The Liam McEneaney Experience

I’m sitting home this Halloween night, dicking around the apartment. Little cleaning, little TV, little Sunday Times.

The doorbell rings around 7:20 pm EST. Yes, it’s Halloween, but in New York, kids trick or treat at the local stores, not in apartment buildings, (at least in my neighborhood.) I figure it must be someone for my roommate.

Open the door and who’s standing before me?

John Fucking Kerry.

But get this; he’s dressed as Bin Laden.

I’m stunned. I thought he was in Dayton? There’s a couple secret service guys standing behind him in Taliban costumes, but with ear pieces, sunglasses, and great posture.

Through the fake beard, I can see Kerry’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Trick or Treat”, he says. Sounded like it was the first time he’s ever said the phrase. He even sort of moved his hands and candy bag around as if he were making a promise.

Now I’m on the spot. I don’t keep much in my apartment, so I joked with him.

“Heh…I don’t have any candy, but if it helps, you got my vote.”

“Oh . . . well thanks.” He said, disappointedly.

“Can I get you some water?” I offered awkwardly.

“No, we’re fine, thank you.”

Then I had to ask.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He tossed back a smirk to one of his Secret Service men before answering.
“Oh, well, you see, President Bush outsourced the job of tracking me down to local warlords and-"

I cut him off.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I saw the debates. I know the spiel. But seriously, isn’t there more important places for you to be than Trick or Treating in Queens two days before the most important Presidential election in both of our lifetimes?!”

I must have been getting too visibly irritated at this point, because the secret service guys took a step closer. At this, I lowered my volume, but still spoke firmly.

“I mean, no disrespect Senator, but you trick or treating this close to the election seriously makes me question your judgment. If you’re elected, should I expect come the Holidays you’ll be caroling when I need you passing bills or hunting down terrorists? And speaking of, I don’t think that’s the most tasteful choice in costumes, particularly in this city”.

Just then we were interrupted by an out of breath John Edwards climbing up the stairs. As Edwards got to my doorway, I saw he was dressed as a hobo.

I couldn’t hide my disgust and took a swipe.

“Hobo. Real original”

“Hobo?” he replied indignantly.

“Sir” he started, still panting, “I . . . am . . . the middle class. But you see, after irresponsible tax cuts favoring the wealthiest 1% of the country failed to stimu-

SLAM!

I'd had enough.

While I appreciate the passion and applaud their creativity in getting their messages across, I’m not going to spend my Sunday night listening to their stump speeches again. I mean, I'm decided. They've got this state locked in. This may have been a cute stunt in Ohio or Florida but...

Great. Now if feel bad. I slammed the door on Kerry and Edwards without even giving them any candy. I should've just pretended no one was home. Damn it!

Oh great. Someone's at the door. must stop t y p i n g .

I think I've ran out of things to say already, so I'd like to address something posted in the comments section after my first day on the blog. It’s not the comment from Liam’s mom, though I’d like to give Momaenaney and her judgmental cat a shout out. (Okay, that was the oddest fucking sentence I’ve ever written- I’m not sure I like what this blog stuff is doing to me).

It was suggested that I share embarrassing stories about Liam. You know Liam. Of "The Liam McEneaney Experience" blog? The guy that asked me to fill in for him.

Even if sharing embarrassing stuff about the blogger is proper blog etiquette as the request implied (or my leg’s being pulled because I am new to this), it strikes me as a cheap shot; like if I agreed to housesit for someone, then invite their neighbors over to make fun of their cd collection or the way their linens smell.

Sorry. You'll get no anecdotes or dirt out of me. But buy me a beer sometime and I’d be happy to dish about Liam’s ____ phobia and his unusual _____ ____ fetish.

Work: Copy Writer, Ad Agency.

Place: Madam Tussaud's Wax Museum, 42nd street, New York City.

Costume: Made up superhero "Indifferent Man".

Made up superhero catchphrase: "Whatever".

Stock Lines: "Yes. As a superhero, I'm aware my crime fighting resume is somewhat lackluster." "I can go either way". "Does anyone know if Captain Apathy's showing up tonight?". "eh".

Total Cost of Costume: strip of silver packing tape to form the "i" on t-shirt- $0.00
Plastic cape from Rite Aid: $1.80
Rubber Batman Utility Belt: $10.00

Inappropriate drunken comments to coworkers: 382.

Inappropriate drunken act I'm most concerned about: Hitting on wax J-Lo.

Today: Off from work, dentist, visiting niece, peicing together last night, sending out apology emails, calling wax J-Lo.

As you all know by now, the curse we thought we'd never see broken in our lifetime is finally a thing of the past.

Late last evening my God-given birth body was returned to me and I will not have to live out the rest of my life as a man with a donkey's body. Hopefully.

The unexpected lifting of this wretched curse is as exciting for me as it is for those who had to watch the painful process I went through adjusting to life with a normal head but the body of a donkey.

These last five years have been brutal for myself, my family and my friends-particularly my roommate. He’s been a saint through this ordeal.

I now look forward. Forward to the things that I've missed while trapped in a donkey's body. Jogging, shopping, going to the movies, and making love to my girlfriend (the right way!).

Finally, to the person-like thing that put the curse on me for reasons I’d prefer not to get into, I thank you for lifting the curse and promise you that I have learned my lesson. I will never ever express shame about my natural body again!

No if you'll excuse me, I've got some living to do.

Hello. I'm Josh. Liam has recruited me to Blogsit for him while he's abroad avoiding the draft.

My resume is impressive. I don't read blogs, nor have I ever expressed interest in keeping one. Also, I've had writer's block since age 6. But Liam promised me a bunt cake and he's an old friend, so I'll do my best to make your visit worthwhile.

This blogsitting gig comes at the tail end of another type of sitting for me- cat sitting. Yes, I occasionally cat sit, or is it “catsit”, or “cat-sit”? I’ve now cat-sat (we’ll go with the hyphen) for at least half a dozen people. I think I once mentioned that cats were cool and now I’m everybody’s designated cat-sitter. It’s becoming dangerously close to becoming “my thing”. Remind me to never admit publicly how adorable I find babies and ferns.

This time the cat, who has a very pleasant disposition- if not a little needy (typical Burmese- snicker, snicker), has been staying with me. Usually, I stay with the cat at his or her owner’s home, which 100% of the times has proven to be nicer than my home (and you thought I was only doing it for the cats). I feel a little self-conscious with this cat staying at my place. Through the tone of his meows, I can tell he’s judging. Plus, when I chastised him for shitting on the floor, he just rolled his eyes. You know, in a sort of “hey, it’s an improvement, Pal” type way?

Over the next couple weeks, I hope to share even more creepy, red flaggable information about myself and my thoughts while not losing too much blog readership for Liam.

Wow. My first Blog(ging?). Kind of fun. It’s like writing in a diary, but without all the tears.

Cheers!

Tonight, I leave for London. Don't worry, I plan to pick up a souvenir for all of my fans: crabs.
Managed to take care of a bunch of stuff I needed to take care of yesterday:

I hired a blogsitter.
My friend Josh Comers, a very funny comedian, will be updating for the next few days.

I voted.
I think this is defintiely Ralph Nader's year.

Actually, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Abe Hirschfeld was running for public office again this year on the Builders' Party ticket.
"Honest Abe" spent quite some time in prison for trying to hire a hitman to "whack" his business partner.
Hirschfeld's media exposure the last few years has been limited to the occasional NY Post headline and the Howard Stern "Wacko of the Day" interview.
I'm no fan of Hirschfeld's opponent and almost voted for the guy, but this might not be the year of "wacky protest votes."

I got my hair cut.
I go to a Russian barber. And so I am learning some Russian:
"cut it medium" = "cut it super short"
"just a trim" = "cut it super short"
"I want a real long, like hippie long, haircut" = "cut it super short"
"that's a good length" = "continue to cut it even shorte, if possible"

I may check in from London,
but if not, I'll be back in two weeks. And you can always e-mail me if need be: McEneaneyL at AOL.com.

BYE!

I asked why, and she said, "I like scary movies."

Saw will not be a scary movie. There's no suspense; the title says it all. Some guy's got a saw. He's going to cut people up with it.

If you want to make it suspenseful, you should call it, What's He Holding Behind His Back?
Then you spend 89 minutes wondering, "What the hell's that guy holding behind his back? Flowers? Candy?"

And then in the last minute - BAM! He pulls a saw out and cuts everyone up.

That would be scary and suspenseful, or it would be a romantic comedy.

14 more to go! (Kidding! Don't punch me in the gut!)

It's about how Bush wants to make discrimination against gay people legal and Kerry doesn't, and I'm down with human rights. But the mailing has postcards attached that you can send to your friend that says, "Call me and we can discuss these issues."

I'd rather save some time and send my friends a postcard that says, "Please avoid talking to me for the next six months."

Then there's another attachment you can mail back to the Human Rights Campaign with those friends' addresses and phone numbers.
No offense, but if I want to lose a couple of friends, it's easier to drunk-dial them at 3 am and call them assholes.

Baseball's almost done - we just have the formality of the Red Sox being beaten in the World Series to get through.

By the way, if you watched the last Sox/Yankees game, after Johnny Damon hit that Grand Slam, Joe Torre had a look on his face that said, "About six seconds after the game, I'm getting a call from Steinbrenner. I'd better disconnect the dugout phone and tell him it's got an unlisted number."

I guess I could follow football, but to be honest I don't enjoy football that much. To me, it's like watching two herds of cattle running into each other for three or four hours.

I mean, I don't need an excuse to get drunk and hit my wife (just kidding! Don't send me mean e-mails!).

It's just, football is basically your drunk asshole friend who's always talking you into doing things you probably shouldn't; "Hey buddy, have another six-pack of beer. Ahh, you going to let your wife tell you what to do the rest of your life? I don't care if you had a heart attack, come out to the subzero January sausage barbecue tailgate party!"

I hear people talk all the time about allthe intricate strategies and subtle majesty of football. And then I watch a game, and it's big guys running into each other until someone throws a ball. I've felt more suspense watching a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

I'm not sure what an AdverTazer would be, or what it would do, but I'm taken with the name.

More updates on this joke/idea/lame premise as it progresses.

"I've forgotten more than you'll ever know."

Sounds like Alzheimer's to me.

I know a guy whom I have labelled a "Party Animal."

I use the word party, because that's what he likes to do.
And I use the word animal, because that's what he often smells like.

By the way, have you noticed that the "party animal" is often a jackass?

Who demanded, "Did you know Jesus is the vine who gives fruit? And that you can not get fruit from a branch that has been severed from the vine? Read the book of John - "

First of all, vines don't have branches. They have vines. Trees have branches.

Second of all, you can get fruit form a branch that's been severed from a tree. They sever branches from one tree and attach them to other trees all the time. It's called "grafting."

Mabe instead of the Book of John, you should pick up the Book of 7th Grade Biology.

There's nothing wrong with having religion. But it's no substitute for having an education.

Well, that's his story, anyway. Probably a drunk hipster hit by a bike messenger.

Still, you can read his story here, if that's what you want.

The Spam in my inbox can be pretty damned insulting:
Why am I on some list of people who need herbal Viagra and penis pumps and barnyard porn?

That's why I put a Sarcasm Filter on my e-mail, that reads it sarcastically.
Then it becomes:

"Oh yeah, do you really need five more inches?"
"You really need to last even longer. You should get herbal Viagra - because you care about her pleasure."
"I'm an African prince who really needs to get rid of fifty million dollars. Ooohhh, could I put fifty million in your bank account pretty please?"

I'm never surprised when I read that African nations are spiralling further into debt,
because their royalty is constantly depositing their money into my bank account. There's probably eighty billion dollars of Nigerian royalty money in my Commerce account now.

I will be in London from October 26th - November 8th.
I don't know if I'll be doing that many shows. I e-mailed a bunch of bookers, and none of them got back to me. SIGH!
Anyway, if you want to buy me dinner while I'm in town, drop me a line.

I don't smoke weed.
If I want an excuse to feel lethargic and eat a lot, I'll get depressed and think about my love life.

Quotation marks around the word life.

But I think weed should be legalized. In fact, I'm shocked that weed is illegal, but coffee isn't. Coffee's addictive as fuck. I mean, for Chrissake, coffee's in ice cream. Coffee-flavored ice cream? Do you know what would happen if there was weed-flavoured ice cream? Ben and Jerry would own the Western Hemisphere.

A lot of people need coffee to start their day. Get crabby if they can't have it. Start attacking loved ones. And this is understood. "Hell, it's my fault for getting yelled at. I know I shouldn't talk to Jane until she's had her first cup of the day."
But if you ever said, "I can't even get out of bed in the morning without my first crack pipe of the day," you'd be put in a group home with Courtney Love.

Coffee is a drug.
And it impairs your judgment like any other drug.
Think about our world leaders. They probably drink four cups in the morning just to get going.
No wonder the world's in a mess. If I had four cups in the morning, I'd be ready to kick some Third World country's ass.
Shit, I have a cup of coffee, and if someone gets in my way on the E train platform I'm ready to send in the Third Division under the command of General Whupass.

If we could get our World Leaders to smoke just one joint in lieu of their first cup of coffee. Well, not much would get done, but would that be so bad? After seeing the pictures from Abu Ghraib, I'm not sure I'd mind if Donald Rumsfeld forgot to go into work because he had to call a friend and explain why ELO was the greatest band ever.

The problem with the marijuana legalization movement,
and the reason it can never ever work, is that by definition, it's run by potheads.
In my experience, potheads can barely get their band together to rehearse, let alone organize a movement.
Can you imagine the speeches that go on at NORML headquarters?

"I am going to tell you this right now. We have had enough, and we will never give up. I am sick and tired and hungry. And I am not going to be hungry any more. I am going to march down to the deli on the corner, and I'm going to buy a big bag of potato chips. And I'm going to sit on my couch and eat those potato chips and watch a Jackie Chan movie, and nothing you can do or say will change my mind. Uh, what was I saying? Did someone mention potato chips?"

When life hands you nothing but lemons, squeeze those lemons until the juice runs down my leg.

In the Viagra ads, they say that if you experience a four-hour erection, you should consult a doctor.

If that's the case, then when I was 14 I needed an ICU unit*.

Forget four-hour erections, when I was 14 my erections would stay up later than I did. I'd wake up in the middle of the night to a note that said, "LIAM, GONE DANCING, DON'T WAIT UP - YOUR BONER"

I guess what I'm saying is, I am slowly resigning myself to my act never being considered "sitcom ready."

* Huh huh, he said "unit."

I drink coffee to get to sleep at night.

There's nothing worse than accidentally drinking decaf.
It's like someone's just slipped you a roofie.

"I think I've been druuuuggged. "
"Oh my God, are you okay?"
"Nooo. So calm...so relaxed...muscles untensing...what's happening to me?"
"Don't worry. Coffee's on the way. Meanwhile, I'm going to kick you in the head for a while until you feel normal."

D-MINUS BATES
How cute. Bush and Kerry dressed as twinsies tonight.
Do you think Bush saw Kerry in the same brown suit/red tie combo (identical down to the matching shade of brown on the suits) and flounced out of the room, crying "I can't believe that bitch wore the same outfit I did. Now my big night is ruined forever!"
Yeah, me too.

Bush had a nice little meltdown in the middle of a debate on the No Child Left Behind Act, completely snapping and calling Kerry a "liberal Senator from Massachussettes."
I think that next time he should just come right out and call Kerry "a commie fag from Taxachussettes."

Meanwhile, cut to Theresa Heinz-Kerry in the audience, looking as if eight giant black hairy spider legs were going to burst out of her back and start spinning a web on which she could esconce Bush and suck his blood dry.
Let's be honest, that would explain what happened to Kerry's face.


PUJOLS vs A-ROD WORLD SERIES?
It would be quite a matchup.

I just watched the Red Sox lose their second in a row to the Yankees.
I have quite a few friends who are Sox fans. And I'd love to see the Sox win the World Series just so they shut the hell up.

"The Curse"
Okay, this isn't 18th century Salem, we aren't superstitious peasants about to burn someone at the stake for having a warty nose. I hope (I can't vouch for what goes on in Woucester or Fall River).

So why are the people of New England still blaming bad hoodoo black magic for their misery?
I honestly believe that if the people of Boston could get away with applying the "dunking test" to Joe Torre, you'd see a mob of peasants with pitchforks and torches swarming across the George Washington Bridge. (Where they would get arrested by a confused NYPD thinking they're a Critical Mass Protest.)

How Can We Find Peace in the Middle East
when we can't even bring Red Sox fans and Yankee fans together?

Red Sox fans like to say, "Yankee fans are assholes."
Yankee fans like to say, "Red Sox fans are assholes."
And as a Mets fan, I just have to say, "Whoa, come on now. This is one of those arguments where everyone's right."

A couple weeks ago, my friend Josh got me a free ticket to a Red Sox/Yankees game through his advertising agency. It wasn't that fun; there was a light drizzle pretty much the whole game, and the Yanks started the first inning with 5 runs. The second inning saw them get another 5.

We sat in front of a Red Sox fan and his two young sons.
One of the young sons kept chanting through the entire game, "Red Sox Rule, Yankees Drool."
And I mean the entire game. You know how little kids do something that seems cute the first, oh, say twenty minutes? And then is progressively more fucking annoying the next two hours?

At one point, the little tyke asked me if I was a Red Sox fan.
"No."
Then I must be a Yankee fan?
"No."

"Hmm," he said, thinking for a second, "I guess you could like both."
"No," said his father immediately, "That's physically impossible."
The boy then asked me what my team was.
"The Mets."
"Oh...You should be a fan of a better team, like the Red Sox."
I had to explain to the kid that when you're a fan of the Mets, you learn a little something about loyalty. because when you're a Mets fan, even if you lose your job, and your girlfriend leaves you, and your phone gets cut off and your electricity interrupted, you can always turn on the TV on a summer evening and have your favorite team stab you in the eye. But they're very reliable about letting you down.

Being a Mets fan is a lot like being the wife of an alcoholic. You find yourself making all the same excuses:
"Sure, he said he was going to get his act together last time, but this time he really means it. He's getting a new manager and GM and everything. Of course I'll keep giving him money. He NEEDS it to keep his Piazza friend.

By the fourth inning of the Yanks/Red Sox game, the Yanks were leading ten to zip, and the Red Sox Fan Dad was now resorting to praying for a game called on account of rain.
"Only God can save the Red Sox now."

Hmm, maybe there is something to this superstition thing.

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking home on a late night. On the ground I saw a folded sheet of paper on the sidewalk, and - on my usual assumption that crap lying around on the ground may turn out to be comedy gold - I picked it up. My instinct did not lead me astray.

I found a hand-written lyric sheet for a song called Dangerously in Love. I'm not entirely sure exactly what style this song is supposed to be in. R&B? Thrash Metal? Folk Ballad?

Here it is:

I love you, I love you.

Baby I love you, you are my life.
The happiest moments weren't complete if you weren't by my side.
You're my relation, in connection to the sun.
Wish you next to me, there is no darkness I can't overcome.
You are my raindrops, high in the sea.
With you and God, who's my sunlight, I bloom and grow so beautifully.
Baby I'm proud to be your girl.
You make the confusion all go away from this cold and messed up world.

CHORUS
I am in love with you, you set me free
I can't do this thing, a life without/you here with me.
'Cause I'm dangerously in love with you, I'll never leave
Just keep loving me, the way I love you loving me.

This song raises some questions:
1) Why a chorus for a song with only one verse?

2) Why the random changeups in the beats of the lines? What songwriter thinks that's a smooth song? You never hear a song like:
Yesterday,
All my troubles seemed so far away.
Now it seems as though they're here to stay,
I believe that if you look at a calendar and contrasted chronologically,
I believe in Yesterday.

3) This would seem sweet except that in the CHORUS it turns into a creepy stalker-song.
"I'm dangeorusly in love with you, I'll never leave."
If anyone sang that to me, I'd be on the phone with the cops two minutes later.
This isn't a song, it's "Exhibit A" in some dude's murder case.

All I know is, with the current shite state of American pop music, "Dangrously In Love" is destined to go gold.

OK, this is a new post. Thanks to everyone who stuck with me through the repeats last week.

I love Queens. Sure, this may be the least respected borough (not that the Bronx is that well-respected, but it's feared enough that no one's going to make fun of it to its face. And Staten Island is mob-town), but here's why I'm willing to have Queens' back:

First of all, it's the home of the Mets and Shea stadium. I'm a Mets fan.
When I say that onstage, someone inevitably boos me. Why? The Mets are a threat to no one.
The only way the Mets could be a threat to anyone is if Piazza somehow got his hands on the Bomb.

The Mets' slogan is "Ya Gotta Believe." you know who else has that slogan? Santa Claus.

My buddy Niel tells a story on his blog about going to a Mets game last week. They had a special promotion where the first 1000 fans to the picnic area get in free. Only 200 people showed up. The Mets literally can't give these seats away. (The full story is on his blog, plus a bonus story I tell in his Comments section. Enjoy!)

In 1999, the Mets were on a run to the World Series. In 1999, John Rocker, a young hotshot relief pitcher for the Atlanta Braves, said he hated going to Shea Stadium because "Imagine having to take the 7 train to the ballpark, looking like you're (riding through) Beirut next to some kid with purple hair next to some queer with AIDS right next to some dude who just got out of jail for the fourth time right next to some 20-year-old mom with four kids."

First thing I thought when I heard this was, "This guy's the hottest reliever in the League. Why is he taking the 7 train? Shit John, go nuts. Take a twenty dollar cab ride from the airport. Spoil yourself."

As you can imagine, this didn't sit 100% well with the fans at Shea.

So, that year my friend Andy is working for a show at NBC, which at the time had a deal with Major League Baseball. Andy gets me a ticket to see a playoff game at Shea between the Mets and - the Atlanta Braves.

When John Rocker came out to pitch his innings, the entire crowd - as if they had all gotten together before the game and rehearsed for a couple hours - started chanting "ASSHOOOOOLLLE. ASSSSHOOOOOOOOLLLLE."

Now here's the part where I love Queens. I turned to the guy on the other side of me and said, "What's the deal?" And he told me, "Dis guy Rocker, he fuckin' said the 7 train was filled with gays with AIDS and teenage moms."

And I said, "That's not right."

And my new friend said, "No, he was right. But it ain't right coming from some redneck from Atlanta."

That's right - we weren't going to let some outsider say that about us - even if he was 100% right.

Ahhh, Queens.


"Duuhhhh, I may never play in the major league again."

I had an important interview in the 40s, so on the subway I check my reflection in the window and remember that I hadn't shaved in the last five days. I looked like a hobo heading for the freight-yard to ride the rails.

At 42nd street I stop into Dwayne Reade and get shaving cream and a razor - both generic, 'cause I kick it like that, dawg.

I decide to shave in the NY Public library's men's room. I've seen homeless people bathing in the sink there, so I figure that I can't look any odder.

First I have to wait for the bathroom to clear out, which doesn't look too odd, a grown man with his pocket bulging (I had to stuff the shaving apparatus into my pocket or else security might have looked at me twice), waiting by the sink doing nothing.

As I'm lathering my face, I realize that if someone walked in, this would look very seedy and there's a good chance I may get arrested for vagrancy, so I stuff the razors into my pocket, grab the shaving cream, and run into one of the stalls.

Now I've got to get the razors out, and I realize that they're in my left-hand pocket. My left hand is completely covered in shaving cream. So I reach around with my right hand and get a razor out.
Then I begin to shave.

After I go for my left and right cheek, I look at the razor and see the blade completely coated in blood. I put my hand to my left cheek and remove it - there's a crescent of blood on the heel of my palm.

So I put a whole lot of toilet paper on my face.

Meanwhile, a guy gets into the stall next to mine and creates an awesome smell. Awesome in the sense of "overpowering" and "unbelievable."

I'm standing in a stall in the men's room of the main branch of the New York Public Library, bleeding and quietly gagging and dropping razor blades, and suddenly I understand the exact definition of the phrase "downward spiral."

Now I have to finish shaving my face, avoiding all the places that felt cut.

One particular gouge on my chin refuses to stop bleeding. When I think there's no one out there, I risk running to the sink to check myself in the mirror. There's a guy at the urinal who does a double-take. When I see myself in the mirror - face covered in tiny cuts, little hairs, and reddish shaving cream - I understand. In fact, I quietlly applaud him for not calling the cops.

The cut on my chin refuses to stop bleeding, so I end up standing in the handicapped stall for about forty minutes (lucky I had arrived super-early) reading a Wodehouse book and waiting for the flow of blood to turn into a trickle.
It hadn't completely stopped by the time of my interview.

On AOL, there are role-playing game rooms, where you assume a D&D-style character. And there are sex chat rooms, where you hook up with people and have cybersex.

Then there's the saddest kind of room, the role-playing game sex room.
This is copied directly from a real chat room transcript, cut n' paste.

Two notes:
Everything is exactly as it was written in the chat room, any typos are strictly the participants'. But: In a chat room, so much is going on at once, that it isn't always in chronological order, and conversations get mixed up, due to varying typing speeds. So some of the dialogue has been reordered in a more consecutive conversational way, to make for easier reading.

Whenever a sentence is placed between colons (::) it means that an action is being described. For instance ::Liam rereads the blog entry and then cries, wondering what he's doing with his life.::

Now enjoy:

OnlineHost: *** You are in "Arts and Entertainment - Rhydin Pleasure Tubs". ***

McEneaneyL: ::walks into the room::

McEneaneyL: ::nods to pleasure drones::

McEneaneyL: Hello all.

XAprilmoonX: ::walks over to a unoccupied tub slips off her shorts making a blue bikini completly visable

XAprilmoonX: ,and slide in to the tub::

XAprilmoonX: slides*

McEneaneyL: ::disrobes::

McEneaneyL: ::completely naked::

Golden Eyed Drow: * leans back against the side of the tub and chuckles as she glances about *

McEneaneyL: Hello April

XAprilmoonX: hey....

SharonLoganX: ::cupping her hands,she takes water in her hands and splashes it on her neck,letting it run

McEneaneyL: What brings a girl like you into a place like this?

XAprilmoonX: i was bored....

SharonLoganX: over her covered breasts.The material soaking up the water::

McEneaneyL: Sorry to hear that. Care to join me in my tub?

McEneaneyL: ::takes a dump in his tub::

McEneaneyL: There's plenty of room, and it's warm.

Arin Tirent: ::a sigh of relief from her breast as she walks into the steam

Arin Tirent: filled room, slow liesurly gait and the tail of that white robe

Arin Tirent: flying behind her, exposing lightly tanned smoothen legs::

Golden Eyed Drow: * she shakes her head a as she reaches into her pack she placed beside the tub and brings

Golden Eyed Drow: out her book of elven runes and begins to study it *

AeNaRionRE: ::he sighed as he sat on the bench alone, waiting for someone to notice him::

McEneaneyL: ::eats his own feces::

XAprilmoonX: um..no im fine over here

AeNaRionRE: ::he looked about the room, glancing at everyone and a few tubs::

Jester26MN: :::hopes that's chocolate McEneaney is eating:::

McEneaneyL: You dont know what youre missing, babe.

XAprilmoonX: ::mutters:: i dont think i wanna know......

McEneaneyL: Hey Golden. What are you reading?

Jester26MN: ::::a tall handsome man enters the room, wearing a red fur cape...just for show:::

Jester26MN: ::::takes off his cape, revealing his chiseled torso, broad shoulders, muscled chest:::

Arin Tirent: ::a thin line skin patched with colors of a tropical sunset

Arin Tirent: where her bikini lies against her::

Golden Eyed Drow: * slides down in the tub untill the water reaches her chin as she continues to read her

Golden Eyed Drow: book*

Jester26MN: ::::thinking he looks quite dashing thank you very much:::

Veshara: ::she enters, her luscious lips curved in an innocent smile, her eyes blinking as she g

Veshara: glances around::

XAprilmoonX: ::looks over to Jester, then leans back in her tub and closes her eyes::

MimiTachikawa17: ::walks in in a blue bikini with sparkles on it::

McEneaneyL: ::soaps up, letting his loofah sponge run over his chiselled muscles::

Jester26MN: :::sees Veshara enter, appreaching her luscious lips in a not that innocent smile:::

AeNaRionRE: ::he smiled at Veshra as she entered, he sat on the bench::

McEneaneyL: ::begins masturbating::

McEneaneyL: HI VESHRA!!!

SharonLoganX: ::::watches the room with her green eyes::

Veshara: ::has to go dang it::

McEneaneyL: Veshra, wait!!!

MimiTachikawa17: ::walks to an empty tub::

McEneaneyL: Hi Mimi

Lrd Pyrne: (::Just... Sits here and observes::)

MimiTachikawa17: hey

MimiTachikawa17: ::slides inside::

Arin Tirent: ::as she passes a the pegs on the wall, that robe is shrugged

Arin Tirent: off and tossed carelessly onto one, lushous curves in all the

Arin Tirent: right places, and her hips sway gracefully with the movement

Arin Tirent: of those long legs::

McEneaneyL: ::his golden locks drape to his elven face, creating a soggy halo::

Jester26MN: :::notes Arin's long luscious legs and womanly hips::::

AeNaRionRE: ::he turned his head and looked to Arin and smiled to her, hoping to catch her gaze::

Jester26MN: ::::wondering where the ice water is at::::suddenly needing to chew ice:::

McEneaneyL: ::waves his 18 inch penis at Arin::

McEneaneyL: Hey Arin

Golden Eyed Drow: * tries not to laugh at all the men in the room with their mouths dropped open as they stare

Golden Eyed Drow: all the girls who walk in the door.. then goes back to reading her book*

McEneaneyL: Check this out

AeNaRionRE: ::he aproached Arin with a light smile:: Hello

McEneaneyL: ::begins sucking his own 18 inch penis::

Arin Tirent: ::long dark lashes fell over those oceanic blues not once,

Arin Tirent: but twice as she smiled to the patrons of the room::

SharonLoganX: ::shakes her head slowly at the spectacle::

Lrd Pyrne: ::A somewhat shaky entrance was made by him as he weaved bacd forth through the doorway, dan

Lrd Pyrne: gerously unbalanced.. Legs meanding in either direction, he manages to dazedly take up a sea

Lrd Pyrne: t on the edge of a tub, shaking his head with a small sigh::
SharonLoganX: ::pushes her hair back,layes her head on her hair as a pillow::

AeNaRionRE: ::he stood before Arin:: How are you m'lady?

Arin Tirent: ::a bemused glance at the poor guy fiddling with his dick and

Arin Tirent: then she retied the thin strings on one hip::

McEneaneyL: ::stands up, walks over to Golden::

Arin Tirent: very well and ye m'lord?

BlueMist713: ::and she made her way to the door, kneeling slowly:: May this slave girl enter?

Lrd Pyrne: Come in.

McEneaneyL: ::slaps Golden in the face with his 18 inch penis::

Jester26MN: ::::takes out his rubber duckie at his hip::::

AeNaRionRE: ::he sighs:: not to well I suppose

McEneaneyL: You like that, Golden?

Jester26MN: Says to BlueMist. Hey...slave girl. You may enter but come over here!

Jester26MN: :::waving her over:::

SharonLoganX: ::looks at Lrd:;

Golden Eyed Drow: * looks up from her book as she is slapped and chuckles* maybe if it was a little bit

Golden Eyed Drow: bigger .. *goes back to reading her book*

Arin Tirent: oh, whys that? ::her attentions switched to the other hip

Arin Tirent: making sure those were also secured::

McEneaneyL: ::jumps into tub with Golden::

BlueMist713: ::she looked to jester, making her way over to him::

McEneaneyL: ::puts his arm around Golden, throwing her book into the water::

AeNaRionRE: I have been lonely all night

Jester26MN: :::smiles up to her:::: So are you anyone's particular slave girl?

Jester26MN: Because I have been looking for a slave girl for a while now.

BlueMist713: No.. My lord.

Lrd Pyrne: ::A msall mutter as arms were raised above his head and fingers locked together, the joints

Lrd Pyrne: popping audibly as he groaned nuder his breath::

Lrd Pyrne: *Small

Jester26MN: (i.e. since birth)

Jester26MN: MmmmHmmm. Well why don't you jump in and begin your duties by giving me a back massage.

Golden Eyed Drow: * looks to the one who seems to have made himself at home in her tub * can I help you with

Golden Eyed Drow: something

McEneaneyL: Golden, let's "do it"

XAprilmoonX: ::adjusts the top off her blue bikini::

McEneaneyL: And I mean that in the Biblical sense

Arin Tirent: oh, im sorry ::her gaze wandered to the open tubs::

McEneaneyL: April, you can join us

McEneaneyL: ::urinates::

XAprilmoonX: not if you payed me

BlueMist713: ... ::she nodded::

Golden Eyed Drow: * lokos at him and bust out laughing* not if your life depended on it .. Now get out of

XAprilmoonX: net even if you payed me*

Arin Tirent: ::laughs::

Golden Eyed Drow: my tub

Golden Eyed Drow: looks*

XAprilmoonX: not**

McEneaneyL: ::Farts, creating his own personal jacuzzi.::

AeNaRionRE: ::he laughs lightly:: yes you, you seemed like a you would be a pleasure for company

McEneaneyL: ::the smell of his personal jacuzzi wafts over the room::

XAprilmoonX: ::looks away and closes her eyes::

McEneaneyL: So APril

McEneaneyL: Do you enjoy "doing it"?

Arin Tirent: ::shrugs as it still is and moves to dip a toe into the water::

XAprilmoonX: dont talk to mr

XAprilmoonX: me*

AeNaRionRE: My name is Isaac by the way :;he bows his head in respect::

Arin Tirent: hmm can tell that just by looks?

Golden Eyed Drow: * grabs her things and hopps out of her tub and moves to another one not carring if it has

Golden Eyed Drow: anyone in it or not *

MimiTachikawa17: ::closes her eyes::

Arin Tirent: a pleasure Isaac...I am Airianna

McEneaneyL: My name is Lord Leppy

Crimson Chimera: ::a red-skinned chimera enters and moves into the shadows, as per usual::

XAprilmoonX: good for you

SSC McCAFF: ::Slides into a nearby tub::

McEneaneyL: ::urinates on the chimera::

Jester26MN: :::looking up as Sharon stands, admining her bikini -- more to the point...her body dripping

Jester26MN: with water:::

Lrd Pyrne: ::A glance right and a glance left before he pushes away from the tub he'd been leaning agai

AeNaRionRE: ::he raises a brow:: that is a lovely name you have

SharonLoganX: ::steps out,grabbing a towel::

Katala Aarym: ::braides her long brown hair, a few strands fall beside her eyes::

McEneaneyL: ::gets out of the tub, walks over to April::

Katala Aarym: :;she walks out::

MimiTachikawa17: ::sighs::

McEneaneyL: ::gives her a big hug::

It's really easy. First, pick a tune. The entire Irish Folk Song catalogue has maybe six tunes, so it's real easy to find one that expresses your feelings.

Next, pretend to be nostalgic about whatever little shithole town you escaped from. I have no idea where the McEneaneys of Ireland are from, so I semi-randomly picked a small hamlet call "Aberdeen."

The First Verse
Start off by lying about how no matter how much you travel, you're always happy to return to your little shithole Irish town:

All over this world I have gandered,
And many a sight I have seen.
But never was a sight there was grander,
Than the sight of Aberdeen.
Than the sight of Aberdeen, boys,
The sight of Aberdeen.
Never was a sight there was grander,
Than the sight of Aberdeen.
(Please note the easy sing-along chorus. This allows you and your mates to swing an arm with a mug of beer, prepatory to swinging your fists at each other in a depressed alcoholic rage - The Irish Specialty.)

The Second Verse
Now lie about how, no matter how nice things are in the outside world, they're not half as good as the sights you find at home:

I've seen the snow-capped mountains,
I've seen fields of emerald green.
But no pure glacier fountains,
Could tempt me from Aberdeen.
Could tempt me from Aberdeen, boys,
Tempt me from Aberdeen.
No green pastures or glacier fountains
Could tempt me from Aberdeen.

The Third Verse
Brag about something no one should really brag about. Some brag about how everyone at home drinks a lot. Some brag that everyone at home fights too much. Some brag about drinking too much and then getting into a fight. Here's a different tack:

The cows of France give us cheese,
And England's cows give us the cream.
But the farmers let ye do what you please,
With the cows of Aberdeen.
With the cows of Aberdeen, boys,
The cows of Aberdeen.
For a farmer who don't mind his cow bein' raped,
Get a cow from Aberdeen.

The Fourth Verse
This is your romantic verse, so slow it down. If you have a tenor in the group, now's a good time to break him out:

Now I'm a man of some vices,
And I've laid with many colleen.
But none have the rock-bottom prices,
Of the gals from Aberdeen.
The gals from Aberdeen, boys,
The gals From Aberdeen.
If ye can't find yerself a cow to love,
Get a gal from Aberdeen.

I would love to perform this just once at an Irish Folk Festival.

So here's the deal; I've got to get to work on a sketch show I'm co-writing with my friend Claudia.
I'm writing a one-man show to go up next February.
I'm working a day job.
I am doing comedy at night.
I am tired.

So I'm taking the week off. But as a friend of mine pointed out the last time I took a creative Sabbatical, there are assorted masochists reading this blog daily for a humur update.

So this week I'll be running a "Best of." Just stuff that I've written over the past couple years that I've been fond of.

Today's has an interesting story behind it. Because when I wrote the entry about the delightful Ms. McKean (see below) my ladyfriend at the time found her website and e-mailed the link to her.

Ms. McKean's publisher then e-mailed me saying "the boys in legal" wanted him to issue a cease-and-desist order against me. The odd Runyonesque choice of words aside, I'm not sure what "the boys in legal" could have done. I mean, if you could shut down a creepy fansite, half the Internet would be gone.

But Ms. McKean kindly sent me an autographed copy of her book in exchange for my silence. (I still haven't sent a thank you note. DAMN ME AND MY INCONSIDERATE HIDE!)

So here you go:

Let me preface this (somewhat creepy, I will admit) blog entry with this explanation:

Even as a young boy, I had always developed crushes on the oddest assortment of women.
When I was a lad of about 6 or 7 summers, I saw The Maltese Falcon and instantly fell for Mary Astor, who played the femme fatale that (SPOILER!) killed Spade's partner.

My next big crush came when Columbia University played a birthay tribute to legendary dead jazz singer Billie Holiday. It was her voice, that's the only reason I have for having a crush on a woman who'd died long before I was born.

My point is that I have a tendency to get crushes on the most motley assortment of women; some men prefer supermodels or actresses. Me, I'm not sure what gets my attention.

Saturday night I went to bed, tuned to a local public radio station that was playing classical music. Sunday morning I woke up to a show called The Next Big Thing and Erin McKean, the editor of the Oxford American Dictionary.

The host of the show had her on as a guest in a segment where listeners pitched her ideas for new words for the dictionary. She either told them that it was a "great word!" or turned them down with sweet dispatch and quick wit. One couple (whose tone of voice just told you that they were a smug middle-aged liberal couple calling form their apartment on the Upper West Side, he in a Heathcliff Huxtable sweater and beard to hide the double chin, she with her graying hair pulled back into a bun so it doesn't fall over her Channel 13 sweatshirt) called together on the extension and pitched the word "Phlenyor." Basically, they explained, the most famous "Phlenyor" is "Excuse me while I kiss this guy."

McKean interrupted with, "Oh, you mean a mondegreen." And then she explained that it was named after a misheard lyric from the song "The Bonny Earl of Murray," where someone mistook the line "has laid him on the green," for "Lady Mondegreen."

Personally, I call it "the basis for every Family Circus cartoon drawn," but that's me. The point is that Erin McKean dispatched this couple with true justice; cold, impartial, a little unfair, but also full of compassion. (The reason they called it a "Phlenyor" was that when the wife watched the "Flintstones," she misheard the closing credit lyric as "Phlenyor with the Flintstones" and thought it was the name of the cat.)

Was it the quick wit? The Sarah Vowell-esque baby voice? Or just the fame - that tawdry Public Radio decadence - making me a sort of obscure starfucker?

All I know is that I fell for Erin McKean, in that gently goofy way that a six year-old falls for his grade-school teacher. Now, I didn't want to do anything creepy, like send her weirdo fan mail. And I didn't want to do anything that would cost me money, like buy her flowers. So I wrote this love song for her:

(musically, think somewhere between the Beatles' "Honey Pie" and the Leon Redbone version of "Shine On Harvest Moon," complete with male back-up singers)

(slow start)
Some say love is where you look,
And some say it's where you find it.
But I found a woman to whom I'm an open book,
And now she's defined it.

(up tempo)
Erin McKean, Erin McKeen,
I'm Mc - Keen on you if you know what I mean,
Erin McKean, you got me singin' like a canary.
Erin McKean, Erin McKean,
When it comes to definitions you're makin' the scene,
As the editor of the O.A. Dictionary.
MALE BACKUP SINGERS: Ohh, Ayyy, Dictionaaaaryyyy.

You may have heard, I invented a word,
the dictionary's been missing.
That word's "McKeans," and what it means,
is "the thrill of your true love's kissing."

Erin McKean, I'm a Philistine,
You have cause to be wary.
It's absurd, but you play with words,
And I play Pictionary.
MALE BACKUP SINGERS: He doesn't even own a Dictionaaaaryyyy.
LIAM Yes I do.

Erin McKean, Erin McKeen,
I'm Mc - Keen on you if you know what I mean,
You got me dancin' like a goddamn fairy.
Erin McKean, Erin McKean,
How can I say this while keeping it clean,
You look up the definition of beauty,
They got your picture right under it, cutie,
With a referral to "see also: A Root a Root Rootie,"
The one and only editor of the O.A. Dictionary.
MALE BACKUP SINGERS: Ohh, Ayyy, Dictionaaaaryyyy.

Guess who's earned himself a restraining order?

I'm just sayin'...

Bush was awesome. Quite possible the worst performance TV has seen since Family Matters brought us Jaleel White as "Urkel."

He was about a step away from staring into the camera and going "Homina homina homina. Homina homina homina."

Even when I was going to high school, most NYC high schools had metal detectors you had to walk through every morning to make sure you weren't bringing a weapon in.

My school wasn't that violent. We had to walk through a dork detector.

And I always got pulle aside:
"Let me open your backpack buddy. Just what I thought, Magic: The Gathering cards." Put down the inhaler, take off the glasses, and hand over the Star Trek novelisation.