The Liam McEneaney Experience

BEXWATCH: DAY 3
Old women gather for the vigil in every corner of the park, muttering, crying, gnashing their teeth and rending their clothing. "Where, o where has Liam's CD goane?" Only Bex knows for sure. All's I know is that several Buddhist monks have threatened to set themselves on fire if I don't get my CD back.

WISDOM FROM AN OLD SALT
The poets say that as long as a man has the love of a good woman, that is all the wealth he'll ever need. Then again, have you ever seen the way poets live? Like monkeys in a zoo.

MY QUOTES
Some guy used one of my literary quotes for struggling writers on his page. See, people? This is how you advance your career! Check it out: http://3aarons.blogspot.com/

SQUEAL LIKE A PIG
The first time I ever saw the movie "Deliverance" (and who doesn't have their first-time-seeing-"Deliverance" stories?), it was at a local second-run theatre, Cinema Classics.
Now, I was sitting in the middle of the row. There was an empty space, and then my closest neighbor, a middle-aged balding white man. After the rape scene, when the guys had murdered the hillbillies and were burying them, the man leans over, stretches his leg past the empty seat, and puts his foot on top of mine.
It doesn't bother me that he thought I was gay. What bothers me is that he thought I was into brutal rape and murder. I mean, no offense if that's your thing. But at least offer to pay for my ticket and popcorn.

MY ATM
My bank has rewritten their ATM so it's more "human." Like it says, "Do you want me to print a receipt for you?" and instead of "Yes" or "No," the options are "Sure," and "No thanks." And it says, "Can I help you with anything else today?"
Which is fine, but it's going too far. The other day I went to withdraw money, and it said, "You've been spending an awful lot of money today. I thought we were on a budget."
I was like, "But I've got a date tonight," and the ATM replied, "That's going to do you a lot of good when you can't make rent this month."
So I said, "YOU'RE NOT MY DAD!" and ran out crying.

SHE WAS HOT, THO
I was walking down the street the other day, and I saw this middle-aged woman approaching me, her hair so blonde it was almost white. I thought, "Wow, that woman's still in really good shape, she's kept it all together, good for her."
Then she got closer and I saw she was wearing a shirt that said, "NO FAT CHICKS." I looked closer, and realized that it was Axl Rose.

UPDATE: LIAM AT IRVING PLAZA
On the left there's a new link to see a clip on ComedyCentral.com of me performing a sketch at famed musical venue Irving Plaza. That's right - Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Liam McEneaney, all the greats of American rock have performed there.

BEXWATCH: DAY 2
This is the second day of BexWatch, and so far, no sign of the CD I lent her. It was "The Best of Sessions at 54, Vol. 1." Please do a novena tonight at 11:22, the exact moment I agree to let her borrow it that fateful Sunday.

WISDOM OF THE AGES (Ages 11 - 13)
Never judge a book by its cover. Unless the cover says, "Oprah Book of the Month Club." Because a woman who can get people on TV and admit they have erectile dysfunction is probably magic.

MY BOOK IDEAS
These are all books I'm working on. Don't steal my brilliant ideas.
1) "NICE TITS! A Construction Worker's Guide to Making a Relationship Work." - Who better to give advice than the men who are America's astutest judges of women?
2) "NUTRITION FACTS, RECIPE IDEAS, AND RAINY DAY ACTIVITIES: A Book of Side Panels from Cereal Boxes" - I figure, everyone reads these every morning at the breakfast table raptly, why not make an entire book out of them?
3) "NOAM CHOMSKY: AMERICA'S GUT-BUSTING, FUNNYBONE-GRABBING LAFF-MASTER"
4) MESSAGE BOOKS - These are books whose value lies not in what's written inside, but in the title itself. You can leave these around the house as a none-too-subtle hint for your husband, wife, children, or maid:
* "YOU COULD STAND TO LOSE A FEW POUNDS, HONEY"
* "I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU THIS, BUT I WANT A DIVORCE"
* "SON, YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE VERY ASHAMED OF YOU"
* "DON'T FORGET, THE O'MALLEYS ARE COMING FOR DINNER TONIGHT SO BRING HOME A BOTTLE OF WINE - DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, THEY'RE YOUR FRIENDS, YOU INVITED THEM OVER, OH AND DON'T THINK YOU AND MIKE ARE GOING TO GO OUT TO A BAR FOR A NIGHTCAP AFTERWARDS, BECAUSE I AM NOT DRIVING OVER TO McSWIGGANS TO PICK YOU UP AGAIN, THE LAST TIME I WAS SO EMBARRASSED I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE: A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES"
* "I LOVE YOU"
* "I LOVE YOU THE SEQUEL: NOW PLEASE TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE"
* "I LOVE YOU III: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MAN I MARRIED?"


I DO THE WORLD'S STRUGGLING WRITERS A FAVOR
Sometimes publishers will have a first-time novelist who's good, but the general public has no idea who he or she is. So they'll get a famous author to give them a blurb to put on the cover, usually Stephen King.
Well, seeing as how I'm a famous blog writer now, here are some quotes that any of you struggling writers out there can use:
* "Great characters ... taut suspense ... kept me on the edge of my seat from page seven."
* "This book cures cancer. I mean it, I had cancer and just touching this book cured me."
* "It's the most passionate, steamiest, sexiest how-to gardening book of the year."
* "This book made me laugh like a madman, it made me cry like a baby, it made me refill my prescription for Xanax. I am a manic depressive."
* "Noam Chomsky, move over! America has a new laff-master gut-buster funnybone-grabbing master humorist!"
* "This book tickled me so much, I sued it for sexual harassment and won."
* "I live alone in a small cave on the outskirts of Mongolia. To survive, I dig up roots, I hunt small game, I make my own clothes, my own medicine. My exile is deliberate; I have decided to cut myself off from the wickednessof civilization completely, because I know God is bringing a judgment down fast. However, a nearby beet farmer lent me a copy of this book, and I must say that, were I to follow the sport of basketball in general, or the Toronto Raptors in particular, this would be the greatest book on that sport or that team I had ever read."

BEXWATCH: DAY 1
Six months ago today I lent my friend Bex one of my favorite CDs, which she promised to return "in a week."
Today, I start a vigil for my lonely, lost CD. Please - light a candle and join me on my blanket. It's been so long I'm afraid I don't even remember what the poor little fella looked like any more.

NUGGET O' WISDOM
They say music soothes the savage beast. Especially the hum of a high-voltage taser.

THE EMINEM SHOW
I bought "The Eminem Show" yesterday. I'm sure that at this point everyone's heard the single, "Without Me." At the beginning of the song, when he's going "Two trailer park girls go on the outside," doesn't he sound like Fred Whatsisname from the B-52s?
"Two trailer park girls, they're as big as a whale and they're about to set sail!"
I give that guy eight years and he's out of the closet.

PLANET BALIWOOD
I walked past Planet Hollywood, and I saw that it had a bouncer. A bouncer at Planet Hollywood? Have you been to this restaurant? Who can't get in to Planet Hollywood?
"I'm sorry, sir, but we have a dress code here. I'm going to have to ask you to put on a 3 year-old Disneyland T-shirt, a pair of cargo shorts, and some sandals or I can't let you in."

RELATIONSHIPS
For me are like the game of Monopoly. I always seem to just go around in circles spending money I shouldn't. And somehow, every three turns I seem to Go Directly To Jail. I am definitely the man on the horse, though, and NOT the thimble.

PRACTICAL JOKE (DEAD PEOPLE ONLY)
When I'm dead, I don't want to be buried or cremated. I want to be used for a practical joke. I want to be put in a giant, gaily-decorated box. On the side will be a handle and a sign that says, "HEY KIDS! TURN HANDLE FOR FREE ICE CREAM!"
When they turn the handle, it'll play "Pop Goes the Weasel," and when it gets to "Pop Goes - " my body will pop out!

UPDATE
This blog just had its 2000th visitor today. To celebrate, I'm throwing a make-out party!

PEARL O' WISDOM
(straight from the horse's* mouth)

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence; especially if you live next to a manure factory. Of course, if you live next to a manure factory, you probably have more things to worry about than relative grass greenness, you should worry about things like, "Maybe I should get my life together so I can afford to not live next to a manure factory," and "Maybe my kids' constant 'mystery illnesses' have something to do with the manure factory next door."

* No offense, Sarah Jessica Parker.

WANNA BE LIKE MIKE?
New York City mayor Mike Bloomberg unveiled his plan today to restructure the Board of Education so that it's more like a business. Some of his key points include:
* Bottom 25% of students fired; headhunters lure A-students from other cities with promises of bonuses, vacation time.
* All C-students will be replaced by computers.
* Move most schools from US to Mexico, where teachers will work for two dollars an hour.
* Increasing school profitability by having Special Ed students make sneakers for Nike.
* Replace Phys-Ed staff with temps from agency.
* For fifty million dollars, will change name of Washington Irving High School to "Staples Super Learning Center."
* Diplomas will be printed on pink slips. Instead of a graduation ceremony, each student will be called into the principal's office, who will awkwardly stumble over, "Your school work was satisfactory but we're making some cutbacks" speech. When student leaves the office, a security guard will be standing by the student's locker. The student will find his personal belongings in a cardboard box, and then he'll be escorted out of the building.

I traveled to Poughkeepsie this weekend to do shows at the Banana's Comedy Club up there. Poughkeepsie is probably one of the hardest performing experiences to write about, jsut because the name is so ungainly and long: Poughkeepsie. It's an old Indian word, invented before European settlers braught Western ideas like "brevity" and "spelling things the way they sound." I'm betting that even the Mayor of Poughkeepsie has to constantly think about how to spell the name; his correspondance probably reads something like, "THEREFORE it is resolved that the city of Pokip - oops, Poukip, damn, Porkop - ahh, to hell with it, Upper Peekskill."

The last time I did Bananas in Poughkeepsie was the weekend of September 14th and 15th, 2001. You can imagine I wasn't in a great mood; I'd just heard that "Becker" was cancelled (don't worry, it wasn't). Of course, I was doubly shocked because I'd assumed "Becker" was cancelled after the first episode. I suspect that it was, but either no one told them, or Ted Danson said, "The hell with it, I'm gonna keep making it anyway."

Of course, I'm kidding, but I don't need to tell you what had happened that week. Before each show, I would stand in the lobby in front of the club and hope that people would stay home grieving and the shows would be cancelled. No such luck, of course - damn you, resilient human spirit in the face of crises! Actually, I did get to work with Jim Norton, who is very funny - and i'm not just saying that because of the extremely unlikely chance that he might read this. I really learned a lot about dealing with a show in extremely awkward circumstances.

Anyhowdy. This time around I did all right, not great. It's funny how one can do really well on TV, and be written up and have a general "buzz," and still be a rookie in this business. Bananas is in the Route 9 Best Western Hotel/Conference Center. They gave me a free room, so I got to spend a little time in Poughkeepsie. I have a bad attitude towards the place, and Upstate New York in general,, and I think that all comes from just growing up in New York City. Every year, NYC would raise a huge chunk of money via taxes, or the MTA. And every year, upstate lawmakers would appropriate a large amount of that money for their hamlets' use, who had raised jack shit. And then they would havbe the nerve to decry the city as a cesspit of crime and sin. Well, of course, a-hole, but why not let us keep our fucking money, and then we can rebuild our schools and infrastructure, and maybe they won't have to jack up the price of a token every year.

Bitter much? Of course.

THE CAB
I did a show Friday night, was dead on my feet. I was woken up at 3:37 am by a call from the front desk, "You're taxi's here." I hadn't ordered a cab, but I decided to go up to the front desk and settle things. Halfway up the stairs I realized that I could have just said, "I didn't order a cab," and been done with it. But what the hell, I'm not the kind of guy to say "No" to adventure.

I got to the front desk. Here's the Scene:
Sitting on a bench are two middle-aged grey-haired fellas in coats. Behind the front desk is an older man.

ME: Did you call me?
FRONT: Your taxi came.
ME: I didn't call a cab.
FRONT: He said you called him.
MIDDLE-AGED MAN #1: He said Room 117.
MIDDLE-AGED MAN #2: I heard him.
ME: That's my room, but I didn't call a cab.
MIDDLE-AGED MAN #1: He asked for 117.
FRONT: He just left.

It wasn't until the next morning that I realized how weird that whole scene was. It was like David Lynch had taken the time direct about five muntes of my life.

THE MALL

I spent much of Saturday at the mall which was a twenty minute walk down Route 9. The last time I'd been in Poughkeepsie, I'd ended up haning out n the run-down mall. You could tel it was the "ghetto" mall because it had a second-run theatre and a head shop. Yes, a head shop. Also, teenagers didn't really hang out in the Food Court there.

This mall, the "good" mall as much bigger, and it had skylights and a spiral staricase. I may not have been the first young man to walk through that mall blasting "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on my walkman and dreaming of the day I would escape this town, although my Sunday morning departure date meant I was probably the first to not get sidetracked by a dead-end job and a kid (there were a lot of guys my age driving cabs).

I think I may have been the first person in the history of that mall, though, to actually walk up the spiral staircase. I'm not in great shape, but peopel in Poughkeepsie are in genuinely terrible shape. Even the guys who clearly worked out looked unhealthy and sedentary. I think it's the difference between gym muscles and prison muscles; you either want a showcase display or you have it marked for immediate use.

I think it may have to do with the unusual chin allotment amongst the Poughkeepsie populace; the natives either had too mmany or none at all.

I found the Cinema, but the only movies starting at 2:30 were "Embarrassing/Borderline Racist Eddie Griffen Vehicle," or "Spirit: Boring and Not Very Well-Animated Horse." I opted instead for a meal at the Food Court. One look at my options in the Food Court answered the question, "Why is America the most obese nation in the world?" They had McDonald's, Nathan's Taco Bell, Chinese takeaway. By the way, you'll note that I used the word "obese" and not "well-fed." You may be eating plenty at McDonald's, but you will not be eating well.

I had the healthies thing I could find "Cajun" food from something called Cajun Cafe. I had a Chicken Bourbon, which I am 90% sure contained no alcohol Although that would make it the most successful fast-food franchise in the world.

I sat down and put my headphones on. Then a family sat down next to me, and I turned my music down, so I could eavesdrop.

The father and son sat down first, also carrying a plate of Bourbon chicken. The father was an overwieght middle-aged man, straighht out of a Lifetime movie about abusive husbands. The son, well, you know those movies where a nerd constantly gets hassled by a tubby bully who talk back to his folks, until one day the nerd can't take it any more and gets his revenge, usually involved and elaborate and "hilarious"? This kid was that bully. They were joined by a woman, late 30s, dyed blonde hair partly falling wherever and partly pulled back, in a look that was probably elaborately careless. As I listened, I realized her English was very limited. Here's the conversation:

DAD (to the wife): This is good. You should learn to make this.
SON: Dad, she had to learn one thing at a time. She has to learn how to make American food first, then Chinese food.
DAD: This is very good Chinese food.

He spoke to her in Spanish about Chinese food. Then he switched to English and started giving her a list of responsibilities she had. As their conversaiton progressed, I realized this woman was a mail-order bride.

I OFTEN WONDER
What would I have been like had I grown up in Poughkeepsie? Probably a 500 pound guy, living in a hovel with a hag and a litter of young ‘uns, working days as assistant manager at Ruby Tuesday's and nights driving cabs. I would probably be one of the wittiest guys on the Star Trek fan newsgroup, writing witty fan fiction.

Instead of the ultra-cool guy I am, writing "witty" stuff on my very own blog.

HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY
I'll be going away this weekend, so I will post again on Monday.
There's no better way to honor fallen war heroes than take a long weekend. Just like those brave young men at Normandy, me and my friends will be swarming the beaches. Only instead of gunfire, we'll be facing a BBQ fire.

Besides, this will give you something to do on this nice weekend than sit around in front of your computer waiting for me to post something.

PERSONAL TO BILL PAXTON
Bill Paxton, what the f? What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Here it is, so engrave it in your memory:
I liked the movie "Frailty" so much that I am willing to meet you anywhere, any time, to personally duke it out, man-to-man, and then discuss you film for a couple of hours.

POOR LIAM'S ALMANACK PRESENTS OLD FOLK WISDOM #1:
When you have the clap, sex is more than an act of pleasure; it's a practical joke.

THE SIMPLE PLEASURES
Here are some of the simple pleasures in life:
* You know that band you like, the one you thought no one but you had ever heard of? When you randomly walk by a bar and hear their song playing on a jukebox.
* At the ATM, you check your balance and find out you have a hundred dollars more than you thought. And it's not even like the bank's waiting to clear a check.
* When three seperate friends, by coincidence and not knowing the other two were doing it, repay you the money they borrowed. That's better than money in the bank.
* When a baby in a stroller makes eye contact with you and breaks into a big smile.
* You know that feeling right after you've been sick, and your lungs are cleared, and even though you're still a little weak, it's a clean, healthy kind of weak? That's the way the world feels right after it rains in the springtime.
* Running into someone in the street that you know has been badmouthing you behind your back and being polite. But with an edge to your politeness, so they're left wondering whether or not you know what they said about you. And then knowing that they're going to lose some sleep wondering what was behind the meaning of everything you said.
* You're in a bar and you put that song on the jukebox, the one that means a lot to you, and you see that cute girl sitting alone close her eyes and sway her head slightly, back and forth. Even if you never talk to her, you shared that moment.
* The knowledge that, no matter how bad you're day's going and no bad how badly you've mismanaged your life up to this point, at least you aren't a former cast-member of "Star Trek."

POOR LIAM'S ALMANACK PRESENTS OLD FOLK WISDOM #2:
I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no tear ducts. Then I cried some more, but mostly to show off my tear ducts and make him feel bad. You know what a guy with no tear ducts does when he feels sad? He punches someone in the face. Actually, that's probably a more satisfying way of dealing with things. Unless, of course, you're the asshole standing in front of him, deliberately making him feel bad about his inability to cry.

I don't know if you've ever seen the "comedy" troupe Capitol Steps, but basically they're a god-awful political parody group that does song-and-dance numbers. Think Mark Russell, if he ever went Broadway. Or, if you don't watch PBS, think "Weird" Al Yankovic if A) He wasn't "Weird," B) Only read the New York Times, and C) Made fun of stuff that stopped being popular six months ago.

Anyway, whenever I get bored, I like to imagine songs that would be so bad that they're worse than Capitol Steps.

My imaginary group is called "Atop The Dome!" I like to fantasize that they're three men and three women, all in their late 20s/early 30s. Their publicity photos show them all standing on top of the Capitol Dome, all wearing that hugely oversized, open-mouthed smile that people who aren't very funny wear to
indicate that they are about to perform some comedy.

WON'T YOU COME HOME BILL CLINTON?
(to the tune of "Won't You Come Home Bill Bailey?")
Won't you come home Bill Clinton?
Won't you come home?
We know we done you wrong.
So you had an intern named Lewinsky,
And maybe she blew in-sky,
But Bush is a mo-ron.

* * *

THE JIM BRADY SONG
(to the tune of "The Real Slim Shady")

I'm Jim Brady, yes I'm the real Brady,
All other gun-control guys
Are just imitating.
So won't the real Jim Brady please stand up.
Please stand up
Please - oooh. Jeez, I'm sorry.

* * *

THE FBI SONG
(to the tune of "This Land is your Land")

(CHORUS)
Let's hear it for the Bureau.
They're like Dumb and .Dumber,
Can't get nothing past them
Except a fake visa or Social Security number,
From the Arab Emirate,
To the Persian Gulf Stream waters,
The FBI's inspecting you and me.

(VERSE 1 OF 17)
They're real genii,
You can't just get by them.
Unless you half-try,
To get planes and fly them.
They're too busy looking,
At what Nader's cooking,
The FBI's inspecting you and me.

* * *

HE'S DEFINITELY MAKING DOLLARS
There's this show, "Alan Keyes Is Making Sense!" Aren't there truth in advertising laws about this kind of thing?
Because the guy was making a lot of things on his show, but sense ain't one of them. Unless it's just the show I saw, but it looked like the guy has the entire cast of a Jerry Springer show locked up inside his head.

APHORISM #1
Laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry, and the world laughs at you.

THERAPIST OFF
I was having troubles with my relationships, so I went to see a therapist.
And at first it was fine, but then after a few months, I realized that the guy wasn't helping me. But I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so at first I hinted things like, "Well, you'd probably rather see other patients." Or, "How about next week, you just come hang out with a group of my friends."
But that didn't work, so one night I took him to a nice little Italian restaurant and just told him, "Look, I'm sorry, but these sessions aren't working out for me. Don't get me wrong, you're one of the most therapeutic people I know, it's just that, well, I don't know."
He started crying and telling me that he's lost every patient he's ever been with. I felt real bad for him and, stupid me, agreed to go to our session again the next week "one last time."
That was three years ago, and - oops, better go. My therapy session's in twenty minutes.
THE END
Copyright 2002 Liam McEneaney Productions All Rights Reserved

APHORISM #2
You have no friends where a great piece of gossip is involved.

WHAT I HEARD RIDING ON THE F TRAIN, IN THE TUNNEL BETWEEN 23rd ST. (ELY AVE. IN QUEENS) AND LEXINGTON AVE.

(THE CONDUCTOR IS SPEAKING OVER THE LOUDSPEAKER, HE'S GOT A MIDDLE-AGED VOICE WITH A STRONG JAMAICAN ACCENT)

"On behalf of the train crew and myself, we would like to thank you for your ridership. We look forward to having you on our train again soon. We'd like to thank everyone, absolutely everyone.
We are in a tunnel between Queens and Manhattan, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. The time is now 10:51 am, January 4th, 1999."

I was so taken by this that I wrote it down immediately, and just found it in an old notebook.

DYLAN HEADED BACK TO MOVIE THEATRES
Bob Dylan will return to the big screen for his first major film role in 15 years. Dylan has signed to star in a drama tentatively titled "Masked & Anonymous," in which he would play Jack Fate.

This sounds very much like a bad late-'80s Schwartzenegger/Stallone/Gibson/Willis cop movie. I've already written the trailer:

THE SCREEN IS BLACK.
We hear some ominous movie trailer music.

FADE IN ON:
EXT. CHICAGO SKYLINE. NIGHT

NARRATOR:
In a city of six million souls -

CUT TO:
INT. POLICE STATION
We see BOB DYLAN in a suit and tie, carrying a folder under his arm.

NARRATOR:
One cop -

CUT TO:
INT. BAR
DYLAN is drinking alone. The BARTENDER (BERNIE MAC) is listening to him.

DYLAN:
I got thirty-six hours until retirement.

NARRATOR:
- is about to come face-to-face with terror.

CUT TO:
EXT. CHEMICAL PLANT
There is a huge explosion.

CUT TO:
A NEWSCASTER making a report.

NEWSCASTER:
No one knows where the terrorists will strike next.

CUT TO:
INT. CHIEF'S OFFICE
The CHIEF (PETER BOYLE) is chewing DYLAN out.

BOYLE:
I've already got half the city council riding my Hershey Highway. Last thing I want is your cowboy antics, go it, Fate?

DYLAN:
Nobody blows up my town but me.

NARRATOR:
Now he's got just seven hours -

CUT TO:
A VIDEO TAPE OF THE CHIEF TERRORIST (JEREMY IRONS)

IRONS:
Ve vant six billion dollars. Or else ve strike a nuclear plant on ze Eastern Seaboard.

NARRATOR:
- to save a city.

MONTAGE:
DYLAN swimming underwater with a knife in his teeth.
DYLAN making passionate love to LINDA FIORENTINO.
DYLAN riding a motorcycle and shooting at a car.
DYLAN punching a GERMAN GUY in the face.

CUT TO:
EXT. DUNKIN' DONUTS PARKING LOT
DYLAN is talking to a fellow cop (CHRIS TUCKER)

DYLAN:
Let's roll.

TUCKER:
Oh man, why you ain't speak like a normal person?

THE MUSIC STOPS AS IF A NEEDLE HAS BEEN PULLED FROM A RECORD

CUT TO:
SAME SCENE A FEW SECONDS LATER

TUCKER:
Repeat after me: I'm getting jiggy wit' it.

DYLAN:
(mumbling worse than ever)
Mumble mumble jiggy.

TUCKER:
(to camera)
Man, he is hopeless.

NARRATOR:
This summer -

CUT TO:
INT. IRONWORKS
DYLAN is holding a CRIMINAL (QUENTIN TARANTINO), twisting his arm behind his back.

TARANTINO: Can't we work this out?

NARRATOR:
- blame it -

DYLAN: The answer my friend is blow it out your ass.

He twists TARANTINO'S ARM HARDER.

NARRATOR:
- on a simple twist -

CUT TO:
EXT. A CROWD WATCHINGDYLAN PULL A KID OUT OF A FIRE WHILE PUNCHING A THUG

WOMAN:
Who is he?

MONTAGE:
TUCKER: Fate?
BOYLE: Faaate!
NEWSCASTER: Fate.

CUT TO:
INT. JEREMY IRONS SITTING AT A DESK.

IRONS (hissing): Fate.

CUT TO:
EXT. IRONWORKS
DYLAN is walking towards the camera, holding a handheld detonator.

NARRATOR:
- of fate.

DYLAN presses the detonator. There is a huge explosion as the ironworks blows up.

TITLE: MASKED & ANONYMOUS

INT. BOYLE'S OFFICE
DYLAN is standing with BOYLE and a FEMALE COP (LINDA FIORENTINO)

FIORENTINO: You like to go out with a bang, don't you?

TITLE: SUMMER 2003

BLACKOUT

LETTERS AND TOMATOS DEPARTMENT

I GOT A RESPONSE!

A month ago, I sent an insane letter to General Mills, basically decrying their "Frosted Lucky Charms" cereal as a Satanic plot to get our children to believe in dark magic, much like "Harry Potter. I got the following reply this weekend:

Dear Mr. McEneaney,

Thank you for contacting General Mills. We are sorry you were disappointed with our advertising for Lucky Charms. Our intent is to encourage poteantial and existing customers to use our products. Your opinions are important to us, and will be carefully reviewed with our marketing and advertising staff.

We appreciate your interest and hope you continue to enjoy our products.

Sincerely,

Cynthia Brown

**************
Well, I certainly think General Mills can do better than THAT. They hardly addressed my many, many salient and rational points. So I've written the following reply:

Cynthia Brown
c/o General Mills
PO BOX 1113,
Minneapolis, MN 55440

Dear Mr. Brown;

Thank you for taking the time to reply to me. I realize that General Mills himself was probably too busy (what with this trouble in the Middle East), although I trust you have brought this matter to his attention. (Please forgive me for using the "Mr," but I don't know your rank. I'm guessing Corporal. Tell me the truth, am I right?).

Anyway, I appreciate your agreement with me on this matter, ie, that Frosted Lucky Magic Charms is a dangerous influence on America's Christian youth. But I didn't expect such a quick response! I am glad you're going to talk to your marketing and advertising departments. I'm guessing that if he weren't so busy with the war, old General Mills would be giving them a good talking-to himself. Am I right?

I went to my grocer yesterday and asked him when you would start recalling Frosted Lucky Magic Charms from the shelf. He gave me an odd look and told me he hadn't heard about a recall. He asked me if there had been some kind of food poisoning lawsuit or something, and I told him, no, just soul-poisoning.

Anyway, I realize that you're going to need something to replace the cereal now that you're going to get rid of it. I decided that, since I was partly to blame for your predicament, I would have to also help you find a solution - free of charge! Here's what I came up with:

* Altar Boysenberry Cereal - cereal shapped like altar boys and choir girls in delicious fruity flavors (the ad line could be, "It's an A-Choir-ed Taste!").
* Lord's Prayer Alphabits - Just like regular Alphabits, but only using letters that spell out the Lord's Prayer.
* Crucifeces - cross-shaped sugar cereal. Kids would be thinking about the sweet, delicious love of the Lord every time they popped him in their mouth (like a COmmunion wafer!).

I have a lot more ideas than that, but I thought this would be a good start. Again, thanking you so much for eeing things my way, and maybe some day I'll come out to Minnesota and lead a prayer circle!


Sincerely,


Liam McEneaney

STOP THE PRESSES
BackStage called me one of the "Ten Stand-Out Standups Worth Watching." Check it out. Only $2.95 at your local newsstand.

THIS WEEKEND
I'm not going to be able to update this blog over the weekend; Saturday I agreed to volunteer with some inner-city kids or something all day, and then I've got a show and a party and a thing and a thing.
So this'll have to tide you over until Monday. But to make it up to you, I will make out with you on demand (women* only).

PAXTON UPDATE DAY 5
No one said getting Bill Paxton to fight me would be easy.
If'n you don't know why I want to fight Paxton, go see "Frailty," the movie he directed and starred in. It's really, really good. Afterwards, see if you don't come out of that movie going, "Damn, that was so good I want to sit down and discuss the movie with him for an hour-and-a-half and then fight him."
Seriously, Paxton, let's go mano-a-mano.

I KNOW WHAT CHICKS LIKE
They like a man who gives them a little bit of a mystery. That's why, whenever I date a woman, I kill her roommate. That way, throughout the date, I'm just like, "Hmmm, looks like I found another clue. this soup is Gazpacho. That means the killer might be Russian."
Then at the end of the night, when I go for my kiss, I say, "I've solved the mystery. Tune in for our next date to find out who it was."
One thing I've noticed about women, though, is like, when you date them, they're always mourning and crying hysterically, "Oooohhhh, someone killed my roommmate. Help me! Why won't you let me call the police?" What's up with that, ladies? Why so emotional?

BABY BLUES
Some friends of mine got married a couple of years ago, but she kept her last name. Then they had a baby this year and when it was born they had a problem; they didn't know whether the baby was going to use her last name or his. They had a terrible fight, and eventually they agreed to resolve it thus:
They put the baby in the middle of the floor, equally distant from both of them. Then they both called the baby, "Here boy! Here boy!" and agreed that whoever the baby crawled to, that would whose name it took.
So now the baby's name is "Henry Charles Pokemon."

TATTOO YOU!
If you get the words "LOVE" and "HATE" tattooed on your knuckles, that means you're tough.
But if you get the words "NONCOMFORMITY" and "BRING THE SYSTEM DOWN FROM WITHIN" tattooed on your knuckles, apparently you're "some kind of jackass" who "sobers up the next morning" and has to "borrow five hundred bucks from his friend to get it remocved with laser surgery."
What I'm saying is, seriously, look close, you can barely tell it was there.

I LOVE
People who complain about having to go visit foreign countries and how they have a thirty-acre estate that needs a whole crew to mow the lawn and so one, and people who go on and on about what a pain it is to fly first class.
Because when they do that, usually the jury acquits you of the assault and battery charges.

I ENVY
Gay guys. Seriously. I wish - I WISH I could go to a bar and know for certain that the person sitting next to me likes giving blow jobs. It would be nice to take the guesswork out.

Also, all these preachers keep saying that gay peopel are going to Hell automatically. You know how much pressure that would take off of me? I could kill my landlord once and for all. If I'm caught, "Well, I'm gay so I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't." Might as well make the most of it.

*****************

* Attractive.**
** Or if you buy me dinner.

PAXTON - DAY 4
So far, no word from Bill Paxton.
All right, man here's my next offer: If you fight me, I will give you five dollars and I'll take you to Sizzler and buy you a plate at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

I AM VERY FUNNY
But here's something that apparently isn't too funny:
If you see two homelessguys pulling a refrigerator carton out of the garbage, don't say, "Awww, that's so cute, you two are moving in together." Apparently, homeless people have no sense of irony.

ANOTHER PROTEST SONG
This is about something that's bothered me for a long time:

MY GENERATION

(slow and serious)

We're going to wars, our politicians are whores,
They've sold out to the highest bidder.
Our schools getting shafted, our young men will be drafted,
Our economy's down in the shitter.

The environment's polluted, and the flag is saluted,
In the name of the big oil biz.
But out of all the problems I see, the thing that bothers me,
Is how lame my generation is.

(rock out!)

(CHORUS)
My generation, they're all the same age as me,
But somehow they're old men at the ripe age of twenty-three.
Wanna go out and explore the world?
"Sorry, there's something great on TV."
My generation sucks, My generation sucks, My generation sucks.

Sure everyone complains about the hip,
Ironic distance of Generation X.
But at least they advocated
Promiscuous threeway kinky sex.

And sure Gen X may have invented
Big chain stores like Starbucks.
But did we have to accept them as the norm?
That's why my generation sucks.

(CHORUS)

Who are your rock stars, Generation Y?
Creed? Their antics are so tame.
Or what about your boy-bands over there in their
Costumes made of gold lame - Excuse me, I mean la-may.

Every time I go to a party,
I have to listen to twenty-five year old boors
Telling me that the greatest work of literature they've read
Is the script to Star Wars.

You can tell our future's in danger,
When everyone's agreed.
"If I'd have bothered to vote, I would have voted Nader,
You can tell that he smokes weed."

(CHORUS)

And by the way, what kind of name,
Is "Generation Y?"
As in "Y are you letting advertisers define you,
so they can tell you what to buy?"

And Y are shows like "Scrubs" and jean ads
Telling you what you should be?
But I think the lamest thing of all, and it shows that we suck,
is that this message had to come from me.

PAXTON UPDATE - DAY 3
So far, no word from Bill Paxton. If you haven't read this blog before, basically I have decided that I liked Paxton's movie "Frailty" so much, and I was so impressed by how much I'd enjoyed it, that I want to pick a fight with him. Yesterday I asked readers of this Blog to forward this site to all their friends, in the hopes that one of these friends would know Paxton, or even be Paxton himself.
Looks like I have to sweeten the pot:
PAXTON - I am now willing to offer you five dollars to fight me. That's one Lincoln to go mano-a-mano with me in the squared circle. Whaddya say?

HOW TO BE UNPOPULAR
Sure, as a professional comedian, I have plenty of time on my hands to be unpopular. But how can you, the average person, achieve unpopularity? Here are some tips:

* Every time you enter a room, loudly finish telling a joke: "IF YOUR HORSE RUNS AS FAST YOUR DAUGHTER, I'LL BUY THREE!" Then laugh loudly for about fifteen seconds, sigh, and drink out of the nearest glass. If someone asks you what you're talking about, roll your eyes and mutter to yourself.

* Go to the new Star Wars movie. Before the movie starts, tell everyone around you loudly that you can't wait to see "Attack of the Clowns." During the movie, every fifteen minutes ask loudly, "This is good but where the hell are the clowns?!!" Towards the end, start singing "Send In The Clowns." After the movie, be heard talking on your cell-phone about how awesome the movie was despite an absence of clowns.

* Go to a Bob Dylan concert and scream, "American Pie" really loudly. At first, only do it in between songs as a request. Towards the end of the show, scream it all during every song, and twice as loud at the encore. Se if you can't make him at least sing a chorus to shut you up. If he does, immediately shout, "Encore!"

* Name your new baby something controversial, like "Abortia," "Rapeist," or "Adolph Junior." When people get upset, act like you have no idea why they would be offended. Explain that the Archangel Gabriel came to you in a dream and gave you the name.

* Borrow $500 each from everyone you know; friends, acquaintances, family. Remember, you're going for unpopularity, so leave no resource untapped. Make sure that you make it 100% clear that you need the money for something "very, very urgent." Then take the money and buy something useless; expensive jewelry, a waterski, a purebred dog. Then make sure everyone you know sees your new prize possession.

* Say something incredibly hurtful to someone you love in a crowded restaurant. When they start crying, turn to look at everyone around you and say, "She's been emotional ever since they cancelled 'Saint Elsewhere'." Repeat yourself loudly until you're sure everyone in the restaurant is interested in you and your life.

* Tell someone that you masturbated to them the night before. Then tell them that you never knew what a freak they were, and that they were even kinkier than you would have thought. Then start critiquing their technique. Then tell them that the relationship's over, and that you'd prefer never to see them again.

* If you're called on being an antisocial bastard, blame everyone else and tell them they don't "get it."

BOB DYLAN QUOTE OF THE WEEK
"If you want Rock'n Roll you can go down Rock'n Roll! You can go see Kiss! You can Rock'n Roll all the way down to the Pit!!"

PAXTON UPDATE
Yesterday I stated that I enjoy Bill Paxton's "Frailty" so much that I wanted to pick a fight with him. So far no response. At first I thought it was cowardice on his part, but it's occurred to methat my website might not be a must-read media sensation - YET!
So I figure that if a big star like Kevin Bacon can be linked to anyone in the world in six steps, then Bill Paxton can be linked to me in one or two. So what I want you to do today is send this URL (http://kidliam.blogspot.com) to six of your friends, and have them send it to six of their friends and so on and so forth until Paxton reads about it.
If we work together as a group, we can all pick a fight with a well-respected character actor.

ARAFAT GETS HECKLED!
In a speech yesterday, Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat got heckled by right-wing extremists. Printed below is the transcript (translated):

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, please a warm welcome to our headliner. He's a Nobel Peace Prize winner and you may remember him from "Nightline," please give it up for Yasser Arafat!

(applause)

ARAFAT: Thank you, thank you so much. Death to America, death to the Great Satan, thank you. Or as my chauffeur would say, "Yassir, yassir, yassir!"

(polite laughter)

ARAFAT: It's great to be here tonight. But after being under Israeli siege for so long, it's great to be anywhere.

(silence, crickets)

ARAFAT (chuckling): Hey, I promised the West that I'd tell you guys to stop the suicide bombings in Israel. Huh? Huh?

(muttering from the audience)

ARAFAT: I said -

HECKLER: You told that one on your last two Al-Jazzeera specials!

ARAFAT: Hey, whoa. Don't blow up - what is this, a disco or something?

CROWD: Boo! You suck!

ARAFAT: Hey, I don't go down to the janitor's closet where your mother works and knock the circumcised dick out of her mouth!

WOMAN: That's disgusting.

ARAFAT: Fuck you!

HECKLER: We want our money back!

ARAFAT: Fuck you, I'm funny. I'm leaving.

THE END

BILL PAXTON
I enjoyed his movie "Frailty" so much that I want to punch him in the face. C'mon Paxton, I know you're out there. Come on out, it's clobberin' time!

HEY KIDS!
HERE'S AN AWESOME PRACTICAL JOKE THAT IS TOTALLY TUBULAR!
You will need:
1 fishing pole
1 large tropical fish

Wait until Mommy is in her room. Attach the fish to the line. Then take the fish on the line into the bathroom and flush it down the toilet.
Then call out, "Mommy! Mommy! Look what I've caught!" As she runs into the bathroom, reel the fish back up, turn around, show it to her proudly and say, "There's good eatin' on them things!"

A MODEST INDECENT PROPOSAL
The causes of the problems with church "touching" incidents are under dispute right now. Some say that it's caused by gay priests, the numbers of which are estimated to make up at least 50% of the clergy. Others blame the vow of chastity, saying that if priests were allowed a normal sexual outlet, they wouldn't take out these energies on little kids.

My solution: Let priests break their vows of chastity, but only if they have sex with each other. Think about all of the problems this would solve:
It would allow all priests to vent their sexual energies in mutually consensual relationships with fellow adults. Plus, gay priests would no longer feel ostracized in their religion.

Furthermore, think about all of the happy couples this would create; it's so rare to find someone who shares some of your interests in this world, so imagine how nice it would be to find someone who shares ALL of your interests in this world (and the one after).

I mean, it's a natural progression for an all-male organization that encourages members to wear ostentatious gowns to official functions and phallic ceremonial headwear; I suspect that that conference of cardinals last month resembled a typical show in the upstairs room at Rose's Turn.

Of course, the downside is that clergy would no longer be allowed to march in parades. But that's a small price to pay for the future of our children.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO ME
Tomorrow, Sunday May 12th - Mother's Day - will be my sixth year anniversay of doing stand-up comedy. Thank you, you're too kind.

I just thought I'd take this day to reflect, and take a trip down memory lane. I'm going to show you guys the jokes I was doing my first year of performing comedy, the kind of stuff I thought was so genius that I would for sure be doing it on television in no time. Also, I wrote out the story of my first time doing stand-up. In fact, I just finished writing it and decided to warn you right now: It's much longer than I thought it would be. So if you feel like skipping a long and involved story and going right to the jokes I totally understand.

My first time doing stand-up was actually my second; I don't really count my first experience because I didn't really do a set. The year was 1995, and I had seen a notice in the Village Voice that there was going to be a talent contest open to singers, musicians and comedians. The prize was fifty whole dollars. I had always considered stand-up comedy to be an easy path; after all, I was very funny cracking jokes with my friends. Or rather, I usually wasn't but I tried very hard. I could score off of my teachers in high school, though. And anyway, most of the stand-ups on shows like "Evening At The Improv" we terrible, cookie-cutter comedians doing the same act which wasn't funny the first time around. Hell, I could do better than that.

Turns out I couldn't. I got to this bar on the Upper West Side, and I was the only stand-up comic in the place. The MC was very excited, and told me that "If you're any good at all, I can get you some road work." I'd seen too many movies and this seemed absolutely right; the inexperienced amateur gets onstage, wows the old pro and is immediately set down the golden road to unlimited devotion.

So I'm waiting to go on, and I'm trying to put together a list of funny things I can riff off of. The only things I could think of were how the faster The Bionic Woman ran, the slower the slo-mo would get, and also how annoying "Seinfeld" was. Seinfeld, of course, you may remember as the most popular and beloved sitcom of all time. The audience wasn't exactly with me on that one.

I wonder who the guy was that ran that show, and whatever happened to him. I sure as hell didn't give him a chance to offer me road work. I bombed so badly that I ran out right after my "set" and never looked back.

Cut to: 1996 and I belonged to two really bad improv groups, both of which performed out of the New York Comedy Club. If you've never been to the New York Comedy Club, just imagine your average, every-day comedy club - but built over the gates of hell.

The best members of one of my improv groups formed a splinter group which was also terrible. I recently gave a tape of that performance away as a gift; I never wanted to see it again. (It's weird because I don't say we were all untalented; in fact one of the members of the splinter group was a correspondant for The Daily Show and is developing a show for some network or another, it's just that when we got together we formed like Voltron to make a less-than-entertaining supergroup.) We did one performance and then hung it up.

So after a year of doing improv, I was pretty bad - in fact, I was worse than bad, because my one strength, a certain raw talent, had been shaped into some really bad performance habits. I tried auditioning for Chicago City Limits, a professional improv group, and I'm sure that if I stuck out in the auditioners' minds at all, it was not in a good way.

I had always wanted to do stand-up comedy, ever since I was a little kid, but I was always afraid that I'd be bad at it, and then that would be my one life-long dream down the toilet. But with improv not happening, and with my not having the skills to pursue acting as a profession, and not being able to find a place to try reciting my poetry (but that's a whole other story), I finally got up the nerve to go to an open mic with a couple of my buddies from a bad improv group who were trying to make a go of it in stand-up comedy.

When I say I "finally" got up the nerve, I mean I was all of nineteen at the time. But this was something I felt I should have started doing when I was in junior high school. Because I'm probably crazy.

Anyway, the open mic I ended up doing was at a performance space downtown called "Surf Reality." In 1996, the Lower East Side was still in transition; it was no longer a war zone with cops and drug dealers doing battle over Tompkins Square Park. But the dot.com boom hadn't hit yet, and so there weren't trendy boutiques or Upper East Side-frat boy-friendly bars either. It was still a nice, funky area where there were little performance art spaces, dark bars, and cheap bodegas all over. Now the cheap little bodegas are all getting crowded out in favor of "antique" clothing stores and Whole Earth Food Shoppes, which I guess means good things for a neighborhood. Me, I'm from Queens, and am partial to tiny crowded stores with dirty floors and year-old cans of beans and loud salsa music and a fat guy in a wifebeater arguing with his wife and kids. I trust those stores more than some antiseptic pit of hipsterism, with wooden bins of radaccio presided over by a hipster in decade-old Lisa Loeb glasses, hair dyed black and a small dent where the nose ring used to be.

Surf Reality's still there. So is the open mic I went to; still go to when it comes to that.

Now, this was my first trip to the Lower East Side. A couple of weeks before, I'd told my friend Josh Rosa that I was thinking of taking this next step into doing stand-up on the LES, and he siad, "Be careful, I heard there's skinhead gangs in that neighborhood who go and kick the shit out of Jews."

I'm not Jewish, but my mom's side of the family is, and it shows ; I've got a very Jewish face, and I knew - I just knew - that if there were a gang of skinheads, I would be their first, number one target. In fact, I imagined a dispatcher out of one of those 1940s cop movies saying, "Calling all cars, calling all cars, be on the lookout for an overweight kike heading east on 1st street towards Avenue A. He is to be considered armed and pious."

So I get down to Allen Street, and I'm late. In fact, I just missed the sign-up, but the loud man with the tattoos all over his body (whom, I was later to learn, owned the establishment) told me that I could ask the MC, "Faceboy," if I could be put on the list.

Now, in addition to skinheads, there's another movement of men, men who shave their entire head for one reason or another. Not because they want to identify themselves with a hate group, but because, well I'm guessing it has something to do with male-pattern baldness, but just like the hippies let their hair grow, these men shaved it all down. Faceboy is one of these guys.

I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that, here I was - Jewy McJew-Jew on the Lower East Side - face-to-face with a guy who had his head shaved. I stammered out a request to sign up because the F train was late.

Now, being unacquainted with Faceboy's sense of humor, I didn't know that he was expressing anger ironically. All I know is that he looked at me, yelled "Fucking F train fucking MTA always fucking late!" And then said gently, "Sure, sign up at the end of the list."

Now, there's two things you should know about this open mic; one is that it lasts, on average, until two in the morning, although I was once there from beginnning to end and ended up laeaving at 4:30 in the morning. The second is that, unlike many other mics, it truly is "open." Anyone is welcome to get up and do anything they like. The downside is, of course, that anyone is welcome to get up and do anything they like.

I've been a firm believer that just because you have freedom of speech doesn't mean you should always exercise it.

I sat through six hour that night, waiting to go up, and the entire sic hours i was tense and miserable and nervous, waiting for my spot. And the acts I saw, some of which were good and some of which were not; several performance poets, an older guy named Ivan Ullz singing "Goodnight Irene," a woman named "Mona Cunt" who dressed like a prostitute and recited a Tennessee Williams monologue. There were other stand-up comedians, and every time they did badly, I felt better because I thought to myself, "At least I won't be the worst one up there tonight." There was a crazy pianist who would, years later, end up my roommate. There was my friend Chemda, who sang R & B a capella. There was a woman towards the end of the night, this woman had been pointed out to me earlier as the woman who, the week before, had pulled an onion out of herself. That night she got up and pulled down her panties, scooped out her menstrual blood, and painted a picture of a penis with it.

While I was watching that, I thought, ""It would be funny if I was the next act." Sure enough -

I get onstage, not sure if I was "allowed" to comment on what I was following, and so did my handful of jokes - which I had written and prepared - and got offstage.

I must have done three minutes at the most. And sure, at that time of night I was performing to my two improv friends and a handful of people who were too stoned or drunk - or both - to leave. But something about doing my jokes behinda mic felt really right. I was in college at the time, but after that, everything else faded into the background.

Did I make the right choice? Did I make the choice that was best for me? Did I end up pursuing a career in a field that I'm good at, that I have a future in? Even now, I can't tell you the answer to that question. But Ican tell you this: I've enjoyed myself almost every step of the way.

ANYWAY, I FOUND MY FIRST COMEDY NOTEBOOK:
And here are some notes I made for myself. Remember, Rome wasn't built in a day.

* There was a time (WORD CROSSED OUT) could be proud of Presidents.
Clinton on a dime? Dime bag, maybe.
* Tried to join Girl Scouts. Said you have to be under 14.
* THIS ONE IS HARD TO READ, BUT IT SEEMS TO GO: Food Square - Men's Room's a Office of TG Central.
* "Alternative comedy" - to what? Open mike tragedy?
* Jewish kids show - Gentile Ben, Yentl Ben
* If I saw Rod Serling in my kitchen, go back to bed - let it all blow over.
* We have a curfew in this city - endless delays and service interruptions due to trackwork
* Used gerbil to torture snakes at zoo - hold up, watch slam heads into glass.
* I'm going through a painful seperation - can't find my remtoe control.
* My parents were very strict disciplinarians. I remember once when I was 6 my mother caught me in front of refrigerator drinking straight out of the bottle. She said, "Liam, don't ever do that again, unless you want to chip in for beer."
* Inflate-A-Date She left me for Barney the Purple Dinosaur. She said, "He's big and purple an rich, three things you'll never be."
Now I have Inflate-A-Sheep. In 2 months I'll be a father again.
* Doctors say, "Don't worry, don't want to hurt you.
Then -
Does that hurt?
That?
What about this?
(Punch, kick)
Here let me get my knife.
What about now?
* If, through my complaining, I made one person as unhappy as I am, I feel (I'M NOT SURE WHAT II FELT, I NEVER FINISHED THE SENTENCE)
* I asked, "How R U?" My mom said, "I can't complain." I said, I have faith in you. Based on your track record. I believe U can do it, etc. etc.
* When life gives you gators, you gotta make Gatorade.
Masters . . . Masturbade.
The early dog catches the worms.
* My mom's dead now, she should be if I timed it right.
* I went to an S& M club. It wasn't that erotic; I went on square-dancing night.
* I don't like to make fun of the handicapped. Unless, of course, it's a handicap where they can't get up and hit you.
* Took my cat to the Humane Society today - we needed a new rug for the bathroom.
* My grandfather calls me up and gives me advice. Which is scary because he's at that point in his life where he's dead, you know?
* Acceptance Speech:
Thank you thank you, I'd like to thank my agent, John DeBastardo, first showed me the script for "Angel Beside Me, the Lisa Beduetter Story." I was instantly touched when I read it, the story of a man (I THINK I FINISHED WRITING THIS HERE AND DECIDED TO RELY ON MY IMPROV SKILLS AND WING IT. I WONDER IF I EVER ACTUALLY PERFORMED IT ONSTAGE)

AND THERE'S SO MUCH MORE!
SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG, BUT WHEN I ENJOY WRITING A BLOG ENTRY AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED THIS ONE, IT'S HARD TO STOP.

ONE THOUSAND SOLD!
Yesterday, this little Blog had its thousandth visitor!
I don't know who it was, other than that their domain is Motorola! Congratulations, Motorola, for providing us with our one-thusandth user! and to the workers of Motorola: GET BACK TO WORK, YOU!

FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH
I have to write about my friend Karen Sneider, by which I mean I have to. She's making me. She is a nice woman who is very good at doing all kinds of crazy cartoon voices.
Once I went to a party out in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. For some reason (probably because I was stuck in a shitty job, had a roommate I hated, and my comedy career was going nowhere), I decided to get really drunk, and kept drinking and drinking and drinking. It's one of two or three times when I've been blackout-drunk.
Anyway, she and I took the train home, and even though I don't remember it, she swears we made out on the train. I doubt it, though, because she hasn't been spoiled for other men.
She's looking for a guy to go out with; guys who are mean to her a plus. Also, if you act like you have no interest in her, she seems to get attracted to that. I am not kidding. If you think this sounds like you, please don't let me know. I really don't want to hear about it.
You can learn more about Karen at her website: http://www.metromonster.com

AD HOCKED POEMS
There is a new generation of young bohemians who consider themselves too "intellectual" to be taken in by beer ads. So I've been hired, as a representative of this generation, to design ads to appeal to these young people, using classic poetry. Let's see what you think:

BUDWEIZYMADIUS
I met a traveler from an antiqu land,
Who said: A vast and trunkless leg of aluminum
Stands in the desert. And on its pedestal these words appear:
"I am Budweizymandius, King of Beers:
Look on my malted barley hops ye mighty and despair!"
Nothing beside remains, except further on the beach,
Several young women, their asses bare,
And several six-packs within easy reach.

THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED ROLLING ROCK
Let us go then you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a coed half-drunk upon a couch;
Let us go, through half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
To this cool bar I know.

Oh do not ask "What is it?"
Instead enjoy the crisp cool taste of Rolling Rock.

In the room, the young women come and talk,
Of how much they love that Rolling Rock.

For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the jocks, cheerleaders, bikini teams, thugs,
I have measured out my life with beer mugs.
I know the voices drinking with a drinking fall
Beneath the hip-hop music from a cooler room,
So how should I presume?

Shall I say I have gone at dusk through narrow streets,
And watched the smoke that rises from the exhaust pipes of my cool red sports car, very expensive.
And hunky men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I grow horny . . . I grow horny . . .
I shall tell my jokes all corny.

And the bikini girls come and drink Rolling Rock,
And speak of how they love my enormous -

(A WASHED-UP RAPPER LIKE L.L. COOL J. JUMPS INTO THE SCENE, SURROUNDED BY HOOCHIE-MAMA BACKUP DANCERS)
Yo! What up! I ain't Prince Hamlet!
I just want cold refreshment damn it!
We lingered in the chambers of the sea, y'all!
With B-girls wreathed in weed, y'all!
Till human voices wake us and we drown, y'all!
In a pool of ROLLING ROCK!

'NUFF SAID
I saw "Spider-Man" yesterday, or as I like to call it: "The movie that will make Kirsten Dunst the subject of many creepy Internet postings." (Don't worry, Audrey Tatou, I will remain faithful.)
I thought it kicked ass. Afterwards, I was talking to this guy who was upset because in the movie, Spider-Man shoots webs out of his arms instead of inventing web-shooters like in the comic books. I tried to explain that the movie was already two hours and fifteen minutes, but he was really upset. He was like, "That's not the way it happened!" Yeah, that detail really destroyed the documentary-style realism of the movie. I realize that when you make a cinima verite-style look at everyday guys like a man who has super-strength and swings through the city on webs, the little details are gonna fall through the cracks.
During the closing credits, they credited Tobney Maguire as playing "Peter Parker/Spider-Man." Is there anyone in the audience who wasn't able to guess Spidey's secret identity?
"Damn, Margo, I don't get it. Every time the Parker character disappears, this Spider guy shows up! I wish they'd just pick one main character and stick with him!"
"Spider Man" was great. It wa like watching someone else play a video game for two hours.
The thing I liked about it is that it's another movie where a beautiful woman look deep into a nerdy guy's soul and finds out that, under the surface, he's a great guy. Meanwhile, the guy doesn't have to do jack shit. He's got a beautiful woman who's willing to overlook his faults! What a great premise for a movie!

SPEEDY FOOD
I saw a sign in the window of a McDonald's which read: "THIS McDONALD'S DELIVERS! (CAll 212 337-FAST)"
If you can't get up off your ass and go downstairs to pick up an order of McDonald's, then you might as well get special steel reinforcemnts for your bed and put your local fire department on "Jaws of Life Standby," because you are entering the world of the morbidly obese my friend.

ALSO
Apparently Kinko's delivers, because I saw a Kinko's van driving through my neighborhood the other day.
What, does someone really need shitty service delivered to their home? "I was going go out to ignored and then treated rudely, but if I can get a Kinko's employee to ignore me in my own home, well you can't beat the convenience!"

WORDS OF WISDOM:
"There are no vital and significant forms of art; there is only art and precious little of that. The growth of populations has in no way increased the amount; it has merely increased the adeptness with which substitutes can be produced and packaged."
- Raymond Chandler, "The Simple Art of Murder"
(You should read this essay, if only to read the bitterness with which he attacks any mystery writer who ever lived other than Dashiell Hammett - and he isn't too sure about Hammett.)

LETTERS AND TOMATOES DEPARTMENT
Here's another real letter I sent out. I will post a reply if and when one is forthcoming:

Mr. David Bowie
Duncan Heath Associates
162 Wardour St.
London W1 England

Dear Mr. Bowie;
I don't get it.

I'm sorry, but I bought "Earthlings," and I just don't get it.

So many of the lyrics, sure they might be "poetic," but where's the rhyme schemes? Where's the simple clarity? You're songs are all confused. Take for instance, the opening verse of "Dead Man Walking":
"He swivels his head, tears his eyes from the screen,
As his past puts him back in Atlantic City.
There's not even a demon in Heaven or Hell,
Is it all just human disguise as I walk down the aisle?"

That doesn't make a lick of sense! I've rewritten this verse so it follows a more recognizeable pattern:
"There's a fella standing over there,
He knows his face ain't so pretty.
He turns his head away like he doesn't care,
And remembers his life in Atlantic City.
Not that I care, or believe the lies,
So long as I can whistle a tune and not get harried.
Demons masks are worn by the bad guys,
As I head on down the aisle to get married."

See? The same idea, but done in a more recognizeable pop format. Now, I'm giving you this one for free, but I want you to seriously think about writing pop songs like this. Paul McCartney does, and he doesn't have to sell stock in himself to make a living.

All right, I'm glad I was able to help, but you're lucky I had some time on my hands. Next time, you might be on your own.


Your fan,

Liam McEneaney

PS: Since I helped you out, could you help me out and send me tickets to your concert next time you're in New York?

THIS IS GONNA GO GOLD ON THE CHARTS

A LOVE SONG FOR SOMEONE I DON'T FEEL MUCH LOVE FOR
by Liam McEneaney

Everything he knows about his job,
He got from, “Governing For Dummies.”
And the only thing he knows about the Middle East
Is what he learned from that movie, “The Mummy.”

And he may be trying to ruin our environment,
But you still got to adore him.
Remember there’s still a one in three chance that,
You actually voted for him.

(CHORUS)
George Double-Ya, George Double-Ya,
George W. Bush.
So many people trying to get him down,
Let’s give his ego a push.

Now maybe when he tries to speak off the cuff,
He comes off as less than a smarty.
And maybe his charisma level is so low he couldn’t
Lead Psi Epsilon Delta into a party.

And maybe every time he makes a speech
He comes off as a puppet on a string.
But he’s the only President we’ve got,
Which is why I sing:

(CHORUS)

(HERE COMES THE BRIDGE)
Life is awfully hard sometimes,
And we all want to scream.
When you’re being pushed into your dad’s business,
And you just want to own a baseball team.

So next time he says, “Let’s destroy this preserve,”
So his oil buddies can make a buck.
Or he says something so incredibly dumb,
You’re just like, “What the (EDITED FOR RADIO)?”

Please remember he’d rather be fishing or,
Back at his ranch with two hot mamas doing blow.
And think about how worse our lives would be right now,
In three words: PRESIDENT ROSS PEROT.

(REPEAT CHORUS UNTIL FADE)


ONE MAN SHOW TITLE GUARANTEED TO GET YOU BLACKLISTED:
"You Ain't Anyone In This Town Until You Have Parkinson's"

SMOKING QUITLINE:
I see that New York State has a hotline to call to help you quit smoking.
It's a noble cause, but do you really want New York State helping you do anything? I mean, the state can't even fix a highway in under seven years, how the hell are they going to help you quit smoking?
"All right, fill out these seven forms in triplicate, then in eight to ten months we'll have some union guys come by and set up a 'NO SMOKING' zone around your house."
Frankly, I just hope that when the Apocalypse does come around, that the MTA wins the contract for it. If it takes them 60 years to build a 2nd Avenue subway, it'll take 'em three hundred just to get the armies of good and evil lined up for the final showdown.

AMAZON.COM
According to Amazon, customers who bought "Amercian Psycho," the Bret Easton Ellis book about a serial killer with an affinity for designer labels, also bought:
* The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
Ironically, "Catcher in the Rye" is a favorite book of psychos and serial killers everywhere.

LOST VERIZON
Have you noticed that the voice of Darth Vader is also the voice of my local phone company? If you've ever been a month and a half behind on your phohe bill, you know that it's no coincidence. Their bill collectors make Boba Fett look like Wicket. (This is dork talk here. You might want to step back.)
I got a call from their collections department, the guy was heavy breathing, and at first I was like, "All right! Looks like it's gonna be a good Thursday after all!" But then he was like, "You have underestimated the power of Verizon."
I was like, "You mean 'the Dark Side'."
He said, "NO, we are way more evil than the Dark Side. Verizon is the Dark Side without the government oversight."

By the way, if this Blog teaches you anything, it's, "Never underestimate the power of the Dork Side, either."

BETTER SCENE THAN HEARD

I saw "Hollywood Ending." Disappointing. So I decided to put my money where my mouth is and try to write a better Woody Allen movie. I did an all right job, not great. Here's the opening scene (you will have to imagine the Cole Porter soundtrack):

EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREET
FRANK is talking to BILL. Frank is 5' 7, wearing a cowboot hat and boots. He's got a blue canvas knapsack slung over hs shoulder. Bill is 5'10, dressed in a polo shirt and wire-rimmed glasses. They're standing outside of an office building.

BILL: All right, I gotta go upstairs now. I've got to break it off with my therapist.

FRANK: If you don't like him, why are you still seeing him?

BILL: He's the best I could afford for a long time. He only cost twelve dollars a session.

FRANK: Twelve dollars? It's not right that your therapy costs less than your yoga.

BILL: I know, and he's a really nice guy. But he's . . . weird. Like, he spends the entire session complaining about his ex-wife. I guarantee you, when I get up there we'll spend three minutes talking about my problems and -

CUT TO:

INT. THERAPIST'S OFFICE

Bill is sitting on a couch. DR. RICKMAN, played by Woody Allen, is sitting in a chair.

DR. RICKMAN: So you're still getting these feelings of distance from those around you.

BILL: Yeah, like for instance -

DR. RICKMAN: Let me give you a hypothetical example. Let's say you see your ex-wife -

BILL: When I'm picking up my son for visitation.

DR. RICKMAN: Yes, exactly. And her new husband is sitting there. I mean, honestly, what does she see in him? He's some tall, blond, Teutonic nightmare. He looks like he should be married to a Valkyrie or something. The first time I met him, I said, "Where did you meet this guy, Hitler's Dating Service?"

BILL: Uh-huh, right -

DR. RICKMAN: Of course, she started dating him while we were still married. She wanted me to fight for her. I don't like violence. I saw a bruised pear in the supermarket and I was nauseous for weeks after.

BILL: Uh-huh.

DR. RICKMAN: I caught them walking out of a movie theater together. I mean, it's bad enough they were on a date, but the worst part is they went to see the worst movie I'd ever seen. "Creme de Menthe." Have you ever seen that?

BILL: Uh, no -

DR. RICKMAN: It was so bad, the ushers walked. I say, "Creme De Menthe"? A romantic comedy? You know how much I hate those kinds of movies. And do you know what she said?

BILL: No.

DR. RICKMAN: She said, "We liked it." WE. So you know what I said?

BILL: I don't care.

DR. RICKMAN: Yes, that's exactly it.

BILL: No, I mean it, I don't care.

DR. RICKMAN: Yes. So you know what she said?

BILL: I can't take any more of this. You're a nice guy, but - I think it's time we went our seperate ways.

DR. RICKMAN: My God, it's like you were there.

BILL: Have a nice life.

CUT TO:
INT. WAITING ROOM
The door to Dr. Rickman's office opens, and Bill leaves, followed by Dr. Rickman.

DR. RICKMAN: I'll see you next week.

Bill opens his mouth to say something, and Dr. Rickman closes the door.

CUT TO:
EXT. STREET
Frank is waiting, as Bill steps out of the office bulding.

FRANK: How'd it go?

BILL: Good. I think.

CROSS-FADE TO:

I HAVE A BRAND-NEW HOBBY
I like to walk through the supermarket and quietly disapprove of the way other people raise their children.

OH DEAR LORD
I don't get these guys who read porn magazines in the store. What are you saying? "Yeah, I'm just memorizing this for later."
When you read porn in a store, you're telling the world, "I'm too poor to masturbate. Someone lend me five bucks so I can go home and masturbate in peace."
I tell you one thing, "Barely Legal" is a strictly takeout affair. Not to be consumed here.

I SAW AMELIE
the other night. First of all, Audrey Tatou is beautiful. I truly believe she's the future Mrs. McEneaney. And remember, I'm not just some creepy guy on the Internet saying this. I'm a creepy guy on the Internet who's appeared on basic cable.

It's weird because technically, it's the kind of movie I hate, but made so well that I liked it.
Usually I hate any movie where the main character is winsome. Because that's what I usually do, I wince some, then I wince some more.
Winsome. I don't think I'd ever want to be described by a word that's usually followed by, "...and you lose some."

I went with a friend, and afterwards we agreed we liked it. Then I said I wanted to go see "SpiderMan," and she said she definitely did not want to see that.
The thing is, story-wise IT'S THE SAME EXACT MOVIE. Check it out:
A nerdy kid who's a social misfit discovers they have special powers that can change the world around them for the better. The only difference is that SpiderMan is a dork whose special powers get him a beautiful woman, whereas Amelie is a beautiful woman whose special powers get her a dork.

I AM SPIDERMAN
I'm going to see it today, but I've always especially identified with Peter Parker; he's a nerdy kid from Queens who becomes a superhero and gets all the ladies. And that's exactly my story, except for the superpowers and ladies parts of it. But otherwise . . .
Actually, I'm really excited because this will probably open the doors to a "Peter Porker, the Amazing Spider Ham" movie. THAT would be awesome.

CONFIDENTIAL TO MATTHEW SWEET: You don't rock. Sorry, buddy. But at least with a name like "Sweet," no one expects you to.
CONFIDENTIAL TO VINCENT GALLO: No one's impressed. Stop it.
CONFIDENTIAL TO PAULY SHORE: Yeah, I had a good time in the eighties, too, but there's a point where every man has to realize that he's not in his mid-30s any more.
CONFIDENTIAL TO WOODY ALLEN: I've seen this movie already. You can make a different movie now.
CONFIDENTIAL TO EVERY 13 YEAR-OLD GIRL IN AMERICA: Please - more eating disorders, less support of *N Sync.
CONFIDENTIAL TO ST. AQUINAS: Hey, dumbass, your philosophy is flawed. All of your proofs of the existance of God pressuposes the existance of God. That's like my trying to prove the existance of my right hand by saying, "Well look at my right hand. Let's imagine it isn't at the end of my right arm."

TODAY IS NOT EVAN SILVERMAN DAY
But I well tell you a story about him, anyway:

We went to Francis Lewis High School together. He was in a not-so-great band called You Be You, and one night they performed at a place called "The Village Vault," which was located, obviously, in Whitestone, Queens.
Where's Whitestone in relation to where I live? You know how, in old madrigals and folk tales, you hear of a perilous journey to a land so far away that it's populated by dragons and fairy folk? Whitestone would have been three stops past that on the bus. So my dad drove me out there, and dropped me off. Nothing like arriving at a rock gig with your dad telling you to call him if you can't get a ride home. I think he might have handed me a bag lunch and an apple. At least my mother didn't dress me in a sailor uniform (that would have been a different Village Vault. Anyway).
So the shows go on and it's over, and everyone drifts away. Eventually it's just Evan, his bass teacher (James? I forget. I think I'll call him "James"), and myself. His bass teacher's going to give us a ride home. When we hit Queens Boulevard, somehow the plan becomes, "Let's go to a strip club!"
I'd never gone to a strip club before, and I was somewhat nervous. What if the strippers refused to take their clothes off for me? What a horrible form of rejection; they take their clothes off for anyone!
So we get to the strip club; one of these holes-in-the-wall, not one of your big fancy clubs with the DJs and the lights and chrome and the mirrors, but just a dark bar with a big stage in the middle, mirrors lining the walls, bottles of Bud for five bucks, and two attractive women dancing at once, and it's a good time, more because I'm with my buddies than anything else. I find strip clubs to be somewhat depressing to be honest with you; I know there's no chance in hell the strippers are going to be into me, so it's just a matter of watching naked - albeit attractive - women who I can't touch. That's what Skinemax is for.
So every time a new stripper comes out, I just start joking with her. It's two am on a weeknight, so it's not like the joint is jumping, and the strippers are actually somewhat friendly, not least of all because I wan't exactly the most threatening-looking guy in the bar. How unthreatening am I?
I've still got an ID from that time that I use to prove I'm over 21, withdraw money from the bank, etc. One day I went to my local Dime branch to get forty bucks (my ATM card didn't work) and the teller looked at my ID and said, "I can't give you money."
Why not?
"This is your mom's ID."
Ouch.
There's one stripper in particular, very very pretty, a little older, maybe in her thirties, but in a good way. She's wearing one of those dominatrix hats, and I make it a point ,when I'm giving her a buck, to tell her it's a bus driver hat. She asks me what do I mean? and I explain it's the same hat Ralph Kramden wore on "The Honeymooners." She laughs, and whenever it gets slow she comes back over to where we're sitting and dances for us, and talks to us.
At one point, a sleazy guy with glasses came in, sat down. She threw her hat to him, it was filled with money. He watched her, and at some point the money in her hat disappeared. Evan had to explain to me that he was probably her dealer. Such was my naivete.
So she's done, and she came to where we were sitting and starting talking to us. I couldn't even tell you what the hell we talked to her about, but she must have liked us because when closing time came up, she suggested we all have breakfast together.
Now, I'm not a regular of strip clubs, but I'm guessing that this doesn't happen to often, strippers asking a group of customers out to breakfast. But again, I wasn't exactly the most threatening guy in the world, and you add in the fact that as a group, we were two seventeen year-olds and a happily married older guy, and I guess it just looked like a recipe for a free meal.
I'll tell you one thing; having breakfast with a beautiful woman you just saw naked is a great experience, and one that I do not get to repeat as often as I'd like, believe me. Her name was Jade, probably not her real name, but she changed the subject every time I brought that up.
She told us that in addition to stripping, she also deejayed at Club USA on Wednesdays. Evan - who was instantly smitten - promised to go down there the very next week, an idea she greeted almost warmly. She told us about her boyfriend, a drummer in a rock band, and how they lived together.
We saw her to her car. Now I don't know if this is creepy or not - Evan and "James" insisted it wasn't, but we followed her back to her place to make sure she got home okay. To be honest with you, I think she just stopped in front of a house randomly to get rid of us; that's what I would have done.
Anyway, Evan then called the strip club, whose name I forget, every week asking, "Is Jade there tonight?" And they would say "Yes," because I'm guessing at any strip club across the globe on any given night there's going to be twenty-three "Jades," seventeen "Ambers," and at least one "Misty."
And then he would call me and say, "Hey Liam, Jade's at the place tonight, let's go." And since i lived with my folks at the time, and my dad was always about three feet away, I'd say something like, "Uh, yeah, that's great, but, um, I think I can't hang out tonight."
One night we went back together, thoguh, and Jade wasn't there. It was just a dark hole-in-the-wall with a surly clientele and working girls who just wanted to earn a buck and be left the hell alone.
So we tried another strip club for the hell of, also on Queens Boulevard, but we got carded and had to get out. We ended up in a dive out in Ozone Park, a place the owner told us was closing in a week. Working there was a woman in her forties, overweight, and a young woman so zonked out on drugs that we watched her finger herself on the floor for fifteen minutes.
I've gone back to strip clubs a couple of times since then, but I've never enjoyed myself.

By the way, I am aware that I just double-posted today's entry. That's because I'm a genius and we can't always understand why genii do what they do.

FREE THE JUICE
I love Orange Juice, but I hate drinking it because I invariably forget to shake the container until after I've opened it. And no matter tightly you hold it closed, when you shake it, it's still going to spill out all over your fingers.

I RARELY WRITE TOPICAL JOKES
But I found an old notebook with a topical joke I wrote on the Staten Island Ferry, on my way to a show. It was a couple of years ago, when the Fresh Kills landfill in Staten Island had just closed, and Hillary Clinton had just been elected Senator. It was totally written to pander to the Staten Island crowd's A) relief at the closing of Fresh Kills and B) conservative political views. It got groans:

Fresh Kills is closing down after fifty years. Luckily New York State has already found a new place to dump its garbage: the Senate.

Genius!

BY A ROUND OF APPLAUSE
Have you ever dressed up in a long black cloak, a Richard Nixon mask, and a jester's cap and gone out on the streets and hit someone over the head with a large salami?
Because I'm looking for that guy, and if I ever catch him, it's curtains!

SELECTIONS FROM "THE NOT FUN-E CHUCKLEBUSTERS' JOKE BOOK"
JOE: What do you call a dog with no legs?
JIM: I'm not helping you cover up for the ASPCA again!

"Mommy, mommy, can I lick the bowl?"
"Son, I think you have a sugar-addiction problem. The last thing I should do is enable you by allowing you to consume more sugar."

"Yo' mama's so fat, she uses a refrigerator as a beeper."
"That isn't my mom. My mom is on a top-secret mission for the CIA. That's just a woman who was hired to pose as my mom until she comes back home."

There once was a man from the Gulag,
Who joined the Army 'cause his life was a drag.
They sent him to 'Nam,
And then on to Guam,
Then they sent him back home in a bag.

Teacher was instructing the class on American History, and she asked, "Who can tell me who made the famous midnight ride shouting, 'The British are coming, the British are coming!'?"
She was apprehensive when she saw Dirty Johnny raise his hand. Dirty Johnny was called "Dirty Johnny" partly because he said something dirty whenever called on, but mostly because he came to school in the same clothes every day and rarely, if ever bathed.
Of course, the kids dubbed him "Dirty Johnny," but since many of his teachers were institutionalized drones, they, too, picked up on the nickname, and the sad part was that he had become so used to the name that when he did bother to hand in an assignment, he would often sign it "Dirty Johnny."
Of course, it wasn't his fault. His parents were neglectful at best, but often abusive. His father worked at a processing plant, and the rare occasions that he came home sober were marked by furious rows with Dirty Johnny's stepmother, who often accused him of cheating on her.
She had good reason to be suspicious; she had started dating Dirty Johnny's father when he was still married to his first wife, Lucille, who went on to marry a podiatrist. Sadly, she wanted nothing to do with her son, as he reminded her of her past, and so she let Dirty Johnny's father keep custody. All Dirty Johnny ever saw of his mother was her annual Christmas card, when she would send a picture of herself and her new family, along with a check for a hundred dollars, which Dirty Johnny's father would take.
Teacher wasn't going to call on Dirty Johnny, but then she remembered the long talk the faculty had had with the school pychologist about including all the children in the day's activities, and so she sighed and said, "Yes, Dirty Johnny?"
Dirty Johnny replied, "Fuck you, you old bitch!" He then threw his text book out the window and ran from the class. Teacher wasn't too surprised - or disappointed; at least the smell would lift.

FREE THE JUICE
I love Orange Juice, but I hate drinking it because I invariably forget to shake the container until after I've opened it. And no matter tightly you hold it closed, when you shake it, it's still going to spill out all over your fingers.

I RARELY WRITE TOPICAL JOKES
But I found an old notebook with a topical joke I wrote on the Staten Island Ferry, on my way to a show. It was a couple of years ago, when the Fresh Kills landfill in Staten Island had just closed, and Hillary Clinton had just been elected Senator. It was totally written to pander to the Staten Island crowd's A) relief at the closing of Fresh Kills and B) conservative political views. It got groans:

Fresh Kills is closing down after fifty years. Luckily New York State has already found a new place to dump its garbage: the Senate.

Genius!

BY A ROUND OF APPLAUSE
Have you ever dressed up in a long black cloak, a Richard Nixon mask, and a jester's cap and gone out on the streets and hit someone over the head with a large salami?
Because I'm looking for that guy, and if I ever catch him, it's curtains!

SELECTIONS FROM "THE NOT FUN-E CHUCKLEBUSTERS' JOKE BOOK"
JOE: What do you call a dog with no legs?
JIM: I'm not helping you cover up for the ASPCA again!

"Mommy, mommy, can I lick the bowl?"
"Son, I think you have a sugar-addiction problem. The last thing I should do is enable you by allowing you to consume more sugar."

"Yo' mama's so fat, she uses a refrigerator as a beeper."
"That isn't my mom. My mom is on a top-secret mission for the CIA. That's just a woman who was hired to pose as my mom until she comes back home."

There once was a man from the Gulag,
Who joined the Army 'cause his life was a drag.
They sent him to 'Nam,
And then on to Guam,
Then they sent him back home in a bag.

Teacher was instructing the class on American History, and she asked, "Who can tell me who made the famous midnight ride shouting, 'The British are coming, the British are coming!'?"
She was apprehensive when she saw Dirty Johnny raise his hand. Dirty Johnny was called "Dirty Johnny" partly because he said something dirty whenever called on, but mostly because he came to school in the same clothes every day and rarely, if ever bathed.
Of course, the kids dubbed him "Dirty Johnny," but since many of his teachers were institutionalized drones, they, too, picked up on the nickname, and the sad part was that he had become so used to the name that when he did bother to hand in an assignment, he would often sign it "Dirty Johnny."
Of course, it wasn't his fault. His parents were neglectful at best, but often abusive. His father worked at a processing plant, and the rare occasions that he came home sober were marked by furious rows with Dirty Johnny's stepmother, who often accused him of cheating on her.
She had good reason to be suspicious; she had started dating Dirty Johnny's father when he was still married to his first wife, Lucille, who went on to marry a podiatrist. Sadly, she wanted nothing to do with her son, as he reminded her of her past, and so she let Dirty Johnny's father keep custody. All Dirty Johnny ever saw of his mother was her annual Christmas card, when she would send a picture of herself and her new family, along with a check for a hundred dollars, which Dirty Johnny's father would take.
Teacher wasn't going to call on Dirty Johnny, but then she remembered the long talk the faculty had had with the school pychologist about including all the children in the day's activities, and so she sighed and said, "Yes, Dirty Johnny?"
Dirty Johnny replied, "Fuck you, you old bitch!" He then threw his text book out the window and ran from the class. Teacher wasn't too surprised - or disappointed; at least the smell would lift.

SEARCH ENGINE OF DESTRUCTION
I type my own name into search engines, and so I looked for myself on MSN.com. It came up with a website which had reprinted a list I'd written for the Humor Network. The list was titled "Albums We Will Never Buy," and the website is just some guy writing about all the music he likes. I guess cataloging websites can get pretty tiresome, because this is the description it came up with:

5. Edley quantifies his enjoyment
Why do nerds like this guy publish lists of their albums on the web? This is pathetic. Whatta goddamn waste of bandwidth.
http://www.speakeasy.org/~edley/top10.htm


OUTTA SIGHT!
I hate white people who try to act like they're black. Even more annoying are deaf people who try to act like they're blind. It's like, you get a bunch of yahoos stumbling into furniture and knocking shit over. And it's not like you can tell them to stop.
Even more annoying than that are those guys with no legs who try to act like they're emotional cripples. You know, they're all like, "The reason I can't run the marathon is because my father hated me." And I'm all like, "No, it's because you have no legs!"
Even more annoying than that, though, are Supreme Court Justices who try to act like they're traffic cops. 'Cause you're like, "I need to know if the State's refusal to fund my alternative newspaper is a violation of the First Amendment," and they're all like, "Hey I don't know about that, but if you don't pull out of this intersection buddy, I'm gonna have to ticket you."
But the most annoying people are these women who are really in love with me, who act like they don't like me. 'Cause I'm all like, "Let's go have sex now," and they're all like, "Who are you? My boyfriend's gonna kick your ass."

FROM THE IMPRACTICAL JOKE FILE
I want to produce a show, and advertise it as a comedy show and really pack a large venue, just get a thousand people in there thinking they're going to see great comics like Cosby, Carlin, Halpern, Ray Romano.
And then the lights would dim, and then it would start a four hour production of Hamlet. No intermission, no joke, just a straight-forward production of Hamlet. And it would feature really great actors, and it would be so well-done that at first the audience would be angry, but then they'd get into it so that by the end they give it a standing ovation.
Then, when the actors leave the stage, I would come out and say, "Ladies and gentlemen, that was our opening act, Hamlet. Coming up next, you've seen him on Comedy Central's 'Premium Blend' . . ."

TO THE BEDSIDE MANNER BORN
I'm not allowed in Emergency Rooms any more. That's because the last time I hung out in one, I started heckling a guy, because some nurse said, "This man's sustained trauma in his head."
And I said, "That's nothing lady. I sustained trauma in my childhood. And you can't get over-the-counter medicine for that. Over-the-bar maybe."
Did you ever write a joke and know instantly that you would never even bother to try it onstage?