The Nick Mayer Memorial Fund at the Hartford Foundation for Public Giving

I think of him during the “high holy days” of #stanleycupfinals and always.♥️

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The Nick Mayer Memorial Fund at the Hartford Foundation for Public Giving supports a variety of nonprofit organizations, with priority given to youth and high school ice hockey programs and “skaterships“ for players exhibiting a passion for the sport and a commitment to playing hockey in high school.

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You may make tax deductible donations to the Nick Mayer Memorial Fund at this link: https://hartford.fcsuite.com/erp/donate/create?funit_id=2497

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Please share this link with anyone you think might be interested. Thank you.

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#mentalhealthawareness #hartfordfoundationforpublicgiving #memorialfund #schticksoutfornick

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Vascular surgeon thrilled patient now able to wear hotpants

Last week, I went through a series of procedures to remove varicose veins from my legs. I told the vascular surgeon that he was the reason I would be able to wear hotpants on stage this summer – but never cargo shorts; that would be déclassé!

I’m already through the most painful part of the procedures: learning what portion I owe after insurance.

It was quite an operation they had over at the Vein Clinics of America, no pun intended. The team really seemed to know what they were doing. After the first session, as the medical staff was leaving the procedure room, I said, “I’ve done a little bit of sketch comedy, and you guys are very good.“ The words came out of my mouth before I had a chance to think, previewing comedy with something akin to hot pants: surgical shorts. I think some of the lidocaine had gone to my head, straight through my small saphenous vein.

Betty Grable may have had “million dollar legs”, but I know that the cost to fix varicose veins in MY gams totaled $10,000, only half of which was covered by insurance. I’m going to need to get on stage a whole lot in hotpants this summer to take care of THAT bill!

Black compression stockings have a little BDSM vibe to them. Keep your feet (and your spirits) up!

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I was forced into non-consensual heckling by Judah Friedlander

He did it in front of my friends as well as a bunch of other people, and he did it without my consent: Judah Friedlander made me heckle him in May, 2012.

I was wearing a tight skirt, and I’d had one too many Heinekens, so some might say I was asking for it.

In a crowded and trendy NYC club, the comic wore a bright, boxy trucker’s cap that looked more at home on a dusty Midwest highway than in a damp Manhattan basement.

“Who here has always had a hankering to upstage public figures?“ Judah queried the increasingly drunk crowd.

“I have! I have! By the way, love your hat with that shirt, Judah!”

His dilated pupils zoned right in on me. Inexplicably dilated, what with that gigantic hat brim barely protecting his eyes from the bright lights.

“Oh, I see we have some disrespect for the lid, here. What are you, a snooty haberdasher?”

It was at that moment that I saw red. Mostly because Judah’s hat was a bright shade of red.

A gear shifted in my brain. I was compelled to respond to the man up on the stage. The voices in the crowd parted like the Red Sea, and a rant learned in childhood to deliver against bullies reflexively came pouring forth from my lips:

“Why, you insignificant piece of humanity born in the depths of ignorance! Your language is too vulgar for my intellectual capacity. Get that into your cranium!“

My Bronx-born and -raised mother had long ago taught my brother and I to give that speech, and oddly, each time, she’d say it with a British accent. And every time we delivered that diatribe to a bully, we got thrown under a bus.

It was no different in the situation with Judah in the Manhattan club. He shredded me to pieces in front of that drunken crowd.

The one positive enveloped in the excessive Heinekens is that it mutes the memory and renders the lesson:

Don’t. Heckle. Despite the enticing siren song of a capped comic.

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🎶 Holding out for a pillow 🎶

Where have all the good chairs gone?

And where are all the Tucks?

Where’s the streetwise proctologist who can straighten out all us cucks?

Isn’t there a magic cure beyond what I can see?

Late at night I toss and I turn

And dream of poop and pee.

🎶 I need a pillow 🎶

I’m holding out for a pillow for my butt and its blight

It’s gotta be strong

It’s gotta be color-fast

And it’s gotta make my bottom feel right.

🎶 I need a pillow 🎶

I’m holding out for a pillow to end my anal plight

It’s gotta be plush

And it’s gotta be soon

And it’s gotta be available online.

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What’s not to lurk?

I constantly try to picture people having conversations that mirror their social media trash talk and trolling. It’s hard to imagine, because in real life, most of those people wouldn’t have the balls to say negative stuff to someone’s face.

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An uptight herbalist said to me, “marijuana is not a perfect drug.“ And I replied, “No, but it’s still pretty good!“

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I would find politics so much more interesting if the Russians would just tell us what they got on everybody. I want to see the LGPT (Lindsey Graham Pee Tape).

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Ironic that as you get older you insult more people but your own skin gets thinner.

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Last year, two other inmates were also beaten to death in the state penitentiary where Whitey Bulger was killed, and I have to assume that they, too, were assholes.

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We are now well into that time of the year when everything indoors smells like somebody’s unaired-out buttcrack.

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I am so angry that my menopause is going on for so long. These hot flashes have been happening for over six years. It’s not right to make someone so old want to wear a bikini in public. And it was really tough when my kid was going through puberty. The pharmaceutical companies should really think about family hormone plans.

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Why do most of the drink recipes for people who hate the taste of alcohol contain multiple types of booze? #LongIslandIcedTea

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Someone told me that boob sweat smelled like cheese but I would not know because I was not breast-fed and my nose can’t reach mine.

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Lesson in life: they can give you an applicator, but it’s always better with a plain old finger.

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I’ve been doing stand up for almost 8 years, but it seems longer.

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Comedy is such a wonderful craft that you and your fellow artisans can work five years on five minutes of jokes and lose the prize of best set at an open mic to a newbie who’s getting divorced that offered to suck off the whole bar.

#meritocracy

(PS..I’m not bitter. I did not have to swallow a bucket of nastiness that night.)

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I could start my own comedy club and believe if I build it, they will come. Or maybe it will just be some guy out behind the club coming in the bushes, but still, I need to try.

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Saw a piece in Apple Business Insider warning against eating boogers. It’s sad that they felt the need to write such an article. What’s next? “Keep your fingers out of your ass and don’t mistake your dingleberries for truffles”?

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Every brewery boasts they have the best craft beers in the area. They can’t all be telling the truth. Likewise, the phrase “award winning wings” is repeated so often everywhere that historians one day will probably think it’s some kind of greeting.

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A man will look back on most days and think he was productive, even if he spent half the time scratching his balls. A woman will look upon her day and often feel she should have gotten more done, wishing she could delude herself into thinking she’s as productive as a guy with itchy balls.

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I’m crossing riding a horse off my bucket list and adding riding an elephant. Also I will need a bigger bucket.

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Was that a seizure or were you just extra glad to see me?

I finally stopped having that terrible nightmare where you show up for a final exam but haven’t studied, and I think this is because deep down I no longer give a shit.

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At the shelter, I inspire cats to eat, which is the opposite of when I was a kid and would bring them to sandboxes in the neighborhood to watch them poop.

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A cat at the shelter stuck its rear end in my face and I said, “Get away from me! Your butt smells like cat breath. Why would that be? Oh wait…”

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I’m reaching the point in my life now where I may just hang around you if I like your cat.

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I’ve decided some people definitely need to be reincarnated. It’s either that or they will have to work extra hard to be an angel.

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Working as an accountant for 20 years, I dealt with many programmers. One once wrote up a report saying there was a flaw in a program, but he didn’t realize he had typed “fly”. So I snuck into the report afterward, “If there is a fly in your subroutine, it is probably doing the back keystroke.”

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We have a nation half full of morons who don’t vote, but boy, you should see people pull out their fact sheets and argue in great detail on Facebook about the properties of rollercoasters.

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I hope they establish a national public service requirement for young adults. Their slogan could be, “Hey, you might get laid.“

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A telemarketer once called and I held the phone up to my son’s diaper at precisely the moment he was loudly filling it. This remains one of the greatest moments of my life.

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There’s a style some women now have that can only be described as lumberjack/dominatrix and I like it.

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How do you put 6 pounds of sugar in a 5 pound bag? Spanx.

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To the few people I know who still believe in Trump: I admire commitment. But you should be committed.

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Don’t Pith Me Off

There are now nine medical marijuana dispensaries in Connecticut, yet not a single one of them is in Stonington.

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I imagine an alternative universe where Brett Kavanaugh is a stoner, and after he and Christine Blasey Ford politely take turns using the bathroom at a party, they sit down and meditate on the human condition.

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According to one of Brett Kavanaugh’s old calendars, his favorite Beatles song was “Why Don’t We Do It In The Robe?“

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NPR is now selling show-inspired alcohol like “’All Things Considered’ Cabernet“, “’Wait Wait’ Don’t Tell Me Chardonnay” and “I Need a Drink to Get Through ‘Food Schmooze.'”

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Some people need alter-egos to stow their excess baggage.

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It’s horrifying how much I now hear people speaking about squirters, yet I can remember prior generations discussing self-cleaning vaginas.

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There’s a sound coming at night from the woods that I believe is a dragon snoring, because what the hell else could it be? 🐉

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Me, apparently overly-fixated on drag personas: “Look at all these different pictures of the guy who owns our motel. Here he’s dressed as a woman!“

My travel mate: “I think that’s his mother.“

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“Dear Sir or Madam” means something completely different nowadays.

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