Danocrates discusses himself

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.

The first show is being kicked off by NYC’s greatest storyteller Tom Shillue, the fabulous VH1’s BestWeekEver blogger Michelle Collins, the always inventive, downtown favorite Patrick Borelli, the awesomeness of Andrés du Bouchet.

Thursday 9PM at The No. 43 Stage at Jimmy’s No 43 .

43 E. 7th Street (between 2nd and 3rd Avenue)

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.

¡Hay Dios mio!

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.”

(Now a musical)

When I was in San Antonio this weekend, I rented a Porsche 911 at Alamo Rent A Car and the agent’s name was Lusitania.

Ironically, I was visiting my nephew Dresden who was born on Valentine’s Day and fortunately was not named after the Bombing of Dresden in WWII which coincidentally occurred in 1945 between February 13th and the 15th. I want to make him feel comfortable so I’m going to adopt some twins and name them Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

After thought: If you place quotation marks around the word ironic, would that be the equivalent of a double negative?

Not sure when I’ll be able to post again. The holoscreen said something about Thundera being unstable and that the planet is about to explode or some shit. WTF??! This sucks! I finally have a hot date this weekend. Awesome. The one shot I had to score and the universe decides to blow up my planet. I’ll be the only Thunderian who dies as a virgin. Jaga told us to pack tonight and that we are leaving at oh-dark thirty. I really hope we leave that stupidass, golden-boy Lion-O. What a queer! I honestly feel that he’s gay. I mean…nothing against gay people. I mean…I like Tygra and everything (although he hasn’t officially come out of the closet…we all know it). Back to Lion-O, the reason I think he’s gay is because he’s always trying to wrestle. It just gets weird sometime. Not to mention the way he stares me down when we have to shower together at school. Maybe I’m just reading into it too much or maybe he’s just envious of my package. It’s not my fault that he’s older and less endowed. He looks like he just got neutered. Anyways…I gotta log off. I don’t want to get yelled at by Ole Jaga-nut tomorrow morning.

I promised a friend that I would be in his short film today and he asked me to dress the part of an Ivy leaguer.

So I decided to go with something like this:

I felt good. I felt educated. I was ready. Then the most unexpected thing came out of a Starbucks cashier’s mouth.

It wasn’t awkward because I thought he was hitting on me. That I could have handled. Living in NYC, I’ve been “hit on” by guys several times in my life. It’s not that big a deal. What made it strange was the fact that he wasn’t gay.

Who says that to people? Was it because I was dressed like an Ivy leaguer. Is there a whole new world out there for the elite? I felt like Eddie Murphy when he painted himself white and received a free newspaper.

I’ve changed back to my normal, proletarian wear. Everything is back to normal.

My grasp of the English language is Mr. Burns-ian weak. I wish Smithers would stand by me and correct all my errors. I grew up in various trailer parks in South Florida and Texas, so my ability to pronounce particular words can be a burden. I also misuse words or create ones that don’t even exist. Take the word irregardless. Somehow it has infiltrated into our modern vernacular.

“Irregardless is considered nonstandard because of the two negative elements ir- and -less.”

But the prize-winning misusage of all words is the seemingly, innocent twelve-letter word: scatological.

“Scatology is the study of feces. In literature, it is used to describe works that make particular reference to excretion or excrement, as well as to toilet humor.”

As in, “Watch out for that dog scat!” or in Spanish, “¡Cuidado con las que mierda de perro!”

I thought the etymology of the word was derived from scat which is an improvised, jazz singing style.

Scat singing is vocal improvisation with nonsense words and syllables or without words at all. Scat singing gives singers the ability to sing improvised melodies and rhythms, to create the equivalent of an instrumental solo using their voice.

So I would use the word to describe people who conveyed non-linear ideas in a fluid manner. Which is mortifying because people would misconstrue my non-sensical statements.

I would say, “The movie was too scatological for most people, but personally I really enjoy that type of film.”

They would hear, “The movie was non-stop, “Larry the Cable Guy” poop jokes for most people, but personally I really enjoy that type of film.”

Now it makes sense why I turned so many girls off in the early stages of my comedy “career”:

At that point the girl would stare at me like I confessed that I created an organization that protects the rights of people who like to rape babies, give me a weird look and would slowly slip out of the conversation with Poops McGee or The Scat Man (which was my stage name at the time).

I’m an idiot.

Other verbal offenses:
trinkle instead of trickle (pertaining to money)
exuberant instead of exorbitant (also pertaining to money)
kitten gloves instead of kid gloves

When I was six, my urologist, Dr. Bartholomew, informed me that I had an undescended testicle and he would have to perform surgery on me.

This was shocking because I didn’t even know what a testicle was…

Snip, snip, push, push, stitch, stitch

Once I recovered and went back to Dr. Bartholomew for a post-operative examination, he had a very serious discussion with me.

He told me that three things could happen to me when I get older:
1) I could have a hernia
2) Develop testicular cancer
3) My newly descended testicle will not take and never grow

At this point, I reminded the doctor that I was only six. I was concentrating more on what flavor of Jolly Rancher lollipop to choose from the candy jar at the end of the visit rather than think about the variations of my imminent doom.

My biggest fear was that I would die before Empire Strikes Back would be released.

He said I didn’t have to be afraid of dying…just yet.

However, he was very concerned about my body rejecting the new ball and I become a tenor-soprano half-eunuch. He handed me a “magazine”, which I discovered to be a synthetic testicle replacement (“falsies”) catalog. Sizes ranged from “petite” to “XL”. As a born and raised, materialistic, young American, my eyes obviously went to the “XL”. Super Size Me!

Dr. Bartholomew said it was too big and I wouldn’t look proportional. I didn’t care; I wanted the biggest one they had.

I was really lucky because my body accepted the hibernating, ellipsoidal orb of life. This was really fortunate, because the government banned prosthetic silicone testicles in humans. Forcing thousands of lopsided men to find refuge with black-market veterinarians, who performed illegal surgeries using dog “falsies” called Neuticals® .

So compared to option #2 or #3, I never thought I would be so happy to hear I have a hernia.

I am a blessed…kind of

I have always felt that there has been a dark Charlie Brown-esque cloud hovering over me my entire life. Fortunately, I have been able react to every “detour” the Road of Life has thrust upon me. Some have taken me on five year misadventures on paths that required me to get out of my car and hack through with a machete. Annoyingly, I could see below through the thorn-laden bushes that other vehicles were blithely speeding along never leaving the interstate on cruise control with a fuel tanks of gas. Throughout my life, I have been thrown in jail, almost killed by a shark, moose and a cop, unscrupulously lost my virginity, lived hand-to-mouth, not attained any assets and to this day have not received a college degree.

I decided to research my family history to determine where we started to fuck up. I started with my father’s side. Through interviews and studying censuses and going online, I have posted below my family tree starting with my great grandfather Howard Pratt Allen.

Let’s talk about Howard’s fifth great grandfather Lt. Thomas Putnam (1614-1686). He was the father of the dick of dicks Thomas Putnam (1651-1699) and he was the one who provided the devil seed that sprouted into the infamous Ann Putnam, Jr. (1679-1716).

For those unaware of who the Putnams were, they played a crucial role in the Salem Witch Trials.

Putnam was one of the most active accusers during the trials. She claimed to have been afflicted by 62 different people, and testified in many trials. Some believe the continuance of the trials was due to the attention given to the accusers, which was unheard of in Puritan times.

At least, now I have an idea why I’m fucked. Let this be known, I personally apologize to all the people (or witches) who died because of my family.

Fuck the middle man, I like to get my trans fat right from the source. Five gallons for only twenty-two bucks. What a steal! My favorite part of this shot is the worried Wal-Mart employee in the background.