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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
Hey, sports and… um, sportettes? Sportinas? Sporterellas? Yeah, never mind. You get the idea.
Anyway, sorry for this post coming so late — I’m writing this around noon on Sunday, and calling it Saturday’s post. But I do have a fair set of excuses to explain my scandalous tardiness. Namely, that I spent most of yesterday working, and then watched the NCAA Final Four games with the missus and a couple of friends. I tried logging on after the UConn victory, but I couldn’t get to the site — based on the server logs, it looks like it was down for a couple of hours last night and early this morning.
So, you see, it’s not really my fault, really. Clearly, the universe was conspiring against me yesterday. Hell, it even whisked away the last hour of the night, with that whole ‘Daylight Savings’ nonsense thingy.
And speaking of which, how the hell did the farmers ever get enough clout to get that bullshit started, anyway? The way I always heard it, Daylight Savings came about to ‘create’ a ‘longer’ day for the agricultural crowd, so they could work until a later hour and still be able to see.
Well, first of all — haven’t these people ever heard of floodlights? If more of these crop-growin’ goobers would put in ‘Field of Dreams’ lights in their cornfields, then they could see perfectly any damned time they wanted. I’ve seen that movie several times, and I don’t recall even once hearing Kevin Costner bitching about it being too dark to see the cornstalks in front of his face.
(On the other hand, people were always disappearing into the crops in right field. Maybe the lights didn’t work so well, after all. You’d think they’d have started tying ropes around their waists or something.)
More to the point, though, since when is the ag crowd important enough to get the whole frigging day shifted around? Or any group, for that matter — you don’t see the workday moved back to end at 4pm, so we’re in synch with the bankers, or weekends stretched to five days to keep up with the Congressional schedule. What’s so special about Farmer Brown and his ilk, anyway?
(That’s ‘ilk’, people, not ‘milk‘ — there’s a bit of a difference. Try and keep up, now, and stop wondering how moo juice is relevant to the conversation, okay?)
Anyway, I suppose I should be happy that we ended up with Daylight Savings — the alternative would be for the rest of us to match their schedule and get up at the crack of hell every day, then go to bed by seven at night, or some ridiculous shit like that. How much ass would that suck? And how the hell would we watch Law and Order, or the Simpsons? All the really good shit happens after 8pm in this world. Those farmy folks don’t know what they’re missing.
All I know is that if those crop-growers can shift an extra hour into the day for six months every year, then I can write one weblog entry on Sunday and call it Saturday’s post. So that’s what I’m doin’. I’ll be back later today — no, really! — with your regular Sunday dose of drivel. This weekend has got time wiggling around all over the clock!
Permalink | 3 CommentsAll right, that’s better. I was afraid you folks were getting bored with the whole Punchline Fever thing, after the meager turnout the past couple of weeks. Today was quite encouraging, and I thank you.
(On the other hand, perhaps it means that the last couple of premises were just dreadfully stupid. Still, I can live with that. I’ll take ‘transiently asinine’ over ‘terminally dull’ any day. Now let’s just keep our fingers crossed on the ‘transient‘ thing, shall we?)
Anyway, in other news, I see that one of the cable channels is playing Swordfish this month, which seems kind of odd. From everything I’ve ever heard about that movie, I always assumed it was just an hour and a half of Halle Berry hanging out with her booblets front and center.
Or, more accurately, ‘front and a little bit to the left’ and ‘front and a few inches to the right’. But you know what I’m saying — it just seems like they’ll have to cut out an awful lot of material. Either that, or I’ve been grossly misinformed about the contents of this film. In any case, I see no reason to tune in. I’m not gonna risk sitting through a John Travolta monologue, if nobody’s gettin’ topless. I’ve been burned before. Can you say Battlefield: Earth?
All right. That’s enough for now. I just wanted to say ‘thanks’. And, you know, talk about boobies, just a little. But it’s been a long damned week, and I’ve got more work to get done this weekend, so I think I’m gonna call it a night and get some sleep. I’ll catch you loco gringos on the Saturday tip. I’m out.
Permalink | 3 CommentsHello again, folks, and welcome to the latest installment of ‘Punchline Fever‘. I know you’re just itching to get your grubby little paws on this week’s setup, so let’s get right to it. For those of you new to our little game, here are the rules:
1) I’ll sit around, day and night, thinking of a short but flexible setup for a joke.
B) I’ll post the best setup I can think of, but with a blank where the punchline should go.
iii) Then it’s up to you to come up with your best line, and leave it in the comments, for all to snicker over.
And, without further ado, here’s this week’s Punchline Fever!
Punchline Fever #7:
‘The kids in the fraternity house were really disappointed when they accidentally rented a porno with all over-sixty actors and actresses. But even if they missed all the old folks on the cover, they should have figured it out from the film’s title, _____________________________‘
That’s the set, people — now get your butts in there and spike it. I’ll get things started with my own comment, but I want to see you people put me to shame this week. To shame, dammit! And while you’re at it, go make me look bad in the Punchline Fever archives, too. Catch the fever! Woot!
Permalink | 22 CommentsWoo, that was fun!
The missus and I just got back from my show at the Comedy Studio tonight. (Hey, don’t believe me? I’m on the ‘Schedule’ page; check it out, playah-haters!)
Anyway, I don’t have much more to tell you right now, other than ‘it went pretty well‘, ‘the clip will be up soon‘, and ‘man, I’ve really got to pee right now‘.
(Okay, so you probably didn’t need to know that last part. On the other hand, I’m writing this on my laptop, so you’re probably a little closer to the pee-hose than you’d really bargained for. So it’s relevant, if only geographically speaking. Now how’s that for too much information, kiddies?)
In any case, I won’t keep you long tonight. I just wanted to tantalize you, as best I’m able, with the promise of a new standup clip, coming soon to a monitor screen near you. Oh, and tomorrow’s Friday, too, so we’ll have another ‘Punchline Fever‘ coming up, too.
Damn! April is turning out to be sweet! And it’s less than twenty-four hours old, people. Even Tax Day couldn’t screw up this month. Easter, maybe. The eye-crossing confusion of ‘Spring Forward’ day — perhaps. Tax Day, nah. This April is gonna be bigger than Tax Day. I can just feel it.
Oh. No, wait. That’s just the computer pressing on my bladder again. Never mind. I’m out, people. Peace!
Permalink | 1 CommentWell, folks, it seems that I’ve finally made it big.
Yes, that’s right. See, the hits, and comments, and being listed in various directories — all of that is nice, but it’s really no indication that I’m making an impact. A difference. It doesn’t prove that the world has sat up and finally paid attention.
But now — now! — I can see that I’ve arrived. I’ve crossed the threshold into true significance, all of the things that my parents and teachers and various law enforcement officers have said to the contrary be damned. I’ve made it, dammit, and it feels good.
Wanna know how I know? What indicator I was able to use to determine that I’m know one of the glitterati, if only in my own mind? Well, it’s simple, really:
Random douchebags have started trying to peddle pills via comments in my archives.
O, frabjous day! I’ll walk with a bouncier step and a chin held higher from now on, because somewhere, out there, some chowderheaded assmagnet believes that leaving comments on my site might just bring him a few extra orders for those penis pills he’s peddling. I only wish I’d prepared a speech. *sniff*
Now, so far, it’s only one rimjob sprinkling his pharmashiticals in my comments.
(Did that all run together? Sorry about that. Try this: pharma-shit-icals. See, when you sound it out, it just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?)
Anyway, there’s only one wankmonkey at the moment, but more will come. Oh, yes — they most definitely will come. And soon, it’ll be an intolerable nuisance, and I’ll curse the day that each and every one of their mothers lured their milkmen into their kitchens and did the ‘two percent hokey pokey’ on their kitchen tables. But for now, when I can easily delete the offending drivel with a simple click before anyone else see it, it’s actually not so bad. A little flattering, even.
(Now, don’t you wish you could ashcan ‘offending drivel’ at the push of a mouse button? Yeah, not me. This site would be pretty fricking barren if you people had access to the button. Maybe there’s a post or two about my dog that’d slip through, but that’s about it. These pill-pushing peenie-boppers would have no archives left to post in, that’s for damned sure.)
Anyway, finding (and deleting) that cluetard’s comments really made my day, and so I wanted to share it with you. And please, if these diddledicks get bolder and start leaving their slime on more recent posts, don’t click on their links. We don’t want to encourage the motherhumpin’ little bastards, now, do we? And if it gets to be a problem, I’ll implement a blacklist or a filter of some kind, and shut ’em out as best I can.
In the meantime, though, if you should happen upon one of their comments, just smile a little smile for me, and give me a thumbs-up through your monitor. Those crappy ads may be underhanded, and misleading, and annoying as hell, but each time I zap one of the things into electronic oblivion, the air is charged with the sweet, sweet smell of success. Ahhh. Like a mountain spring, it is.
Permalink | 5 Comments
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