Monday, March 27

I'm Cultured as Fuck

If I were to ask you lovely people to describe me in one word you would probably say something along the lines of artistic, bohemian, sophisticated, or gassy. So it should be quite the surprise to any of you that I went to a poetry reading for only the first time last night.

My internet pal/big time poet type person, Joe Massey, had trekked across the country by bus in a reverse manifest destiny kind of way to participate in this reading that took place in Brooklyn.

The reading was definitely an interesting experience. As someone who thinks he knows everything about which he knows nothing (what the?) I had some expectations of how this event would be. I figured there would be a bulk of people with super trendy thick rimmed Clark Kent glasses, at least one slightly balding white guy with an afro, some kind of pissy gay man, and a bevy of good looking women with really odd looking boyfriends. This assumption was pretty spot on.

I also didn't expect it to be all that stimulating to me apart from Joe's reading. This was very wrong. Between the soda machine I was leaning on for 45 minutes vibrating my genitalia to the brink of ejaculation, and the second poets use of the phrases "Hammer My mammary Glands" and "Mop up my meat," I was indeed quite stimulated.

Joe, whose livejournal is Mr.Tong Bliss, started off by making a noise which sounded like a pterodactyl sighing. Unlike the poet who read before him who had one 18 minute long garbage poem, Joe read numerous short form poems. And unlike the first poet of the evening who would preface reading one of her poems with some tidbit such as, "I wrote this after my brother died at a young age," Joe would tell a tale of punching out his publisher then sucking him off and "jacking each other in the ass with police batons." I luckily was standing at the front and facing the crowd so I got to enjoy the huge range of facial expression that came and went as he spoke.

All in all I had a very good time. I laughed, met some new people, drank a grape soda and heard some good poetry. Yeah that's right I enjoyed the poems dude. I'm all about that shit. I like Joe's poems because a lot of what he does, especially in his latest chapbook Bramble, is to take something small, simple and usually unnoticed by most people, such as a leaf blowing across a street, and makes you take notice the beauty of it. He makes the ordinary extraordinary....

What the fuck am I talking about? Even I didn't buy that stuff coming from me. I feel weird now.

Penis vaginaTom Selleck in a Kayak.

Much better.

Tuesday, March 21

Ha Ha. Death.

A bunch of years ago I had to do something I can't imagine many people do.

My Great Uncle Jimmy had passed away. He was a pretty old guy. Probably 117 or some shit like this. He was dusty. He would always tell these really bad jokes all the time. The problem was he had about 5 of them total, but that didn't stop him from telling them all to me every time I saw him.

Everyone was at the Funeral home waiting to go in the procession to the church, and I was telling this one joke I remembered to some of the people there. My mother thought it was sweet apparently and went and got her cousin, Uncle Jimmy's daughter, and she asked to hear the joke. After telling her the joke, this big grin came across her face and she said something incredibly scary to me.

" Would you tell that joke when we are at the church?"

In the split second I took to answer, 17 kinds of panic went fron he top of my spine down to my asshole and back up again. Of course I agreed to do it. Not even my life ruling anxiety could make me say no in that situation.

Fast forward tot he church. The podium is up on a stage in front of the church. There were about 70 people there. 2 people had gotten up and spoke about Jimmy through a face full of tears. I headed up to the stage with my mother and one of his Granddaughters.

First my cousin spoke. She broke down, and gave an absolutely beautiful speech about her grandfather. My mother stepped to the podium next and again cried her eyes out while talking about her uncle. At the end of she, she composed herself and introduced me.

As I strode (is that word?) tot he podium I felt myself start to shake. I have had problems before when peaking in front of people with shaking. I get very nervous and it is hard for me to relax and get it under control. Somehow I pulled myself together and recited the strangely appropriate joke.

There are these two very close friends and they both love baseball. As they got older they started to wonder if there was baseball in heaven. So one day they made a deal with eachother. Whichever one died first would come back the night after his death to tell the living one if there was baseball in heaven.

A few years go buy and one of the old friends passes on. Sure enough, the next night the remaining friend is awoken from his sleep and sees his old pal standing in front of him.

"Oh my god! You came! You actually came back!"

"Of course! I didn't forget our deal," Said the dead friend, "Now listen to me. I have some good news and some bad news."

"Ok. Tell me the good first"

"Well pal. There is baseball in heaven," answered the ghost.

"that's great! I can't believe it. But wait, what's the bad news?"

"You're pitching tomorrow night"

I tried to avoid looking at anyone while I told it which must have made me look like I was doing an odd Stevie Wonder impression. When I finished I looked at the crowd and just about everyone was smiling and laughing!

I felt great! Sure my uncle was dead and that as sad, but I couldn't believe I had gotten up there and told a joke at a funeral without freaking out. I walked back to the Pew behind my mother and sat down feeling good about myself for once.

That's when one of my cousins turned around and said, "You mumbled the whole thing I couldn't understand a word"

And that's when I tried to jump into the coffin.

Good Times.

Wednesday, March 15

Heave Ho, 2 in a Row

When viewed from the side, my penis resembles a Protoceratops.

The two best flavors are red and blue.

Every night my dog sleeps under my covers. Every morning I count my testicles.

Whoever invented these big plastic red party cups must be filthy rich.

Whenever someone tells me I can't do something, I say, "Ok Mom. I get it"

I got in trouble in school when I was young because I misunderstood when I was told to take out my Number 2 pencil.

I had posted a blog entry for 91 consecutive weekdays.

I have zero self-confidence, but there is no doubt in my mind that I can beat you at Super Mario Kart.

When I die I want my tombstone to say "Avenge Me!" or "Here lies Steve Sanders."