Moronic Ramblings

It’s been quite some time since I have voluntarily stepped inside a house of worship. Well, of course, not including weddings, funerals, or Mom dragging me to Chritmas Eve service for the Pageant. I’m talking about actually waking up on a random, non-Judeo Christian federal holiday, and thinking to myself, “Hmmmm, I think I need a little J.C. this morning.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have no problem if people find solace and strength by showing unabiding faith in their repsective religions. Just as long as you don’t try to stuff it down anyone else’s throat, you’re okay in my book. ANYWAY, I was thinking as to why I haven’t voluntarily attended church after recieving my Caucasian Knighthood…um…er….I mean after my Protest Congregational Confirmation. Well, to name a few:

-I enjoy listening to Satan’s Gospel (i.e. ROCK N’ ROLL, thanks Jimmy Swaggart)

-I once attending fundamental Christian Summer camp. I thought I’d have a summer filled with tetherball and archery. Instead, I was forced to pray for 1 hour every morning and hate homosexuals.

-Um, simply put, CHURCH IS BORING! I’d rather spend my Sunday mornings recovering from a Schlitz induced hangover and watching reruns of Dora the Explorer.

Then, I found this and it basically sums up why I’ll most likely never go to church on my own volition ever again.I think Jesus is standing on a cloud “upstairs”, arms crossed, hanging and shaking his head after seeing this woman as if to say, “No wonder recruitment is down.”

Poor Jesus, he always seems to get a raw deal.

“Oi Vey!”

Countdown until The Pogues play New York City. The chums and I will be attending the festivities the night after St. Patty’s. Until then, I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed that Shane Mcgowan won’t turn up dead in a gutter on Houston Street. How he isn’t dead to begin with still baffles the mind, but when he does finally settle down to take a dirt nap, I want to see the autopsy. His liver has got the be the size of a basketball.

There have been some skeptics claiming that the handsome indivdual pictured above probably won’t show up for the performances. If that is so, I hope that the rest of the band will have the sense to go out and recruit a sensible replacement. Hopefully someone the likes of Courtney Gains, aka Hans Klopek form the cinematic masterpiece “The Burbs.” No one would ever know the difference.

Welcome back folks! We’ve reached the part of our program where we play “Falwell or al-Qaeda?” Where we give you two quotes and you have to guess who said it. Was it the esteemed Baptist Minister, Rev. Jerry Falwell? Or, could it be from the lips of a member of the mortal enemy of the Western Lifestyle, al-Qaeda? That’s for you to figure out folks!!

Alright………here we go……who said what……

” I do not stand here with a nation of homosexual crusaders.” Falwell or al-Qaeda?

“Homosexuality is Satan’s diabolical attack…” Falwell or al-Qaeda?

Good luck folks!!!! You decide who really hates America, freedom, and gays the most.

OR

TONIGHT!

The After-School Comedy Special
This week’s theme: Unicorns are Real!*
Pete’s Candy Store (L train to Lorimer — see map)
7:30-9pm
Free

Featuring Jenny Rubin, Katina Corrao, Wes Connelly, Angry Bob, and Josh Grosvent.

The After-School Comedy Special (formerly “Comedy Show & Tell”) mixes performances by top young comedians with nostalgic diversions including free candy, and Mad Libs!

*I would hate to disappoint anyone, but unless I come up with something at lunch, I will NOT have any Unicorn material to display. Foooey.

Now, when the Summer Games returned to Athens, the Opening Ceremonies were FILLED with many-a-Greek participating in a homoerotic gala for the ages. Though the festivities were weird, in a strange way it made sense.

However, I think the following picture confirms my hypothesis that Europeans are just weird. Cuz these opening ceremonies seem to make no sense whatsoever.

We all have guilty pleasures or things we have done in the past that we aren’t to particularly fond of. Hence, a list of gulty pleasures/embarrassing infatuations:

-I used to drive around and AVIDLY listen to New Found Glory’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay.” I’d like to go back in time and kick my ass repeatedly for those three months, and then force me to listen to the first three Danzig albums.

-In my early teens, I actually used to get excited when a Gallagher special came on The Comedy Channnel (before it was Comedy Central) and genuinely laugh.

-My first car was a 1987, white Pontiac Firebird with T-Tops!!!! No, I didn’t listen to Candlebox or date rape anyone, even though this was the official pace car if I wanted to do either …..or both at the at the same time.

-I’m almost 27 years old and I still proudly display a Slayer poster in my apartment.

-I love Vans slides

-I once found a Playboy in a hotel when I was in middleschool, snuck it home, and kept it for a year. It had BOTH Pam Anderson and Madonna in it. Let’s just say I didn’t have much trouble sleeping for a year.

-I once found Kelly Ripa attractive.

-At one point, this man was my favorite professional wrestler

Actually, I’m not remotely embarrassed by that.

-I currently use facial scrub.

-The first time I was drunk was off of warm Bud Lights and shots of Malibu

-I like to drive around and yell insults at random people walking the streets. It makes me feel SOOO much better about who I am.

I’m sure there are more, so if anyone wants to point out any of my own “pleasures” please feel free to do so, or leave some of your own for the interweb to enjoy.

I think I am going to start telling people that I am either an underwriter, work in advertizing, or an anesthesiologist. If I tell people that, than they won’t ask me to perform such profession for them on the spot.

This past Friday evening was a night filled with multiple mistakes: spending an evening with an untrustworty individual, wearing my baseball cap backwards for most of the night like a 16 year old Limp Bizkit fan, not knocking out a fake hipster** for patronizing me after about 15 minutes after making his acquaintance, entering a bar that was blaring “Holaback Girl”, not leaving an establishment after having Southern Comfort spit upon my jacket, hitching an embarrassing ride in a white Mercedes that was blasting lame house music and stopping and asking people for directions to a bar, etc etc etc…

Once in said car, the driver, who I had just met and I assume was trying to make small talk and be friendly, asked me what I was doing in NYC. I didn’t feel like telling the guy that I was a desk jockey for a bank, so I told the man “Oh, I’m a crappy comedian.” (I don’t make any money off of doing shows and I only do a hndful a month, so in ernest, I really have no right calling mysefl a “comedian”) I knew as soon as I said this, I had dug my own grave. As soon as that statment crossed my lips, the inevitable request of, “OHHHH, you gotta tell us some jokes, man! Let me hear some jokes.” After politely declining to fall to this guys requests and having some liquid courage stored up in my liver I let out “Hey, buddy, what the hell do you do, huh?” His boy sitting shotgun piped up and said, “Oh, he runs pizza shop,” to which I retort, “Oh really? Then make me calzone.” The man, not too up to speed, was 1) taking my answer too seriously and 2) was too dumb to realize that I just slyly gave him his joke(though not very funny.) He just shrugged and said, “Uh, I don’t get it.”

My point, when someone tells you that they are a comedian, never, NEVER ask them to tell you a joke. People aren’t wind up dolls and aren’t supposed to perform for you at a minutes notice. If I ever met a gynecologist, I’d never ask them to give me a pap smear right there and now. So, never ask a comedian to give you jokes at your request.

In all seriousness, I wish the guy did make me a calzone. I was pretty drunk and hungry.

**Mentioning a fake hipster is pretty much a redundant statement, becasue there really is no such thing as a genuine hipster. What’s more deplorable than a hipster is a person who is trying WAY to hard to be “hip,” when probably just two years ago you were living at home, lypsyncing to your New Found Glory records naked and in front of your mirror.