#1 Most Popular Word Yelled Out By An Audience Member During My Comedy Set Tonight:

"FIBERGLASS!"

Ok, really it was just yelled out once. By one person.

But it didn't have anything to do with the joke.

I wonder, is there a form of Turets where one just yells out various kinds of insulation? Because I think he has that.

Today I thought to myself, "How come none of my blog readers ever come to my shows?"

And then I thought, "Perhaps it's because I always forget to tell them about my shows. And it's unfair to ask them to just hang out at comedy clubs constantly hoping that I might someday do a show there. Although that would be a nice gesture of solidarity."

And THEN I thought, "Or because half of them are from England."

So I shall solve the first problem and tell you now when some of my upcoming shows are. As for the second problem? I hear that swimming across the ocean is both a cheap method of travel and excellent exercise. Just a thought.

Wednesday, March 30th
New York Comedy Club
241 E. 24th Street, btw. 2nd and 3rd Ave.
9pm show
$8 cover, 2 drink minimum
(but I have free tickets if you tell me you're coming)

Thursday, March 31st
7:15pm (I perform at 7:30)
169 Bar
169 East Broadway
It's a benefit for a no-kill animal shelter
$5 cover (and it all goes to the shelter)

Monday, April 4th
8:30pm
Brooklyn Comedy Company
769 Washington Avenue
Brooklyn, NY
No cover, no drink minimum
GREAT lineup

Wednesday, April 6th
9pm show
New York Comedy Club
241 E. 24th Street
$10 cover, 2 drink minimum
(this is for an agent I'm stalking, so I'd love a supportive crowd here)

Come to any or all of these shows.

I will.

I have a brilliant idea for an Olympic event.

It would be the combination High Jump/Limbo.

See, that way everybody could win.

I'm editing scripts galore tonight.

So I shall leave you something from the archives.

I teach classes in an after school program once a week.

On Mondays the first and second graders have a choice: They can either take Junior Cheerleading or Computer Programming.

I guess that was the school's way of saying, "Why wait till Junior High? Let's separate the dorks from the cool kids here and now. "

Here's how I envision the class schedule for the rest of the week:

Tuesday: A choice between Junior Football and Chess

Wednesday: A choice between Weight-Lifting and Getting Shut in Your Locker

Thursday: A choice between Organizing Your Social Calendar and Sitting at Home, Alone, In Your Star Trek Pajamas

Friday: A choice between Getting Elected Homecoming Queen and How to Disguise Your Brother as Your Prom Date

Teach them early, I tell you.

I just read that the average video game player is in his late 20s.

After some research, I discovered that the average porn viewer is also in his late 20s.

Given these facts, I think it's no less than a publishable miracle that any man under 35 makes it to work ever.

ODE TO POCKETS

I was just thinkin' today how much I like pockets.

I like my pockets AND other people's pockets.

Sometimes I put my hands in other people's pockets. That's how much I like pockets.

'Course then people think I'm trying to steal their stuff. But I'm just trying to share their pockets.

'Cause I like pockets.

I wonder who invented pockets? And before that, where did people keep their gum?

I like pockets better than gloves OR mittens. You could say I'm a Pocket-ist.

That is all I have to say about pockets tonight.

Thank you.

I went to an open mic tonight.

For those of you that have never been to an open mic (because you, unlike me, realized that stabbing yourself in the eye repeatedly with a pen is a much faster way of achieving the same result,) I shall explain what, precisely, an open mic is.

An open mic is an event where any "comedian" can get up and tell "jokes."

By "comedian," I mean "person who can belch on cue."

By "jokes," I mean "comments about the female anatomy."

So if you're looking for something to do in lieu of your next root canal, I highly recommend attending a comedy open mic.

I'll see you there. I'll be the one belching.

ONE MORE TOM SWIFTY FOR THE ROAD:

"It was just a slumber party," Michael Jackson said touchingly.

For those of you that have been following my blog, I just wanted to give you an update.

My student who was missing has, apparently, been found.

I'll find out the details tomorrow, but I do know that she's safe.

So a quick thank you to everyone who was looking for her, posting her picture on their blogs, etc. Thank you thank you thank you.

And tomorrow I'm back writing real-life pseudo-comedy.

This week I'm blogsitting for JonnyB.

So you should go to his website and catch up on anything brilliant I might have said. And then you should read the archives, so as to read all the brilliant things HE said.

Then take a bath and relax from all that reading.

http://www.jonnybillericay.blogspot.com/

That's all.

When I was in high school, I was an intern in the United States Congress.

No, not that kind of intern.

The boring kind. The kind that types things and runs errands and "takes a note" and other such marvels.

In any case, the particular summer I was interning, was the summer of the Whitewater Hearings.

Now if you don't remember exactly what the Whitewater Hearings were, I am here to help you. Because I am an expert in such things as history. Also Cheetos.

The Whitewater Hearings were when somebody was accusing Bill Clinton of something or other. And then Bill Clinton was vehemently denying that exact very same thing.

See, it's good that I could clear that up for you.

But now that I've gotten through all that vital historical data, I shall share the part that's important to the story:

The Whitewater Hearings were occurring in the very same building where I was to be interning my little 16-year-old heart out.

Great Scott, you say, how could this be?

And my very first day as an Intern-Extraordinaire was also, coincidentally, the first day that President Clinton, himself, would be testifying in the hearings.

And the time I was scheduled to arrive was also, coincidentally, the precise time that President Clinton was scheduled to arrive.

And the door I used to enter the building was also, coincidentally, the very door that President Clinton was scheduled to enter the building.

Yes, I believe that you can see where this is going.

I entered the building in my mission to become the best intern this side of the Mississippi at the precise time that everyone thought that President Clinton would be entering the building.

Which means that, in my first moment of my first day as an intern on Capitol Hill, I was rushed by approximately one-hundred-sixty-three reporters toting an equal number of cameras and microphones.

What did I do? How did this Almost-Intern handle the pressure?

I did what any self-respecting Congressional Staffer would do.

I looked at the reporters, and the cameras, and the microphones, and then I said....

"I'm sorry, I have no comment."

And then I went on with my first day.

I miss Frogger.

Remember Frogger? The harrowing video game in which a Frog-On-A-Mission tries diligently to cross the street in what is clearly dangerous rush-hour traffic.

Sigh....

I always felt bad for that poor little frog.

"What's a nice frog like you doin' in a place like this?" I always wanted to say.

"Can't you just find a nice lily pad and settle down?"

"And why, for the love of God, can't you find what you need on your own side of the street?"

I mean, I often enjoy walking to the Chinese restaurant down the street from my house. But I assure you, if the journey involved traipsing through the minefield, I would buy a wok.

"Once you get there, you know you'll just want to come back."

But no, he would diligently continue to hop back and forth across the street, even as the traffic got faster and faster. And we all knew the inevitable ending.

Squish.

Damn frog.

My father is a hunter.

He shoots animals, chops them up, and then we eat them for dinner.

I understand all of this. It makes sense to me. There are people that don't agree, but frankly I'm fine with it.

The part that is infinitely more perplexing to me is the part where he then proceeds to hang the dead animal's head on our wall for everyone to see.

This I cannot comprehend.

Maybe we should do this with other methods of acquiring food.

"And over the mantel, son, is the box I wrestled the fat woman for. Because I knew, in my heart, that it was worth risking my life so I could provide my family with Oreos."

Kind of brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

So, on one hand, this new strain of AIDS is pretty upsetting.

But on the other hand, aren't you just a teensy bit proud of AIDS?

I mean, we all thought AIDS was down for the count. A has-been, really. A disease that had its 15 minutes of fame and was on a downward spiral into oblivion. We all just assumed that AIDS was a one-hit-wonder.

But AIDS was working behind the scenes. It was diligently improving itself even though times were tough. Even though no one thought it would pull through.

AIDS is living the American Dream. It overcame adversity, worked hard, and came back even stronger.

I think that AIDS is the new Rocky.