Animal Haven of North Haven CT Comedy Benefit Fundraiser 4.15.15!

Animal Haven Fundraiser Flyer 4.15.15

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I’m Still Hosting the Bi-Weekly (And Totally Curious) Comedy Open Mic At Jalisco Restaurant!

New Jalisco Flyer 4.7.15 snipped

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I Eat Like A Frenchwoman But I Burp Like A Scotsman

I’m surprised Lady Gaga hasn’t done a remake of Helen Reddy’s hit and called it, “I Am Woman, Hear Me Burp.”

lady gaga mouth open


I read a new analysis about addiction that concluded it’s only when rats are kept in isolation, as they were in early studies, that they get hooked on heroin water.  When rats are re-introduced to the big, happy maze, with all their friends and distractions…supposedly, no addiction.  But I say bullshit.  (Or perhaps ratshit.)  I believe there was a group of rats who figured out how to do it in moderation.  Every Friday, or maybe Thursday, if they were having a bad week, these rowdy rodents would meet at the heroin water cooler, and party hearty.  (“Toga, toga!”)  Then they’d go next door to the gerbil sorority, find themselves involved with shavings, sample the sex cage disguised as a wheel, and get back to the maze by dawn before the weekend scientists showed up for work.


Did you know sulfur is actually a metal? And here I thought it was a fart. Or gas. I mean, a gas. Do me a solid and forget I ever brought it up.


If you knit a bunch of large sacks to hold marijuana, did you just make pot holders?

crocheted pot leaf ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gentlemen! If you have a daily prescription for Cialis, you better make sure your wife or girlfriend has a daily prescription for tranquilizers. Because we thought we were already done with all that bullshit! Meanwhile, a female Viagra is currently in development, and supposedly will be on the market in about three years. Because the pharmaceutical companies know how we ladies like to let the tension build.


I would like to go on a date with Bill Cosby.  Now hear me out. I’d pretend to sip my drink.  I’d pretend to pass out.  I’d pretend to wake up just as Bill was pulling down his pants.  I’d really cut off his testicles.  I’d really have a mold made from them.  I’d really send a pair of bookends to each of the women that he allegedly raped. They might not appreciate it, but I’d be doing it for them.


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I’m Hosting The New Bi-weekly Comedy Open Mic At Jalisco Restaurant In Glastonbury!

Jalisco snipped 4.7.15

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4 Text Monsters

Finger on the Trigger:  You never hear from these people, except when texted, they respond with lightning speed.  (Also known as “Lurkers”.)

cell phone gun

Throw ‘Em a Bone:  Your fear is if you contact these pests, they’ll text back fast and furious for hours.  But really, all they want is one or two quick messages, and then they’ll settle right down.

Dog waiting on text

The LOLer:  Practically every single communication from these folks ends in “LOL”, or “lol”.  Some texts read simply, “lol.”

LOL fishface

The Silent Wall:  This should be pretty much self-explanatory.  Or not.

You don't say.

You don’t say.

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I’ve Been Told Not To Speak At Super Bowl Parties, So I Wrote This For Zach Galifianakis

Dear Mr. Galifianakis:

Today is the 100th Sunday since the 87th Thursday beyond the very first Monday that I began my heretofore financially unprofitable yet still artistically rewarding comedy career.

I originally just went out to buy socks.

I originally just went out to buy socks.

So that’s what makes it an especially weird coinkydinky that I should suddenly remember a strange story I wrote many months ago (about 36.8) which involved your persona.  I invite you to take a look at (and also proof-read, please) the following passage.  Feel free to provide any positive feedback that you can possibly muster.

Daydreaming/Zach G.

Some people have nocturnal emissions; I have “daydream admissions”.   Occasionally  I imagine meeting famous comics.  Wouldn’t it be weird if someone with a terminal illness told the Make A Wish Foundation their desire was to be on an episode of the web series, “Between Two Ferns with Zach Galifianakis”?  That’s what I would do.  But then, I’d probably feel so depressed about my prognosis, I’d be a total drag to interview.  And why would they want a non-celebrity on that show, anyway?  (Honestly, this is the kind of shit I think about.)

What follows is an example of one of the daydreams I had.  I admit that I sort of envision myself as the downtrodden housewife, Naomi.

A Funny Story Involving the Star Zach Galifianakis and Naomi the Downtrodden Housewife

A downtrodden housewife called Naomi goes to famous cougar vixen singer Sheryl Crow’s concert at the local boutiquey musical venue.  It’s a lively show, and from blocks away, one can hear the strains of Sheryl singing her latest sellout pedestrian hit (no pun intended), “I Get By With My Nice Body”.  Naomi would rather have heard more of Sheryl’s earlier, better work, from her first album, “I Tap Liberally Into Other People’s Creativity On Tuesday Evenings”.

After the concert is over, Naomi tries to exit the venue, but gets lost and somehow stumbles into an after-party for Crow, crowded with her entourage and guests.  At first Naomi’s horrified, but then she realizes she’s not likely to ever get to be at such a party again, and she is just crazy enough to decide to fake it and pretend like she thinks she’s invited. She actually spots a local musician/teacher she knows, and they start drinking champagne and conversing about the early Crow songs.  At this point, the Star of the Show spots the Intruder and becomes infuriated that her party has been crashed.  She makes a beeline for the frumpy housewife, and ejects her from the party.  As Naomi slinks away, she loudly slurs, ”Well anyway, you’ll still be a bitch in the morning.”

Naomi ponders what just happened.  She thought she’d seen a sympathetic pair of eyes in the crowd as the horrible exchange with diva-lady Sheryl unfolded.  Yes; it was a bearded man of below-average height with medium brown hair.  Naomi thinks to herself, “What a surprisingly benevolent expression there was upon that serial killer’s face.”  And then she realizes, “That wasn’t a serial killer, that was the comic star Zach Galafianakis!”

To her great surprise, this kind, hirsute, funny man catches up to her as she is leaving.  “You should not have had to endure that.  That was awful,” says Zach as he gently touches Naomi’s elbow.   She is so bowled over that someone so famous could be so nice and reassuring.  They decide to go into a nearby bar to have a beer, to reassure themselves just a tad bit more.

Naomi tells Zach what a great admirer of his work she is, and how much his demented sense of humor touches a deep chord within her.  She rhapsodizes, “It’s like we were twins separated at birth, or something, you know?  Or at the very least, like you were my unborn twin that had to be surgically removed when you became too parasitic.  Those things usually are pretty hairy when they take them out.”

Dead silence.

Zach:  “Uh, thanks.  I think.  That’s really touching.”

The End!


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Mother Said There’d Be Mucous (& Other Revelations)

As a bikini model, I’d have to moonlight, because I could not be seen like that during the day.


I have been reflecting on that Happy Dance Bill Cosby was always doing in the 80’s.  It’s downright creepy.



A guy who saw me perform comedy in a bar told me he liked my non sequiturs.  I said, “Thanks, sometimes I put tassels on them.”


All those fallen leaves around the base of my house serve as a form of insulation.


Ever see a toddler get lost in their own house?  Then, watch them in Toys-R-Us?  They know exactly where they need to go for everything.


People.  Why must they put ballerina skirts on their hedgehogs?

Hegehog ballerina


Overweight polygamists have even Bigger Love.


Bullshit detector constantly going off….surrounded by dairy farms….


I wonder if geeks in the fifties felt secretly cool with their hipster glasses.


What’s scarier than becoming your mother?  Becoming your mother-in-law.


Mike Huckabee knows how to cook squirrel in a popcorn maker.  In related news, I once puked in a popcorn maker.


I always wonder how those old ladies in the TV commercials know so much about each other’s insurance situations.  Usually that generation is pretty tight-lipped about finances.


Me to young stupid whippersnappers:  “You’re half my age and one quarter my IQ.  Sorry if you can’t keep up with the math.”


When they say, “You’re born alone, and you die alone,” I’m not so sure.  When you’re born, you’re being violently pushed out of someone’s vagina.  That doesn’t sound too lonely, for anyone involved.


That old guy with a turn signal lodged in his arm for 50 years had to have it removed.  I’ve heard of an uncomfortable hunk of metal up your ass for two years, but that was ridiculous.  (I hope he makes it into a keychain.)

Actually this guy might've lliked the turn signal better.

Actually this guy might’ve lliked the turn signal better.

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