About ThisAbout Me
Email Me
Bookmark
Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
Well, here we are again — just another few hours left in the weekend, before we have to throw the yokes back on and get back to the grind.
(Yeah, I’m sure I’m mixing metaphors in there somewhere, but frankly, I’ve never been yoked nor asked to grind anything, so I can’t say for sure whether the two are mutually exclusive. Maybe you can ‘yoke and grind’; I don’t know. Sounds like something you’d want to try with some Barry White playing in the background, actually, but that’s not really the kind of ‘grinding’ I was going for.)
Where the hell did this weekend go, anyway? I mean, they always end too soon, but this one just evaporated — soon, there’ll be nothing left of the weekend but the sweet memory of loafing on the couch, and a little puddle of Sunday spittle on the pillow. Kind of brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?
(Oh. No, sorry, that’s just drool on your cheek. You might want to turn the pillow over before you rest your head there again. That’s nasty, man.)
Actually, I’ve got it pretty damned good in my office, compared to many of the work-schlepping schlubs out there.
(Or is that ‘work-schlubbing schleps? I’m always getting my ‘schl-‘ words confused.
Well, except for ‘schlong’, of course. Now there’s a word you only accidentally use in conversation once. Seriously, I wanted my boss to know his report was something meaning ‘inferior or shoddy’, but I never meant to call it ‘schlong‘. That was not a particularly pleasant project meeting. Really. Not at all. Almost as bad as when I asked for a ‘Christmas boner’. I’ve really got to read my dictionary more carefully.)
Anyway, I don’t have it so bad. My office doesn’t have a dress code, for one thing. No ties, no dress shirts — I can even wear sneakers, if I want. In the summer, I’m thinking of pushing for ‘pants-optional Tuesdays’, to see where that goes. Partly, I think it’ll help keep us cool. But mostly, I just want another excuse to show off my cool man-thongs.
(Okay, okay, I can’t back that up. Er, so to speak, that is. The truth is, I don’t own any ass-floss of my own. Still, the idea of a pantsless office makes you wonder — how many of your coworkers are wearing those crack-catchers, anyway? And can you guess which ones? And perhaps even more interestingly, how would you figure out whether you were right?
Sorry. These questions just sort of pop into my head. I think I have whatever horrible, debilitating mental syndrome that Jeff guy from Coupling has. Or am I just being paranoid? Are other people spontaneously struck by the thought that ever person in the meeting with them was completely naked only hours before? Or that every pair of lips in the room has, at one time or another, been locked in squirmy, wanton embrace with another person’s lips? Or… other parts? Am I the only one who gets through meetings like this? And for the love of lacy panties, is there a cure?)
All right. Where the hell was I, anyway? Seems like I was talking about work, somehow. It was probably something about the relaxed dress code, or the flexible hours, or that they let me juggle at my desk between meetings. And no, ya guttertramps, that’s not some sort of sick, twiddly euphemism. Not this time, anyway. But keep your eyes open — you never know when these things will change.
But all this talk about work is starting to get me all, you know, floppy inside. As relatively cool as my workplace is, it’s still an office, and therefore not something I really want to have on my mind on a Sunday night. I’ll be shuffling my sorry ass in there soon enough tomorrow morning, so I’m gonna wrap this up and get the hell to bed before my Sunday slobber runs out. It’s just not a weekend without some drool on the old pillowcase, right, kids? And tonight, it might just be mine. Bonus! G’night, now.
Permalink | 3 CommentsHey, 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 Comment
![[Subscribe]](/blog/images/subscribe.png)
