Aggressive Advertising

Back when I was a kid, advertising was a lot friendlier. It was always, “Hey look! Here’s a baby. Doesn’t that make you happy? If so, maybe you should buy our product. It smells like pine cones.” Personally, that’s all I need to convince me to buy something I don’t need. A pine-scented baby? I’ll charge two to my credit card.

But nowadays, there’s a lot more, “Buy this, you loser. Don’t you want to be cool and make friends? If you buy our product, your ex will realize how much they love you, you’ll get your job back, and your children might even forgive you. If you don’t buy our product, you’ll just continue to whither away into an empty husk of a being, until you finally take your miserable life with your own weathered hands. Coca-Cola!”

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Monopoly Money

When can we admit that money isn’t real? Like, when’s the last time you had cash? Answer: never. You never have cash. And when’s the last time you paid a credit card bill? You keep buying shit with it, but no real money’s ever been exchanged. The nation “printing” the money is three trillions dollars in debt, but there are still about a couple dozen billionaires. How does that make sense, minimum wage recipient?

And think about it this way, you can buy Monopoly money for “real” money. Money isn’t real!

When you buy things, the credit card is just a formality. What’s really happening is a slavery round robin. It’s a service worker barter system. We’re just taking turns serving each other for free. I go to the coffee shop, so the barista can go to the gas station, so the clerk can pick up vegetables from the store, so a farmer can cook up some meth.

We Might Be Giants

It’s easy to get bogged down with all the troubles of the modern world. I feel like it’s more important than ever to take a step back, and get some perspective on which issue (singular) to tackle first. I also feel like children may have mastered this far better than any adult.

I was on a bus recently, and overheard a young girl say to her mother (with no sense of irony, because she was too young to understand the concept of irony) “What if we’re giants and everyone else is small? How will we play together?” All the troubles and tensions of the world, and that’s the one existential crisis keeping her up at night, and I happen to think that’s beautiful.

That problem can be easily tackled. That’s an issue I can actually solve with a single post of Facebook. I can log on right now and type the words “We are not giants. Everyone can safely play together.” Problem solved. Crisis averted. Insert jazz hands.

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You’re Making Me Old

I recently performed at a house party of young, slender, sparkly people. It was like a vampire prom after party. Within minutes of my arrival, I met people named Stone and Ethan. I assume there was a Hunter and Alexis somewhere in the glamour crowd.

Stone and Ethan regaled me with tales of the three months they ran a vape business and made a quarter million dollars, allowing them to spend the past year traveling abroad. During that same span of time, I’ve had panic attacks every time I travel from my sofa bed to my front door.

What I’m saying is, I don’t hate Millennials, but your beautiful Hollister ad lifestyles are making me old.

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Lease A Nigga

Comedy hasn’t been too lucrative for me. So, I’ve been looking into other business ventures to explore. So far, the best I’ve come up with is a service I like to call “Lease A Nigga,” because everyone needs a black friend sometimes, but no one wants a nigga around all the time.

Here at Lease A Nigga, we specialize in only the highest quality niggas – no suit wearing, book reading, uppity types thinking they’re your equals. No. All of our niggas are 100% ghetto certified to fulfill your every expectation and treat your white women like the beautiful trophies they are. And for the men, we’ve got niggeresses to ease the despair of being a heterosexual white man. The best part is niggas are 100% disposable and compostable.

Lease A Nigga: Alleviating all your white guilt without eliminating a single bias.

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Nightmare Creatures

Oregon’s a lovely place to live, except that every autumn and winter is an elaborate game of What Nightmare Creatures Live in My Home?

Last year, I lived in a house with three housemates. Each housemate owned a cat, and each year the house was overtaken by a cloud of gnats, driving our poor kitties mad. Then, one early winter morning, I stepped into my bathroom, which I didn’t recall having a carpet. So, I turned on the light to discover an undulating sea of silver fish. I had never seen silver fish before. So as far as I was concerned, these were aliens, and I didn’t want to step on them for fear they’d release a distress call to the mother ship, issuing in a full-blown invasion. I don’t need that kind of responsibility on my shoulders, which is also why I didn’t vote for Trump.

Point being, in one house, in one infestation season, we had three pissed off cats, a fog of gnats, and a silver fish mat. It was like if Dr. Seuss had gone to hell.

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Social Justice Warrior?

As my readers and listeners know, I have a habit of saying socially and politically provocative things, and sometimes this gets me accused of being a “social justice warrior,” which I think is unfair. It seems to me, a social justice warrior should have to do something – join a protest, make a sign, sign a petition, hold a bake sale. Something! I’m just an alcoholic with insomnia spouting uninformed opinions at two in the morning. Calling me a “social justice warrior” is like declaring every man, woman, and child in The United States a military veteran just because the nation’s always at war.

Right now, we’re at war with our hippest enemy ever, ISIS. The name alone is dope as fuck. ISIS. Sounds like a skinny, Black woman with a big ass and an afro who says “baby” a lot. I expect Samuel L. Jackson to show up at the end of every beheading video to yell, “Allahu akbar, motherfucker!” But the real reason ISIS is so hip is their social media recruitment strategy. My only question is am I the only one not getting friend requests from ISIS?

It’s not like I don’t get friend requests. I’m a comedian; it goes with the territory. The moment you enter the public sphere, your standards for accepting friend requests plummets. First it’s “only if I know you in real life.”

“Only if we have fifty mutual friends.”



“Only if you’re a comedian.”

“Only if you’re holding a microphone.”

“Only if you have nice hair.”

“Fuck it! We’re friends!”

Even so, not one friend request from ISIS. And I’m not saying I would go if I got an evite from ISIS, but I would certainly click “Interested” to boost attention.

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All The Drugs

I’m not exactly proud to admit that, in my youth, I did all the drugs – all of them. It really wasn’t my fault though, because I lived in Wisconsin, and when you live in Wisconsin there’s not a lot to do. Basically, you can get drunk enough to drive a snow mobile across a river, impregnate your high school sweetheart, or do all the drugs. I didn’t have a snow mobile or a high school sweetheart, so the decision was made for me.

The thing about doing all the drugs is that, if you start early enough in the day, you quickly forget which drugs you’ve already done, and “never mix, never worry” flies out the window.

What I’m saying is you start out traditionally with a wake ‘n’ bake, as required by scripture. But then you need to wake yourself back up for the day with a strong pot of coffee, and no one makes coffee like the Irish. But you can’t just have coffee. You also need to get some vitamins in you. So, you pour yourself some orange juice, to boost your vitamin C, and add some vodka and Vicodin, for your V vitamins. Then, when lunch rolls around, you want to continue the health trend with a Bloody Mary salad, and maybe another cup or two of coffee, and no one makes coffee like the Spanish. But now that you’ve eaten nothing but liquor and edibles, you’ll probably feel a bit nauseous, and nothing cures nausea like opium.

Now, your day’s going great. So, you head on over to your friend Jessica’s, where she has a line of coke waiting, because she’s a good host. Even if you don’t usually do coke, proper etiquette says, “if someone offers you coke, you clear your mirror” and I’m very polite. Next thing you know, it’s time for dinner and mushrooms are a healthy choice, and salvia makes for a great dessert.

And that’s the moment when Jessica turns into Ms. Piggy, which isn’t a commentary on her actual weight or appearance, but a phenomenon common to habitual users of psychedelics called “muppetization.” Much like daybreak, muppetization is the cue to go home, but the only way out of Jessica’s apartment is the patio. And just then you remember… Jessica lives in a fourth story apartment in downtown Milwaukee, and doesn’t have a patio, but you have to keep telling yourself that or you’ll just walk out a fucking window.

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Too Positive

It’s probably safe to assume my fans are all sex positive. Personally, I’m not.

It has nothing to do with morality or superstition. I’m just terrified of STDs – phobic. Like I’ve had sex before, which is why I’m convinced I have undetectable gonorrhea. And of course I realize I could just wear a condom, but I also know me, and I know my luck, and knowing my luck I’ll be the first person to strap on a prophylactic lined with HPV.

Living in Portland, I frequently hear the words “the more promiscuous the cleaner.” And that may very well be true, assuming your genitals are a kitchen, but here in Reality Land it turns out sexually transmitted diseases are transmitted sexually; it’s in the fucking name. Still, everyone in this city walks around coughing and sniffling all year, complaining about allergies. It’s not allergies, Portland. It’s AIDS.

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A Good Guy

We all have terrible friends, and if you’re not sure which of your friends is a monster, it’s the one you always describe as “a good guy” – that subhuman piece of garbage. Like, if you’re ever talking to someone and say, “I don’t like Carl. He’s always saying racist shit.” If the answer you get back is, “Yeah, but he’s a good guy.” Carl also eats babies.

And you rarely hear it said about women. You never say, “I don’t like Cynthia, because she’s always spouting racist shit” and get back “Yeah, but she’s a good woman,” unless you’re talking to Carl, who’s still a racist piece of shit, but now he’s also sexist. Because, if you think about it, “she’s a good woman” is usually a thinly veiled euphemism for “she always has dinner ready and lets me hide meth in her vagina.”

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