Apparently, I’m not the only one who had this happen to them.  Check out Michael Lacher’s “The Only Thing That Can Stop This Asteroid is Your Liberal Arts Degree” over at McSweeney’s. It’s magically hilarious.

Thanks.  Wow.  What a great audience.

[Attempt to adjust microphone.  Fail.  Give up adjusting microphone and crouch uncomfortably to speak into microphone.  Fumble notecards.]

 They say that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.  I don’t agree.  I think it’s through the sternum. 

 [Pause for laughter.]

Then again, the sternum is kind of difficult to break through, so maybe it’s faster to just go through the ribs.  But the stomach?  No.  That’s too low.  And messy. 

 [Wait patiently for laughter.  Resume after ten seconds.]

Maybe someone should tell them that what they are saying isn’t correct.

 [Fumble notecards.  Wipe sweat from right brow, which is producing a discernibly greater proportion of perspiration than the left side.  Think I should get that checked out with a doctor.  Realize I've been standing silent for more than twenty seconds.  Laugh nervously.]

 I’m going to quit doing things that build character.  After thirty years, I think I’ve developed my character enough already. 

 [Audience member coughs.]

I say it’s time to focus on the plot. 

 [Look up and smile proudly.]

Seriously, this story was going nowhere, what with all this character development and no plot.

 [Fumble, then drop all notecards.  Follow by picking up notecards.  Long awkward pause as I have difficulty picking up one of the notecards.  For some reason, I just can't catch any of the edges of the card with my fingernail.  Give up trying to pick up notecard and read last notecard in squatting position, squinting.  Realize I have to fart.  Try unsuccessfully to restrain fart.]

Isn’t it odd that there’s only one tiny little “s” separating laughter from slaughter.  That seems like a pretty colossal divide to bridge with just one letter.  Unless you don’t laugh at my jokes.  Then that divide can disappear almost instantaneously.

 [Profound, deafening silence.  Murmuring offstage]

 What’s that?  My time is up?  Okay…well, you’ve been a fantastic audience.  I’ll be performing again the first Thursday of next month at the very same Open Mic Comedy Night here at Laverne’s Comedy Shack and Bar.  Be sure to attend to hear these jokes again and, if you’re lucky, a new one.

A Comic Book Fan Ponders the Mechanics of His Favorite Superheroes’ Wieners

How come Bruce Banner grows out of everything but his pants when he turns into the Hulk?  Is it because his special parts stay the same size while everything else grows incredibly big and green?  That would suck.  I bet he gets teased in the shower a lot.  But then, he probably kills those people so I bet it doesn’t happen very often.  Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry.  Small wiener.

Do you think Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four spends his free time making his wiener really long and doing crazy stuff with it?  I know I would.  I bet he likes to make it prehensile, like a monkey’s tail, and grab stuff.  That would be cool.  I’d totally drive my car with my wiener if I were Reed Richards.

I don’t think Batman has a sex life, but if he does I do not want to know what it entails.

Can Superman and Lois really do it, or would it just totally rip her in half?  I mean, you know when you’re all into it and you suddenly feel like super strong and stuff…what happens when Superman gets too absorbed in the moment?  Seems like a lot of pressure to remain calm while doing it.  I bet he has to think of baseball.  A lot.  And what about when he ejaculates?  Is it, you know, like faster than a speeding bullet?  Cause that would hurt.  A lot.  I think I would be scared to death if I were Lois and alone…at night…in bed…with you-know-who.

I wonder if Spiderman’s wiener sticks to walls.  That may lead to some sticky situations with the ladies.  Ha!  Pun totally intended.  Also, I wonder if it shoots webs.  And then swings by his wiener.  I would be uncomfortable with witnessing either situation.

I think we can assume the Thing’s wiener is made of rock like the rest of him.  I bet he uses that in pick-up lines all the time.  He probably even plays “Like a Rock” when he’s entertaining the lady friends in his bedroom too.  Although, I bet it takes a very special and courageous woman to get that far.

What if Superman’s wiener isn’t super after all?  Do you think Lois gets together with all her girlfriends and after a couple of Cosmos says things like, “Man of Steel?  Don’t I wish!”  That would suck.  I bet the Flash’s wife probably replies with stuff like, “Well at least he lasts longer than a milli-second.”  No wonder those guys are always hanging out with the Super Friends instead.  Women can be so cruel.

If the Torch got gonorrhea, would he be able to distinguish the burning when he pees from his usual burning?

I bet you Tony Stark built a miniature Iron Man costume for his wiener.  He seems like the kind of person who would do that.  It’s probably pretty cool looking though.  The suit, I mean.  Not just his wiener.

Does Magneto’s wiener always point to north?

If you told the Joker you thought his wiener looked funny, do you think he would take it as a compliment or simply murder you?

I don’t think the Spiderman villain, Sandman, gets much pootang.  Not if the girls he dates have ever been to the beach before.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I am very afraid of what would come out of Wolverine’s wiener.

During intercourse with the Invisible Woman, do you think you’d still see all of your wiener?  That may or may not be cool.

Silver Surfer doesn’t have a wiener.  Probably why he spends all his time surfing around the galaxy.  Or, maybe Silver Surfer has one of those cloaca things crocodiles have.  Either way, I bet all of his lovers are narcissists since you’d be watching yourself the whole time you’re having sex with him.

Maybe a friend of Superman built a Kryptonite condom for him to wear, but that might have the opposite effect.  Maybe it’s a patch instead.  Or maybe he can only do it with Wonder Woman.  That wouldn’t be so bad.  She’s totally hot.  And probably really freaky too – I mean, we know she’s already into bondage.  That would be a weird and/or totally freaking awesome sex tape.

I know.  I know.  I’ve been especially lazy in terms of posting on here as of late, but for good reason.  A few other things I’ve written may soon end up being published.

But just online.  So settle down.

In the meantime, please check out this link to Michael Lacher’s painfully hilarious “A Message of Apology From the Commander of Undersea EnviroDome 25-B” over at McSweeney’s.  Well worth the read.

 [Pulling into the BevMo (a store that sells only alcoholic beverages) parking lot]

“You know, it’s really a shame they don’t have special parking for expectant mothers.”

[After I read aloud a Christmas card greeting with "Have fun celebrating Juniper's first Christmas" written on it]

B: “They’re having fun?  How?”

A: “They’re telling us to.”

B: “Oh.  That makes more sense.”

[As we exit a restaurant, we see a small girl crawling around and playing in the gravel near the parking lot as her father, indifferent, stares into the distance.]

“At least he won’t have to save for college.”

What’s a Turkism? Find out here.

“If I were a lawyer, I’d sue the English language.” -Burcu

Gentle Readers,

You’ve longed for sound paleoanthropological humor. 

Your pleading pleas had gone unheard.

Or, so you thought.

I heard them.

I ignored them for a while.

And then, I responded.

Please enjoy And Now a Few Minutes With Andy Rooney’s Homo Erectus Ancestor over at The Morning News.

Paleoanthropologically,

Merry Andrew

Washington, DC is 12 square miles bordered by reality.

- Andrew Johnson

I have often wanted to drown my troubles, but I can’t get my wife to go swimming.

- Jimmy Carter

A classic from the archives at McSweeney’s.  You can thank me, post-coitally, on Monday.

 R,

Merry Andrew

TWO PREVIOUSLY KNOWN AND 15
BRAND-NEW CLOSING SIGNATURES, TO BE
INSERTED AT THE END OF YOUR LOVE LETTERS
FOR VALENTINE’S OR ANY OTHER DAY.

BY MIKE SACKS

- – - -

X = A kiss.

O = A hug.

R = A saucy lick.

T = A meaningful pat on your high, yummy ass, not too hard, not too soft, now you try it on me, perfect, that’ll do just fine.

I = Remember that day at the park? That day when we walked hand-in-hand alongside the reflecting pool and then strolled, ever so casually, over to the cocker spaniel with the very bad breath and that vague, faraway stare that reminded me of the rabid dog I once saw beneath the arts-and-crafts cabin at summer camp? I’m recalling that memory as I write this. You should be, too.

W = A delicious ear nibble, making sure not to draw blood this time. Sorry about the last time.

G = Nude calisthenics, preferably before a very large mirror and with appropriate lighting.

S = A shake of the head, a puzzled frown, a slight gasp. Is that a new haircut? I like it. May I ask you a funny question? This is just in the planning stages, not completely worked out, but I’m thinking about leaning you over my strong, compliant lap and spanking the fire out of you. What’s that? Don’t feel like it? Then be a sweetheart and hand me the new Kissinger bio … Can’t you reach it?

H = I would very much like to fix you a bath of sparkling champagne. If that’s too expensive, then something much cheaper. Wine spritzer, perhaps.

V = Both of us in bed, side by side, watching American Idol with our tops off. I’m holding the clicker.

J = A linking together of our arms, a counterclockwise gambol, do-si-do and away we go, a change of direction on the second lap … This time to the accompaniment of actual music and not with me blowing trumpet noises through my tightly clenched fist … Work with me here, c’mon, I can’t do this alone …

Z = The back of my hand pressed soothingly against your forehead. It seems that your fever has finally subsided. I shall now slowly close the bedroom door and allow you to slip into a deep and relaxing sleep, and we shall talk tomorrow about your screams concerning the carnival roustabouts in your last fevered dream. Just let me write down the word “syphilitic,” as I’ll most surely forget it before we talk again … Done.

C = An exciting, powerful high-five, similar to the maneuver we once saw performed at the local sports bar, minus the spilling of onion rings onto our laps.

N = A shrug and a confused look. The bedroom aids? The ones with my initials on them. Still at the dry cleaners?

B = A lingering caress, a removal of your shoes, my shoes, an unzipping of your pants, an unzipping of my pants, an unbuttoning of your shirt, an unbuttoning of mine, your underwear, socks, bra, my socks, underwear, a jump into the outdoor whirlpool, a request to the voyeur across the yard to aim his telescope at somebody else, a caress, another request to the neighborhood freak, the middle finger, a halfhearted attempt on my part to jump out of the whirlpool and into his yard, the sudden turning off of the lights in his basement den, me jumping back into the whirlpool, an embrace, a loud crash emanating from his upstairs bedroom, a shadow in the form of this prick and his telescope, an exasperated rolling of our eyes, a shouted promise to have him beat up by that other neighborhood freak, that fellow with very little intelligence and yet, please note, a young man with a very admirable penchant for remaining frighteningly loyal to those who buy him hot-fudge sundaes at Friendly’s.

L = Oh, don’t look at me like that, please don’t look at me like that. (Pause.) All right, milady, I’ll clean out the frog cage. Then may we lie in each other’s arms?

F = And this one, let us not forget this one, for this one means that I love you … I always have and I always will … In this lifetime and in the next … You are my everything, let us never be apart … By the way, that Kissinger bio that I was asking you about? Pass it over already, I’m still waiting … There we go, baby … Nice.

[The following comments ensued when Burcu sat down to watch roughly fifteen minutes of Star Wars V: The Empire Strikes Back.  The fifteen minutes in question start as Luke Skywalker flies to Dagobah to seek out Yoda.]

“Look!  He’s a vagabond…What’s a vagabond?”

“Is he going to Yodaland?”

“What is he eating?  A dog bone?”

B: “I liked it better when they had a small person in Yoda.”

A: “Yoda was a puppet.  Ewoks were little people in costumes.”

B: “Why not Yoda?”

A: “He’s too small.”

B: “They could have used a baby.  Juniper could do it.”

“Yoda’s been hitting the eggnog too hard.”

[Watching the Emperor on screen]

“He’s the worst of all.  He’s the Yoda of the bad side.”

[The scene takes place in Yoda's house]

“Is that a snake?  Why does he have a snake on his coffee table?  Is he eccentric?”

What’s a Turkism? Find out here.

“If I were a lawyer, I’d sue the English language.” -Burcu

I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do. 

Watch dinosaurs do it. 

And by it, I mean the sex.

Now, thanks to Discovery Channel, the cable-watching public will be able to witness their favorite terrible lizards doing the nasty.  Better yet, there’s none of the shame associated with porn.  Why?  Because it’s science!

I wonder what kind of pipage a brachiosaurus is packing?  And what color?  And what shape?

Why do I wonder these things?  Because I’m a scientist.

Read the press release here.