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.

A Charlie Brown Ramadan

 

Snoopy’s Getting Fixed, Charlie Brown

 

It’s Commonwealth Day in Canada, Charlie Brown

 

Where Are Our Parents, Charlie Brown?

 

You’re a Staggering Failure, Charlie Brown

 

It’s the Grand Menorah, Charlie Brown

 

What’s Hepatitis, Charlie Brown?

 

Snoopy’s Schizophrenia Medication Isn’t Working, Charlie Brown

 

It’s Clinical Depression, Charlie Brown

Look Larry, I totally know it was you who bit me so you can drop the whole act.  And, just because I’m talking to you now, don’t think I’m ever going to forgive you for what you did.  I’m still totally pissed about that scar you left on my ankle that seriously jacked up my butterfly tattoo.  So, don’t for even one second think I don’t hate you, but like, being a werewolf is totally hard, and you like totally owe me so…

 

Okay, so I know at midnight, on full moons, I turn into a werewolf and all.  I’m totally following what you’re saying there, but is my werewolf curse on like Daylight Saving Time?  Am I going to be fuzzing out an hour earlier for the next five months, or is it automatically going to adjust like my Blackberry?  Cause honestly, I’d really appreciate knowing if I’m going to miss the last half of Conan all winter.  The guest interviews are totally my favorite part.

 

Do you go to a veterinarian or is there like some special werewolf dentist or something?  Cause, my fillings keep popping out when the whole fang things starts, and it is, like, so annoying.  And seriously, why do animals’ heads have to be so hard?  I keep chipping my teeth on the neighborhood cats.  And raccoons.  And campers.  I can’t even smile any more or everyone will think I’m a meth-head.

 

Do you know where I can get like some really good stretchy pants?  The first month, I like totally ruined my jeans.  And then the second time, I was wearing my boyfriend’s pajama pants and they like totally blew out and then I was all like butt naked and dirty and stuff.  So like, where do you go to get your werewolf pants?  I thought like Walmart would carry them, but the old lady just looked at me like I was retarded when I asked.

 

Um, do you know if a bullet has to be like totally silver, or sterling silver, or just like a little silver if someone’s trying to kill me?  Cause, there’s like this little doucher kid in my history class that’s all upset cause I supposedly ripped his best friend’s face off and then ate it in front of him last month and he keeps going on and on about making a silver bullet and avenging his friend.  Totally lame, I know.  Anyhow, he’s like poor and stuff so I don’t think his family has any real silver, but I wanna make sure.

 

Gawd, Larry!  Don’t you know anything?  Is there like some other girl werewolves I can ask?  Cause, I mean, you’re all gross and everyone hates you already, so this isn’t an issue for you, but I seriously need to get the shaving situation under control.  Like, ASAP.

 

How can I be sure?  Well, if you tell anyone, I will totally effing kill you, but last month when I woke up in the woods, you and your fat ass and pathetic little wiener were all like spooning me and shit.  It was so nasty.

 

Really, Larry?  You’re actually admitting you’d have sex with a werewolf as a human?  That is so nasty, Larry.  I bet you would, you perv.  But, I know you were a werewolf cause you were all naked and dirty and in the woods.  Plus, you had a rabbit head hanging out of your mouth.

 

No, Lar-ry, that’s not awesome.  You like totally owe me an apology cause I’m pretty sure you forced me to do it with you. 

 

Well, that’s not how I remember it.  But even if I was the one who jumped your bones, it was totally under false pretenses because I didn’t know who you were at the time and I assumed all werewolves were hot guys like in New Moon, but you’re totally not.  So, just a warning, but if you so much as come within a hundred yards of me, I’m gonna like rip your arms off. 

 

Whatever, Larry.  I had to get a rabies shot thanks to you.  And so help me God, if you like gave me werewolf herpes or something, I’m totally gonna kill and eat your family.

The LEGO Man Suffers a Mid-Life Crisis

Kid, let’s be real for a moment here.  I’ve got to get something off my torso assembly and it’s not going to be easy to hear, but I can’t keep living a lie.  It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.

 

So here goes. 

 

I can’t remember the last time I smiled…and felt anything genuine behind it. 

 

…

 

What does this mean?  Well, it means I’m not happy.

 

…

 

Yes, I know I’m smiling, but that’s the point I’m trying to make…

 

…

 

No, I’m not a liar.

 

…

 

No, my pants are not on fire.  They are fire engine red, though.  But please, let’s focus.  As I was saying, I haven’t been happy…

 

…

 

I don’t know how long.  I honestly can’t say.  I just know that I haven’t been happy in ages.

 

…

 

Look, I’m not saying you should or could have known.  That’s why I’m telling you now.

 

…

 

Well, you’re entitled to your opinion, but I don’t think I’m being a poopyface.  Look, it was never my intent to deceive you.  There certainly wasn’t any conscious motive.  I’m not sure I was even aware of it until recently, but that doesn’t change the fact that this smile you’ve seen plastered across my face every morning when you wake up and every evening before you’re forced to brush your teeth and go to bed…that smile…it’s all been a…

 

…

 

Charade?  Sure, if that’s what you want to call it, then yes, it’s all been a charade.

 

…

 

No, I don’t want to play charades right now.  I’m trying to tell you something important.

 

…

 

No, I wasn’t yelling.

 

…

 

No, I’m not yelling.

 

…

 

Please don’t cry.

 

…

 

Look, I’m not saying these things to hurt you.  I thought you wanted honesty.  And the honest to God truth is…I feel…I feel empty behind this smile.  I’m sorry, but I do.  All I feel is emptiness.

 

…

 

Why?  I don’t know…it’s just…is this all there is?  What happened to my life?  What happened to me?  To us?  I used to have dreams.  We both used to have dreams.

 

…

 

I’m not talking about that dream where you and Thomas the Train accidentally run over the Jonas Brothers.  I mean dreams about our future.  Please, I’m trying to share my feelings here. 

 

…

 

I don’t know why I feel this way.  I’ve just come to realize that for my entire life, I’ve faced each and every day with the same disingenuous grin.  The same morbid mask of merriment I don just for you.  And when I stare out through these unblinking eyes, I simply feel dead behind the lie that is my face.  Behind the horrifically jaundiced lie that is my face. 

 

…

 

What do you mean, “Just be happy?”  It’s not that simple.  And besides, how could I be happy?  Look at me.  I’m a nobody.  You know it and I know it.  I’ve done nothing with my life.  Hell, I am not even sure there’s even an I to my existence.  My notions of uniqueness and individuality are a joke.  I’m nothing but another interchangeable cog with interchangeable parts in a mass-produced, cookie-cutter world.  Albeit, in numerous and bright colors.

 

You know, sometimes I just can’t shake the feeling that maybe you’d be better off without me.  All I’m doing is wasting space…and plastic.

 

…

 

Look, I knew you wouldn’t understand.  Nobody does.  Everyone assumes I’ve got it made, that I’ve got it all.  I mean, look at me!  I live in an ever-expanding metropolis populated by eternally joyous people.  I’ve had an illustrious string of careers as a policeman, a fireman, an astronaut, a pirate, and a knight.  Not to mention everyday I’m surrounded by a bright and beautiful world, saturated with a seemingly endless variety of colorful edifices and vehicles.

 

But where has it all gotten me?  Nowhere.  Don’t believe me?  Try walking a mile in my legs.  Any of my legs.

 

…

 

I know they won’t fit.  It’s an expression.  It means you don’t understand what it’s like to be me.

 

…

 

I know you’re good at playing pretend, but this is different.

 

…

 

No, it isn’t.

 

…

 

No, I’m not.

 

…

 

No, you are.

 

…

 

Oh, that’s real mature.  I am so not glue.

 

…

 

Oh yeah, is that how we’re gonna play this?  Well, then fine.  I wasn’t going to go there, but you pushed me right up to that edge and now we’re both gonna take the plunge. 

 

This is your fault, kiddo.

 

…

 

Oh, don’t even act surprised!  You know damn well that you’re complicit to this entire situation.

 

…

 

Examples?  You want examples, huh?  Well, where do I start?  For starters, how about the garish, migraine-inducing combinations of colors you try and pass off as architecture?!  I swear, some of the places you’ve had me work at felt like I was living inside the mind of an acid-tripping four-year-old or the color-blind spawn of Satan.  Have you ever stopped and looked – really looked – at the ridiculous monstrosities you’ve introduced to this place?  Sometimes I swear I’m living in a city built entirely of towers.  Which wouldn’t be all that bad, except none of them have interiors, much less accessible doors or windows. 

 

…

 

Oh, really?  You think you’re more grown up now?  Well, I guess I should just be counting my lucky stars that Corbusier here managed to piece together enough cognitive motor skills to follow those ludicrously conceived, pre-fabricated blueprints you’re so fond of now.  Honestly!  Have you seen the conditions I’m forced to drudge through on a daily basis, all with a smile?  The claustrophobia-inducing living quarters that afford me barely enough room to stand and stare at the walls.  It’s like being imprisoned in a Manhattan closet.  And what’s with the Spartan lifestyle?  It’s enough to drive one mad!  Is it too much to ask for a bed?  Or food?  Or any other basic amenities normally granted to the living?  And so help me, if I have to get inside another one of those Goddamned one-seater cars – those blocky, motley-colored death traps, I will tear my own head off from my torso.  What message are you trying to send me?  You surround me with smiling people that look and act just like me but condemn me to a life of loneliness and seclusion.  Am I undeserving of companionship?  Will I ever know love?

…

 

No, no, no…I’m not finished.

 

Not only have you confined me to a spatially chaotic, surrealist nightmare of a world, you’ve also robbed me of any semblance of time.  I don’t even know, nor care, when I am anymore.  Some days, I find myself surrounded by Vikings.  Other days, cowboys.  I go to stand outside the giant multi-chromatic tower that I’m supposed to work at (though I still have no freaking clue what I’m supposed to be doing there even if I could get inside), and find a bunch of spacemen or ninjas loitering around.  Or worse yet, some of those big-headed Duplo freaks.  Have you ever looked into their eyes?  Those people are terrifying.

 

And while we’re at it, you deranged Frank Lloyd doppelganger, how’s about building me some proper hands?  Do you have any idea how difficult it is to perform even simple tasks with these crude, yellow claws?  I don’t think you could possibly fathom how sexually repressed I am.  I’d take matters into my own hands (Lord knows they’re designed for it), but nope – can’t reach.  Not that it would make a difference.  Apparently, I’ve been deemed unworthy of the right to own genitalia. 

 

[Sobbing]

You can never understand.  You have no clue what it feels like.  The excruciating experience of being decapitated.  By a child.  Regularly.  To wake up, not knowing whose torso or legs you’re now attached to.  Meanwhile, your shrill cries of laughter echo off the empty cavernous hole that used to be my soul (Do I even have one anymore?  Where’s it housed?  Who’s wearing it, if I’m not?) when I awake to find myself sporting a ponytail and breasts.  Even this degrading alteration is robbed of any silver lining – I can’t even enjoy the fantasy of owning breasts.  They’re only painted on.  I try to fondle, but I feel the same as before – empty.

 

But I guess that’s what my existence boils down to – an empty, pathetic web of simulacra.

 

You might as well build me a coffin.

 

I’ll even let you choose the colors. 

 

I don’t care anymore.  Just so long as I don’t have to continue living in a world like this. 

…

 

Really?  You can do that?

 

…

 

Well then, never mind.  I’ll take a red convertible that seats two.  Throw in the blonde with the great rack and we’ll call it even.

Ahoy and Avast, ye scurvy ne’er-do-well cads!

In honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day tomorrow, I’ve pilfered, plundered, filched, sacked, embezzled, kidnapped, ravaged, rifled, looted, extorted, marauded, and even high-jacked the saltiest (best or worst, depends on where you stand w/r/t pirate jokes) seadog shenanigans for your preparation and perusal.

Fair winds and following seas, ye’ scoundrels! 

 

Why did the pirate cross the sea?

To get to the other tide!

 

What happens when you have sex with a pirate?

You get an AAAARRRrrrggggasm!  Oh, and syphilis too.

  

What is a pirate’s favorite retort to name-calling?

I know you ARRRrrrgh but what am ‘aye?!

 

What does a pirate use on his hemorrhoids?

Prep-ARRRRrrrrgggh-ation H!

 

Where is a pirate’s first choice for college?

Yale.  Just kidding.  Harrrrvarrrrd!

 

Why does it take pirates so long to learn the alphabet?

Because they can spend years at C!

 

What do you call a pirate with two eyes and two legs?

Rookie!

  

What do you call a pirate who can’t conduct a good raid?

The pillage idiot. Har!

 

Why do all pirates have eyepatches?

Chuck Norris.

 

How much are pirate union fees?

An arm and a leg!

 

Why do pirates always bury their treasure 18 inches below the ground?

Because booty is only shin deep!

 

What do you call a pirate with no eye?

A prate!

 

 Why do pirates subscribe to Playboy?

They say it’s for the ARRRRRticles, but it’s mainly for the booty!

 

What did the first mate find when he went into the head?

The Captain’s log.

 

Why is pirating so addictive?

Once ye lose yer first hand, ye get hooked!

 

What’s a horny pirate’s worst nightmare?

A sunken chest with no booty!

 

What do a bleached blonde and a pirate have in common?

A little black patch.

 

Why do pirates make such great boxers?

They have killer left hooks.

 

What do you call a black pirate?

A pirate, you racist seadog!

 

How many pirates with ADD does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Oh, look a parrot!

 

What was the excruciatingly slow, bloody, and painful cause of Capt. Hook’s death?

Jock itch.

 

Where do you find pirates who’ve lost their wooden legs?

Right where you left them.

 

Two ships were crossing the ocean, coming from opposite directions towards one another.  One ship was painted red and travelling at 45 knots per hour.  The other ship was painted blue and travelling 20 knots per hour.  What happened when the ships collided?

They were marooned.

 

What has 8 legs, 8 arms, and 8 eyes?

8 pirates.

 

What’s the best way to keep pirates off your lawn?

Beavers.

 

 A pirate walks into a bar wearing a paper towel on his head. He sits down at the bar and orders some dirty rum.

The bartender asks, “Why are you wearing a paper towel?”

“Arrr…” says the pirate. “I’ve got a bounty on me head!”

 

A pirate walks into a bar and the bartender says, “Hey, I haven’t seen you in a while. What happened, you look terrible!”

“What do you mean?” the pirate replies, “I’m fine.”

The bartender says, “But what about that wooden leg? You didn’t have that before.”

“Well,” says the pirate, “We were in a battle at sea and a cannon ball hit my leg but the surgeon fixed me up, and I’m fine, really.”

“Yeah,” says the bartender, “But what about that hook? Last time I saw you, you had both hands.”

“Well,” says the pirate, “We were in another battle and we boarded the enemy ship. I was in a sword fight and my hand was cut off but the surgeon fixed me up with this hook, and I feel great, really.”

“Oh,” says the bartender, “What about that eye patch? Last time you were in here you had both eyes.”

“Well,” says the pirate, “One day when we were at sea, some birds were flying over the ship. I looked up, and one of them shat in my eye.”

“So?” replied the bartender, “what happened? You couldn’t have lost an eye just from some bird shit!”

“It was the day after I got the hook.”