Too Many Jokes

When I'm asked why I've never tried stand-up comedy, I tend to stammer in my response. I say that I'm flattered by the suggestion, but then I cite my dread of bombing on-stage and my general distaste for public speaking. My inquisitor on the matter assumes that anyone who writes comedy must be able to perform it, too, and it's always disappointing to tell him/ her otherwise.

There remains a slim chance that I will one day change my mind about stand-up, that the size of my testicles will miraculously double and I will muster the fortitude required to tell jokes to dozens of drunks at a bar.

Until then, I leave you with a lengthy collection of the best stand-up material I have written but never performed on-stage. If your copy of There Will Be Blog has yet to be red-flagged by doo-doo residue in the bathroom, now is the perfect time to remedy that.

Instead of that long-winded Surgeon General’s warning on the side of a box of cigarettes, I think a more persuasive disclaimer would be: “There’s no cool way to wheeze, Olig.”

The other day I saw a heavyset girl wearing a high school track sweatshirt. A bit puzzled, I said to her, “Shot-put, right?”

I was at the grocery store the other day. By the entrance I saw one of those funneled coin deposits with a sign above it that read, “Your donations will help to feed animals at the local petting zoo.” I gladly donated all the change in my wallet. Let me tell you, it’s a great feeling to know that some adorable little bunny is going to choke on the quarters I donated.

Unlike women, most men don’t mind using blankets to cover up their windows. If there were no women on the face of the earth, blanket sales would skyrocket and curtain sales would plummet. And I shan’t consider the setback the tampon industry would endure.

The following are bad ideas for bumper stickers. 1.) My kid shot your honor student. 2.) I brake for child molesters! 3.) If you can read this, you're not from Alabama. 4.) Honk if you've blinked today. 5.) Follow me to where I hide the bodies!

If I had but one superhuman power, I’d want the ability to scratch my butt with my mind. ‘Cause let’s face it, we’ve all had that inopportune butt-itch at a wedding or funeral.

If Bette Midler named her son Adolf, the poor kid’s name would be Adolf Midler.


I was standing in line at the grocery store when I spotted a Cosmopolitan magazine on the rack. A nearly nude Megan Fox was on the cover. Underneath her picture, the caption read, “Hey ladies, doesn’t this bitch make you feel fat?”

The future would be less terrifying if our pubic hair fell out as we got older instead of turned gray.

G.P.S. Navigation Systems are a scam. Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but it's impossible to get directions on the road from a plate of German Potato Salad.

I'm so sick of unrequited affection. The phone sex lady never calls me back. I gave that sultry voice the best years of my life!

Whoever coined the phrase “Smooth as a baby's bottom” sounds like a pervert to me. Why did we let a baby's ass-groping pederast coin a popular expression?

The one advantage the penis has over the vagina is the penis can answer yes or no questions. Have you ever tried to get a straight answer out of a vagina? It can be so maddening.

The Trench Coat Mafia really gave the Mafia a bad name.

If it's true that life is nothing but a dream, it's incredible to think of how many times you've unknowingly pissed the bed.

Something about vampires just doesn’t add up to me. Given the fact that they don’t appear in reflective surfaces, isn’t it strange that they’re all so primly groomed and presentable? Without a mirror to use for reference, you’d think they’d all be slovenly doofs with boogers in their noses and bits of jugular stuck between their teeth. Instead of handsome men like Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt and the guy from Twilight, modern-day depictions of vampires should resemble bedraggled misfits like director Tim Burton and mug shot Nick Nolte—people who obviously haven’t dared to look at their reflection in years. Self-reflection is at the core of vanity, and vampires completely defy that.

Robocop doesn’t scare me. I’d just shoot him in his vulnerable mouth area and he’d be a goner.

Remember when our grade school teachers told us we had to learn cursive because our high school teachers would forbid us from writing freehand? The fuckers lied to us.

I used to be enamored with a girl who told me that even though she thinks she might love me, she didn't want to give me a hug. That's when I realized I was chasing a lost cause. “I might love you but I don't want to hug you?” That's the same agreement I have with my dad.*

In the future, bathroom walls will be equipped with spell-check devices. This will prove invaluable considering a lot of guys have a habit of misspelling the word “masturbate.”

Sometimes when I’m eyeballing a gorgeous girl in a Maxim spread, I wonder if she’s secretly got a Siamese twin that was airbrushed out of the picture. Because, as my female friends keep insisting, they can do some pretty amazing stuff with that airbrush technology.

You don't see too many deaf third base coaches, do you? That's because the batter wrongly assumes the hit-and-run is on every time the coach mimes the words, “Damn, these polyester uniforms really chafe my nuts.”

When you’re walking back to your car in a parking lot late at night, do you ever pretend there’s a knife-wielding serial killer nipping at your heels and you’ve got to unlock the door and drive off quickly in order to survive? I do, only instead of rushing urgently, I take my precious time getting into the car because I’ve always dreamed of being stabbed to death.

Watching war movies has taught me that soldiers are more likely to run out of ammunition than cigarettes. The battleground is no doubt a nerve-rattling environment, and cancer sticks provide a brief reprieve, but soldiers in war movies should be more practical and replace a few boxes of cigarettes with some clips of ammunition. Although it’s true that you can kill a Nazi with second-hand smoke, the
process takes decades, and it’s much simpler to pump his chest full of bullets.

Whenever an athlete who wears the number 69 engages in mutual oral sex, it’s got to mean a little extra something. And while we’re on the topic, the next time you’re in the midst of sixty-nining, I think it would be fun to abruptly scold your partner by screaming, “Hey, you’re doing it all wrong! You’re supposed to be the six and I’m supposed to be the nine, not the other way around, stupid!”


My secret to happiness? Oh, I owe it all to that pillow I own with the phrase “Hooray for Love” sewn in the fabric. It's just that easy, people.

Why do the Spanish feel the need to attach gender to inanimate objects? The Spanish live in absurd fantasy world where the computer menstruates and the hammers obsess about baseball to keep from ejaculating too soon.

I was very disappointed by the contents of a compilation CD called Monster Ballads. It was filled with melodramatic '80s crap from the likes of Poison and Cinderella; there weren't any songs that lamented the woes of monsters such as Freddy Krueger, Swamp Thing, The Wolfman, and former vice-president Dick Cheney.

In the event of a zombie uprising, the best mode of transportation is a snowplow. And don't give me that monster truck bullshit; everyone knows those things have terrible gas mileage. I've put a lot of thought into this, so just trust me on this one.

For the life of me, I can’t comprehend this cultural hard-on for expensive car rims. I’d rather splurge on calf implants than pay five-grand for a set of hubcaps. These grown men have a toddler-like obsession with meaningless shiny things. Why stop at hubcaps? Go duct-tape some Christmas tinsel to your riding lawnmower, ya spoiled-rotten stooge.

What is it the Bloods and Crips disagree on? I’m no expert on the matter, but from what I gather, both gangs embrace hustling, hos, rap music, tattoos, malt liquor and territoriality. Members of both gangs were born into underprivileged neighborhoods that are mostly neglected by outsiders. Bloods and Crips both despise and fear the police. It seems like they’ve got more in common than they care to admit. Is the whole dispute centered on color preference? Do you have to spray a man with Uzi fire because he likes to wear red as opposed to blue? I’d like to see the two gangs reconcile and unite against a common enemy: The Amish.

My grandma is in the throes of Alzheimer's Disease, which isn't a funny notion on the surface, but I'll tell you this: Watching baseball on ESPN is more entertaining when someone in the room keeps getting shocked and spooked by a computer rendering of the strike zone (the “K-zone”). I can't help but grin wickedly whenever she asks, “Did that man just swing his bat through a magic window?” No grandma, magic windows don't yet exist, God bless your heart.

Phone sex is all right, I guess, but you haven't lived until you've tried Morse Code sex.

I bought a season of Teen Mom on DVD just for the deleted scenes. My favorite clip that got cut is called, “A shred of human dignity.”

No one ever said that life is easy, but sometimes, on serene summer twilights, when the charcoal embers in the grill get slowly extinguished like the gleam in the eyes of tuckered-out toddlers, and a flock of graceful birds fly straight over head, I just think to myself: “Am I gonna get shit on?”



*Hey. Yuks aside, I really do love my dad.