A few years ago I was standing in front of the iconic Bowery Poetry Club which is across the street from the infamous but now closed CBGB. I was smoking a cigarette with fellow performers and I confessed,
“Even though I’m not that religious, I feel a little guilty because I woke up this morning, masturbated and then realized it was Easter.” Before anyone could respond, a guy standing next to us started to mumble, “An erection, a resurrection…he had an erection on a resurrection…An erection, a resurrection…(repeat)”.
I would have normally dismissed the guy as a “normal”, crazy homeless guy but I noticed the marquee stating that Jim Carroll, the author of The Basketball Diaries, was performing in a half hour. So instead of walking away from him like my friends did, I approached him and offered him a cigarette. Next thing I now I’m listening to a personalized spoken word piece about my erection and Jesus. Groovy.
Wikipedia tells me Jim was born in 1950 but I was shocked to see how old he actually looked. I would say he was in between Zsa Zsa Gábor and the Crypt Keeper.
The government would save so much money on the War on Drugs if they just took Mr. Carroll on tour to high schools across America. All they would have to do is introduce him to the class and say, “You can do drugs but…” and make an awkward, cartoon-y side glance to Jim. Done.
My girlfriend and I attended a Comedy Central taping of Live at Gotham a month ago to support a few friends.**
In the world of comedy, your first Comedy Central debut is a milestone in an unpredictable career choice. I liken it to an Associate’s Degree (perhaps even a certificate from DeVry or commercial driver’s license from a truck driving school).
A Half-Hour Comedy Central’s Presents would be your Bachelor’s, a Conan, Kimmel or Ferguson your acceptance into a graduate program, a Letterman or Leno being your Master’s and your own special on HBO representing your thesis that enables you to obtain your Doctorate. Essentially, a Ph. D in funny. I was going to wedge in another analogy about the various festivals (Montreal, Aspen, Edinburgh, and Melbourne) but I think I’ve bored myself with the over usage of metaphors, allegories, similes and analogies (I can never tell which are which).
Anyways, I digress. Regardless, I was very proud of my friends performing that night. Each one had worked very hard to get to that point.
Unfortunately, some drunk escort/hooker/bitch woman with a creepy, old, rich dude and a bottle of $300 champagne ruined it for us.
My friend had the last and most difficult spot and was killing but the hookerslut kept slurring, “He’s not funny. This sucks. I can’t believe they
let him perform.”
(Note: She was high-five-ing her sugar daddy when the host** was shitting out his crowd-pleasing, misogynistic jokes).
The Gotham staff had already approached her twice and were keeping an
eye on her but they didn’t want to cause a scene.
To retaliate without making a scene and disrupting my friend’s set, we did the most childish and passive-borderline-psycho-aggressive act. For the record, it was initiated by my girlfriend which was extremely uncharacteristic of her. She strategically tipped over my unfinished Heineken with the intention of soaking the overdone-airbrushed-Glamour Shot in the mall-feather-boa-wearing-back-flab-trying-to-escape-satin-dress-hooker’s expensive purse that was covered with feathers (probably from an endangered species). However, the pool of beer wasn’t moving as fast as we wanted. So I ever so slightly lifted the table at one end to create an angle allowing gravity to create enough force for the puddle of beer to over come the static friction of the table (I believe physicists would call that coefficient μ or mu) to pull the fluid toward trainwreck’s purse.
It was exhilarating. We felt giddy. Since it was torrentially raining, freezing, windy and she was wearing a skimpy, slutty dress, I took their umbrella and placed it six tables over as we left.
This site seems to be a German version of VH1’s Web Junk 2.0. Fast forward to the 2 minutes 8 seconds. Since it’s in German, I have no idea what is being said but I did understand “Flock of Mullets” and “Texas”.
“Flock of Mullets is a website created by Dan Allen. Check it out, live the amazing hairstyles. You know you had one…I think its good that some of my lesbian friends have a website to go to where they can see that their hairstyle still rocks!”
“That is the weirdest sh*t i’ve seen in…erm…a day or 2…ha ha ha…..i knew that baby was gonna do something……”
“Jesus this is weird.”
“Some quality mulletage there!”
Let’s make this bigger than the bubonic plague: DIGG it!
I completely forgot that when I was twelve years old that I swore my allegiance to Jesus. What jogged my memory?
When Christocrat John Hagee, pastor of the 17,000 member Cornerstone Church in San Antonio, TX, endorsed John McCain, it raised my Holy Spirit from the dead.
If you are unaware of what Hagee represents, here are some interesting articles: here and here.
To sum up his beliefs: Harry Potter is heresy, Dan Brown is a shadow writer for Satan, if Gays were snot then Hurricane Katrina was God’s Kleenex, wants Christians to bear arms and call a jihad against Iran and the Pope helped Hitler.
Amazingly, this is the church I attended from 1983 to 1987. My head was actucally dipped by his chubby, well-fed, manicured, decorated with diamond-cluster ringed fingers.
Wow. I hope the Muslims aren’t right and Allah doesn’t hold this against me. I was a only a child.
However, I know that excuse will not hold up because Hagee made sure that we were very cognitive of our decision to accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Saviour. The last thing he wanted of his congregation was to baptize their next generation like the ignorant Catholic sheeple. His followers must embrace a baptism like a rite of passage. He refused to baptize an infant.
When I was in the back, undressing and placing on my robe with the other un-saved heathen children I was very nervous. You could hear the murmur of the 3,000 members of the church sitting in their pew/stadium and the organist playing a solemn prelude as background music.
Hagee approached us as if we were at the Super Bowl. He barked in his signature cadence, “I refuse to baptize anyone who does accept the Grace of God. Do you all understand this!?”
“Yes!”, we said in unison.
“Do you except Jesus as your Lord and Saviour!?”, he yelled.
“Yes!”
“Say it!”
“We except Jesus Christ as our Lord and Saviour!”
I started to feel light-headed like we were a pack of Neanderthals getting ready to take down a saber-toothed tiger. I started to hyperventilate and I wasn’t the only one. It was infectious.
“Do you love Jesus?!” he bellowed.
“Yes!”
“Let me hear it!!”
“We love Jesus! We love Jesus!. We love Jesus!!”
“Now you have the Holy Spirit! Let us bring you to the congregation and save your souls at last!.”
At this point, I literally felt nauseous, I was overwhelmed. I vaguely remember what happened after that. I numbly followed the person in front of me. I remember the water being colder than I thought it would be. Thousands of people were on their feet, waving their hands and praising Jesus. He slapped his beefy hand on my forehead, placed his other hand on my back and then pushed me back into the water while holding my nose at the same time. The deafening roar of the congregation was silenced while I was purged of my “sins”. As I surfaced, I felt disoriented much like the thawing Han Solo after being carbon frozen by Jabba the Hut.
Again…if you [Allah] are reading this. Please take this into consideration. That goes for David Koresh, John Smith, the Jews’ mystery Messiah and anyone I’m leaving out.
I wish I wasn’t agnostic and commit to atheism. It would be so much more simple.
If you’ve never listen to Keith and the Girl’s podcast, you haven’t lived.
I met them through my friend Jesse Joyce. I asked to be on their show to defend myself from a previous podcast he was on. Jesse claims I’m being a pretentious douche when I say, “I’m going to get some sushi.” If you haven’t met Jesse, he’s a nice guy but mildly retarded.
They kindly invited me on their show and I had a great time.
We are not sure what ¡Sacapuntas! means but we do know that we are hosting a fantastic show that blends polished comedians, erudite writers and downtown humorists who are sharpening their acts at our monthly showcase of heavy hitters in an intimate setting.
Seats are limited so please email to get on the list:
RSVP@SacapuntasShow.com
$5 in advance or $7 at the door
Come early to enjoy Jimmy 43’s Chef Phillip Kirchen-Clark’s great
local and organic menu . They also have a delightful wine, beer and appetizer selection.
Not to mention our Page Rank on Google for the keyword “sacapuntas” has meteorically risen to #5.
Basically, my body is the foreign film version of what I want to be. I weigh 165lbs which sounds fine but I’m 6′6″ (5′18″ or 4′30″) and I should weigh around 200lbs. I’ve accepted that I’m an ectomorph long ago and stop worrying about gaining weight once I heard that I had to consume 4,000 calories a day. Fuck that.
However, I think I’m going to GNC tomorrow to buy some protein powder. Why? Because a drunk “friend” of a friend said this to me, “Oh my God! You are sooo skinny! Did you lose weight since I last saw you? You look so…so…aw-switch-ee.”
I couldn’t make out that last word because she was so intoxicated. So I tried to clarify it by asking, “Did you mean ostrich-y like a bird?”
She slurred back, “No. I mean Auschwitz-y like Anne Frank.”
A few years ago I was standing in front of the iconic Bowery Poetry Club which is across the street from the infamous but now closed CBGB. I was smoking a cigarette with fellow performers and I confessed,
I would have normally dismissed the guy as a “normal”, crazy homeless guy but I noticed the marquee stating that Jim Carroll, the author of The Basketball Diaries, was performing in a half hour. So instead of walking away from him like my friends did, I approached him and offered him a cigarette. Next thing I now I’m listening to a personalized spoken word piece about my erection and Jesus. Groovy.
