It’s that time of the week again.  It’s Funny Friday.  Do you want to play along?  Of course you do.  Here are the rules: 1. A minimum of roughly 80 percent of everything that you do today must a.) be hilarious, b.) incite hilarity or c.) pay the pickle man.  2. You may or may not do whatever it takes to uphold rule #1.  Also, third, don’t be annoying.  That has the opposite effect (save it for Over-the-top Tuesday).

If you’re having trouble deciding what to do on Funny Friday, then you’re over thinking the task.  Here are some things you can do, though, if you’re really having trouble:

Imitate a retarded person imitating a normal person

Sneak up on friend with one of your farts in a jar

Piss in something that’s not a toilet

Have a coffee drinking contest

Sleep with your fat neighbor but no kissing

Punch a bunny in the face

Push over a one-legged duck (quack!)

See how many grapes you can fit in your mouth

Spin your office chair until you fall out of it/puke

Hula hoop on a chair

Spend some allowance from your spank bank

Tape your hands together with masking tape and poke stuff

Pull your cat’s tail

Take a dump in a fitting room

Chew old gum out of the carpet

Fill a can with spit and drink it

Eat a cigarette

Tape your cube mate’s office supplies to a wall just out of his reach

Play dress up

Cut your own

Make a paper airplane and set it on fire before you throw it

Take your shirt off,  sit down and watch your stomach fat get fatter/paint your nipples white with white-out

Look at kittens/puppies/babies

Have a push-up contest with your friend Donny

When Donny wins, murder him (for fun)

Whatever it is you end up doing, have fun with it.  After all, it is Funny Friday.

My first thought was that he was working on some kind of age-old, rabbit fart, microwave technology.  I thought, “Maybe this rabbit likes his clovers warmed through and funky.”  I then considered what he was actually doing;  he was eating ass grass.  Gnarly/Far out.

That started me thinking about when people act similarly; where they touch their consumables with their groty ol’ butts and then eat.  It’s like when, after a coke mule gets through airport security with a bag of Colombian marching powder stuffed three inches up his rectum, he then relaxes by removing the bag and sampling his tainted goods.  (Keep in mind that the relaxation isn’t from removing the drugs; it’s the reinsertion that feels so good.)

That totally reminded of those times I drank all that pool water last summer.  I got so sick.  Was if from ingesting too much chlorine?  We’ll never know.

Oh, that made me think of when people get submerged in liquid to have their body fat inspected.  What if they used stuff other than water like chocolate sauce  or dollar coins to test body fat?  You know, like Scrooge McDuck?  If I had a tower of gold coins and I was made a toon by the great God Himself, I’d totally swim in that filthy, filthy, dirty, wonderful money.

What if instead of a vault of money, I had a vault of cool and refreshing mayonnaisse?  I would totally swim in that.   I would probably fart in it and watch/smell my bubbles as they gurgled to the surface (because that’s what you do when you go swimming).  And just like that rabbit in the grass today, I’d probably eat it.

Howdy there, folks!  Ty and Aaron couldn’t wait to share their latest popcast adventure with you!  That’s why it took months; too much pressure.

In this episode, the boys get down and dirty.   Gay-for-pay, country music, Mutant League Football and how handsome Aaron is looking with his pearly whites are all on the docket.

Ty and Aaron are so excited that you could stop by, they want to give you something free.  Leave a comment to find out what!  Enjoy this classic two-parter; and no, I’m not talking about butt cheeks! See for yourself…

PART1

PART2

Here’s the sitch.  Family’s away for a short while.  Spouse, parents, live-in life partner, master, whoever.  You’re alone.  You’re thinking, maybe I’ll have just a quick jerk.  (Ladies, maybe just a quick flick.)  Your fastest release…Internet PORN!

You strip down to your skivvies and, even though you know there’s no one around, you sneak your way over to the laundry hamper and grab an old sock for cleaning up.  You scurry to the bathroom and lotion up.  When you realize your wonderful circumstances, you instantly “perk” up.  You prance and spin and dance your way over to your laptop.  When you approach your laptop, you see that it is still in the computer bag.  “No problem,” you whisper dismissively, “I got this.”

And, in your complacent attempt to gingerly open the bag’s zipper without leaving a shred of evidence revealing the act of masturbation, you drop your clean-up sock.  As you go for it, you forget about the lotion on your hand and spill it all over the computer bag.  Now the zipper is slathered in Jergen’s and you panic.   You try and wipe it up by salvaging as much lube as you can.  Your hands occupied, you start wiping excess lube with your hardened penis.

You freak when the zipper proves to be too abrasive on your tender flesh. You yelp in pain. Instinctively, and as not to disturb anyone (as you would under normal rub-your-chub circumstances), you cover your mouth.  In doing so, you transfer lotion from your hand to your mouth, you look down to see your penis is bleeding.  You also see that in your frantic struggle you shed pubic hair all over your work files and fallen sock.

You tell yourself, “F*ck it, I started this and I’m gonna finish.”  You reach for the computer and manage to open it and turn it on with your non-lotiony hand.  The computer is password protected and you type out what you think it is.  You kick yourself as you remember inventing a password that not even the world’s top hacker could crack.  A breeze for you any other day but, in the chaos, you panic.  The letters alternate lower case and capitals.  A percentage sign?  You press the keys with your cleaner hand, using your tongue to press the shift key.

You finally log on and run the Internet with no luck.  The router for the internet isn’t working. You run into the other room and unplug the router, wait 30 seconds and plug it back in. Fully erect, you sprint back to the computer.  Realizing your alone time is diminishing, you grab your penis and single-handedly type the name of your favorite X-rated website (the only form of multitasking a man is capable of).  You scroll over a video clip and watching a random preview of two Russians prod and poke each other, you bust a load of your future’s best, brightest and whitest directly into your belly button.  No time for the clean up sock.

You relax and laugh at the mess you’ve created: The lotion covered computer bag.  The blood.  The semen.  The porn site.  You fall asleep. You wake up to your wife screaming at you for scarring her children for life.  “No child should see her step-father this way!” she screams.

Laptops are the worst.

What’s the best part about shrimp?  They’re American, dammit!  Those tiny sh*ts are plentiful and, as far as I’m concerned when you’ve got some of that delicious cocktail sauce, they’re tasty, too.  But something happened recently  that really puckers my barn hole.

Seven weeks ago (and counting), the oil and gas mogul, British Petroleum or BP,  “accidentally” collapsed an oil well in the Gulf of Mexico and is uncontrollably pumping its bubbly crude all over American shrimping waters.  Why we haven’t waged war against these f*ck sticks is beyond me.

What’s worse is that we (America collectively, except Lonny) have swallowed this grimy glob and will to continue to do so.  In a gesture to keep fishing and tourism industries afloat during this crisis, BP has done what any company does in a crisis situation; they threw money at it.  Big money, too.  It’s the kind of money that allows sick f*cks the opportunity to do sick f*ck things.

This is the kind of money that says, “Not only am I not going to fix this environmental catastrophe, I’m going to buy you, cut off your balls and make you my eunuch, remove your testicles from the hairy ball skin, staple, then duct tape the skin over your mouth and nose while I tickle you and watch you die to death you p*ssy.”

Thanks to cash reimbursements to support lost business caused by the oil spill, some fishing companies are generating more business than before the spill.

Instead of using this money to protect themselves from future oopsies, companies spend to reinvent themselves.  This unadvised spending creates illusions of market stability in uncertain times and opens the flood gates for struggling companies to venture into risky endeavors.

I can imagine the CEO from one of the aforementioned struggling fishing companies thinking, “This is the time we make a big move.”  And because he has new money to burn, he goes against all logic and fishes oil soaked waters.  After which, some greased wheel at a hackneyed advisory operation like the Louisiana Shrimp and Fisherman Council to okay some new product line.   All of a sudden, your kid is hooked on Red Lobster’s/Fishy Joe’s/Long John Silver’s/Generic non-seafood eatery’s Crude Dude’s Boily and Oily Super Duper Shrimp Poppers (try ‘em with tar ball dippin’ sauce!) which by some stroke has been pushed to market by a rejuvenated BP (British Prawns).

I’m really gonna hate that.

If  you got ‘em, you should just shoot yourself.  This is to say that even a dead and rotting corpse is more attractive than a smoker.  If you smoke, you’re dead to me.  If you don’t smoke, then we should hang out.  If you don’t hang out, then you should.  I’m a lot of fun.

By the way, don’t think that you can hide your nicotine addiction by chewing your smokeless tobacco around me either.  That’s gross, too.  It’s all spittooning your chaw into the empty water bottles in my car.  You don’t deserve bottles.  You deserve cancer.  If you chew, then you should put fire ants in your eyes and cayenne pepper in your pee hole.  That’s right.  Pee hole.

Oh, and another thing; pull my finger.  Smell that?  Old wet newspapers and canned, creamed corn.  You are that smell to me…completely disgusting.  If you’re going to insist on riding your premium, menthol-flavored cancer pony to your grave, please, count me out.  I don’t want anything to do with you.  Now will you have sex with me?

Dickey Bill hosts Open Mic Comedy

The Cork Bar & Grill

313 W Drake Rd

Fort Collins CO 80526 (map)

(970)226-1212

DBW contact info; (970)231-1639 richardwwagner@gmail.com

Open Mic Comedy at the Cork on Wednesdays is a great place to introduce new material or tighten up a set order. The crowd varies depending on who is rumored to show up. There are about 8 local comics that routinely get stage time. There is always someone new trying to break in to the comedy scene. We have had some comedians travel up from Denver for a new audience to entertain. Experienced comics can get ten minutes stage time. New comics rarely go longer than five. The beer is cheap, the food is good and the entertainment is FREE.

See you soon ot there in comedy land.

Dickey Bill

This review was written by the incredible Richard “Dickey” Bill Wagner, a comedian and humorist located in northern Colorado.

Old Chicago in LoDo (14th & Market) runs an open mic night every Wednesday at 8:30.  It’s hosted by Jesse Carter of Agitated Productions and is followed by a contest (complete with cash prize) and a headlining act.  Anyone can perform in the open mic just by talking to Jesse before the show. Performing in the contest is by invitation.

The stage is in the back bar portion of the restaurant so you won’t usually get caught up bothering any regulars (for new comers, this is less intimidating).  The area with the stage is a long and narrow room.  This makes it tempting for patrons to talk amongst themselves further back in the room.  There is a 4×4 pole in front of center stage which makes it difficult for comics to see the entire audience.  On the plus side, the bar is clean and Jesse always organizes a fantastic contest and headliner.

What’s the difference between a good comedian and a not-so-good comedian?  Jokes, folks.   A comedian without jokes is like a cat without claws and eyes.  It’s not much of a cat, really.  If a comedian is going to survive and (potentially) thrive, he’s got to develop jokes.

As I’ve mentioned before, the quality of a comedian’s jokes aren’t nearly as important as the quantity. Quantity begets quality. This evolution is a byproduct of successful and productive time management (that’s right, I went straight to middle management jargon). Simply put, a good comedian has discipline.

Writing good jokes is a process. It starts with an idea that is written into a joke. The joke is performed and then tweaked over and over and over and over again. The final product is a fine gem: a joke that sounds so fresh, you’d think the comedian just came up with it.

Realizing this process, however, we can make the assessment that a good joke is stale to the comedian (and his wife). He has said it so many times that the words have lost meaning yet, he continues to fill the words with significance.  He tries to mold his creation further even though he has exhausted any and all fresh permutations.  He fully commits to the joke and sells it each and every time he performs; at every dive bar open mic, every comedy show and every event. To him, it’s a painstaking process, yet he sticks it out.  This is discipline.

The benefit for a comedian is that he has an endless stream of thoughts and ideas that can make this transformation.  As a joke loses its appeal, a comedian can hang it up and repeat this process on something new.  Once again, it takes a certain amount of discipline to get sucked into that void.  Some people dig it, though.

Good comedians are those that enjoy the process and regularly take the time to transform their material.  It’s the only profession I can think of where hard work and commitment are laughable.

Apr 18 Standup by wolsamnoraa

If you don’t understand the part about Tourette’s Syndrome, you’ll just have to come out and see it.

Buckin’ Harley’s is an open mic comedy show on Monday nights, located at 1451 Cortez St, Denver, CO, 80221, (303) 487-0020.

THE GOOD:

Buckin’ Harley’s has an excellent stage: it’s well lit and has lots of space to roam around.

Buckin’ Harley’s gets out just in time to make it to the Lion’s Lair for a second set for the night. If you’re looking to rack up the stage time on a Monday night Buckin’ is a great first show to hit.

Buckin’ Harley’s is very new-comic friendly. This is not a stage where you have to worry about hecklers. If you’re new to comedy than hitting one of the late-late shows with a drunken audience might be daunting. None of that going on here. The audience is very supportive of new comics and first timers still trying to work out kinks in their material.

All the comics I’ve met at Buckin’ Harley’s are very friendly. This is not a ‘clicky’ venue where you won’t feel welcome if you’re not on the in-crowd. It’s an excellent place to network. Many comics will hang out after their set, drink, smoke on the patio, and trade stories.

There’s a great mixture of seasoned comics and newbies. This is good for the audience as well as the comics. If a comic bombs than you can be sure there’s a seasoned comic who’s ready to get the show back on track.

The audience isn’t roudy. The show starts early, so you won’t find drunk audience members shouting during your set. Even the people playing pool on the other side of the room don’t get out of hand.

The number of comics per night is usually low. Many open mics you might end up number 20 on the list for the night. By the time you hit the stage the audience is exhausted (if they stuck around at all). There’s usually between 5-8 comics on a given night here, so the audience won’t be sick of watching comedy by the time you hit the stage.

The producer is very relaxed about stage time. He’s not going to cut the lights off on you if you go a little over. Since there’s few comics he’ll usually work with you if you want a longer set (as long as you keep the audience laughing).

The show ends with a headliner. Audience members rarely leave before the show is over. So no worrying about a comedian bringing 10 people who all get up and leave before you get on stage.

It’s a true open mic. You don’t need to know anybody and there’s no signing up in advance. Show up and you will get some stage time.

THE BAD:

Audience dynamics can get a pretty tough at Buckin’ Harley’s. Audience members tend to spread themselves out in this large venue. The audience is situated on a large dance floor with a couple audience members per table and lots of empty space inbetween. Making a connection and engaging the audience can be difficult. If you’re not careful you can lose the audience to table talk.

The laughter can disipate quickly, making it tough to figure out just how many laughs you’re getting. This is because Buckin’ Harley’s has one giant room instead of a seperate room for shows. There are always several people way in the back of the club listening, but you’re never going to hear them laughing cause they’re simply too far away from the stage.

There’s no light to let you know you’re running out of time. The producer usually makes an “X” with his arms to let you know your time is up. This is very easy to miss. So if you’re use to longer sets make sure you keep an eye out for the producer.

This review was written by Drew Volle, comedian and host of www.creativestandup.com and author of the book, The Making of Great Comedy which can be found on his website.

See this flyer and then wash out your eyes and then drive to the show.

The second instance was in the second grade.  I remember this kid named Mark Melchior who would suck the on the neck hole of his Ninja Turtle tee shirts and get spit all over himself.  He always looked like he had just finished jogging.  He has nothing to do with my memory other than he was in the class.

My realization to become a comedian came when my very Korean teacher, Mrs. Simpson, asked the class to define what it meant for the dinosaurs “to go extinct”.  I was leaning back in my chair like a cool kid and just shouted out, “It’s when they just said, ‘See ya’ later. We’re outta here, and we’re not coming back!’”.  Comic genius.  My response was perfectly timed and my demeanor was so confident that the class laughed out loud.  It felt good.

Up until that point in the second grade, I was kind of a bully.  I didn’t have many friends and I pummeled the ones I managed to keep.  I remember being sad a lot and having long awkward talks with my cat, Max.  I felt I had purpose after that and made the most of my natural ability.  I started gaining weight make my wit less intimidating and more accessible.  I was the funny man in and around school.  I was voted the runner-up class clown my senior year of high school.

It wasn’t until the end of my collegiate days, however, that I vocalized my interest in becoming a performer.  The idea festered in my mind.  The fact that I never acted on the urge to try stand up burned me out mentally.  No job ever seemed good enough for me because I was limiting my creative capacity.  It led me to belittle myself.  I thought the fact that I hadn’t tried it, made me too old to start and made the idea too unreasonable.

After quitting an extremely stupid job, I got fired up about trying stand up comedy.  I was scared.  I didn’t (and still don’t) want to fail.  It’s equally frightening to think that I might succeed.  I’m a funny guy and I work hard.  I have a shot at a career.  I’m scared that I might not be able to keep up the discipline that’s required to become successful.

Even with those fears,  encouragement from my friends and loved ones helped me (even after the pummeling).  A few months after quitting my job, I wrote some “jokes” and got on stage.  I’m glad I tried.  I’ve got a long way to go and a lot of work to do.  I’m certain that I’m going to do it because I want to do it.  This isn’t just a dream; it’s a feeling…and it feels good.  I recommend it.

We had a pet squirrel when I was growing up and I accidentally forgot to feed it for a month (well, just short of a month actually, he died).  Feel free to insert your favorite nut pun or cache joke.  A pet like that, you have to feed everyday and that’s why people say:

“Squirrels make terrible pets.”