I’m here because HR Lady, in a comment on my last post, requested a ‘nooner’. And far be it from me to turn down anything that even sounds like sex, so… here I am. In the noon hour. Whipped cream and peacock feathers by my side. Let’s all join in, shall we?
(Yes, that’s right — I’m highly suggestible, in addition to being anatomically correct and fully posable. Please, ladies, don’t injure yourselves clamoring to get a look.)
Anyway, I hope you’ll forgive me if our little ‘nooner’ today is also a ‘quickie’. Sure, I care about your needs and all, but I’ve got shit to do here at work. I’m a busy man. Plus, I’ve got a 2pm meeting with one of my bosses, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to have her walk in here and see me typing about ‘nooners’ and ‘peacock feathers’ and ‘quickies’. At best, she’d be outraged. At worst… well, let’s just say that I’m not that eager to climb the corporate ladder. I’m pretty happy as a peon, frankly.
So, on to the matter at hand. I just wanted to let all of you know that I lost — or, more optimistically, ‘misplaced’ — my Comedy Notebook™ last night. It’s a little teeny pocket notebook that I write little lines and thoughts in, for use here or in my standup sets. (Two of which are going up tonight, by the way — I’ve just got to write the show descriptions.)
Now, because I’m here every day, and in front of a mike once or twice a week, most of the decent ideas get used in some form or another, soon after I write them in the book. But a few have fallen through the cracks, or didn’t really get off the ground, or… well, frankly, probably sucked. Still, I took the time to write ’em down, and so I’m a little bit bummed that I don’t have the book to flip through when the idea well is dry.
However, I do remember a couple of the things that were ‘orphaned so far’ in my Handy Dandy Notebook™, and so I’ll pass them along to you. I’m not sure how many I’ll be able to think of, but I’ll give it a try. Let’s see how it goes.
From a conversation with a friend a couple of months ago: Why are escalators always breaking down?
Many times when I go to a mall in Boston, and seemingly every time I use the subway, at least one of the escalators is blocked off and broken. Why the hell is that? These don’t seem like particularly complicated devices, frankly.
In the grand scheme of airplanes and computers and putting-a-man-on-the-moon, is it really that fricking hard to keep a bunch of moving stairs functioning properly? Where’s the problem, here?
I think I was reminded of this by someone else’s blog entry a few weeks ago: My mother has the hardest time with seat belts.
She always wears one, diligently, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear one comfortably. She’s a fairly… um, ‘ample‘ woman (*shudder* look, it’s my mom, okay?), and so I’m guessing that she needs to get the strap just so, snaked in between, uh, you know, them.
So she stretches the thing out as far as she can, and wiggles and worms it, and tugs and pulls, and finally gets more or less settled. Then we hit a bump, or take a turn too quick, and the seat belt shifts, and she’s yanking and squirming and fiddling again. I really think she’d be happier in a baby seat, but she’s never warmed up to my suggestion.
I made up a statistic a few days ago.
(I’m telling you that, but if I manage to find a way to use this on stage, I’ll just throw it out as fact; they don’t need to know the depths to which I’ll sink for a joke, right?)
Here’s the stat, and I like it because it sounds like it could be real (though in reality, it’s probably too low): A recent study has shown that, at any given time, six percent of the people surfing the web are masturbating.
(Jeez, from my mom’s boobs to masturbation… well, shit, warm up my seat on the Bus to Hell.)
Anyway, it seems like there are a lot of places to go with that. My first try went something like this:
‘Six percent! That means that, on average, we’re ‘letting our fingers do the whacking’ for almost four minutes for every hour we’re online.
Now, folks, I spend a lot of time online, and I’ve got to say… four minutes an hour? Please! That’s ridiculous.
I can’t even last two minutes — have you seen some of the shit that’s out there? It’s hot! I’ll pull up a page, and say,
‘Oh, yeah… oh, that’s it, baby, work — *snap!* Oh. Damn.’
There’s no way I could last four minutes every hour. That’s impossible. I’ll tell you what’s happening — that average is skewed. See, for every hundred or so pimply young kids and guys like me out there, there’s one woman pulling up scans of Antonio Banderas’ bare ass from Original Sin, and ‘milking the moocow’ for three hours at a time.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. It just throws the numbers way off.‘
Okay, that’s all I can think of for now.
Hey, on the good side, this wasn’t so short after all, was it?
(And no, I don’t say that to all the girls, thank you very little.)
On the other hand, it can’t really be a ‘nooner’ any more, since it’s after one pm. And I’ve really got to get back to work now. So you’ll just have to settle for this ‘one-er’ (stop it… don’t say it… be nice), and wait for the next installment for more hilarity.
Which might just be tomorrow’s Punchline Fever! — get those zingers ready, folks! Peace out.Permalink | 5 Comments