'Tis, I think, another not funny day. Everybody has them. It just somehow seems more dire when one is a comedian.

But this is not a copout. Just to show you that I have been TRYING to write funny things, I shall post the beginnings of things that I attempted to turn into funny jokes...but they never got there.

It's like in math class, where sometimes you get credit partial credit just for "showing your work." Here is my work. Give me partial credit, please.

1) I think I am the MacGyver of cooking. Give me some flour, a protein bar, and some salad dressing, and I'll make you a quiche....

2) I recently found that, when I take allergy medicine, the world gets just a little more fun. I feel like I'm floating and I laugh for hours at words like "bunny fur."

3) Pot holders aren't even used to hold pots. Most pots have those 'don't get hot' handles. I guess they should be pan holders. Or cookie sheet holders.

4) I look young. But not like "What a hot 19 year old!" kind of young. More like, "Sweetie, is your mom home?" kind of young.

"She'd be great for the part of the 12 year old" kind of young.

Or "Can I see your ID to use the internet at the library without your parents permission?" kind of young.

Sometimes, with partial credit, you could pass the test without getting ANY of the answers right. Be generous.

Incidentally, battered shrimp and battered women are two entirely different things.

No matter what anyone tells you.

The bad new is, just as I was getting ready to go onstage at the Boston Comedy Club tonight, I was bumped for another comedian.

The good news is that other comedian was Dave Chapelle.

Yay.

I just read that they're training dogs to detect bladder cancer in humans by smelling their urine.

Now, I don't think this is such a big breakthrough for the MEDICAL industry. After all, they have machines that can detect bladder cancer too, I suspect.

But I think this is a huge breakthrough for the DOGS.

Because now dogs have an excuse to smell people's crotches.

Isn't that all they ever really wanted?

And if people get mad at them, they can just be like, "Hey, I'm just doing my part for MEDICAL SCIENCE. "

(This last part of the joke is, I suppose, dependent on dogs talking. Which mostly they don't. But I will not let that stop me. If I have to train dogs to talk to make this joke funny, by golly I'll do it.)

On the off chance you just discovered you have nothing to do tonight...come to see an exciting comedy extravaganza!


Tonight--September 24th
8pm
Sole Luna
160 Marble Avenue
Pleasantville, New York

This entry is the first in a series of entries I intend to write, entitled "PEOPLE I HATE."

My first entry is dedicated to a young man I encountered while taking the LSAT (back in the days when I actually intended to go to law school.) We'll call him Fourteen-Pencil-Boy.

On the morning of the LSAT, I arrived wearing strawberry shortcake pajamas and carrying two pencils.

In contrast, at the front of the line was a young man wearing a three-piece suit and carrying no less than (you guessed it) fourteen pencils.

This, unto itself, probably would not put him on the "PEOPLE I HATE" list (though it would be close.) After all, one can only assume that someone had wrongly indicated to him that they take pictures at the LSAT and that only the best dressed test takers would be admitted to law school (of course, he clearly interpreted "best dressed" to mean "most like a giant idiot.") But no, dear reader, there was more.

You see, some poor, innocent girl had forgotten to bring a pencil to the test (and by "poor, innocent," clearly I mean "stupid.") And the test proctor asked if anyone would be willing to let this poor, innocent (stupid) girl borrow a pencil.

WE NOW INTERRUPT YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG ENTRY, FOR A MULTIPLE CHOICE TEST:

1) A young (stupid) girl forgets a pencil for her LSAT. Who lets her borrow one? Is it.....

a) Fourteen-Pencil-Boy: A boy with no less than THIRTEEN spare pencils.

or

b) Jill Jessica Twiss: A lovely girl with precisely ONE spare pencil.

WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG ENTRY.

That's right, boys and girls, the answer is "b." Thusly, I declare:

I HATE YOU, FOURTEEN-PENCIL-BOY. AND I BET YOU'RE A TERRIBLE LAWYER. AND IT WAS AN UGLY THREE-PIECE-SUIT ANYWAY.

Stay tuned for the next episode of "PEOPLE I HATE." Have a nice day.

I feel that I may be regressing back into childhood.

You see, a few days ago I did something that I have not done in at least twenty years. Maybe longer.

I put my shoes on the wrong feet.

I did. Really.

And the feeling was so strange, so completely foreign, that it took me a full two minutes of walking around to figure out what was wrong.

If this regression continues, it could be a very exciting couple of months. Will I suddenly long to spend hours watching "You Can't Do That On Television"? (You can. They did.) Will I begin to organize parties with games where the loser has to drink someone's uncle's hair tonic? Will I insist on calling my seven closest friends every time I kiss a boy? (OK, I still do that.)

Incidentally, on the very same day I put my shoes on the wrong feet, I also attempted to put both of my contacts in one eye. So it's entirely possible that I'm not regressing into childhood at all and, instead, I'm just becoming retarded.

Either way.

For those of you that were going to come to my shows Friday or Saturday, you shouldn't. For there will be no shows. And you will just end up sitting alone in a comedy club. Which could be fun in its own right, but not when one is anticipating that people will come up onstage and tell you jokes but no one ever does.

Somebody got in a fight with somebody (neither of these somebodies being me) and now there are no more comedy shows there.

Sigh.....

Additionally, I did a comedy show for an audience of two (yes two) people tonight. Which is also a little yucky. So frankly, I'm a little bit sad and grumpy.

So if you happened, whilst reading this blog, to have something nice to say to me....well, I think I would like it very much if you said it. Then I think I shall feel much better. Yes I do.

My shows this week:

Monday, Sept. 20th (today)
Boston Comedy Club
82 W. 3rd Street (btw. Thompson and Sullivan)
9:30pm show
$7 cover ($5 with student ID), 1 drink minimum

Friday, Sept. 24th
Sam's
45th Street, btw. 8th and Broadway
8pm and 10pm
$7 cover, $10 food or drink minimum

Sat., Sept. 25th
Sam's
45th Street, btw. 8th and Broadway
12am (I guess this is, technically, Sunday morning, but you get it.)
$7 cover, $10 food or drink minimum

Come see me. Rumor has it I'm the funniest person ever.

(Anyone willing to start that rumor, please contact me immediately)

OH, and I usually only promote my own shows on here. But this is a show with a great lineup for a GREAT cause:

Sept. 21st (tomorrow night)
Gotham Comedy Club
34 W. 22nd Street (btw. 6th and 7th ave.)
8:30pm (get there at 8pm for seating)
$10 cover, 2 drink minimum

Proceeds go to AIDS treatment. A good cause if ever there was one. And there was.

My friend is having a baby soon. Which is exciting I think because, although I definitely know where babies come from, I'm still not entirely sure I believe it.

Anyway, said friend is having a dilemma as to whether or not to find out the baby's gender before it's born.

On one hand, she doesn't want to know. She wants it to be a "surprise".

On the other hand (to quote her,) "What if I buy all PINK things for the baby, and then it turns out to be a BOY? Then everyone will think he's a GIRL."

Easy to deal with, I think.

When people come up and say, "Oh, what a cute little girl" (or "Oh, what an ugly little girl," depending, of course, upon the attractiveness of the child in question), she will simply reply:

"It's actually not a girl. It's a boy. He's just gay."

Problem solved.

When I was seven years old my neighbor, an eighth grader named Zip (really) decided to teach me to play chess. Every day he would teach me about a new kind of chess piece and how it could move on the board. The point being, I suppose, that eventually I would learn what all the pieces did and we could play chess together, since Zip didn't seem to have any eighth grade friends of his own and chose, rather, to hang out with me.

The problem was, although every day I learned what a new chess piece did....well, similarly, every day I forgot what all the old pieces did. Thus no chess playing ever ensued.

This isn't a funny story at all, but i feel that somehow it is a metaphor for my life.

And it's 4:30am. No one should have to be funny at 4:30am.

If Zip happens to be reading this, I hope he has friends now. And I still haven't learned to play chess.

AND as much as I want to delete this, I'm leaving it. As a reminder to me as to why it is a bad idea to attempt to post at 4:30am.

If you sort of want to punch me in the nose right now, I'll understand.

So much writing, so little time. I'll be done with the sitcom script by Saturday and then I can devote ALL my attention to you, my lovely readers.

At least until someone cuter comes along.

But tonight, something from the archives again.....

People are always pleading the Fifth Ammendment in court.

I think it would be neat if someone started pleading the other ammendments so they don't feel left out. You know, like, "Your Honor, I plead the Second. Because, frankly, I'm sick of quartering all those soldiers."

Still working frantically....

For you, dear reader, this is from the archives:

I got a beta fish the other day. I named him VHS.

You know, so the other fish wouldn't think he was useless and obselete.

On a scale of "ONE" to "REALLY GROUCHY", I'm really grouchy tonight.

I recently noticed an interesting phenomenon.

I actually get hit on more when I look crappy than when I look good.

Men being the visual creatures they are, this makes no sense.

But fear not, I have a theory.

I think guys divide women into three categories, "hot," "mediocre," and "ewwww" (or, in guy terms, "girls I'd have sex with," "girls I'd have sex with," and "girls I'd have sex with.") Now when I'm all dressed up and pretty, I might, for example, be at the lower end of "hot." Cute, but not accident-causingly gorgeous. Whereas when I'm looking my worst, I might be somewhere near the upper end of "mediocre."

The guys decide which category of woman they think they can get and, in turn, aim as high as they can in that category. Thus when I'm at the top of "mediocre," any man who thinks he is in the mediocre range will hit on me. Whereas at the bottom of "hot?" It's far less likely, for guys that think they can get "hot" will aim for the very top of "hot." The "hottest", if you will.

I think it's like tax brackets. Sometimes you move up to the bottom of the next tax bracket, and you actually end up with less money than when you started.

Yes.

Yes, I am a bad bad person for not writing for so many days.

Yes, I have let millions upon millions of people down.

Yes, if little children's lives depended on my writing in my blog, they would have died horrible and painful deaths.

But if it's any consolation, I've been working on this:

http://www.bravotv.com/Situation:_Comedy/About_the_Show.shtml

And I shall write more soon. Really and truly.

For we have to save the children.

I have a meeting tomorrow. And when I asked what I should wear to said meeting, I was told to "dress smartly."

Dress smartly?

I can only assume that means more than just remembering that underwear goes on before pants.

Perhaps it means I should wear a pocket protector and thick glasses. And maybe carry an abacus. That's dressing smartly.

But I don't have a pocket protector. In fact, I'm not precisely sure what a pocket protector IS. Or what exactly we're protecting our pockets against. I suppose that, if we have pocket protectors, then there must be a vast array of pocket attackers. In which case I think we should just FIND and CATCH the pocket attackers rather than creating this elaborate protective system. Let's not reinvent the wheel here. Maybe I should wear my underwear outside of my pants, just to distract everyone from the attacks going on in my unprotected pockets.

Sigh....

Maybe I shouldn't go to meetings anymore. I can't handle the pressure.

Anyone know where I can pick up an abacus?