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THE SCALESMAN



Last Updated: 11/19/2009

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Status: Single
City: SAN FRANCISCO
State: CALIFORNIA
Country: US
Signup Date: 5/26/2006

Blog Archive
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Sunday, November 15, 2009 

Current mood:  crunk

Well first of all I’d like to say this was a jacked up movie to send me to. Noname you know my family raised goats! I told you that in confidence when we got drunk the other night! Now you use that information I gave you while I was crying?

And you send me to a movie called the men who stare at goats?! Listen Noname! When men stared at my Goat? I didn’t like it!

One time I saw some men staring at my goat? Later, I couldn’t find her!

I had to follow the pellets to a hotel room.

When I kicked in the door I saw her up on the bed surrounded by a bunch of Japanese business men in diapers.

You knew that Noname! Listeners get on my side against this story exploiter! He sends me to this movie knowing my history and I’m like if “I swear I see a goat on a bed!  I’m coming back here with a knife!”

Thank god it was just George Clooney which is still a slap in the face but at least I’m not watching bestial-cinema.

And I gotta say this movie sucked worse than Paris Hilton in her only “sort of watchable movie.” What was it called “One night in Paris.”?

Ok so this stupid stupid movie is about the government trying to use psychics to fight a war. Stupid. The only thing stupider than the us military is psychics Ok? The Hollywood movie studios, geniuses that they are said “Hey let’s blend  two crappy things psychics and the military and see if we have a reeses peanut butter cup situation.” Wrong! Wrong!

Basically this horrible movie is two long hours of Eeeeeewan Mc Gregor and George Clooney cruising through some desert almost getting killed every couple miles. Stupid! You’d think psychics could avoid situations like this right? I’m not even psychic and I avoid dying almost every day.

And I’m not gonna say it was a bareback moutainesque sort of thing but George Clooney has a huge mustache… Ok? It looks like a Turkish camels yamsack sought refuge on his upper lip.

Like I don’t get harrassed enough on the castro muni train. Now gays are gonna’ see George in that fat stache and be like “Hey looks like all the straight boys are getting bi-curious.”

And what’s up with all these comedy war movies these days? We’re in two wars working on a third with Iran. I don’t know if this is the time to be like “hey look it’s a charred Iraqi baby. Hardy har har.”

 Why do I have to tell George Clooney this? He thinks just because he builds orphanages in Darfur he can just be a tool the rest of the time?

This movie is terrible. Worse than Gigli. And I ain’t talkin’ about the gigli in Katy’s shirt. You got my check Katy? Or how about you just flash me those elegant milk buckets and well call it even?

She did just flash me her milk buckets guys. Does that mean I don’t get the 20 bucks and free buffalo wing coupons?  

Looks like my security escort is here. Come see me headline the purple onion Thursday November  the 19th, 8 PM At 140 Columbus Avenue in North Beach. Or facebook Justin Scales San Francisco. I’ll get you a live 105 discount.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009 

 You don’t see any homeless people in Tokyo. You could be there 8 days in a row and finally see a homeless guy and they’ll be like “No man it’s a 500 hundred year old samurai. He lives in a Castle.”

San Francisco you gotta crowd surf homeless people to get on the civic center bart.  

Tokyo? Helpful Samurai who gives exellent directions. And opens coconuts for free to the kiddies.

Why are we not adopting the Tokyo system? Don’t get me wrong I don’t hate the homeless or our mayor I’d just like to take a moment here and shoot some straight dope that’s all. Remove the smoke and mirrors. Let’s face it Gavin is angling for the presidency of the united states eventually, and I want to call him on a bluff of his before he heads off out of the reach of my rants.

I want to call him on the bluff that he really cares that much about homeless people.  

The Care not cash charade is costing the taxpayers too much money. Tokyo has a program called Hari Kari not cashy washy.

Not very ethical I must admit, but… kind of effective. Can we design a program not so harsh but not as expensive either?

How about roast beef sandwiches not cash.

How about drug treatment not cash?

How about bus tickets to George Bushes Ranch not cash?

If you care about homeless people Gavin? Make out with one.

I have. I went out with a girl named Jenny. She always had grease in her knuckle creases but she looked good in a certain light. Usually with the light off.

Don’t get me wrong , for all I know that knuckle crease grease came from running her hands through Gavin Newsome’s hair.

Let’s see that as your next photo op. Make out with my homeless friend Jenny on camera.

Otherwise I’ll run against you Gavin.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009 

The toughest thing about being an edgy comic in San Francisco is half the people that come to shows belong to some marginalized group and they’re there to make sure you don’t joke about them in their haven of tranquility, their protected reserve, their “No alpha male” zone.  They come not so much to laugh but to go aaaaaawwwwww.

 San Francisco is for lovers, it’s for the oppressed, It’s for the overweight bisexual muslims who were persecuted by the kurds and the wheys.

The formerly bullied computer programmers who now pay squads of hired thugs to beat up their high school antagonists.

Beta Males are allowed to live in San Francisco but only with gps bracelets on their ankles. You never know when they might try to go alpha.

Don’t make fun of mops because the heroin junky Eskimo with a dog that had leukemia has a mop handle for a leg.

When I approach a microphone in one of the more sensitive crowds in San Francisco?

It’s like they bristle up before I say a word.” It’s the man.”

Sometimes they heckle.

Instead of engaging them in witty ramperbant I have a unique strategy for dealing with hecklers.  I choke them with mike cord. I’ve only gotten one clever response to that one. A purple face.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009 

Burning man ended last week. I think burning man is ok but some of the participants act like they invented welding a pirate ship on wheels combined with large amounts of designer drugs. Where were you in summer of 89 the summer after I dropped out of high school. I welded like 8 pirate ships high as hell. The pirate ships were being built in my mind… but don’t act like your so innovative burners!

And another thing , don’t act like you’re the Gucci first class of raging. You go out in  the desert, do a bunch of drugs in the dirt and have sex. You’re hippies.

 I don’t care how big your art car is. You’re a hippy. Which is fine. There’s nothing wrong with being a hippy. I lived in a tee-pee for several years. Just be who you are Burning man people. We’ll still like you. Just admit you’re hippies.

Mad max hippies. Can we settle on mad max hippies?

All I’m trying to say is playa dust is just Jerry Garcia hugging you closer. Hug him back burners. Hug him back.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009 

Gavin Newsome is gonna run for governor of California and I think he’s gonna’ win. He’s is a professional actor.  I seen him on market street with two photographers. This was around the time he was doing his care not cash program where homeless people all got a free house instead of wino money from general relief. I was right across the street on 7th and market and I saw them. Old Gavin sees this homeless guy that had dimples right and he shsshhes his photographers, as if the homeless guy would take off like a scared gazelle?

This was gonna’ be the photo to launch him into showbiz. Go ahead and adopt every kid in Somalia Angelina but first you might want to look at this old guys dimples. Read ‘em and weep angie.

How can Gavin lose? Arnold’s an actor? Ronald Reagan was an actor. Gavin was acting when he was in that picture I saw them snap on market with the old dimpled guy. He was acting like he cared.

Oh give me a break. I’m two steps from homelessness myself and I don’t care that much. The kids who came to Gavin’s childhood birthdays had names like Getty. He doesn’t care.

And look at Gavin’s hair? He’s taking the actor turned California governor routine and reversing it. He starting with politics and going showbiz after. Touche Gavin. Touche.

Oh he’s acting already too. A good rule to life is the more grease someone has in their hair, the more they’re pretending to be someone they’re not.

And let’s just say Gavin Newsome has so much oil in his hair I thought he was wearing a kangol hat but I squinted and it was a cracked open oil tanker.

There was like pelicans flopping around drowning in the glop. Caw caw.

And you know what Gavin Newsome’s Care Not Cash program got us?  when the rest of the country heard we were giving out medical dental and a place to sleep? (look up) The mayors of poor cities started loading up busses of their homeless people and shipping them to san francisco. The mayor of Dayton Ohio actually drove the homeless bus from his city and he now  lives in a shelter down the street from my house.  “Three hots and a cot baby, quit your job and move to san Francisco.”

Sunday, June 14, 2009 
Pharmaceuticals got a few things right: Aspirin, LSD. Believe me LSD does have it’s place and time; what doesn’t have a place and time is putting a kid on riddlin' for being a little bit bouncey. Riddlin' is thinly disguised speed and every pre-teen you know is one bad report card away from a prescription for it. Personally, I remember that as being one of the magical qualities of my childhood, Bouncing around. But don’t bounce around in Ms. Johnson’s class!! She already has half the kids on Aderall and now she’s looking over at me because my pencil dropped and showed a bouncy quality. Who’s bouncin’ in here. I think the pharmaceutical companies scout for teachers in high schools with late night calls.
“Ms. Johnson?”
“Don?”
“No, it’s Pfizer. You hate them don’t you? Those little bratty brats with their bouncy boobies, and their justified hope that only youth seems to guarantee? You hate them don’t you Ms. Johnson? They are the opposite of you. Wouldn’t you like to just smash the youth out of them like your tryin’ to squeeze that last bit of toothpaste? Just fuckin’ pounce onto their chests and suck the youth from their last breaths as your satanic knee caps cave in their chests?!!” Wwhrrrrrrrrssssssssssshhhhhhhhh!"
Ms. Johnson gets excited for the first time since 1946.“Yes!! Yes! Mr. Pfizer your name is?! If you only knew how many times I’ve repeated those same words! Over and over between the eons between each tic or toc! Please, if you are a telemarketer I want rush shipping!!! What are you selling? Please Mr. Pfizer! Please tell me how to turn them into stepford children who can just do the shit out of fractions! Can it be done Mr. Dow?”
“Oh, it can be Done Ms. Johnson. How many can you bring us?”
“All of them.”
I know every home room doesn’t have a Ms. Johnson but all it takes is one or two per school. Workin' for Mr. Pfizer. 10 percent of the school doesn't have such severe ADD that they need a speed like pill that makes you be able to concentrate on uninteresting. because having a truly educational curriculum and teachers that don't talk like robots would be way less reasonable approach.
These Pharmaceutical guys are bad man. They send entrees back to the kitchen for the hell of it. Everybody on earth is inferior to them so you better get hoppin’!  Whoever makes the first waiter cry gets a bonus! I remember when I worked at one of the fanciest restaurants in town and the place was teeming with them at the convention. Johhny Walker blue label! Caviar parfaits! Dom!
They wouldn’t even look at you in the face when they asked you for something, it would have stained their view. it usually wasn’t my table so I never brought them shit. What are you gonna’ do, say it was the blurry guy in the white shirt? I was a bus boy so I anonamously plied  the tables for information.
You could tell who the boss was at each table, and there could only be one boss at a table, the rest kicked each other beneath the cloth, looking at the current speaker but darting their eyes for a mili-second towards the bog dog to gauge his reaction. Any room where there is money being spread around is like this. They dart their eyes to the big dog to gauge his reactions to things others are saying.
That speaker desperately trying to appear powerful to anybody who might be higher on the food chain. And forbidding to anyone below. It all evolves into a contest for who can literally become the largest douche nozzle at the table.
“I’m having a whole Fois Gras with truffles crammed inside of it and  served to me in a dead white tigers mouth.”
I’m having a glass of wine paired with each course on the tasting menu! It ends with ice cream made of solid gold! I’M GONNA’ EAT GOLD!!!
“Bring me the 200 dollar shot of tequila they serve you in Montezuma’s actual skull!!!”
Confetti falls from the ceiling. The biggest pharmaceutical douche gets his award. A lifetime supply of little dogs darting their eyes at him all the time. An expensive realization that even high price hookers will give you herpes.
I watched dreams get broken and made in the money maddened sweep of a round buying arm. One of the new girls angling for a partner position after her second year pops a blouse button and giggles, telling the big dog how wise that last speech was about the “intellect being a sometimes chaotic electrical charge that needs to be filtered through a calming processor.” being the industry mission statement for generations to come. Followed by a giggle to throw off that she was smart enough to follow it. Giggle.
“I’m off to the lady’s room to get ready for the night.” (hint to the big dog)
These corporate a-holes will do anything for money. They are no better than thugs and punks. Worse. The punk may have been pushed to speed addiction through his early prescriptions of adderal. A speedlike drug in itself, every year given to thousands of kids to pay attention better.
I could have dosed the whole board of Pfizer with LSD if I'd had a vial. but here I was, not a hippy on my speed dial.
My nephew said sit and spin fella’s. sit and spin.
Sunday, December 30, 2007 

Current mood:  aggravated
Misfits and outcasts Rule! The broken heartedness, the alcoholism. People are at their most beautiful and honest when they're sad, defiant against the happy but stupid conformists. Raging in their hopeless melancholy. Content to just rip apart some of the system by depressing it in the subway, the happy ones forced for two stops to sit in their rapeful, hating gaze.

I like miscreants who steal my CD's, but only the shitty ones. They know I'm only half happy and less than that, a conformist, but still too close to one to be left totally un-dampened. They would never take my Nine-inch nails, or my Corrosion of conformity. They take shit like Van Hagar. Really they're helping me, aren't they? They know that once I was one of them and depending how my next few poker games of life play out I could be one of them again.

I do know this. If a depressed open-miker ever goes into the brainwash and blows everybody away I know he won't shoot me. I speak to that demographic, but not how you think. If anything, I kept him from doing it for a little while. You'd know that if you listened to my words instead of whispering to people in the back when I'm onstage. "Did you hear about the time he pulled his dick out on stage?" Why do you reference that instance? Do you want to… suck my dick? Do ya?
Saturday, August 18, 2007 
$Technology hates me. I books can smell confusion and they pounce. This isn't a new thing either. Before laptops I had problems with electric doors and dryers.

It all hates me.

If you're secretely taping this set hoping I go Kramer? Your video camera probably just died.

It's all because the tee-pee I grew up in didn't have any plug in outlets. Somehow the machines know I used to shun them. That's true I did live in a tee-pee for a while as a kid and we had a sheep. A sheep that had a guinea pig living on it's back.

And the guineau pig had a sorcerer hat my mom had sewed for it.

And even though the tee-pee is in my past I've always tried to hold the ideals of the tee-pee. To tread as lightly as we can on mother earth. To live as natural as we can. And to respect the sorcerer hatted guinea pig.

I fought the good fight for many years folks but they make it too hard. And when you do try to join the information superhighway for the first time at age 28? technology looks at you like a the doorman at the viper room looks at a group of guys with crooked baseball hats and no chicks.

Back of the line freaks.

That's what you are if you have trouble returning text messages or working an x-box controller. A freak.

My little nephew doesn't understand that I could whoop his ass at pac man.

It's always "I beat uncle Justin at mortal combat. Watch Uncle Justin I'm gonna' rub your head in my butt."

Fuck you Da-Da. In 84 I speared your mom's favorite dolly.

X-boxes can have accidents too da-da. Oh yeah. Go ask Ma about the wrath of uncle Justy.

So obviously I have issues with modern tools and distractions people, I'll admit it. But who here hasn't told a little kid to go fuck himself?

Blame the x-box. I long for the days when if you had a cell phone you were different. Back then I took pride that I lived almost totally off the grid. Unfortunately the sad truth is: If you want to make an imprint in this world? You better learn to digitize your toes.

Because when there's only one footprint in the sand? That's when God learned how to e-mail.

I got wired up folks. Society has made me its bitch.

Now, I'm all stressed out when I can't call Jenny because her number lives in my cell phone that just died.

I'm trippin' 'cause my web site guy is too stoned to click or drag.

The ghost of my old sheep taunts me in my dreams people. He's like "Bu-u-u-u-ullshit."

He thinks I sold out on the tee-pee you guys. Have you ever woken up and seen a ghost sheep floating over you sir? The fluffiness is horrifying.

Guinea pig casting little spells on you.

It's just proof that I still belong in the tee-pee you guys. All the white mans tools are working against me.

And yet Jenny won't respond to smoke signals.

Society has regulated that she only responds to e-mails with a subject line that says "Totally raging party, bitches!"

It's tough bein' the goat ladies son people. You think it's tough for whiggers? Try bein' the worlds only whindian.

I'm torn between a life of fresh night air and farm animals or electricity and vagina.

I decided after much agonized internal arguing, that I have to go with the side that has vagina on it.

Jenny? If I can figure out how to access myspace I'll put a retarded picture in your comment box. You know? To prove that I'm modern and evolved. Pooping in holes is all behind me Jenny. I promise this time.
Sunday, August 05, 2007 
As a comedian I do about 2 hell gigs a week. Places you just can't win. Bars where even meth heads won't go. When a bar is about to go out of business, they say as a last ditch effort "Let's try comedy night."

That's when we come in.

Russian Immigrant owners propping their dirty children up on the bar as you perform… pointing at them as if to say "Why don't they laugh? My gorby he wants potato."

Why don't they laugh? Cause they wouldn't be here unless tragedy always loomed. Have you looked at this neihborhood? I'm a comedian lady, not a broken dream defibrilator.

So this last hell gig I was going down to a comedy show at a hick bar and my friend who I got a spot in the show was black. Since he was the one with the car I didn't really tell him till we got there that we were walking into a hatfield and mc coy situation.

A real Larry the cable guy type of audience. "Is he sayin'... stuff?"

I laughed in his face when I told him about it too. See he'd brought me to this show in Oakland last week and now it was payback time. You got any jokes about fiddles bitch?

Imagine my surprise when I found out it was a redneck-whigger bar.

I shit you not people this is what mtv's done to us. We now have redneck whiggers.

Thse kids had on trucker hats but they were crooked, and slim jims that they just kind of left there like meat flavored blunts.

I think one of them had like a tattoo of a moonshine bottle that had the words "Jug life."

Were so out of new ideas we have to mix old stuff and call it new stuff? I ain't buying it Mtv and nbc. I get it men are stupid and dopey and women are quick witted and brilliant. Oh but wait this time the wife is also an alien. Wow NBC. Thanks for keeping it fresh.

I'm drawing the line Media and this IS your fault. These kids mimick the shit you feed them because if they don't they won't be able to get laid at their high school. I had to be a new waver for a chick. Hairsprayed hair all straight up on one side. Depeche mode forever magic markered on my hand. Whats new wave exept a blend of two old tricks itself. Science fiction and gayness.

That's right I was gay for a chick. That's almost as paradoxical as redneck whiggers.

You can't just mix that people. It's like making mega death cover a Kenny G song.

It jacks up the space time continuum.

First kid rock? now k-fed? No!

I'm not kiddin' these kids in san jose aren't fucking around ok?

So Greg goes up and just destroys because they'd never had a black person try to charm them before, not an urban thuggish looking one like greg, like he might try to either sell you an underweighed bag of weed or just blast your fuckin' ass. You know with the gun held sideways?


The thrill of almost dying in their imaginations made them laugh their asses off. In between shouts of "That's my dawg, dawg."

I think that's why some white dudes always get excited around black people, Like, wow, if this was a tv show you would have shot me by now. Can't you just smell the murder on him? I could just reach out and knuckle bump him.

Thanks for not bustin' a cap in my ass, brother. In exchange I'll kiss your ass and talk to you in outdated ebonics. Can you feel me dawg?

So anyway Greg just kills and the guys crip walk up to him after and they want to go outside and smoke so greg looks right at me and says "ok, guys lets go outside and smoke" And he walks out with more than half the room and I'm left with some toothless old lady that had tourettes syndrome.

And a german bartender who laughed like this "hahahah"

tourettes lady yelling show us your dick after every punchline.

Who would have planned on red neck whiggers? I swear this story happened at the blue max in Sunnyvale.

I walk outside after my worst set in like hours. And there they are chewing tobacco. Menthol, of course.

Kissing gregs ass like "Maybe we can suck some ghetto out of his dick."

Needless to say, Greg was in a pretty good mood on the long drive home.
Fuck you k-fed. If redneck whiggers start being a scene?

I'm coming to you. If you thought you had problems when britneys hair started falling out from the schitzophrenia? Wait till I'm in your room mumbling gibberish at 4 am.

I ain't here to fuck K-fed. I ain't here to fuck.