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| COMEDY CLUB RATED MATERIAL - Mike Is Lewd, Rude & In Your Face...If you are offended by the copy, then leave - including the little old lady in Prada - third row! |
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The Spring Breakingest Man, I just realized I forgot to go on wild spring break during my college days. Now I’ll never get to climb a mountain in an ad for herpes medicine. Who knew that sores on your penis could be so liberating? The Butthole Surfers said that it’s better to regret something you did than something you didn’t do, but I’m not sure that statement extends to people. Because really, there’s a lot of people I think I’d regret more if I actually did them. My high school principal Gus, for example. Not that I had a chance with Gus, but I don’t know, I never really tried. I think it just would have made things awkward.
Only in Dreams Dream Interpretation
Last night I had a dream that my ladyfriend and I were helping three ghosts that died in a car accident during the 1950’s find their way to, I don’t know, wherever ghosts go, in this case, I guess the big malt shop in the sky. Anyways, long story short, the lady grows a penis and asks me to give her a park bench handjob, I’m a little puzzled, but I do it anyway, because hey, what are friends for? So, my question is this, what is the significance of the fact that my dick was bigger than hers?
I apologize for that last post, and Tapas Bar True stories are seldom funny. I guess you had to be there. Moving on, I am going to open a tapas restaurant. I’m going to call it, "Dry Humpers." If anyone here has ever been to Hooters, you get the general idea. More or less, a good looking guy will come to your table with a delectable spread of Mediterranean appetizers and grind his package into your Mom’s thigh until you accidentally end up ordering twice as much food as you want just to get him to go away. This will be a mystery to your mother, who will think that the young gentleman in the booty shorts actually views her as a sexual being, which is something that no one on Earth has done since your dad died. (Sorry about your dad.) But here’s where Dry Humper’s will be better than every other Sexuality/Bar Food fusion restaurant, not every waiter will be physically attractive. Don’t worry, they’ll all be hung like churchbells, but some of the waiters will just have great personalities. They won’t be pushy, and they won’t look that great in the outfits that we make them wear, so you will get to feeling sorry for them, having to work in a place like this, and then maybe you will take them back to your place and blow them or just show them your collection of ceramic cats before telling them that you are saving yourself for Marie Francois Girbaud himself. I’m not speaking directly to you, Chris Waelti, but I highly doubt that the architect of the early nineteen nineties exceedingly high waisted pants craze is going to fly his jet to Central Wisconsin in his quest for true love. So come on down to Dry Humper’s! Gay or straight, we can make you salivate. (I paid fifty grand to get that slogan dreamt up, so I’m going to fucking use it.) I’m not saying that I’m opening up a den of male prostitution disguised as a family restaurant, but I’m also not saying that I’m not. The codeword is, "Ramblin’ Ample Sampler," I know it’s a mouthful, but so is Terry. Hangover Cures
I
know what you did last night and you should be ashamed.
What am I saying? I can’t stay mad at you. Let’s get you fixed up with these hangover cures. 1. Hair of the Dog. Get drunk enough to make out with a dog, with no one else to talk to, you’ll pass out mid-afternoon and wake up feeling perfectly refreshed the next morning. 2. Hangover Pills/Powders - Don’t work unless they are cocaine and meth, respectively. They also have the added bonus of making you feel like an invincible genius while you obsessively clean your home. 3. Bedrest - Highly Dangerous. You could be whisked, bed and all, on a fantastic adventure through Slumberland or the Land of Nod. Magical journeys such as those are the reason that I always sleep balled up in a corner on the floor. Or at least that’s what mother tells me. 4. Fried Foods - The right amount of grease would have saved you some chafing last night, and it will save you some dry heaving today. So rub french fries on your butt while you dry hump a stranger for the double whammy. It’s hard to throw up while you are aroused, I’ve only done it like, once. Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Happy St. Patrick’s Day, or as my father calls it, Amateur Night. Yes, once or twice a year, on New Year’s Eve and St. Paddy’s Day, all sorts of bush league substance abusers come out in droves to try and convince themselves that they are still as fun as they used to be in college. They probably are, because I doubt very many of these people were any fun ever, seeing as they have confused wearing funny hats with being an interesting person. Before you dress yourself tonight, remember, this is what you will be wearing in your mugshot. So you have a choice, either class it up a little by switching out your "Kiss Me, I’m Irish" sparklypin for a necklace full of shamrocks and penises, or just go all in and write, "Hi Mom, I’m Gay" on your forehead now. It’s all about stepping into the punch, and sober penmanship, I guess. That’s neither here nor there, what is important, folks, is that these weekend warriors of drinking make it nearly impossible to get a drink in a bar on a Monday night. Now, I don’t know if any of you know the type of people who normally drink in bars on Monday nights, but when someone comes between us and the blissful haze we get when Jack Daniel’s finally shushes all our worries away, we don’t ask a lot of questions, we just get straight to the stabbin’. And yes, I will stab you. Don’t worry, I won’t aim for any major organs, but let me promise you, if you are too much of a dick, I won’t not aim for them either. It’s a rare breed of alcoholic that knows not to hit someone over the head with a bottle in a barfight, not because he’s a peaceful drunk, but because he doesn’t want to be the third person he knows who ended up taking a six-year ride for manslaughter when the bottle breaks on his opponent’s head and slashes somebody’s throat on the downstroke. Mostly the reason true boozehounds hate these special days is that they remind us of what we thought drinking every day was going to be like. None of us anticipated sitting in pregnant silence while the three other people in the bar wait to see what Dr. Frasier Crane has to say about Niles’ new coat before going back to their game of sexually transmitted infection one-upsmanship. Cheers is a really great show, and a lot of people love it, because they never show the four a.m., inexplicably bright-eyed bouts of self loathing in the flickering glow of an infomercial that grip Cliff Clavin on a weekly basis. If George Wendt’s character owned two belts, I can guarantee, one would have been around his neck. But he just didn’t have a broad enough wardrobe to go out gracefully, so he stayed and hid in his beer. It’s a beautiful and desperate thing when the only thing that keeps you from ending your own life is an unwillingness to be discovered in sweatpants. I'm a Spacy Ditz Come with me to my planet! The best part of having Alzheimer's disease has to be never having to go out and get new magazines. The worst part is probably not being able to remember which son you taught your family's most secret and deadly karate maneuver. Or pretty much the whole melting brain business in general. If you are going to another planet where you are going to encounter a new alien species, it would probably pay to bring some gifts with you. But not as much as it would to bring a mind control ray, because not everyone likes sweaters. The Sharper Image is an ok catalog, if you like worthless shit. But you will find better prices in your local Worthless Shit Trader Magazine. I still read both, as I, like F.B.I. Director J. Edgar Hoover, happen to enjoy catalogs. Do you ever meet a child, and because of their haircut, and they way they are dressed, you can't really tell if it's a girl or a boy? I have that same problem, but with panda bears. Poetry Corner ill doo chay.
Freedom Isn't Free (Social Awareness +
Awesome)
Last night I heard a bell ringing in the darkness, the bell** was singing a song of danger, saying freedom isn't free. So I learned myself some karate, and bought myself a gun, And went about standing in line at McDonald's, hoping that the terrorists would invade, McDonald's Franchise 34765 so I could kill them all on security cameras, and fingerbang the hot cashier, before going on Larry King, to talk about my book.
Yeti - A Song of Hearts Why, E.T. I? Oppresses the Spanish Man. Why, E. T.I., Can't rap for shit? (This is the part where I bang on a table.) I hate crinkly bread! I hate crinkly bread! I am a Southern Lesbian. (Here is where I fold my arms in birdform and then come to rest in a squat position.) Yeti won't let me comb his hair! Yeti thinks he looks fantastic! Conform, Yeti! Conform! I am society. (By then, the audience is usually too impressed to be able to see, but for those that were not paying attention sufficiently, or are just negative people, I toss a bucket of my own urine at this point. It is a big finish, and a good litmus test. If a coffeehouse does not appreciate the value of my art, then I don't want to be allowed back there either.)
The Pussycat Dolls all have the Clap (non-iambic pentameter* version) Oh, last night we all had a party! And the Pussycat Dolls all got the clap. There were sodas and cakes and candy and gum! But all the Pussycat Dolls brought was the clap. As the night went on and we danced and sang, Then Nicole from the Pussycat Dolls gave the clap to my friend Scott. Old Man Jason heard us singing, That the Pussycat Dolls all have the clap. So he brought a jug of homemade penicillin, and a pamphlet about safe sex practices.
*Because I don't know what Iambic Pentameter necessarily is, I am pretty sure that this poem is not. ** The "Bell" in this poem is my television, which our culture has come to revere. Actually, it's not. I made that up afterwards, because symbolism is for losers. How to Start Performing Stand Up Comedy/Hide a Body in the Woods
A lot of people have
been asking me how they can start doing stand up comedy. "Mike," they
say, "why don’t you put your penis away and get out of my hardware store
before I have to call the police again?" And to them I say, "It’s easy,
just write every day and find an open mike in your area." But for those
of you who would like a longer answer, I have set aside this time to tell
you;
I don’t know. What I do know, however, is how to hide a body in the woods. So I will tell you about that. Whether you are a genius loner with an inability to connect with other human beings or a more enterprising type of sociopath, there are some things that only come with experience. First and foremost, when hiding a body in the woods, you must keep in mind the seasonal traffic. Hiding a body deep in the woods of Northern Wisconsin might seem like a good idea all year round, but every November, tens of thousands of people tramp down every twig and branch in the state over the course of their deer hunting season. This is fine if you are hiding a body in the Springtime, but if you kill someone in the late fall, Mother Nature and her hungry friends might not have enough time to erase the evidence of the specific and horrific method that you have chosen to dispatch your victims. Second, the woods can be cooler and more damp than the side of the road or the center of town, so if you are not used to being in the woods in the middle of the night, you should take the time to make sure that you are dressed accordingly. Dark colors are de rigeur, as are watertight boots in a size and a half too small. Be sure to lace them up tight, you don’t want to twist your ankle and have to limp all the way to the shallow grave that Moloch, Eater of Children, demanded you fill with the lamentations of the unworthy. This brings me to the third point, "Always keep in mind your own physical limitations." Sure, you might be stronger than the hooker or drifter that you have lured out to this lonely highway, but are you strong enough to carry them a mile and a half after choking the life out of them with one of your mother’s favorite scarves? Probably not. That is why you should take care to get your victim to transport themselves as far into the woods as possible. A well timed lie about a family member or clearing where you can see the moonlight will usually do the trick, but remember to stay between your new friend and the road, incase you aren’t quite as convincing as you would like to think. This will save both time and energy. Some people like to bring a candy bar with them, for a quick pick me up, but be careful, as that can be as obvious as taking a bite out of the corpse if you are sex offender on the registry who happens to be somewhat notorious for his love of a specific, off brand candy bar. Lastly, whether you decide to bury, dismember, or arrange your work, take special care to note the local fire departments wildfire advisory board. Some people like to light a few candles around the body, while others prefer to torch it. Everyone is different, I guess. But one thing is always the same, and that is the fact that a poorly managed fire in dry conditions can easily slip out of control and damage trees and nearby homes. And if there’s one thing you are about, it is remaining in control. Happy Hunting! |