABOUT WHAT?!

PRYCE
Please, sir. I think the audience has seen just about enough of your violent outbursts.

BRYAN
Look, I'm not going getting violent. I'm just trying to figure out what your problem is, so we can get back to the show.

PRYCE
Of course! The show must go on...

(Pryce wanders way from Bryan and again addresses the audience.)

PRYCE
...a statement once uttered by the P.T.Barnum, and since repeated by every huckster determined to rob you of your hard-earned entertainment dollars. And like those scam artists of yore, tonight's comedy show is harboring a dirty little secret.

(Long pause.)

BRYAN
Which is?

PRYCE
I was not booked to perform in it.

BRYAN
What?

PRYCE
That's right. I had planned to showcase my considerable talents at tonight's comedy show. In fact, some might say I had my heart set on it. Now one would think a fledgling producer would jump at the chance to work with a seasoned performer like Pryce Martinez. But one would be thinking wrong! The silence has been deafening. It's time for the NewsBusters to get some answers!

(Pryce again rushes over to Bryan and shoves the microphone into his face repeatedly.)

PRYCE
Sir, can you tell me what you have against Pryce Martinez?

BRYAN
Wait. That's you, right?

PRYCE
Oh, so now you remember me! Perhaps you can also explain why I'm being stonewalled.

BRYAN
I've never even heard of you.

PRYCE
Of course! Pryce Martinez doesn't exist! And I'm sure the numerous phone calls, e-mails and certified letters I sent don't exist, either! YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!

BRYAN
Dude, listen to me. I didn't book this thing.

(Pause.)

PRYCE
Excuse me?

BRYAN
I'm not producing this show. I'm just one of the performers.

PRYCE
A handy excuse, to be sure...

BRYAN
No, seriously. I have nothing to do with you not being on this show. You're really going to have to talk to Keith.
(To audience,)
I'm sure he's out there somewhere. Keith?

KEITH
(Offstage,)
Keith had to leave. He left the iron on...or his grandmother died, or something.

BRYAN
Oh. Well, I'm not sure what to tell you, dude. The producer isn't here and we really should be getting back to the show.

(Pause.)

PRYCE
I see. In that case, I have a very exciting offer for you, sir. How would you like to team up with a Channel 6 NewsBuster? You know, for a comedy skit thing.

BRYAN
You want us to perform...together? Right now? I don't know.

PRYCE
So now the truth comes out! It appears you too have blacklisted Pryce Martinez! YOU SHOULD BE ASH--

BRYAN
Okay, okay--we'll do something. For fuck's sake, let's just get it over with.
__________________________________

At this point, Bryan puts on a "PANTY INSPECTOR" t-shirt and we proceed directly into his sketch. Genius, I tell you.

A MESSAGE OF DIRE IMPORTANCE

There will never be a pop culture icon as potent as The Fonz.

There, I said it.

Seriously--take a look at the guy:



Tell me you wouldn't murder someone if he asked you to. You can't. Don't even try.

And who's the least potent pop culture icon of all time? Yep, you guessed it...



...certified accountant Raymond "Ray" Eldridge.

QUICK! HURRY!

Man, do I wish I never made that promise to post something every single day this week. I kind of found a way around it yesterday, but I feel a genuine pressure to type something worthwhile for today. Problem is, it's exactly 11:50pm. That means I have no more than nine minutes to come up with something notable with which to entertain you, the (semi)loyal TOH readership. Here we go:

I went to Tower records earlier this evening and I was forced to wriggle by a strip of listening stations where no less than three different dudes were air-rapping--or, as I call it, "Gangstaoke". This is where you see a young thug with headphones on, gesticulating wildly for all to see, as if he himself was MC Supadouche. In addition to music superstores, they are commonly found on the subway, moving their hands back and forth and trying to pretend they don't want people to notice. That is some weak ass shit.

Now I realize that purveyors of Gangstaoke don't inherently look more ridiculous than, say, air guitarists. But when you're pretending to play guitar, at least you're miming an actual skill. But to just gesture angrily for the "entertainment" of strangers? Blow me.

And please, spare em any sort of white apologist "You just don't understand hip hop" nonsense. I'm not talking about the guys on the subway who are actually rapping. Those dudes annoy for wholly other reasons.

There it is, folks. A nine minute humorous rumination.

LIKE I SAID: CHINTZY

Hey, I know this is late notice, but if you're looking for something to do tonight, come on out to SOB STORIES, the show I harrassed you all about a few days ago. Seriously, don't be a dick--show up.

And, just so that there is something un-hype related on this site today, enjoy this very poignant short film.

Okay, I am going to post something every damn day this week, even if it's something chintzy and stupid.

Today, for instance, I present this little piece of B.S.:

WORST WEDDING SONGS

"What Do You Do for Money, Honey?" by AC/DC

"Brick" by Ben Folds Five

"Screaming in Digital" by Queensryche

"It's Not a Rag, it's a Flag" by Charlie Daniels

"Love the One You're With" by Crosby Stills & Nash

"I'm Not in Love" by 10CC

"Full on Kevin's Mom" by Soundgarden

"Koyaanisqatsi" by Phillip Glass

"Animal (Fuck Like the Beast)" by WASP

"I've Seen All Good People" by Yes

"The Superbowl Shuffle" by the '86 Bears Shufflin' Crew

"Fake Blood" by Sifl 'n Ollie

"(I Ain't Gonna Play) Sun City" by Aritsts United Against Apartheid

"D-I-V-O-R-C-E" by Tammy Wynette

ATTENTION: FANS OF INVOLUNTARY CHUCKLING

This coming Tuesday (4/6) marks the Second installment of my new monthly series, SOB STORIES, presented by PSNBC in conjunction with Ballyhoo Promotions. This month, we will be examining a topic familiar to just about everyone: "Soul-Crushing Day Jobs". Ever worked in stifling office environment? Waited tables in a theme restaurant? Photographed drunken Paine Webber employees while dressed as a Christmas elf? If you answered YES to any of these questions, this is the show for you! Please join us as we attempt to delight and astonish you with true accounts of workplace humiliation.

Guests will include:

MATT WALSH (Former "Daily Show" correspondent, original member of Upright Citizens Brigade and currently seen in "Starsky and Hutch")

BRYAN TUCKER (Head writer for "Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn", and former writer for "MadTV" and "The Chris Rock Show")

PETER HYMAN (Author of "The Reluctant Metrosexual")

LIAM McENEANEY (Comedy Central's "Premium Blend" alum)

And, because the public demands it, MORE!!

Here are the details:

Tuesday, April 6, 2004
Sob Stories with Christian Finnegan
The Marquee
356 Bowery
(btwn Great Jones & E. 4th St.)
8:00 PM
$5.00 - NO drink minimum!

PSNBC, network television's only performance and development lab, presents Sob Stories, an evening of epic tales of trauma and personal triumph presented by some of New York's brightest comic minds. This month's theme: Soul Crushing Day Jobs.

Visit www.ballyhoopromotions.net for updates and other events.

Put it on your gosh-darned calendars! Hope to see you there, fuckfaces (and others)!

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