Angry Seafood

It is late one evening in Heaven when God notices the light on in Jesus’ room and figures it is a good time to have a talk.

“Son, when are you going to help with the animal management? The solar variances lately have boosted the growth…”
“Get to the point Dad.”
“It’s time Jesus, to stop trying to make the perfect human.”
“I know it can be done, and I think I’ve finally found a way.”
“How many times must we go down this road?”
“This time it will work, I’m telling you.”
“Like the twenty-five other times?”
“Fine. This is it, my final attempt at making humans. If this fails, I’ll go back to animals.”
“Good. You know they are a much safer bet. They don’t think. So what’s this new one called?”
“Plan Z.”
“That’s not a very exciting name. What about Fred?”
“Umm Dad?”
“Ok, ok, it’s your creation. So why do these humans all look alike?”
“So they don’t fight over their physical appearance.”
“And they are all the same gender?”
“You like that one eh? That should stifle the gay marriage debate.”
“What other fixes do you have in store my Son?”
“The humans don’t have limbs so they can’t fight.”
“Couldn’t they still head butt each other?”
“Hmmm. I better soften their skulls so if they do try it, they will die in the process.”
“Now you are thinking. What about the abortion problem?”
“That was a stickler, but I think I’ve figured out the solution. Any child conceived will just magically materialize immediately after having sex.”
“Right on the bed?”
“Well, no in the next room of course. Cmon, give me a little credit here.”
“Now what about religion?”

Jesus thinks for a long time, pacing the floor in front of God and Fred, hands rubbing a worried brow. After much consternation, Jesus asks God: “So which animal did you say needed the most help?”

(Reprinted from the old blog)

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

The fourth week of July usually conjures up images of summer camp, swimming, vacations, back-to school shopping, amusement parks…

Dubya-tee-eff. Back to school shopping?

According to Yahoo, summer break is over and it is time to think fall. Forget about today, it is already yesterday. I don’t know why summer had to go, I don’t know, it wouldn’t say. Ringo penned it not me, but it is fitting.

So put away those shorts and beach towels kids, time to head to WalMart and buy some notebooks. Tomorrow is already here, and there is a sale; summer on discount baby. Can you say blue light special?

The rules of nature and the seasons like the one about summer containing August no longer apply. Maybe we aren’t warming up the planet. Instead we are giving it ADD. Mother Earth is being rushed by our need to blast at light speed to the next holiday, and she probably is watching too much television as well. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to give the planet XBox 360 for a birthday gift.

Did I just see a leaf fall? I guess I better break out my sweaters.

Just look at those evil children, knowing the savvy marketers will be separating their parents from their hard-earned cash earlier then ever before. That means cool new backpacks as you can plainly see in the picture.

Our seasons and holidays all seem to get in the way of each other nowadays, each one competing with the calendar for attention. No sooner do we get to the arrival of one then it is shooed away in mid-stride in anticipation of the next celebration or event or whatever.

Out of the way Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year follows you up. Hurry up Forth of July, there’s a sale next week at Target on school clothes. Let’s move it or lose it Valentine’s Day, Jesus is on his way back soon and he needs to use the restroom. Badly.

Now if you will excuse me I have a Christmas list to make; nothing major, just some thinking for down-the-road. Summer is over after all, it’s time to think snow!

(Reprinted from the former blog)

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

When you were in a fraternity and had pledges, days like this one back in college were inevitable. One fine afternoon, two of our prospective members were arguing with a few of the brothers about the viability of drinking a gallon of milk in an hour.

Naturally this turned into an evening of drinking, us downing beer, and the two plebes chugging milk.

To set the premise, the human body is only able to digest foods and liquids at a certain rate. The more something has to be broken down and processed by the body, the less you can ingest at a time. Water, for example contains few nutrients and is constantly being absorbed by the body so it passes quickly. The fat rate in foods and drink also impact this.

Whole milk however, is a whole different animal. The body cannot process a gallon of it in an hour. It is physically impossible and you will puke up the extra. Ok, let me clarify something here. If you sipped on milk over the course of an hour, you would be able to do this. But that would not be the fun way.

So the argument and challenge was that the human body can ingest a gallon of milk in a short time and hold it for an hour. We set up the guidelines that they would each drink a gallon in twenty minutes and have to sit out the remaining forty.

To make it interesting we parked the pledges in our living room apartment by the windows so if they did puke we wouldn’t have to clean it up. We weren’t assholes after all; we wouldn’t make them do it.

There was also some kind of bet involved and to be honest I forget what it was. That part was academic.

The final piece of the challenge relied on their duties as pledges: they are a team. If one threw up they both lost, so they must encourage each other to NOT vomit. We always liked teaching our new guys life lessons, and positive encouragement is important especially when it involves ingesting large amounts of milk followed by puking your brains out.

Life is all about spin. In this case both figuratively and literally.

So they began, the two pledges chugging merrily away at their milk, happy thoughts of winning in their head. We sat around drinking beers and giggling like little school girls knowing their eventual fate. Once a minute they would down a glass of milk as we paced our Golden Anniversary brew.

Destiny arrived about thirty minutes later as our two plebes launched two gallons of milk out our second-story window, a veritable rain of cow juice partly digested by the human stomach dropping to the pavement below.

I hope nobody was walking by at that moment.

(Reprinted from the former blog)

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

Everyone that writes comedy or humor has something cooking in their brain for television or the big screen. Howard Stern had his pay per view specials. The old New Year’s Eve ones were classics. Bobcat Goldthwait had his sitcom about a puppet only one person can hear. I really think that one was some kind of metaphor for masturbation but I have a twisted and devious mind.

If you think I am exaggerating about that fact then strap in.

My concept is a reality show in the hidden-camera genre, niche, whatever. Most of these are always either played on a celebrity or a few ‘average Joes’. Many of them also involve some kind of funny gag that everyone but the target is in on. I want to try a different approach.

‘The Cringe’ is a hidden camera show where instead of a joke or a gag, the attempt is made to make the situation uncomfortable and awkward. Not only that but the ‘joke’ if you will, is played on a group of people, like at least 20-30.

Watching a person react to a practical joke is interesting, but group dynamics are much more fun to observe, especially when you throw cringe moments into the mix.

My first segment would be at an airport. Passengers of a flight are repeatedly being told that the flight is delayed. Each delay is just five or ten minutes, but happens so often it gets the passengers angry and irate. This builds until they start demanding free things like tickets, or hotel rooms, or food and drink.

In most airports these days there are television monitors and there is a good chance it will be on some news channel. A fake report is run, breaking news that a plane has crashed in the ocean ten miles from the airport. It is said to be the flight number everyone is waiting for and complaining about being late.

This of course ends with the revealing of the joke, balloons and confetti dropping from the ceiling and a marching band entering the scene from stage left. This is how each segment ends, by the way.

My other situation would be ‘100-Year-Old Birthday’. The scene is a restaurant, and there is a table of ten people, one of whom is celebrating his 100th birthday. The servers all gather up a bunch of customers and everyone goes over to sing happy birthday as a cake is brought out. Just as the old man blows out the candles, he dies and his head drops into the cake. Of course he doesn’t really die, but you get the idea.

I am even toying with the notion that he jumps up thirty seconds later and yells: “Surprise!”

The only thing left is a host of the show. I wonder if I could use a hologram of Che Guevara. I think the humanitarian aspect he brings to the table could temper, no pun intended the edge of ‘The Cringe’.

Or I could get him mad which would lead to his ordering people to face the firing squads. Now that would be cringe television and reality-based at the same time.

Hollywood needs me.

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!