Holy MacDonald!!!

If you didn’t watch the roast of Bob Saget tonight, you missed some serious funnies. Maybe this says something about my sense of humor, or my friends, I don’t know, but Norm MacDonald’s bit was unequivocally the funniest thing I had seen in months. I was beside myself, laughing so hard my brain was numb. So well executed, so original. Will post the video as soon as someone gets it to youtube.

Update: Enjoy!

No Match for Beijing Smog

This made my night

This was a search term that directed someone to my blog:

“Is there a special or polite way to eat corn on the cob so that you dont squirt people”

The Truth Behind Montauk

“Yesterday, Gawker ran what appeared to be a photo of a bloated, leathery animal corpse — only it was like no animal anyone had seen before. A stout, hairless creature with a beak, claws, and the almond-shaped eyes familiar from renderings of space aliens, it looked, in short, like a monster. Hence the headline: ‘Dead Monster Washes Ashore in Montauk.’”- New York Magazine

Minion: Your Disgracefulness, I have some alarming news.

Satan: Not now, can’t you see I’m getting my tail sharpened?

Minion: It’s Oliver, he got left behind in the human world.

Satan: Get outta town! You’re yanking my chain, aren’t you? If you’re messing with me, I’ll stick you on Chris Farley sponge bath detail.

Minion: No sir, this is no joke. He washed ashore in Montauk.

Satan: What was he doing in Montauk?

Minion: Just making his rounds. Messing with brakes, readjusting magazines in gas stations so the more provocative ones are visible to children, confusing the elderly. The usual.

Satan: Well, is he dead?

Minion: We think so. A picture of him is circling the internet and he’s not looking very lively.

Satan: A picture? Is it at least inspiring fear and terror into the hearts of all those who gaze upon it? Can they feel my wrath tingling at the back of their necks? Do the people feel Hell’s flames biting at their heels?

Minion: Um, not quite, Your Disgracefulness. Most people who saw the picture just assumed it was another Britney Spears crotch shot.

Satan: But Oliver was one of my most wretched and appalling creations! I spent days defining his beak, coloring his rump, and sculpting his bulges. Surely someone was terrified.

Minion: I suppose it’s a possibility…I think people are more entertained, if anything. Like there’s this one website where his image circles around and around with Whitney Houston playing in the back—

Satan: ENOUGH! I’m off to my lab to come up with something really, really scary. What are humans most afraid of?

Minion: Um according to Google, spiders, commitment, and the dark.

Satan: Then I shall create an enormous wedding ring-wearing arachnid with Al Sharpton’s head!

Being Chris Hansen’s Daughter

Katie: Dad, I’m home.

Chris Hansen: Katie, why don’t you take a seat, right over there.

Katie: Okay.

Chris Hansen: Katie, according to a report I get sent to my email, you were instant messaging last night with Karen5059.

Katie: Yeah, that’s Mom.

Chris Hansen: Is it?

Katie: Yeah.

Chris Hansen: Is it?

Katie: Yeah.

Chris Hansen: It’s not.

Katie: Dad, what are you talking about?

Chris Hansen: That was me pretending to be your mother.

Katie: Are you serious?

Chris Hansen: You should be grateful, too, it could’ve been a bad guy. A predator.

Katie: Dad, please, not now. This is so stupid.

Chris Hansen: He could’ve done bad things to you, Katie. He could’ve taken you up to your room and gone potty on you.

Katie: Ew, Dad, stop it. I’ve been through sex ed, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a little kid.

Chris Hansen: You gave me—or the bad guy, rather—six dangerous pieces of information. One, you said where you were going to be after school. Two, you said that you enjoy playing soccer. Three, you said we needed more Coke for the garage fridge, and he could’ve have brought you Coke…laced with poison.

Katie: Okay Dad, really, this is enough.

Chris Hansen: He could’ve tied your mother up in the coat closet and shoved her mouth full of dynamite. Predators do these things. They don’t feel like we do. And another thing, I’ve noticed on the cell phone bill that you texted someone named Lucas eleven times this month.

Katie: Yeah, so?

Chris Hansen: How old is Lucas?

Katie: Fourteen.

Chris Hansen: Did you know that in the state of New York, fourteen is considered a legal minor?

Katie: Dad, I am a minor.

Chris Hansen: Or so you think.

Katie: No, I know my own age.

Chris Hansen: Life throws surprises. For example, I’m not even your dad.

Katie: …

Chris Hansen: I’m Ken Griffey Jr..

Katie: …

Chris Hansen: And just like that, I kill you. And go potty on you. I hope you’ve learned a lesson.

Katie: Anything else?

Chris Hansen: Yeah, I sewed dime-sized trackers into all of your underwear, so make sure you don’t fart, otherwise you might dust up the circuitry. I’m Chris Hansen.

Two Emo Kids Play ‘I Spy’

Andy: Wanna play ‘I spy?’

Tyler: Okay.

Andy: I spy something red.

Tyler: Ummm, is it the pulpy remains of that dead raccoon’s heart, a death surely caused by unrequited love and a gross misunderstanding of how fast cars move?

Andy: Yup. That one was too easy.

Tyler: Agreed. I spy something without a soul.

Andy: You?

Tyler: No, idiot, I have a tortured soul.

Andy: Why’s it tortured?

Tyler: Because my mom won’t let me borrow her minivan for the show on Friday. I’ve probably smoked ten cigarettes today, I’m so pissed. Anyway, keep guessing.

Andy: I don’t know dude, McDonalds?

Tyler: I guess that’s acceptable, but I was thinking more of that billboard over there advertising mainstream pop radio.

Andy: Ugh, good call. I would rather Miley DIE-rus than listen to that.

Tyler: Ha, well played.

Andy: Let’s see, I spy something obvious.

Tyler: Uh, the blue sky?

Andy: Nope.

Tyler: The green grass?

Andy: Wrong.

Tyler: My barely-suppressed bi-curiosity?

Andy: Got it. It doesn’t have to be so suppressed, you know.

Tyler: Are you saying we should go watch each other change in the J.C. Penney dressing rooms?

Andy: Precisely.

Tyler: We’re such revolutionaries.

An Elderly Person’s Guide to Eating Corn on the Cob

Here’s a condensed version of the aforementioned column:

It’s okay to admit that growing old is sometimes scary. Mobility is on the decline, death is imminent, and popular music keeps getting more and more frightening. Our lives are full of questions like, “What was that cracking sound?” “Why is that teenager looking at me?” and “Am I dead yet?” Furthermore, our memories are no longer sharp, and we don’t have the memories that we used to. We have a tendency to forget things.

Sometimes the scariest part of being elderly is knowing that we’re prone to humiliate ourselves. A short temper or rickety bowels can lead to uncomfortable social situations, and our memories aren’t what they used to be. Now that it’s summer, there will be opportunities to eat corn on the cob. Refusing corn on the cob will make you seem brainsick and un-American, because everyone loves it so much. But eating it means pathetically gumming and slobbing the cob until you and everything on your plate is a drool-glazed mess. People will look at you and say, “Who invited the basset hound to dinner?” and many laughs will be had at your expense. Even if you’re fortunate enough to have good dentures, who’s to say that your bonding cream will hold? I don’t know about you, but I like my iced tea sans bicuspids.

So what’s the big trick? How does one eat corn on the cob without becoming a laughing stock? Easy: knife it off. Just knife it off. Take your butter knife and saw those delectable kernels into a spoon-able pile on the side of your plate. Sure, maybe Doreen and Gracie will give you strange looks, but once their chins look like yellow acne’d warzones, they’ll see it as sophisticated, and our memories aren’t what they used to be. And granted, maybe you still won’t be able to chew the individual kernels, but that’s okay. Swallowing ‘em just makes things more interesting in the bathroom, and if there’s one thing that us old people love, it’s having interesting bathroom experiences.

So fear not, senior socialites, gone are the days of little yellow nibblets clinging to your unsightly chin hairs—which reminds me, you might want to take care of those unsightly chin hairs, or else your grandchildren might start calling you kiwi face. And that’s the story of how we routed Rommel out of North Africa.

Chairman Mao Writes a Superhero Movie

(SUPERMAO walks into an open courtyard. He is decked out in silver and purple, the greatest of all colors. Several young men stand attentively, discussing which animal might be my favorite. Women show humility by keeping their eyes on their feet. It is a glorious day for SUPERMAO to peacefully contemplate himself.)

SUPERMAO: Because I find my identity in a functional, superior body of citizens and have no concept of self, it seems I have forgotten my super qualities.

MAN 1: You are intelligent, industrious, and you shoot laser calligraphy from your eyes.

MAN2: You are unbelievably lifelike with your hand puppetry.

WILT CHAMBERLAIN: Your escapades virginize me. Also, you are taller than me.

(TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS enter the courtyard and cause a disturbance. One’s hair exceeds the appropriate length of five centimeters, and the other looks like he might own a book.)

STUDENT 1: Look how disruptive I am! Disrupting things is my favorite pastime!

STUDENT 2: We are disciples of American rebellion. Our interest in outside literature and art poses a threat that is nearly nuclear.

(SUPERMAO’S gyroscopic core begins to generate heat, causing him to take on dragon-like qualities. The TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS’ knowledge of the liberal arts angers him to where he considers disemboweling them through their navels. SUPERMAO is patient yet.)

STUDENT 2: Hey, shouldn’t we have a dance party?

STUDENT 1: Good idea! As long as it is fun, it must be right.

STUDENT 2: Maybe this guy wants to dance with us!

STUDENT 1: Let us shamelessly approach him.

(The TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS surround SUPERMAO and begin shaking their hips in his general direction, like FAT AMERICAN DEMON ELVIS PRESLEY. SUPERMAO notices that they are gathering attention from onlookers, thus promoting open-mindedness. It is within his super responsibility to take appropriate action.)

STUDENT 1: I’m not feeling too well. It almost feels as if I’m—

SUPERMAO: –turning into a heap of smoldering rice?

STUDENT 1: Whaa???

(STUDENT 1 explodes, and rice rains down over the courtyard for the children and women to enjoy. They are thankful. SUPERMAO squints his eyes and white light emanates from his pupils.)

STUDENT 2: Oh no! Oh please, no, do not kill me! I renounce my wicked ways and solemnly dedicate myself to Your service. I wish for nothing but the uniformity and cohesion of this nation. I am so sorry!

SUPERMAO: Apology accepted…NOT!

(SUPERMAO raises his arms triumphantly and a strong breeze causes panic in the courtyard. Suddenly, from the East, a green dragon with SUPERMAO’S face flies in and graphically devours STUDENT 2. SUPERMAO’S eyes return to their normal state, and he is erotically satisfied with himself. The dragon serenades SUPERMAO with beautiful, high-pitched growls in recognition of his superiority.)

THE DALAI LAMA: In honor of this noble deed you have performed, I, the Dalai Lama, formally apologize for Tibet’s disobedience.

(THE DALAI LAMA gives himself a wedgie as a show of penance. The scene ends with flock of sparrows forming a silhouette of SUPERMAO’S face against the subservient sunset.)

Marvel Comics Cocktail Party

Spider-Man: So who’s gonna slip Viagra in Banner’s drink?

Big Ideas for Big Birds

It seems like it would be a good idea to track down some of Big Bird’s relatives. Big Bird is an eight-feet two-inch tall canary who, according to Wikipedia, can “roller skate, ice skate, dance, sing, write poetry, draw, and even ride a unicycle.” These are all great talents for an animal to have. Being such a large bird, if we could find more of his species I think it would be very profitable. For instance, imagine the wealth of meat on Big Bird. Americans would never kill and eat Big Bird, because we love him, but I don’t see why we can’t breed his cousins to fill our stomachs. Can you imagine the size of their eggs? I’m guessing they beat out regulation sized footballs. Send one of those to Cambodia, you’ll feed a family for a week.

If you’re not so much into the idea of killing big birds, how about exploiting them for entertainment? A petting zoo with a couple of big birds would be a riot. They could give out piggy-back rides, unicycle lessons, or they could just be cuddle buddies. I’d cuddle with a big bird, no doubt about it. Slavery laws don’t apply to animals, so I see no reason why I couldn’t own a big bird servant who would cook for me, clean for me, and even raise my children for me. If my big bird slave refused to work, I could just kill him and eat him—better invite the whole neighborhood, though, ‘cause that’s a lot of meat.

Maybe this sounds a little morbid, and if it does, that just means that you are a wussy. If you can eat a chicken sandwich without crying, you should have no qualms with killing and eating big birds.

I do have some concerns that I’d like to address, though. I’m a realist, so I know that my plan isn’t perfect. Like, how much does it cost to feed a big bird? And what do you feed a big bird? I’m guessing that it costs around 200 bucks a week to keep one in captivity, whereas chickens pay for themselves. Also, if we start killing all their family members, some of these big birds are going to write some messed up poetry, and then people will feel bad for them and forget that they are birds and that they shouldn’t be pitied because they poop on themselves and cars. We need to think about these things.

Now, here are some other scenarios I’d like to see big birds involved in:

- Big bird boxing. We can do this interspecies or whatever, I think it would look hilarious with their wobbly legs and whatnot.

- A musical about big bird geishas who cater to rich human businessmen.

- One drug addicted celebrity big bird who mingles with all the human celebrities.

- Big birds with bad attitudes who try their best to look tough, but hey, they’re big birds and they’re always going to look gay.

- A big bird basketball league where people show up to games not because they’re good athletes, but because they are pitied. Oh wait, they have that already (the WNBA).

- Enormous fried big bird legs sold at amusement parks.

- Buddhism