This is my kid. Joan. Or is it Jon? I think it’s a girl…either way, she sucks. Doesn’t laugh when I pick on her, crack jokes. It’s like she doesn’t get it sometimes. One time I kept making funny faces and shaking my keys and she stared off into space. So I tried to get her attention, and I shook her a little bit, you know, so she would focus on me a little more, and then she cried. And then she pooped. For the record, I don’t poop on anyone when they are not amusing. At least not since the war. The next time she cries, I’m gonna say, “You know, there’s a ton of jokes about dead babies; how do you feel about that?” I hate when people act like babies.
I wanted to be a stand-up comic. I really thought I had it. I had done a couple of shows in bars and only got heckled a couple of times, and then one night, I totally killed. Not a single broken bottle on the stage. To celebrate how good I was, I went home with a waitress and had unprotected sex. Now look where I am. Where am I going to put all this creative energy? All this humor, wit, cleverness, satire, you name it…I can’t go on the open mic circuit now. So I got to make do with what’s around me. I got to be clever when I can.
So what do I do? The usual. Whoopee cushions, e-mailing people FAILBlog pictures, and giving people bunny ears in pictures. I mean, bunny ears are classic. It’s tried and true. I mean, what do you expect from a funny guy? Manners? Sorry, kid. It’s bunny ears and photo-shenanigans until I can start my stand-up again. You know what else is good? Making a funny face when everyone else is making a serious face. There’s humor in the contrast. My mom disowned me because I did it at her husband’s funeral (I don’t call him my father. No biggie, we’re not even sure if he was my father). Being sad when everyone else is happy doesn’t work, though. Like my friends and I won this cosmic bowling tournament and I pretended like I was crying. I thought it was good, but people thought I was crying out of happiness, and saying “Oh, his life must suck if cosmic bowling is so emotional for him.” Yeah? So what if it is? People cry at the end of movies, and movies are made-up stories. At least if I’m going to cry, I’m crying at something real. I’m crying at cosmic bowling. Not some stupid-ass chick flick where a guy gets successful by chance and wins over the girl he loves, and everything’s perfect for them and they’re not stuck with an abominable little shit baby. Like some Slumdog Millionaire garbage. Fuck that. And fuck my friends, too, who can’t even support me in a tiny little victory like that. Those assholes didn’t even come to my big show. God, why does everybody and everything suck?
But basically, yeah, I’m really into funny stuff, and hopefully I can get back into that soon.
