On a Personal Note: In Poor Taste

In this segment I tell humorous personal anecdotes. If you hate personal blog posts, skip this; there's plenty of non-personal stuff on this blog as well.

Father's Day is around the corner. I hope it's as delightful as my stepfather's birthday was.

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Me
Mom
Stepdad AKA Substitute Pappy AKA Vice Dad

We got ready to eat cake (as we are wont to do as Western civivlians) and you know I love cake.

But this was no ordinary cake. This was the fabled, much sought-after erotic cake experience.



It was a gift from Vice Dad's co-worker, Candi. It is difficult to choose a good gift for a coworker, so we were lucky she opted for a pragmatic, appropriate and morally astute gift not one that makes her appear to be a homewrecking jezebel.

The cake was a pair of supple youthful breasts; very pleasing form. The color was amazing as well. It wasn't a flesh tone-OH GOODNESS could you have been thinking these were flesh toned breasts? No; that would be alienating and emotionally scarring. These fun bags were hot pink. Why, it looked like the bride of Franken Berry's bilateral mammogram.

Make no mistake: I am aware of the breast feeding metaphor here. The only difference is this time there's a knife, a fork and a stepfather involved.

The fun did not end that night either. The mutilated, disembodied breasts were encased in a plastic molding, making the fridge look like a crime scene: it was like Hannibal Lecter's Cryogenic Laboratory.

This father's day-or better yet my mother's birthday-me and my stepdad will get my mom a penis and vagina cake respectively to celebrate the birth ritual. OH DRAT-I forgot, I can't make their birthday parties for the next 40 fucking years.

On a Personal Note: How To Namedrop Films At The ER

In this segment I tell humorous personal anecdotes. If you hate personal blog posts, skip this; there's plenty of non-personal stuff on this blog as well.

I've set the record for the amount of times "corneal abrasion" has been mentioned in a blog. Fine. One last time. My girlfriend took me to the ER when I first felt the abrasion. It felt like I had a Dorito stuck in my eye. One of those 3-D ones.

Anyhoosier, the doctor was shining this light into my eye to look at the abrasion. She wanted my girlfriend to look. Instead, my lover winced, saying it reminded her too much of Un Chien Andalou. My doctor did not get the reference but I did.


Never before had I wished to be more ignorant of Surrealist film history. While the doctor effortlessly went about her business, I was shrieking like a kitten in a vat of whipped cream. The doctor anaesthetized my eye so I felt no pain but never had a film reference cause me so much anguish. Why couln't she reference The Wizard or even The Garbage Pail Kids Movie? She could have even referenced Die Hard. I wonder if she has a list of films that directly correspond to their respective ailments?


Dick trauma: There's Something About Mary

Pregnancy: Junior

Anguish: Zapped

On a Personal Note: Spanish Class Was the Best Comedy Workshop

In this segment I tell humorous personal anecdotes. If you hate personal blog posts, skip this; there's plenty of non-personal stuff on this blog as well.

Many kids got their start being funny in Spanish class. The teacher went around the room and you would have to read the one-liner sentence you wrote out loud. For the teacher this was a grammar excercise; for us, it was a comedy showcase with possible industry.

The hacks always went the obvious route and said something like "Yo quiero muchachas y cervesas."

Muchachas y cervesas son hackneyedos.

I took the road less travelled.

"Yo quiero tocar la guitarra, bailar con mismo y Slim Fast bars."

The pinnacle of course was the oral presentation. One semester in college we had to do a short one-act play in Spanish. I was paired up with this musclehead named Marco. He gave me the story idea (two guys are smooth and try to get ladies). I wrote the actual lines in Spanish. He was so serious about this he taught me how to fake getting a punch. During one of our stunt rehearsals, he suggested drinking beer during the presentation. I said "What? We're gonna drink beer during the oral presentation in our morning Spanish class?" He insisted that we had the right because we were both over 21.

So there we were doing some shitty knock-off of the Roxbury Twins in class, drinking our brews. When I put my Bud Lite bottle down it started overflowing onto the floor. In all my life I have never (albeit inadvertently) made a room full of people laugh so hard. The guy in the front row's face turned red.


So here are some comic Spanish excercises to get the creative juices flowing:

1) What do you like to put butter on (use the subjunctive).
2) No seriously, what do you like to put butter on (write "si" nervously throughout the sentence).

On a Personal Note: Things I Do When I'm Sick

1) Stop smoking cigarettes for the duration of my cold and promise that I'll quit smoking (akin to the Over-the-Toilet-Sobriety-Oath)
2) Cough like James Brown (*cough*HA!). Brings a whole new meaning to soul coughing.
3) Act out Edward G. Robinson's final words in Little Caesar

Is this the end of Rico?
4) Get mad when I laugh at funny things on the Internet because the laughter sets off a chain reaction of coughing. *cough*HAHAHA!

On a Personal Note: My Creepiest Karaoke Performance Ever

In this segment I tell humorous personal anecdotes not related to alternative comedy celebrities. If you hate personal blog posts, skip this; there's plenty of non-personal stuff on this blog as well.

I'm an atheist but after doing karaoke Saturday night at the Village Ma I learned to always heed that timeless maxim from the Bible:

Judge not lest ye be judged.

This tall blond guy in a black Oxford shirt named Eddie got on the karaoke stage and sang "You Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" to a random girl, Top Gun-style. All I could think was "What a creep."



It was my turn to get up. After drinking seven Stellas, I was ready to save karaoke night with a blistering rendition of "Born to be Wild." Only thing was, the place was dimly lit so I read 67-03 as 87-03 and put the latter on my karaoke ticket. So my "choice" when I got onstage was "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." At first I started singing it. After an understandably lackluster response, I explained to the audience that I accidentally picked the song. They started laughing, so I tried to toss out some funny ad libs during the song. One of them was a "clever" pun:

Santa Claus is coming to town. You know what I'm talking about right guys?

I proceeded to sit on the stool and pretend do finger my fictional vagina. Most people do air guitar at karaoke; I was doing air beaver baiting. I thought I did a great job but my girlfriend told me I was cut off from alcohol because I was acting weird. Instead of acknowledging her sagely counsel, I yelled at her for calling me a creep. I mean what's so creepy about an overweight Egyptian man from Long Island pretending to be Santa Claus in February while simulating female masturbation?

And here I was calling Top Gun Eddie a creep. He was coming on to a girl; I was pretending to come like a girl. So it bears repeating: judge not lest ye be judged. Oh and if your lover says you should stop drinking because you're acting weird, shut up and listen.

On a Personal Note: My First Non-Single Valentine's Day

Today is Tara's first non-single Valentine's day with her lover. It's also my first with Amy. Of course with my luck it snows. It's like Cupid is up there saying "Man, I accidentally shot that girl so that she liked Mo Diggs instead of Joe Briggs."



So now the snow's my punishment; it's meant to keep people inside so I have no more arrow manslaughters."

On a Personal Note: The Rudest Pan Asian Cuisine Menu

In this segment I tell humorous personal anecdotes not related to alternative comedy celebrities. If you hate personal blog posts, skip this; there's plenty of non-personal stuff on this blog as well.

I went to this Pan-Asian restaurant in Flushing (home of the Mets) with my girlfriend and two of my friends . On the table was the most wise-ass menu in Queens. It explained what a beverage was. Something to the effect of "mostly made of water, for human consumption." Not only did this menu make me feel stupid; I also felt unimaginative. I should have thrown beverages at womens' faces, fucking up their mascara. Or I should have called the Wildlife Preservation Center and said "I'm sorry, we have a liquid that is strictly meant for spotted owl consumption. No take it back, only Asiatic black bears have a strong enough stomach lining for Bubble Tea."

Do Not Feed Tapioca to Humans



The menu, in addition to giving superfluous information, witheld important details. It didn't disclose what the spring roll sauce was. I assumed it was soy because the sauce was black, but turns out we were given A-1 steak sauce. I didn't want to start a fight with the waitress, so I said "Interesting, this isn't soy sauce, what is it?" She looked down for a few seconds and then said "Kikiriki" or some bullshit. No my friends; this establishment thinks we are a bunch of stupid Americans who love huge plates of spring rolls with steak sauce. Good thing she gave us small portions of A-1; we might have drank it all, or painted a mime's face with it.