I was going to talk about my dream a few days ago that a recording had been found of Johnny Cash covering AC/DC’s “Who Made Who”, but I had one of those super-vivid, reality-bleeding dreams the last time I slept.
In the dream, I had limited but still unbelievably cool telekinesis. Not enough to hurl cars, but enough to move household objects around. It was so ridiculously real in the dream that for the first 5-10 seconds upon waking up, I tried to move my pill bottle to my hand.
And then I remembered, “Oh, yeah. That … There’s more of this shit. Click here.
Note: I’m pretty much making this an annual thing. If we’re going to assaulted with pinks and hearts and unicorns and wuggley-buggley-booszhy-booo! Sorry. Anyway, if St. Valentines Day keeps rolling around just as gaudy every year, I see no reason why I shouldn’t rebut just as repetitively. So, here it is, for those who find the whole thing tacky and banal; my sledge-fisted love letter to the incorporeal entity that inhabits many a person out there, filling their hate-bladder to bursting on this, February 14:
Ah, St. Valentine’s Day. Notice the “St.” part. That means there was … There’s more of this shit. Click here.
Got another form rejection letter today.
It’s a good thing I’m a comic; rejection is like my oldest friend. In comedy, rejection is visceral and immediate. It come in the form of silence, or uncomfortable huh-huh-ing, or a gasp (usually when your over-the-top joke gets taken a little too seriously – one of the pitfalls of being so good at the deadpan). Sometimes, you’ll get that sweet, stinging slap of a boo. That always makes me smile. Not to sound too full of myself, but the ‘boo’ doesn’t happen to me very often. When I get one, … There’s more of this shit. Click here.
Failure is indeed an option. In fact, it’s a pretty popular one.
Though our 6 year-old girl celebrated her birthday in August, I’d forgotten about this one item until I found the scrap of paper it had been written on today.
Being that children are notoriously picky and indecisive, I had a plan for Samara’s 6th birthday dinner. (We do the whole-day birthday thing, perhaps as a buffer of future memory against the growing disappointment with birthdays in general as adulthood approaches.) Anyway, I decided to sit down with Samara and draw up a birthday menu of sorts.
Knowing full well about the aforementioned pickiness and indecisiveness, I … There’s more of this shit. Click here.