I was walking in downtown Minneapolis with Ben Weil last night and there was a man on the Corner of Hennepin and 7th holding a bible over his head and screaming bible verses at the top of his lungs.  He wasn't handing out pamphlets.  He wasn't talking to anyone in particular.  He was just shouting things that were in the book he was waving around (John 3 to be exact.  Way to ruin the ending for us, Spoiley McSpoilerson!) 

This is not the first time I've seen this.  I've seen the whole man-waving-around-a-bible-and-shouting-at-nobody-in-particular in different cities all over and it's always confused me for 2 reasons. 

1.  Why carry the bible around?  You don't have it open.  You've obviously memorized the verses you're screaming.  It just seems like unnecessary weight.  Are you worried people might think you're just making it up as you go along? 
  "AND GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE THEM HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON!"
  "Bullshit!"
  "SIR, I AM TELLING THE TRUTH AND IT IS ALL HERE IN THIS LEATHERBOUND COLLECTION I HOLD ABOVE MY HEAD!"
  "Let me see that for a second!"
  "BE MY GUEST, SIR!  TO BE HONEST MY ARM WAS STARTING TO GIVE OUT!"
  "Okay... Page 372... Man named Nicodemus... Must be born again... Well I'll be.  So you were telling the truth.  Well, sir.  I apologize for doubting you."
  "THAT'S QUITE ALRIGHT, SIR!  TO BE HONEST, PEOPLE JUST THOUGHT I WAS SOME CRAZY PERSON UNTIL I STARTED CARRYING THAT AROUND." 
(fade to black as the two men talk about the nature of spirituality.  End scene.)

2.  How many people are you converting with this approach?  I thought the Jehova's Witnesses had a hard time with their methods but the Curch of the Screaming Street Corner Weirdo must have a lot of empty pews come Sunday. 
  "AND GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE THEM HIS-"
  "Excuse me.  Sir?"
  "ONLY BEGOTTEN SON SO THAT-"
  "Excuse me, Sir?  Hey, you with the flushed complexion and the dribble of spit hanging from your bottom lip?"
  "OH, SORRY I DIDN'T NOTICE YOU.  I WAS KIND OF IN 'THE ZONE'."
  "Quite alright.  Since you were screaming so loud that I can only assume that puddle of coughed up blood by your feet is your own, I couldn't help but overhear you.  I must say, I would like to know more.  Could I possibly... join your church?"
  "YOU CERTAINLY MAY, SIR!"
  "Thank you!  When is your next mass?"
  "YOU'RE ATTENDING IT RIGHT NOW!  GRAB A BIBLE AND START WAVING!"
  (camera pans out as man hands bibles to his eager wife and children.  End scene.)

Hi.  If you're liberal, a voter and under the age of 29 you might be in a bit of shock right now.  It's not every day that the presidential candidate you voted for actually won.  You may be confused, unaccustomed to the thought of the president actually being a good public speaker.  The feeling of the rest of the whole goddamn world not hating your country for the first time in 6 years may seem strange and alien.  These feelings are a natural part of living 8 years in a dark political hell and transitioning into this new life can be eased with a few simple tips:

Throw your fists in the air and shout "President Obama!"

Try this one anywhere, anytime.  Doesn't that feel great?

Go to http://www.newprez.com

Man, I could just watch that countdown timer go on for hours. 

Check out any youtube video of Obama's acceptance speech.  Read any comment made by someone from a foreign country and breathe a sigh of relief. 

Holy crap the world might actually start liking us again. 

Go ahead and buy some of that crazy flag shit Republicans have been throwing around all these years

Magnets, pins, actual flags, whatever!  You can actually be proud of your country again!

Now, as you're finally settling into that general sense of well being that comes with not constantly being afraid of what crazy shit your idiot president will pull next, you may encounter problems.  Already the internet is clogged with the screeches and death rattles of conservatives warning that your "entire paycheck will go to welfare" (actual quote) and that "He's going to pull all our troops and you can't do that, which could mean a war here in America" (another gen-u-ine quote).  It's quite possible that you may be encountered by a well meaning but misinformed conservative.  If they so happen to offer these complaints about President Obama you can simply smile and tell them what they've been telling you for the last 8 years. 

"Hey, this is America.  If you don't like it, you're free to leave." 

My company's intranet has a blog.  Any employee can submit entries about what's going on in the company or general business world, how it affects them and their feelings on it.

I, for one, am a huge fan.  I think it's pretty progressive to see a huge corporation let it's employees voice their opinions with the best technology 2003 has to offer and I've been trying very hard to get my blog ideas posted but so far every one has been rejected.  As a pretty accomplished blogger (118 kudos and counting!), I know it's not the quality of my writing that is holding me back but what is?  I guess the only thing I can do is keep submitting.  Here's a few subject headers for the blogs I plan to submit in the next couple of weeks. 

Top Ten Things To Do When You Call In Sick But Aren't Really Sick.

What Is It We Do Again?

The Parallels Between Casual Day Stickers and Prison Cigarettes.

Hungover Again?:  Some Great Low Traffic Nap Spots. 

You're So Fucking Irreverant and Witty the Way You Quote "Office Space" All the Goddamn Time!  Way To Ruin That Movie For Me, Asshole!

Some Great Sites That Websense Hasn't Blocked (yet).

Seriously That Old Lady In Reception Always Smells Like Poo.

I may have to contact HR if my ideas keep getting shot down like this. 

The glint of flash bulbs dotted my blurring vision.  The ring of the bell still hung in my ears as I fell down on to the stool in the corner of the ring.  Doc wrenched out my mouthguard, stuck in a straw and squeezed in a shot of warm water.  I spit a mess of pink into the bucket held in front of my face and gulped down as much air as I could. 

The crowd roared.  Heads bobbing up and down, fists pumping.  The arena got their first taste of blood tonight.  They wanted more.  Piston Honda spent the first two rounds tenderizing me like a plate of Kobe beef and the fire in his eyes only seemed to intensify.  He obviously hasn't forgotten about when I stole the minor title from him early in my career.  He's been training since then.  Getting better, faster.  The time spent between when he blinks his eyes 3 times and throws a jab has halved.  He won't stop. 

If there's three things I know about the Japanese, honor is everything to them, they're 7 feet tall and you get a star punch if you hit them in the face right before they throw an uppercut. 

Time was running short.  I needed my trainer to tell me something, anything to get me through the third and final round.  I take in as much air as I can and gasp "He's hurt me, Doc!".

Doc pats me on the shoulder, looks across the ring and says "Dodge his punch, then counter-punch!". 

  "Really?  That's like, the first thing you learn in boxing.  Help me, Doc.  Please!".  Doc swung me around, jammed my mouthguard back in and looked straight into my eyes.  "Join the Nintendo Fun Club today, Mac!"  I get shoved back out into the middle of the ring.  I crane my neck up to make eye contact with Piston because he is literally three feet taller than me.  He looks down and hisses through his mouthguard "I'm going to give you a T.K.O... from Tokyo!".  The bell rings. 

I'm a dead man. 

I remember sitting in class after class in high school thinking "This doesn't apply to me.  I will never use this knowledge in the real world.  I'm not going to grow up to be a historian/chemist/algebrarian/professional dodgeball player.  Why do I have to sit here and learn shit that I'll never apply?" 

Looking back, I now realize that by forcing us to learn stupid, usless, inapplicable things that school was truly preparing my generation for the real world.  A world where most of us would end up in low level corporate jobs sitting through two hour long meetings learning things that have absolutely nothing to do with our jobs. 

My public education experience really came in handy today when I had to sit through two hours of fraud training.  I've never committed fraud.  I never will.  I'm not in a position where the opportunity for fraud is available and if it were, I wouldn't know how to go about committing it.  The company knows this but one time a guy committed fraud and now we all have to suffer. 

No biggie.  I can take it.  I took advanced algebra and if faking it in high school taught me one thing (and it did only teach me one thing) it's to take a lot of notes so you look like you're paying attention.  Here's a scan of the notes I took. 

*CSI:  Corporate Security Investigator.  The people that investigate fraud in the company

**Rocket Skateboard:  Like a skateboard but with rockets instead of wheels.  Allows flight. 

Moral of the story:  I probably should have stayed in college.  I'll bet chemists or algebrarians don't have to sit through yearly fraud training. 

p.s. In my perfect world, every robot has antennae on the top of their heads with a small stream of electricity constantly flowing between them.  It's just how it should be.

Originally posted as a bulletin.

I rolled out of bed and hit the ground hard, hoping the jolt would knock out the hangover. My head spun as I sat up on the floor, looked at the bed and saw that it was empty. Being a photographer was a good pickup line but it was probably for the best that it didn't work last night. Being the type of photographer I am doesn't usually land a second date and I had a shoot this morning.


I check my email. 3 messages from the website bitching about my Friday deadline. My line of work may be questionable but these filthy assholes don't deserve any kind of tact.
I blow the ashes off my keyboard and reply

Subject: FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU I HAVE A SHOOT TODAY FUCK YOU

John

One hour until the appointment so I clean up, pop a fresh memory card into the camera and pull out a bottle of Popov. Take a swig, wait five minutes and take a picture of the bottle. I repeat this process until the bottle is no longer blurry from the shaking. Only took 4 swigs this time.


In walks the modern day pimp. A bloated, middle aged get rich quick artist with misplaced parental instincts and no plan. All you need to do is pick up some stray runaway in an alley, clean them up and shop them around until you find a photographer with a few connections and fewer morals.


Next comes the model. I offer her some food knowing she'll turn her nose up at it. I put her in front of the lights and snap a few shots. She lays there listlessly, barely moving. I tell her how pretty she is, she barely notices. She finally perks up when I pull out a sandwich bag full of pungent green grass and toss it her way. After a five minute break she opens up for me. Rolling on the ground, batting at the camera, dancing to music that isn't playing. At one point she leaps into the air in front of a mirror and thrusts her arms and legs out. I capture her at the peak of her jump, knowing I have the money shot. After hurrying them out I dump the photos onto my computer. I sift through all the garbage until I find the picture of her in mid flight.
I bring it into photo shop for a little touch up, type the caption "INVISIBLE BICYCLE" and send it to icanhascheezburger. com .
I get a reply five minutes later.


Subject: About fucking time!
Thanks for cutting it so close, asshole.
If we're lucky we'll have this posted by Caturday!

Originally posted as a bulletin -

The following is a series of text messages sent between 10:50 AM and 11:32 AM. Our story begins as Brody and I make plans to see Hamlet 2 tomorrow and I ask him about his date with his girlfriend the previous night...

BRODY: So where's the movie playing?

ME: Lagoon and I get off work at 1:30 tomorrow.
So did you "have" a "good time" last "night"?

ME: IFYOUKNOWWHATIMSAYIN!

ME: Eh? Wink wink?

ME: (nudge nudge)

ME: A little huh? A little what?

ME: If you think I am done YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN (panting and howling noises)!

ME: (roll stock footage of train going into tunnel, rocket blasting off, olympic diver executing a perfect double somersault etc.
)

ME: (cue the New York Philharmonic.
1812 Oveture booms throughout the auditorium)

BRODY: I don't know. Why don't you ask her she's right here.


ME: (orchestra falls silent.
First chair trombone picks up a plunger and places it on the horn) WOMP WAAAAHHHHHH ..

ME: Well thanks for stopping me before I started describing the fireworks display and the trained poodles jumping through a hoop.





WOMP WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

Well, graduation season is in full swing and with my status of rags-to-riches-local-boy-done-good-cinderella-story media mogul I find myself getting quite a few offers to be the commencement speaker at many ceremonies.  The pay kind of sucks (mostly just honorary degrees and leftover veggie trays) but I speak at as many as I can because I truly believe that children are our future.  I also feel that a free veggie tray is a free fuckin' veggie tray am I right?!?  Score! 

Anyway, here's the speech I've been running with so far. 

Good afternoon class, faculty, parents, families and creepy guys that graduated 2 years ago but are here because they're dating seniors.  As I look down at all of your young, eager faces just hungry for the challenges of the future I remember when I was your age.  On my graduation, as I sat down in the auditorium listening to the local fire chief give his speech I remember thinking of how he spoke nothing of fire safety or how we should deal with fiery situations when we enter college or the work force.  I mean, he's the fire chief, right?  I think that if you're speaking at something important like a graduation you'd work with your strong points but he didn't even utter so much as a stop, drop and roll. 

He didn't even talk about how cool it is to be a fireman or how they have that pole in the firehouse that they slide down when there's a fire.  You'd think that if you're talking to young people the fire pole would be your opener, you know?  Get them interested right off the bat. 

I then thought that maybe our principal was kind of a procrastinator and this guy was all he could get on short notice.  You gotta plan early if you want to get a good speaker like that guy who was hiking and cut his own arm off when it got pinned under a rock.  That guy books MONTHS in advance. 

Man, that guy.  The arm guy?  That guy can pretty much get laid wherever he goes.  He can pretty much just walk into any bar and have his pick of the litter.  Most guys that are missing an arm have to work that much harder to get any kind of tail but this guy has pretty much the best story ever.  He might be married, though.  I'm not sure.

I guess my point is that when you leave this arena and enter college or the workforce, you have many career paths.  Should your career choice be that of a high school principal, make sure to book your commencement speakers well in advance or else you'll be stuck with some fire chief who won't even break out his "A" fire material.  Thank you.  (hold for applause)

I don't know how I ever lived life without having a phone that I could carry in my pocket that was also a camera!   Can you even remember a time when, like cavemen, we had to take pictures of things with cameras that weren't also phones and wait for the photos to be developed on film?  Me neither.  Here's a bunch of stuff from my camera phone. 

There is a man.  He travels through the country on a mad quest.  With each public restroom he visits, he takes his keys and scratches letters out of the instructions on the air dryer.  What is scratched out of step 2 may vary from time to time but make no mistake, it is one man. 

Man, if you are that excited to be working at a bowling alley you are on a lot of drugs. 

If you break the speed limit in LaCrosse, WI they will fucking LASER you. 

McDonald's is trying out a new slogan.  "We love to see you creeped the fuck out". 

Alternate caption:  McDonald's is trying out a new slogan.  "They all float down here!".

Alternate caption 2:  When nobody was looking he looked me in the eyes and held up a sign that said "HELP ME". 

An identity theft awareness poster that I saw at the post office.  Here's a tip:  When stealing somebody's identity, try to not to use a picture where you look like you're plotting to steal somebody's identity. 

Grillz™ Candy:  Get you small child hooked on the ridiculous decadence of rap culture with Grillz™! 

p.s. my birthday is right around the corner.

I'm a regular cameraphone Ansel Adams. 

Allow me to start with an apology.  I know that I've been shirking from my blog duties the last couple of months.  I assure you that I have been very busy with my latest project and it was never my intention to let either of my readers down (hi mom and dad!).  This project, if successful, will revolutionize the ways that I try to make you laugh. 

Now, I've been performing stand up and sketch comedy for several years now.  I've traveled to the farthest reaches of the Midwest, performed in tiny theater festivals, written and performed for (public access) television and submitted non pornographic material to the internet for the whole world to see.  Each step bringing me closer to the goal of getting comedy directly to you, the audience member.  Each step, however, is blocked by the same obstacle.  The conscious mind filtering out the random, nonsensical situations and premises that I present to you.  In a few short months, that obstacle may very well be a thing of the past. 

With my new device, you will be able to watch me perform stand up comedy in your sleep.  All you need to do is slip on the soundproof headphones, tightly fasten the L.E.D. sleep mask, gently position the mouthpiece and strap on the arm and leg restraints.  Before you know it you're smack in the middle of a comedy audience listening to any of my one half hour stand up acts!

That's not all!  I intend to make full use of your nightly two hours of R.E.M. sleep.  Just imagine, you carefully follow the instructions and perform each safety measure before you drift off to dreamland.  You feel like you wake up and there I am next to your bed.  We fly on a dragon to the moon where we rescue television's Sarah Chalke from the evil techno-wizard.  We ride a canoe down a butterscotch waterfall back to earth where I take you to a bar in a small town that has comedy once a week.  Just as you finish watching me open for a comic that was pretty big in the 80's, you look to your left.  Sitting next to you is your dead parent/spouse/mentor (please specify on order form).  He/she looks at you and says "I'm proud of you." 

The prototype should be ready for human testing as soon as we work out a few of the milder side effects like retinal scarring, renal failure and sleep vomiting.

Pre-order yours today! 

(Edit:  New readers might want to check out my autobiography before continuing.)

  I've noticed something while hopping city to city on a tour to promote my new Autobiography "Firebrand:  The Bill Young story".  Almost every Q and A session after the reading starts out with somebody asking about my (former) nemesis, El Toro.   Now, I've had to politely keep quiet during the book tour but I now have the green light to tell all of you that I am currently working on translating and editing El Toro's diary to be released this summer!  Here's a sneak peak for you.  

As I stood before the Iglesia de Nuestra Senora de los Remedios my thoughts drifted back to my grandfather.  When my brother and I were children, he would take us to these ancient places and tell us about them.  He would tell me how the Aztecs built a temple to Quetzalcoatl, then the Spanish came and built a temple to Christ on top of it.  He said that perhaps if we lived long enough, somebody else would come and build a temple to some other god on top of that.  Today I come here to make sure my brother will see tomorrow. 

My cellphone rings.  The number is blocked but I know who is calling.  "I'm at the pyramid."

His tone is cold.  "Good.  Mr. Young should be in the tunnels underneath recovering The Headress of the Feathered Serpent.  I don't need to remind you what will happen to your brother if you don't eliminate the target." 

My fist clenches as I think back to the pictures he sent me.  "If my brother has one scratch on him I will hunt you down, you heartless bastard!  Don't think I haven't figured out your identity  Congressman St-"

"My identity is of no consequence and your brother will remain unharmed as long as you kill Bill Young!  You will receive a call in 24 hours.  Pray you'll have completed the task by then."  He hangs up. 

I enter the temple and think of the congressman's last piece of advice.  Praying is my brother's job.  Killing is all I am good for.

Last Friday I sent out another text message survey.  The question was "How are you honoring the memory of George Washington today, his 276th birthday?"  The responses varied greatly.  Some went the traditional route -

I'm wearing wooden teeth.

I'm using hemp.

Eat a cherry from a tree.

Owning slaves.

Chopping down cherry trees in order to make myself some teeth

Others celebrated in a more contemporary manner -

Spending $ with his picture on it.

Snowboarding.

Drinking beer and listening to deathmetal.  That's how he would do it. 

Some started to show the novelty of the text message poll wearing off already -

Slinging booze, general ass-kickery.  Wait, this is another one of your polls, isn't it? 

Is this a myspace blog question?  We can be friends in real life, too.

The majority of my friends, however, seemed to follow a common theme in their responses -

I'm Watching "George Gashington; Pounder of Our Nation" on VHS

Fucking your mom while wearing a powdered wig!

Jacking off on a pile of 1 dollar bills.  My personal homage to the origin of the phrase "money shot". (5 minutes later) I had to take the day off so I can get in 276 ejaculations in a 24 hour time frame.  Speaking of which - there goes 114. 

I'll be masturbating to his sexy ass on the $1 bill and imagining him demanding to be called my "pounding father". 

Rubbing one out with a powdered wig on. 

Fucking.

Blowing a hobo.

Then it just got really weird. 

Fucking a corpse and cumming all over a memory of someone who doesn't matter anymore.  Like last year. 

You know that cherry tree story?  What I am going to do is rape Bill Young and murder him and then eat parts (of him) to increase my soul.  Then make a suit out of what is left.  When the police ask me if I did it I will say I cannot tell a lie. 

After I told Brody about the responses I had been getting I got one more text message from him - 

Can I change my answer to "jerking off with wooden teeth"? 

So happy (belated) birthday, George Washington! 

Stand up comics of all ages and experience levels will be lining up in front of ACME comedy club next Monday night / Tuesday morning for our yearly kick in the balls as Last Comic Standing holds open auditions for season 7.  I'll be getting in line for two reasons. 

1.  When a chance for national T.V. exposure is happening 10 miles from your house, you take it.  Even if that chance is so very incredibly unbelievably small. 

2.  The open audition line is a fucking freakshow that puts late 19th century traveling carnivals to shame. 

Seriously.  Hamburgers were stolen.  There were nearly fistfights over who was the better "headliner".  The woman in the front of the line had painted-on freckles, fake "Billy Bob" teeth and a live baby chicken down her pants.  I believe she called it the "hillbilly vibrator". 

I will be in the thick of it next week and I will be jotting down every surreal moment I see into a notebook.  After twenty five seconds of stage time in front of Kevin and Meredith from "The Office" for some reason, I will come right back to my (mom's) place and throw down a frenzied, sleep deprived blog for you. 

G-g-g-g-g YYEEEAAAHHH!

At approximately 10:30 this morning I sent out a mass text message that just said "Say something!".  Here are all the responses in the order they were received. 

BEN D:  Huh?

ERNEST:  Huh? 

JIMMY D:  You complete me! 

ERIK A:  Fred Savage? 

KEN R:  Why?  Did I miss something? 

ISAAC:  Par-tee!

MARISSA:  POOP!

JIMMY D (again):  You had me at hello. 

KEN R (again):  you are upset about Heath Ledger, is that it?

MITCH:  Soft fart.

SCOTT H:  Who is this

YANKE:  Uhh...about heath ledger and what it means for batman i assume?

NERESON:  Something.

NERESON (again):  What the hell does that mean? 

AMBER:  I don't get it?

DIANA:  Blah!

TIM H:  Abort

LIZZY:  Anything!

TOMMY R:  Hey

JOSH:  Do what now?

BRODY:  What?

KJELL:  What is this in reference to sir

T-MOBILE:  Your T-Mobile bill is past due.  To avoid service interruption, please make a payment by blah blah...

TOMMY T:  Ummm who are you?

TOMMY T (after calling and getting my voicemail): Sorry dude i didn't have your number in my phone

ERIC N:  I want u!  Going 2 grumps?

JESS:  I'll miss you, me.

WAYNE:  Did i call you with my pocket?

PATRICK (via voicemail):  Something.

BEN W:  Nobody likes you

CATE (via myspace message):  say something?  what?  i can't send text messages right now 'cause the facists at tmobile are mad at me for not paying my bill.  so what's up?

HANNAH:  Something.

I think I may just start mass messaging people every month.  Reading random text messages beats the hell out of working.