Monday, September 30, 2002
Saturday, September 28, 2002
by Liam McEneaney
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints.
Other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life
When I was suffering from anguish, sorrow, or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord, "You promised me, Lord,
That if I followed you, you would walk with me always.
But I noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
There have only been one set of prints in the sand.
Why, When I have needed you most, you have not been there for me?"
The Lord replied,
"The times when you have seen only one set of footprints
Is when I carried you."
Then I replied, "Yeah, but why didn't you carry me more? I mean my whole life was pretty bad and I could havbe used more of an assist."
And God replied, "What am I your mommy? I'm a very busy guy."
And I looked on the beach and I noticed that there was a point where there were footsteps and the outline of a body being dragged through the sand, and I said, "What the fuck is that?"
God looked at me and said, "Uh, yeah. You were drunk."
And I said, "No fucking way. I'd remember being that drunk."
And God said, "Okay, look, I didn't want to have to say this, but you could stand to lose a few pounds. I can't be carrying you all over the place if you keep eating Pop Tart like they were communion wafers."
And I said, "Pop Tarts are healthy, they got fruit."
And God rolled his eyes and said "Whatever."
So I said, "Look, I don't know what kind of wacko goes carrying people around when they're asleep, but as far as I'm concerned, you can go to hell."
And then I looked further down the beach and saw elephant tracks. But when I turned to ask God about them, he was gone.
Friday, September 27, 2002
Last night I went to a dance club called "Culture Club." Culture Club is an ordinary dance club, except it's got an '80s theme, it's all '80s nostalgia. Apparently in the '80s, everyone was paying four dollars for bottled water and eight dollars for a Corona.
It was just like reliving my childhood; I lookedu p from listening to genuinely shitty music to realize that my President is a brain-dead idiot who wanted to plunge us into a nuclear war. Wow, and they say you can never go back home again!
ADDENDUM TO A JOKE
In that joke from earlier about lying to parents' - you never lied to dad.
It was always like:
"DID YOU DO YOUR HOMEWORK?"
"Uh, I didn't have any ..."
"ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME YOU DIDN'T HAVE ANY HOMEWORK?"
"Uh, I'll go do my homework now."
You didn't fuck with dad, because you know that deep in his heart of hearts, dad's sorry he had kids. Oh, he may love you, but somewhere deep inside the married man with kids is a single guy dying to get out. If dad had his way, he'd leave you on a mountain top to fend for yourself and go live in a that crazy Swingles complex from Three's Company.
Thursday, September 26, 2002
I prefer relationships to one-night stands. Because when you're in a relationship, there are so many other ways to disappoint a woman. A one-night stand, you just disappoint her sexually and you're done. In a relationship, you can disappoint a woman's entire family.
KIDS ARE CRAZY, HUH?
As a teacher, I find myself making rules I never htought I'd need to make for another human being. Rules like, "No spitting on each other," "No showing your butt to other people," and "No calling each other 'gay'." yes, I had to tell a little boy to stop showing his butt to other students. And he had the nerve to tell me that that wasn't what he was doing! What were you doing, son, getting a quick suntan? And why is it that this is somethign that little boys are compelled to do, and yet not something that would ever occur to, say, Angelina Jolie? And that woman's crazy!
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Right ladies? It's the only sex act that's good for everybody.
But there's an etiquette, fellas. For instance, if you're getting a blowjob, it's cool to say, "Oh yeah," or "Suck it," or "Suck that shit bitch."
But apparently it isn't cool to say,
"Oh yeah, keep doing that 'til I love you."
DATING'S CRAZY, HUH FOLKS?
I'm only happy when I'm dating a woman I don't like. Because when you're dating a woman you don't like, you can feel free to be yourself, and not worry that you're going to "come off as a jerk." BEcause if she hates you, who cares?
When you date a woman you don't like, you can feel free to say things like, "You know that idea for a business you just tol me? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, no offense. And no, I don't want to hear more of your poems about your childhood puppy."
Monday, September 23, 2002
When kids lie, it's a beautiful thing. Not because they're good at it, but because they're so bad.
You know, you're like, "Why did you hit him?" And the kid replies, "I didn't do it, an elephant did it."
And it's great because he isn't insulting your intelligence; this kid actually lives in a world where it's possible for an elephant to, say, climb in through a window, smack someone, and then leave again without anyone noticing."
My mom used to catch me in lies when I was a kid all the time. I used to think she was psychic, but now I realize that I was just a really bad liar. She would ask something like:
"Why didn't you come right home from school? Where have you been?"
And I'd be slick and say, "I went to the library."
Meanwhile, I was covered in chocolate, because my friend James and I had been at the corner store eating candy.
"Uh huh, you were at the library. THat's interesting, I thought maybe you were off eating chocolate."
And then I would go from telling a normal lie to telling the category of lie every kid is guilty of, The Stupid Lie:
"Yeah, well, they have these books at the library made entirely out of chocolate."
"Uh huh. A book made out of chocolate? I'd like to see that. I think I'll go to the library right now and check ito ut."
Now was time for me to slip into Stupid Lie Second Gear.
"Yeah, well, you can't. I dropped the book and some mice came and ate it."
"Uh huh. Well, I'm sure the librarian will know where I can find another copy."
Now was the time for me to Go For Broke:
"You can't. The President of the United States came and told everyone that chocolate books were illegal, so the police took them away and made the librarian promise to act like they never existed."
"Uh huh. You must think I'm really stupid."
"No mom, honest. He left in a helicopter."
And the trick was that if you just kept at it, adults would eventually get tired and just leave you alone.
I wish that would work now that I'm grown-up. It would be great to go into work:
"Liam, I need to talk to you. This is the third time this week you've been over an hour late."
"Yes, sir, well, I was coming to work and on the street an elephant came and hit me and I fell down and was unconscious."
"Uh huh. Then why are you covered in chocolate?"
Saturday, September 21, 2002
Just help me find the perfect caption for this picture:
Millions will enter, some will win.
I have a new day job - teaching little kids writing and acting in an after-school program. And after a week, all I can say is, "I owe every teacher I've ever had an apology."
If you have kids, all I'm going to say is, you have 24 hours to teach them some discipline, and then I'm coming over with my grandfather's belt. And don't tell me, "Oh my kids are different." Damn right they're different, they're different as soon as you leave 'em. See, when a parent is around a little kid, he's as sweet as apple pie puppy angels. But the second the parent leaves, it's like a horror movie where you see a kid possessed by the devil. It's just like, "Excellent, now that the fools havebeen duped by my disguise, I can forth and wreak my terrible evil upon the world!"
You lknow the movie The Shining? Where Jack Nicholson is the caretaker of a big hotel, he goes crazy tries to kill his family? I used to think that it was because he was possessed by an evil spirit of the hotel. Now, of course, I know it's because he was locked up in a hotel room with a six year-old boy for six months. I mean, I get locked alone with a little boy for five minutes, and I'm ready for the axe and "Heeere's Johnny!" Six months? That guy wasn't a monster, he was a saint!
And when you tell them they can't do something, kids lay these confusing logic traps fo you.. Because even though I know I'm right, they question them in such simple terms that I get confused:
"Can I eat glue?"
- It isn't food.
- And this throws me. Good point. Why shouldn't they eat something just because it isn't food? Because it will make you sick.
"I don't care."
- And I flash back to those nights when I've drank, gotten sick the next morning, and then gone back to drinking the next night. I didn't care, why should this kid? Luckily, I know what to say to get this kid off my back for a long time: Because glue isn't for eating, it's for sniffing! YAAAAYYY!!!!!
And if the parent tries to get me in trouble, I can say, "Hey, I never told that kid to do that. Who are you going to believe, me or a glue-sniffer?"
MONDAY: MORE ON THE KIDS
(who am I, Bill Cosby?)
Friday, September 20, 2002
I realize I haven't posted this week. I've been crazy with a new job and everthing else. But soon my little puppies, soon, I will post a huge entry.
Friday, September 13, 2002
* Sleepaway camp
* trick or treating
* the knowledge that every day would bring something I'd never seen before
* Robert Guillaume as Benson
* these Sesame Street records I used to own
* my cat
* the belief that people who did comedy on TV were stars
* my mind
* the terrifying and awesome prospect of getting to "second base"
* the womb
* the excitement of hanging out at the corner candy store and watching some guy play Spy Hunter for hours on a single quarter, and not knowing that this meant the guy was actually a kind of loser.
* that first moment in a new school, when it seemed huge and impossible to know
* beer: the forbidden fruit
* the inability to distinguish between a fine entertainment experience and The Pac-Man/Donkey Kong Arcade Super Hour
* knowing that the good guys were the cops and the government, and the bad guys were everyone else
* the Commodore 64 and "MULE", or even more obscure, "RHINO," or at its most obscure, "JUMPMAN." Seriously, if anyone knows how I can play these games on my computer, please let me know.
* when porn was such a forbidden treat, that actually getting your hands on it was the entire thrill
* that six month period when the Cold War was over and it seemed like we could just live at peace with the world
I did a little article on comparison-shopping for religions. It's at:
Choosin' My Religion
MY FAVORITE YEATS
I got a new writing job. UPN is producing a sitcom version of Eve Enstler's "Vagina Monologues," to be called, "What a Cunt!"
I'm not even surew if the above qualifies as a joke.
That's all for today. Go read the article on GirlComic instead.
Thursday, September 12, 2002
I was back-and-forth about writing one of these, because i know that blogs are fulla this shit today. And the news and everything else. But i feel like I've got to write something. So, first a September 11th-related anecdote, and then something else.
A WEEK AFTER
I went to one of the candlelight vigils in Union Square Park. Afterwards I walked down to Washington Square, and as I was walking through, I must have looked depressed, becasue a guy shouted to me, "Hey, my brtoher, what's wrong?"
To which I just sighed and gestured downtown-ward.
He replied, "Hey, I'm sorry. Np pffense, but do you want to buy some weed?"
And that's how I knew the city was going to be all right. Because as long as our drug dealers stand their own ground, this terrorists have lost.
I hear folks saying that September 11th should be a day to live forever in infamy, that our grandchildren should mourn the day long after we're gone. I that my grandchildren feel about this awful day the way I felt about Pearl Harbor; acknowledge that something terrible happened, but feel distant and unconcerned about it. After all, I never lived in fear that I would be attacked by the Japanese. I hope that the war is over in their time as well.
I woke up at 10:24am. Being unemployed, I allowed myself to sleep in. At the time, I listened to the Classic Rock station, 104.3.
The DJ said, "There's only one song that i can think of that's appropriate right now." He played Stairway to Heaven. Not the world's longest song, unless you're lying in bed trying to figure out what the fuck had happened that was so bad that a DJ couldn't think of something more appropriate to play.
When the song ended, he came back on and announced that "a small plane or a helicopter has hit the Pentagon." So I did the first thing I could think of in what sounded like an emergency; called my mommy, who told me that planes had hit the World Trade Center.
I hung up and ran to the living room to turn on the TV. Watched the collapse, which was played over and over and over. I was confused, shocked, angry but I didn't know at whom. Then I heard a loud crash from the bathroom.
Now, the bathroom ceiling had been sagging for quite some time; there was a leak in the upstairs apartment and the super had never bothered to fix it. So I decided, "Hey, no one's going to be in at the realty office, I can leave a blistering message on their voice mail." I was wrong, of course. I called, and the woman who answered was crying into the phone, saying, "All those people died inside." I hung up feeling like a right shitheel. Later, she called ne back and told me that she had tried to get through to the super, but cellphones and beepers weren't working. Of course.
I went to the bagel store to get breakfast when I couldn't handle the news any more. Inside, an old Russian woman was telling everyone that the Queens Center was next. Queens Center is a kind of run-down mall on Queens Boulevard that's always about twenty years behind the interior decoration times. Terrorists would have more of an impact if they targeted, say, the New York Sports Club. At least that way they'd have a chance of getting someone with more than a hundred dollars in their bank account.
The World Trade Center has always been my little place in the city. My father worked there, for AT&T, when I was very little, and every so often he would take my sister and I up to his office. I was afraid to look out of the windows; I just knew that one of them would open and I'd fall out. Christmas would come, and we'd go to the office for their party. Every year, "Santa " would come and hand out gifts for all the kids of AT&T employees. I always got a Garfield book, which I enjoyed thoroughly.
IT was the first place I ever went to cut class. I was in Junior High School. It was a miserable snowy day. I got on the train, and realized that I had no desire to spend another day in classes I was bored with listening to teachers who hated me lecture on subjects they'd lost interest in. I remembered that the E train's last stop was the Trade Center. So I hopped on board. I can still remember how crowded the train was with men in suits. I remember wishing I knew how to pick pockets. When I got there, I took my remaining fifty cents, went to a drug store in the basement level, and bought one of those packages of creme-in-the-centre cookies. I trooped around in the snow, feeling independent and free and very grown-up. At the time, I had this small idea in the back of my head that all the city landmarks were within walking distance of each other. So I stopped a confused-looking businessman, and asked him were the Empire State Building was. He pointed uptown. I asked him if it was within walking distane, and he said, "Ye-es. About sixty blocks." I decided not to trek through the snow. For lunch, I stopped in the lobby of one of the fancy hotels and ate while listening to men make deals all around me. Occasionally, an employee would stop at a discreet distance, study me for a second - this disheveled little fat kid eating cookies in a ratty down coat, and then leave me alone. It was a great day.
Then my mother started working near the Trade Center, where she would work for over a decade. Then my therapist moved his office from Queens ro across from City Hall. Many a Saturday afternoon I spent, after buying an album at J&R Music world, sitting in the Plaza of the Trade Center, watching the tourists.
When I made a concertted effort to start losing weight, I would walk from wherever I was to the Trade Center. Twenty blocks, thirty blocks, sixty blocks, ninety blocks. If I had a lot of time to kill, I'd walk down, make sure I touched the building, and then walked back uptown.
Many people thought the buildings were ugly, but I thought they were beautiful. As much a part of this city as the people who live here.
If you've read this far, thank you. I almost wrote a little thing about the peopel who lost heir lives, and the firefighters. But I think they've been memorialized a lot, and I know that my attempts at prose couldn't begin to encompass the incredible grief, awe, and anger that I'm sure we all feel.
Instead, I will just wish you this: Please be safe, please be kind, and please love each other.
Monday, September 09, 2002
I thought I'd share some of my most offensive jokes. I don't mean jokes that people didn't necessarily find funny, but jokes that have actually gotten aggressive expressions of disdain. Enjoy:
I was having an argument with a friend of mine over who the most charismatic man in history was. My friend said it had to have been President John F. Kennedy.
And yeah, Kennedy was a pretty charismatic guy, but the charismatic man who ever lived had to have been the first guy to convince his girlfriend to let him take a dump on her face as part of sex. I mean, I can barely get a woman to return my phone calls. What did this guy say?
"Yeah, honey, remember last week when you dragged me to the opera, and you said next time we could do anything I wanted to do?"
My girlfriend and I have pet names for each other based on physical characteristics we've noticed about each other. Like, she calls me her "Teddy Bear," because I'm soft and furry.
And I call her my "Pez Dispenser," because of the way she opens her throat in the back ...P
My grandmother fears I'm not "Jewish enough," so she got me a gift for Christmas; Schindler's List on DVD.
The best parts are the deleted scenes. Like this one scene, it's a prologue set in Hitler's Bunker before the war. It stars Bill Hurt as Hitler, and through the magic of digital technology, Chico marx as Goebells.
HITLER: Hey, Chicolini, I'm thirsty. Could you get me a lemonade and a juice?
GOEBELLS: You want'a me to eliminate-a da Jews? Hoaky! I eliminate-a da Jews for you!
And it turned out the Holocaust was just one big wacky misunderstanding, and Schindler's List was a comedy!
Friday, September 06, 2002
It's weird that the Beastie Boys are now this Political fighting entity, going in twenty years from "Fight For Your Right to Party" to "Free Tibet."
I think that when they first met the Dalai Lama, he was thrilled that they wanted to help him:
Beastie Boys: Yo, Dalai Lama, we're here to free Tibet.
Dalai Lama: Who are you?
BB: We're the Beastie Boys.
DL: Ok. Who are you?
BB: And we're here to throw the full power of the Beastie Boys behind your Free Tibet movement.
DL: Uh, yeah. You know, we really don't need any -
BB: No serioussly, one word from us and we can have an entire army of thirty year-old frat boys in backwards baseball hats marching -
DL: Look, I'd love to talk but I -
BB: And stupid East Village hipsters. The Chinese government won't know what hit 'em!
DL: Look, I'd hate to trouble you, so -
BB: Trust me, we can mobilize over three hundred pot-smoking college kids at our command. Believe me, you'll be seeing Tibetan tattoos in no time!
DL: Aye Carumba!
HE MUGS TO THE CAMERA, PUTS HIS HANDS ON HIS CHEEKS LIKE MACAULEY CULKIN, WHILE "SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT" PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND
Thursday, September 05, 2002
(taken from something that I heard as a woman introduced herself at a show)
"My name is Helen Stratford, and the following is an excerpt from a 125 page piece I wrote about September 11th that I'm going to set to music."
Whilst walking down the street today, I saw a blind guy being led by his seeing-eye dog. The strange part was that the blind guy was also a looney talking to himself, saying, "Yeah fuck shit shut up shut up, stop it" just kinf loudly ,as street people do.
but it must have been kind of confusing for the dog. I mean, here he is, doing his job, and he still has this wacko yelling at him. It must get to the point where he doesn't know whether he's doing his job wrong, or what. This will be a funny joke soon.
I was walking past the Post Office, and I saw a sign that said, "NO PETS EXCEPT SEEING EYE DOGS."
And I was thinking, "That's nice, but what good does that do a blind guy?" Unless he's got one of those "Talking mouth dogs" that also reads stuff for him.
Tuesday, September 03, 2002
I celebrated by giving birth to three babies. Oh, LOL! You're welcome.
A TEST OF YOUR WEB BROWSER
Unbeknownst to many people, their web-browsers have "filtering" software; which automatically screens the content on the website you're visiting for offensive content, and automatically replaces it with less offensive language.
Does your browser have this feature? You may not know!
So as a service to you, my faithful readership, I hereby present three incredibly dirty limericks. If you read them in their original form, then all is good. But if you don't .... E-mail your service provider to ask them what's up.
There once was a princess who's a real dog,
Who was tempted to kiss a big frog.
The frog was too young,
And kissed her with tongue
And now she sits in a swamp on his log.
There was a young man from Nantucket,
Who liked to vacation in Pawtucket.
He rod on the jitney,
And listened to Britney,
And when saw corn he would shuck it.
[NOUN ERROR] who [VERB ERROR] in Baghdad,
And [NOUN ERROR] [ADVERB ERROR] [VERB ERROR]
[VERB ERROR][VERB ERROR][VERB ERROR][NOUN ERROR]
[ADJECTIVE FAILURE STRING 17][VERB ERROR] quite a number,
[NOUN ERROR] [VERB ERROR] [OVERLOAD FAILURE] his own dad.