Stump the Genius!
- You see me write all the time that I have more brain cells in one cubic inch of my cerebral cortex than most people have in their entire heads. You watch me sound off regularly about how I won the SAT and that I'm all smart and shit. Believe. Yesterday, a diminutive chap actually approached me, “Are you really as intelligent as you claim to be?” To that I replied, “Of course I am you stupid smelly toddler! Leave me alone--go back to your mother’s womb!”
In the neverending struggle to artificially inflate my hit counter, I am desperately pleading for your participation. Bring forth your toughest trivia questions. Whether they be on the physical sciences, global economics, or world history, I only ask that there be nothing facile. Genius cailber, please. Place them on the comments board of this post. As I read them, I will field them via the board and win them in the same fashion that I win standardized tests.
See if you can stump the genius!
The Million Billionaire March
I am occasionally extremely intimate with someone involved with the Billionaires for Bush--a satirical agit-prop street theatre political action group with chapters nationwide. Sunday the billionaires met at their favorite meeting spot--in front of the Trump Plaza hotel on 57th St. in Manhattan--and they marched for 30 blocks feeding into the ridiculously massive (probably 250,000!) United for Justice & Peace rally. The billionaires were surpringly well received by the ordinary tax paying people of the city. With all the media buzzing around them, one would think there was a parade of rockstars coming down the street. Huzzah!
Actual Billionaires for Bush Chants and Slogans
-Cheney is innocent!
-One dollar! One vote!
-Free Ken Lay!
-Free the Enron 7!
-No justice, no problem! No justice, no problem!
-1-2-3-4 We don’t care about the poor! 5-6-7-8 Halliburton’s really great!
-Hire a child!
-Leave no billionaire behind.
-Whose government? Our government! Whose media? Our media! Whose taxes? THEIR taxes!
-John Kerry panders to the interests of ordinary Americans!
-John Kerry’s a flip-flopper! Clean air? Clean water? Which is it John??
-Big Pharma=Good Karma
-Corporations are people too.
-Widen the income gap!
-Four more wars! Four more wars!
-Taxes are NOT for everyone.
-Blood for oil.
Favorite Billionaires for Bush Names
-Monet Oliver D’Place
-Owen D. Whitehouse
-Sir Rupticious Military Spending
An Evening at Red Lobster - Part 2
- Wading through the expanse of beady eyed Midwestern tourists all lookin’ at her, Debbie finally returns from the bathroom.
“That took a long time--number 2?”
“No.” she lied. I could smell the waft of doody on her burqa.
“It couldn’t possibly have been number 1! It seemed like days!” I looked her straight in the only exposed part of her body—her eyes.
“Can we not talk about this? There was a line. ”
“Oh.” I replied skeptically. “At least with that dumb burqa on, you don’t’ have to worry about a restroom ever not having toilet paper.”
I continued, “You know Debbie, I perused the most fascinating article about lobsters right before we came here. Did you know that as the lobster grows, periodically, the exoskeleton is molted and in its place, a bigger one is formed?” I ripped the claw off a bright crimson lobster and started hitting it with the blunt end of my knife.
“Nate—listen to me. I have to tell you something. It’s important that you understand what it is I am going to say.”
“Does it have to do with the fact that lobsters move swiftly along the ocean floor and can actually swim backwards using the great muscles in their abdomens and tails. Interesting how these decapods are so swift and mobile in the sea, yet their ten legs can’t get them out of a large pot of boiling water.”
The waiter—Marcel or something, probably 20, longish trendy haircut cradled by untrendy hairnet—finally comes over with some god damned cocktail sauce. “It’s about god damned time,” I exclaimed half jokingly / half 100 percent totally fucking serious. The waiter rested his left hand on the table for a bit too long and it almost looked as if he slipped an index card with a handwritten note on it to Debbie. They shared a probably unknowing glance and then he walked away in a hurry. On second thought maybe that wasn’t our original waiter. I scrambled for something to talk about. What was she even saying before this? I can get deeper conversation out of a cantaloupe.
“Hmmm…what else can I say about lobsters…oh! In colonial America, lobsters were considered rubbish people food. The irony! Harvested from tidal pools, they were forced upon infants, prisoners, and even indentured servants. Some of the servants actually rebelled and demanded new contracts stating they would not be served lobster more than three times a week. Hey, how’s your side salad Debbie?”
Debbie was now holding a small piece of cardstock up in front of her face, possibly reading something. It’s quite rude to not pay attention while someone is talking so I tried to grab it out of her hand. “Listen to what I am saying!”
“Stop it! Let go, you douchebag!” she shrieked.
She wouldn’t let go. So naturally the paper ripped in half.
Ah ha! There was writing on it!
YOU MUST G /
HURRY! A BOM/
THE COUNCI /
Useless words. Probably a stupid poem. I hate poetry.
She wrestled it back from my hands. “NATE. We must leave right now.”
“But what about the check that you’re going to pay for? We’re not just gonna stiff the bill when you’re supposed to be paying for it! Half the point of this trip to this trap is that you are paying me off in crustaceans to keep my mouth shut about your involvement with Al Jazeera. How can you pay me off in lobsters if you are thereby making the lobsters economically worthless? If I wanted free lobsters, I'd buy an expensive kayak and go lobster catching off Long Island. I demand valuable succulent red lobsters!”
She threw two Franklins down on the table. “We don’t have time for your bullshit. We must leave IMMEDIATELY.” Debbie forcefully pulled the sleeve of my dinner jacket and the arm within it. “NOW!”
“Okay okay. Jeez. You’re acting like someone’s trying to murder us,” I stammered as I pocketed the two 100 dollar bills without her seeing.
We moved quickly out of the dining room. People at the other tables scorned Debbie and her attire. “That Al Qaeda member probably isn’t paying her bill—typical,” one couple sneered. “Look at that guy holding hands with Alice Jazeera,” another family commented.
We got outside and started into a light sprint. We jogged 3 blocks south and then heard an annoyingly loud noise. If I had to use an onomatopoeia to describe it, it would be KA-BOOM! The sound came from the north. Probably 3 blocks away--who knows? We slowed down to a saunter and I began nursing the cramp I developed from all the running.
"You know what I liked about that place Debbie?"
She questioned timidly, "What's that?"
"Everything!! It was delicious! We should go back next week. And every week after that!"
"I don't see that happening," she replied as we descended a flight of subway stairs leading to a Brooklyn bound F train.
From the Webmaster: Two exciting things! Next week the winneroftheSAT goes to the front lines of the RNC protests. For an account of the two days he spent at last month's Democratic convention, look here!
Also: Refresh yourself with the wotSAT reader's poll for the humble beginnings of a new force arriving in Nate's life.
Picture of Mother-to-Father and I
Boy, has fashion certainly changed since 1994! I can not believe I used to go out like that. (me on the left) And look at Mother-to-Father! Mustard yellow is so out out out now. Michael Bolton was the pinnacle of masculinity back then and Robert A. did all he could to emulate his every nuance.
Here's another picture from my scrapbook of Mother-to-Father's "better half" as s/he puts it.
Oh, and here's where you can read about what it was like growing up with these two. It sure was somethin'!
Newsblitz! Weekly Roundup of the News that Matters - 8/25 Edition
Former Brook Park Mayor found naked, unresponsive
WKYC 3 - Aug 16 8:03 AM
WESTLAKE, Ohio -- Former Brook Park Mayor Thomas Coyne was found naked and unresponsive early Monday morning. Paramedics took him to Fairview General Hospital and early reports are ruling out foul play.
Former Brook Park mayor says he knows he needs help
WKYC 3 - Aug 22 2:08 PM
CLEVELAND -- Former Brook Park mayor, Tom Coyne who checked into the Betty Ford clinic after he was found sleeping in a stranger’s driveway, says he knows he needs help.
Former mayor calls drunken episode a wake up call
Ohio News Network - Aug 22 11:51 AM
CLEVELAND -- A former suburban mayor found undressed and sleeping in a stranger's driveway said he doesn't remember the drunken episode that prompted him to check into an alcohol rehabilitation center.
Mayor Found Nude, Checks Into Rehab
Cleveland - NewsNet5 via Yahoo! News - Aug 17 9:48 PM
Former Brook Park mayor Thomas Coyne may avoid jail time in connection with a probation violation after being found naked and passed out because he checked into the Betty Ford Rehabilitation Center.
Dash-Cam Video Shows Former Mayor Naked
Cleveland - NewsNet5 via Yahoo! News - Aug 17 10:16 AM
Former Brook Park Mayor Tom Coyne is in the Betty Ford Clinic. This comes after police released dash-cam video of him nude along a stretch of a road in North Olmsted Monday.
Former Brook Park mayor apologizes for his actions
WKYC 3 - Aug 17 3:34 PM
Nuevo Acapulco is a popular Cleveland area nightspot and the place where police say Coyne and his date drank margaritas well after closing time Sunday night.
Former Mayor Found Naked On Side Of Road
Officer.com - Aug 17 6:45 AM
NORTH OLMSTED, Ohio -- North Olmsted police found former Brook Park mayor Tom Coyne nude on the side of a road early Monday morning. Officers said Coyne, 54, was lying on the ground on Columbia Road at about 2 a.m. He was said to be unresponsive.
Former Ohio Mayor Found Naked On Side Of Road. Police: Alcohol May Have Played Part
Channel Cincinnati - Aug 16 3:34 PM
NORTH OLMSTED, Ohio -- Police in a Cleveland suburb said they found a former mayor nude on the side of a road early Monday morning. Officers in North Olmsted said Tom Coyne, 54, once the mayor of Brook Park, was lying on the ground on Columbia Road at about 2 a.m. He was said to be unresponsive.
Former mayor goes to rehab center after found sleeping in driveway
Ohio News Network - Aug 18 7:19 AM
NORTH OLMSTED, Ohio (AP) - A former suburban Cleveland mayor checked into an alcohol rehabilitation center and apologized to family and friends after he was found undressed and sleeping in a stranger's driveway.
Thomas J. Coyne issues statement regarding his recent actions
WKYC 3 - Aug 17 1:23 PM
BROOK PARK -- Here is the statement made August 17, 2004 by former Brook Park Mayor Thomas J. Coyne, Jr.: I deeply regret that a personal issue has become so public.
An Evening at Red Lobster - Part 1
- "C'mon Debbie, let me feed you. It'll be hot. Just like on Blind Date." I picked up a severed crab leg, dipped it in butter, and waved it at her.
"Well, here comes the airplane!" I sensuously motioned the gnarled crab leg towards her mouth. I realized this was going to be somewhat difficult seeing as how her mouth isn't viewable--it's wrapped behind a burqa. So I aimed for the slit where her eyes shine through.
"You're gonna poke me in the eye with that thing!"
"Not the first time I heard that phrase, babe. Say ah!"
As I began to claw through her eye hole around her cheek she batted my hand with such brute force that the crab leg went up into the air did two and a half rotations and came down sticking the landing in her lap.
"Look at your misfortune!" I pointed and laughed. "Good thing you wear a cloth napkin as evening wear or else your outfit would have been ruined!" I laughed again at my own joke.
"How much longer do I have to sit here?" questioned Debbie. She placed the piece of crustacean on the table and I could feel the intensity of her scowl without even seeing her face.
"Oh, until I finish all 50 pieces of peel and eat shrimp, the two lobster tails, and the bucket of french fries. Basically, time enough to totally forget about Al Jazeera and you working there. Waiter!! *snap snap* More cocktail sauce! Did you neglect to remember my cocktail sauce?!"
Debbie sighed. "I can't believe I'm going along with this. You do realize Al Jazeera is a legitimate news organization, much like CNN? You also realize I don't work there, right?"
"You can't trick me Debbie. I can see right through lies and deception--even though I'm somewhat really farsighted. I have a question for you, how am I supposed to eat this shrimp without cocktail sauce?"
"You've got much bigger problems than that. Listen, I need to tell you something important--that's the main reason I agreed to this obnoxious trip to the Red Lobster in Times Square with you."
"I really can't focus on a single word that's coming out of the area where your mouth is supposed to be. I must have my condiments. Flag those hostesses down."
"Those aren't hostesses, you're pointing at a family of Asian tourists."
"Well what about those Mexican cooks over there at that other table! Why is everyone not helping me? Isn't their one priority in life to service my needs?"
"I'm embarrassing? Look at you! You look like the guy from Ninja Gaiden! Ha!"
"I'm gonna go to the ladies' room." Debbie stood up abruptly. The people at the neighboring tables ducked and shrieked. "I'm not a fucking terrorist you asses. I wear a burqa. It doesn't mean I'm going to kill all of you. Nate--when I get back, I've got something to tell you."
Instant Messenger conversation with my Roommate
- gunmetaldebbie: Hey Nate!
winneroftheSAT: um… what you looking 4?
winneroftheSAT: got xpics for trade?
gunmetaldebbie: It’s me, retard.
gunmetaldebbie: Your roommate.
winneroftheSAT: Oh, right right! Debbie…I'll add you to my buddy list.
gunmetaldebbie: How have you been?
*3 minutes go by*
gunmetaldebbie: Are you busy?
*2 minutes go by*
gunmetaldebbie: Are you wondering how I’m doing here in Yonkers?
*10 minutes go by*
winneroftheSAT: how ru?
gunmetaldebbie: I’m all right! jeez. I've been working, catching up with some old girl friends.
winneroftheSAT: NICE! Are they hot???
gunmetaldebbie: I wouldn’t know, they all wear burqas too.
winneroftheSAT: They throwin’ it in you?
winneroftheSAT: that’s lame. do you and your friends go out in public together? I can’t imagine going to the mall or brunch with a gaggle of women wearing duvet covers. you girls must look like a big council of weirdos.
gunmetaldebbie: excuse me?
winneroftheSAT: like a Weirdo Council. weirdos, dorkwads, lame-os.
winneroftheSAT: so what kind of stuff are you working on over there?
winneroftheSAT: for your “TV Station”
gunmetaldebbie: Why’d you put tv station in quotes?
winneroftheSAT: because I’d hardly call it a TV station
winneroftheSAT: it’s more of a miscreant outfit of inflammatory terrorist hacks
winneroftheSAT: nothing to say about that Debbie?
gunmetaldebbie: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
winneroftheSAT: sure you do.
gunmetaldebbie: Were you on my desktop???
winneroftheSAT: I'll ignore that question and cut to the chase. I know what you're hiding.
winneroftheSAT: YOU WORK FOR AL JAZEERA
winneroftheSAT: Don’t even try to deny it!! I know what you’re up to.
gunmetaldebbie: Yes…Al Jazeera! hehe. that’s right. That’s exactly where I work. How did you figure me out Nate?
winneroftheSAT: I’m an extremely intelligent human being. Two words--
winneroftheSAT: It’s okay to be affiliated with Al Jazeera. Your secret is totally safe with me, friend.
gunmetaldebbie: I hope so.
winneroftheSAT: John Ashcroft will never hear about this. I promise.
gunmetaldebbie: Thank you so much. I was worried.
winneroftheSAT: Of course, my confidentiality comes with a price.
gunmetaldebbie: I assumed so. Please name it! Anything!
winneroftheSAT: We go to the Red Lobster in Times Square.
winneroftheSAT: I get one of everything on the menu…
winneroftheSAT: You pay the bill!
winneroftheSAT: Do you want me to keep my gob shut? or what? It’s really quite simple. Pick your poison Debbie!
gunmetaldebbie: Fine. I need to tell you some very important information anyways. Dinner will be a good time to discuss it.
winneroftheSAT: Excellent. I think I’ve already nearly forgotten about this whole Al Jazeera nonsense.
winneroftheSAT: When are you coming back?
gunmetaldebbie: Tommorrow afternoon. I still have a little bit of additional reporting to finish before I come home. :)
winneroftheSAT: Perfect. I’ll make reservations for tomorrow night then. See you there.
gunmetaldebbie: Tell Oasis I miss him. And that he’s the cutest kitty ever.
winneroftheSAT: bastard cat…
gunmetaldebbie: Oh, and Nate.
gunmetaldebbie: Stay the fuck away from my computer.
Picture of Father-to-Mother
I found this picture of Father-to-Mother looking through an old scrap book. This was during the pre-op testing period. I wonder how Mother-to-Father and Father-to-Mother are doing right now, I should give them a call this weekend.
If you're looking for more wotSAT action over the weekend, look around Part 3 of the "Out of Town" storyline for a secret surprise!
Average US Credit score is 678. Mine is 12??
- There must be some mistake! I saw an advertisement on Yahoo stating the average US credit score is 678. I scoffed. I’m certain my credit score blows that out of the water. The remainder of my day was totally normal. I thought about how smart I am, how good looking I am, and I even worked on my just for fun thesis—“Atlantis Rose: Echoes of T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland in Hart Crane's The Bridge.” I went to bed that night without a care in the world.
And then I woke up in a slight bit of an overwhelming drenching cold sweat. What if my credit score is only average?? I am the winneroftheSAT. Nothing I do is merely average. I am the 99th percentile.
I placed a phone call to Experion, one of the three major credit reporting bureaus at 4 in the morning.
“Good day sir or madam. Excuse me, but could you perchance tell me what my credit score might be?”
“And you are?” A smokey throated female voice sighed back over the phone. I could sense immediately by her deflated tone that she had a permanent and was wearing a sweater with golden retrievers on it.
“Gee, where do I begin? Well, You see, my name is Nate S. I was born on a faraway plain back in the 80s. I was switched at birth and raised by a dual set of post-op transparents. I don’t know who my real parents are, but I do know they bestowed on me the genes to eventually become the first human to win the SAT. Maybe you’ve heard of me. I was in the USA Today a few years ago. Surely, you read the USA Today!”
“Your credit score is 12.”
“You are quite the trickster!” I guffawed. “No seriously, what is it? Allow me to find a pen so I might write it down.”
“Um…there’s a time for jokes and then there’s a time for total unflinching seriousness.”
“Well, I don’t like your attitude ma’am. Maybe your competitor, Equifax, will help me better than you have helped me. In fact, I am going to tell all my friends to never ever use Experion for their credit reporting needs and only go to Equifax. How does that strike you?”
I hung up and called Equifax. A similar conversation took place with an even gruffer sounding woman with a possibly more embarrassing embossed sweater. When she revealed to me my credit score of 12, I threatened this lady with vows of allegiance to Transunion as my sole credit bureau. She wasn’t moved either.
How could my credit score possibly be 12? It’s true I don’t pay my bills on time or ever, I’ve never owned an unsecured credit card, and I’m offered special 40.9 % APRs if I act soon. Yes, I’ve been linked to insurance fraud, pyramid schemes, and spam campaigns. I’ve also been in and out of juvie, been fingered as the main man behind an omnipacific DVD pirating ring, and was spotted selling M&Ms on the subway for my high school basketball team at the age of 22. Could these secret credit reporting companies find out about all this? Impossible. Is someone leaking information to them?
How am I supposed to get a mortgage or a car loan with a 12 when the US average credit score is 678. I simply must have a mortgage and a car loan by the time I'm 30 or I'll just die. I'm so depressed. There must be something I can do to raise it. But what??
Scoping out Debbie's computer while she's in Yonkers - Part 3
- Oh baby, I’m kinda nervous. I'm still very pissed about that moron cat ruining my life and the bullet holes in our window. However, right now, I really wonder what’s on Debbie’s computer that she doesn’t want me to see?
Hmmm. Her Desktop is kinda bare. No pictures of lesbians doing other lesbians yet. Just a blue background. Boring. Let’s do some random clicking. Internet Explorer > Tools > Internet Options > Internet History:
www.google.com=search?=grenade launchers for sale
http://www.google.com=search?=accelerating the healing of scars, cuts
Al Jazeera...Ah ha! Right at the top! That must be who she works for!! It kinda makes total sense now, with her wearing that silly burqa and all. No wonder she wouldn’t tell me she's employed by them. Bush’s administration has painted Al Jazeera as a rogue syndicate of biased, shadowy, inflammatory journalists. If top officials knew Debbie was working for Al Jazeera, she’d probably get shipped to Guantanamo or worse. I’ll have to remember this information so I can blackmail her appropriately.
And what else is on here? Hmmm...Not very interesting if you ask me. But then again, I don’t have time to click on all the links. I haven’t been able to watch any Olympics for nearly 10 minutes now since the awful demise of my laptop. I better get off of here.
I've got Debbie all figured out. Al Jazeera. Ha. Should have known...
Webmaster's note: To maximize your enjoyment of this post and future posts, please be careful to take a sturdy look around.
Debbie remains out of town - Part 2
- “AHHH!!!!” I screamed as Debbie’s idiot cat Oasis sniffed and circled my iBook.
- The cat sprayed all over my laptop.
- I tossed the can of Fancy Feast I was holding to the floor and reached for a handgun on the endtable.
- Oasis lept from the computer to the windowsill, knocking the notebook off my bed.
- I fired two rounds hoping for headshots but narrowly missing.
- My iBook plunked into the cat’s nearby automatic litterbox. The robotic litter comb immediately began pushing litter into the keyboard and the ports.
- Then the kitty bidet I modded into the litterbox insultingly shot pulses of water at the computer.
- I threw the gun down and burst into tears.
- The cat calmly licked himself.
What the fuck just happened here? You stupid stupid cat. I cannot believe what just happened. This is my life! My very expensive computer is destroyed.
I gently pulled my iBook from the litterbox. I tried to brush some of the refuse off. It was just sticking there. The hard drive was puttering, gasping. whrr..ga dunk ga dunk...whirrr...zzzzzip. I held it close to me so I could feel its final struggle for life. Please don’t go. The motion sensor on the litter bidet continued to shoot water at the crotch of my pants. I didn’t care though. I clutched the Ibook tight against my face weeping uncontrollably. Not like this. First the screen blacked out. I sobbed. Then the hard drive went dead too as the computer slipped into Eternal Sleep mode. My emotions overtook me for a few minutes until I snapped out of it.
I have the Apple Care Protection Plan! I’ll have a new one by next Monday.
But just then, another serious thought popped into my head. How am I supposed to apply for jobs online without a computer? Employers need to know that I’m still on the job market. Where can I go to use one? I’m not homeless--scratch the public library. I’m not a gaywad--internet cafes are out.
Most importantly, how am I going to keep up this blog? I need to finish blogging this week somehow. I got 9 original hits yesterday and I’ll be damned if I let those nameless, faceless total strangers down.
Even though Debbie has explicitly made it clear in the past that I do not use her computer under any circumstances whatsoever, I think she’d understand after explaining to her that her cat is an asshole. I absolutely must use her computer given these circumstances. I don’t care what kind of porn she’s hiding on there. Well, actually, I do want to know. And I’ll find out in just a few minutes once I check her internet history!!
I booted up Debbie’s desktop.
Tomorrow: DO NOT MISS IT.
“Don’t,” he began to lift his leg, “you,” he lifted it higher, “dare pee,” the kitty looked non-chalantly right at me, “on my G4!!”
During the course of the next three seconds, the following occurred in this order:
Debbie goes out of town - Part 1
- I’ve been in bed all weekend with an illness similar to Olympic Fever--Olympic Meningitis. Unable to leave the apartment, or even crawl to the bathroom to relieve myself when nature calls, the only medicine for this affliction is a blitzkrieg of mindnumbing olympic coverage and the accompanying heartfelt human interest stories. Most people die from Olympic Meningitis. I don’t have health insurance, so I hope I just pull through.
My new roommate Debbie has been away on a business trip for the past few days. Last Thursday, I found a yellow smiley themed piece of sationery stapled to our bunkbed frame reading, “Goin’ to be in Yonkers for a few days on assignment. Feed the cat--catfood. DON’T touch my computer. TTYL”
I haven’t quite figured out what Debbie’s deal is. First of all, her whole body is encased in a full-length burqa. The only exposed part is a small strip for her piercing brown eyes. Second, Debbie won’t tell me where she works. How am I supposed to judge her accordingly if she won’t answer me the most leveraging question of any conversation--“So, what do you do?” All I know is she possibly works for a TV studio and that this TV studio is fine hiring some goofball in a burqa.
A plus about living with someone with a curtain wrapped around them like a soft tortilla is that I’ve been able to trick the neighbors into thinking she’s a ninja. They haven’t fucked with me since she moved in. A big negative is that she casually forgot to mention a mangy cat was boarding with us until the day she rolled up in a U-Haul. Since I blew all the rent money Debbie gave me on motorcycle racing gear--helmets, leather suits, chaps, crotchless pants to go under the chaps--I couldn’t just refund her check because of a stupid cat I would instantly grow to hate. I love those chaps!
The apartment is a little too crowded with me, Debbie, and Oasis--the cat. His litterbox is right next to the bed. Actually, everything in the apartment is right next to the bed because our space is the size of about a dozen pretzel rods placed end to end. We fortunately have one of those robotic litterboxes that senses when the cat shits so the shit doesn’t linger around for too long. Thanks to some ingenuity on my part, I modded the litterbox with a hose connected to the sink so it sprays a dainty burst of water onto the cat’s butt when it’s done smelling up the room. The cat can’t get enough.
Oh, here comes Oasis right now. He must be hungry.
“Hey Oasis. Oh, aren’t you sweet. You like me, huh? I was just kidding earlier, I like you too. You’re a precious cat." I patted the cat on it's head. "I’ll just walk to the other side of the room leaving my Ibook unattended and grab you a fresh can of Fancy Feast.”
I waited for a commercial break of the Olympic coverage and I used my atrophied forelimbs to pull myself over to where we keep the catfood.
“Okay, I’m coming back with your din-din you cutie patootie... Oasis? Oasis! What are you doing! NO!! Get away from that!! OASIS!!!”
Part 2 tomorrow!
I've secured the transcript of NJ Governor James McGreevey's recent speech and the transcript of his wife's thoughts during it
Throughout my life, I have grappled with my own identity, who I am. As a young child, I often felt ambivalent about myself, in fact, confused.
I love being up here at these press conferences. I wonder what today’s is about? Look at James. He looks so cute right now.
By virtue of my traditions, and my community, I worked hard to ensure that I was accepted as part of the traditional family of America. I married my first wife, Kari, out of respect and love. And together, we have a wonderful, extraordinary daughter. Kari then chose to return to British Columbia.
What a skank. She all mysteriously ran off. How hot do I look in this powersuit?
I then had the blessing of marrying Dina, whose love and joy for life has been an incredible source of strength for me. And together, we have the most beautiful daughter.
I’m the luckiest woman in the world! Damn straight our daughter is the most beautiful. I hope people notice that he said he and Kari’s daughter was merely wonderful and ours is the most beautiful.
Yet, from my early days in school, until the present day, I acknowledged some feelings, a certain sense that separated me from others. But because of my resolve, and also thinking that I was doing the right thing, I forced what I thought was an acceptable reality onto myself, a reality which is layered and layered with all the, quote, good things, and all the, quote, right things of typical adolescent and adult behavior.
What’s he talking about? It’s cold in here. Are my nipples hard? Yup. They sure are. I really need to go to the post office before it closes.
At a point in every person's life, one has to look deeply into the mirror of one's soul and decide one's unique truth in the world, not as we may want to see it or hope to see it, but as it is.
I’m not so sure about this speech. Kinda boring if you ask me. But he’s the governor--not me. I wish I had some Skittles. So hungry. James better be ready for all the hot sex I have planned tonight. I’m gonna pin him down. James--what a tease.
And so my truth is that I am a gay American. And I am blessed to live in the greatest nation with the tradition of civil liberties, the greatest tradition of civil liberties in the world, in a country which provides so much to its people.
Yet because of the pain and suffering and anguish that I have caused to my beloved family, my parents, my wife, my friends, I would almost rather have this moment pass.
Are you fucking kidding me?
For this is an intensely personal decision, and not one typically for the public domain. Yet, it cannot and should not pass.
You told me this speech was gonna be about zoning policies.
I am also here today because, shamefully, I engaged in adult consensual affair with another man, which violates my bonds of matrimony. It was wrong. It was foolish. It was inexcusable.
And for this, I ask the forgiveness and the grace of my wife.
You better have a real fucking good divorce lawyer, asshole.
She has been extraordinary throughout this ordeal, and I am blessed by virtue of her love and strength.
So, because my vagina has been a barren wasteland for the past 3 years, I’m extraordinary? I’m like a prop up here. The idiot wife. Were there signs? I suppose. I guess I missed the hint every night when I asked him if he wanted to do it and he said “With you? Sorry babe, I’m late for a meeting.”
Given the circumstances surrounding the affair and its likely impact upon my family and my ability to govern, I have decided the right course of action is to resign.
Where did I find this guy? He’s gay AND he’s unemployed.
My resignation will be effective on November 15th of this year.
I’m resigning as wife way earlier than that buddy.
I'm very proud of the things we have accomplished during my administration. And I want to thank humbly the citizens of the state of New Jersey for the privilege to govern.
Totally IN...in a NYC public bathroom stall!
- I spend a lot of time in the bathroom. A LOT. In an effort to feed you the truth about what's really hip in New York, here is the second installment of the "Totally IN" series. Read the first one here!
-Saying really loudly, "Howabout that George Michael? Can you believe getting sucked off in one of these? That'd be something!"
-Peeing onto the floor near the divider just to see if the person in the stall next to you will say anything.
-Reading the New York Post while pooping. Thus creating a metamodern moment: Reading crap while excreting it.
-Challenging others to the new New York chicken-esque craze--the Laxative Highball.
-Milking the cow
-Breakin' the seal
-Talking on your celly. Don't worry about the line of broads outside.
-Hotsyncing your palm pilot and your laptop.
-Preparing for the rest of your blind date by turning your B cups into Double D's.
-Worshipping the Goddess of Never Been Cleaned Porcelin.
-Starting a hepatitis epidemic.
-Reciting Chekhov monologues to heighten dramatic tension.
-Contemplating the maddening Freudian dilemma of losing a part of you that you will never ever get back.
-Unloading all your retarded party flyers.
-Exposing the truth in writing about ex-girlfriend Jenny: She's a Slut!
-When in doubt of what to scrawl with your jumbo Sharpie, go with an old favorite: "Rats Live on No Evil Star" or "Satan, Oscillate My Metallic Sonatas." That shit is deep.
**Note for Tourists**If you really need to go and you're walking the city streets, a Starbucks is always nearby where you can pretend to think about buying something. Worm into the bathroom when the barista turns his or her back. Then, systematically proceed completing the items on this list to feel like a true New Yorker.
I'm gonna find out what's so fishy about my roommate! - Part 3
- “Over here is the slop bucket that I use as a bathroom. Behind it is the hot plate that serves as a kitchen--don't leave it on unattended. You’ll see to the right of the kitchen is the floor that doubles as a closet.” I chaperoned potential new roommate Debbie around my dumpy studio apartment. “Oh, and here is my hand in which you can cut me a check for one month’s rent--1200 dollars plus two times security deposit.” I pointed to my open palm with the other.
“Your home is so beautiful. A little small. But, I love the view of the New York City skyline from the window.”
“Absolutely,” I said disinterested. Out the corner of my eye I saw a pen sticking out of a pocket of my pants laying in a crumpled heap near the bathroom. “Do you need a stylus for check writing purposes?” She toured the room running her hand over a fake oak bookcase and non-matching media center.
Debbie’s appearance is a little odd by Western standards. Her entire head and body was clad in black free flowing linens. The only reason I let this slag into the building is because she claimed she works for a television company. She then implied she’d pass my resume around at the place.
“Why don’t you take off that drab gown and stay a while,” I urged.
“Oh no, Nate, I could never do that. My burqa must stay on at all times.”
“It’s okay if you’re ugly,” I lied.
“...I’m not ugly.”
“Of course you’re not. Oh hey Debbie, here’s a few extra copies of my curriculum vitae for the office.” I extended to her a small stack of papers from a pile with a post-it on top labeled “Resume: CURRENT.” She slowly took to meeting my outstretched resumes. “So tell me more about what you do at work!”
“I can’t really talk about it. I’m on a confidential short term assignment. If the information I have leaks out, countless lives would be in danger. Hostile governments would come to power in the Middle East and overthrow ones friendly to the United States.”
“You can tell me, Debbie! Who am I going to blab to? I have a web log, but I would never ever write your personal secrets on it.” OMG, if she would just tell me one awesome secret I could get soooo many hits on my hit counter! “Can I guess for whom you work?”
“No. I really can’t afford to...”
“No.” She sighs.
“Are you one of the radical clerks who follows Muqtada Al-Sadr? What makes those storefront operators so angry?”
“Jo Ann Fabrics?”
“Stop it. Can I move in or what?” As she said this her voice cracked and a faint wisp of a British accent snuck out from the sofa cover wrapping her mouth.
“Hmmm...I’m going to figure you out. I assume you’ll tell me at some point what company I’m going to be drafting a cover letter for. But you can move in. For now.”
“Fantastic. I’ll bring my bunkbed over from Staten Island tomorrow. I’ll have to build some closet space for all my burqas. Shall I write this check out to Nate S...?”
“No no. Nate is sufficient.”
“Well Nate, I look forward to living with you. I do hope we made the right decision today,” Debbie concluded.
Somethin's still fishy about my new roommate - Part 2
- I pressed my face up against the 3rd story window pane to get a better look at this gelatinous black blob of a character pushing the buzzer down below. She looked up right at me and I think our eyes met. I couldn’t really tell because the dark bedsheet she had fashioned into clothing was consuming most of her head, covering all but a small slit for her eyeballs. I nervously ducked under the glass so she couldn’t see me. Crap. I explicitly said no fatties in the roommate wanted post I put on Craigslist. Crawling towards the other side of the room, my quivering hand reached out for the light switch to turn it off.
“I’m not fat!!” she screamed suddenly. I gasped. Who was this broad kidding?
“Yes you are!” I loudly countered, emboldened by her preposterous declaration. I jumped back in front of the window and pushed it to the top so I could stick the whole of my upper torso out the building as I added, “Nate’s not home! Go away!”
“Look Nate, I’m wearing an extremely huge burqa plus the strong wind is accentuating my enormity. I’m really a size 4. It’s very in right now to wear baggy burqas. Much like those XL shirts you wore in the 90’s.”
“Sorry Jabba, I don’t’ remember the 90’s. Um...also, my name’s not Nate! My name is....uh..,” I scrambled for any semblance of a fake name, my eyes darted to the VHS tape of Lord of the Rings on the floor of the living room, “My name is Bilbo Baggins! Now git!”
“I know who you are. We know who you are,” the obstreperous cow stated. She extended the antenna of the satellite phone she was holding to it’s full length--approximately 3 feet--and she began to speak into it using some crazy language I’ve yet to study and master.
“Who is we?”
She politely placed her hand over the receiver of the phone and replied,“The television broadcasting company I work for. We know all about you.”
Hmm. Maybe she isn’t so fat. “Can you get me a job there?”
“If you have the right skill set.”
I bounded down the stairs of the walk-up, sprung open the door and smiled the most authentic smile I could muster, “I hope that burqa has pockets.”
“Why’s that...Bilbo Baggins?”
“Because you best be carrying a checkbook on you somehow.”
She laughed heartily. I didn’t get what was so funny, so I just pretended to laugh.
“Why don’t you come in and take a look at the hovel...er, apartment...uh...”
“Debbie. Call me Debbie.”
“Okay, Deb.” I tugged her by her silly full-body cloak into the entranceway and we started up the stairs...
Tomorrow: The exciting Conclusion of the First Appearance of Debbie Story Arc! A clue about Debbie's fishiness can be found somewhere within this link.
Somethin's fishy about my new roommate - Part 1
- I made two major earth moving discoveries over the weekend. One--there's an uncanny resemblance of Ashlee Simpson to Talkatoo Cockatoo from Zoobilee Zoo. And two--something is real odd about my new roommate Debbie.
My trust fund barely allows for me to go out on weekends, seeing as how after rent, job interview tuxedo costs, and career preparation seminars, I’m leftover with only about ONE THOUSAND dollars of disposable income per month. As many of you probably know, New York City isn’t a cheap place to live and ONE THOUSAND dollars doesn’t go far. After getting the trust fund check cashed into small bills, I then bring it home, spread it all over my bed into piles, and proceed to roll around with all the hot Hamiltons and lusty Lincolns. It sure would be nice to have two thousand dollars to lay with but I only have ONE THOUSAND every month. *sigh*
About a month ago, I placed a call to the financier of my family, the custodian of the trust, Mother-to-Father. He had taken over the family bank accounts after the operation. I begged and pleaded with him to wire more money immediately. I was making dirty looks over the phone when he told me I’m just going to have to make due with the money I have. “Damn you!!” I howled. “Get a job! or a roommate!” he stabbed back. I slammed the cell phone against the wall. A flatmate? Hmmm...I’ve never considered that before. I’ve heard positive things. But I also heard bad things about flatmates. I once saw a television program in which all these strangers live together and one of them had the audacity to stick his finger in the other’s peanut butter. But I suppose if equal rent at my studio is 800 per person and I charged him or her 1200 plus an equally unequal portion of the utilities, I could buy enough peanut butter so I could stick a finger in it, lick it, then throw the whole thing away.
So I placed an ad on Craigslist:
**VGL hung, uncut Male seeking one roommate to share spacious studio in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I am extremely intelligent and highly respected throughout the community. You be too. Absolutely no blacks, asians, ex-cons, Native Americans, or fatties please. When you knock on the door to look at the apartment and I look out from the 3rd floor window to see you and you fit one of those profiles, I will turn off all the lights and pretend I’m not there.**
I received a sudden influx of inflammatory emails. If these rogue spammers were trying to make my Delete finger prematurely arthritic, then they’ve succeeded. Otherwise it was basically the same bore of a read over and over, "You are a fascist...blah blah blah."
Before long, a steady stream of potential flatmates with similar values came rushing in. What a great turn of events to be the interviewer instead of the one being interviewed. I was fair and just. I asked pertinent questions like, “Lindeman’s Bin 65, your thoughts?” and “Would you mind if I wore your clothes when you weren’t looking?” If they answered incorrectly, I would shout “YOU LOSE!!!” and usher them towards the door.
I was having no luck. One’s hair was too funny. Another’s chin was too misshapen. I needed to find the perfect person to give me 1200 dollars every month. I resigned to the reality that finding a flatmate may take awhile.
And then the buzzer rang. I rushed to the 3rd floor to look out the window facing the street. There was a person holding a satellite phone and wearing what seemed to be a black flowing bedsheet wrapping her whole body, a burqa perhaps.
It was Debbie.
Ashlee Simpson vs. Talkatoo Cockatoo
One of these two is from Zoobilee Zoo. And one is Ashlee Simpson. Try to guess which is which!
From the Webmaster: see today's post from the winneroftheSAT here or start in the archives and read about his life from the beginning.
How did that kitten get in that sandwich?!
Mmmm...I have this great recipe for the most adorable sandwich ever! All you need is lettuce, tomato, 2 slices of sharp cheddar, a little mayo, a whole wheat bun, and the cutest Cat Fancy centerfold quality kitten you can find. Once you have your condiments in place, hold the top bun about 10 inches above the bottom bun and just wait for the precious kitten to jump right in!
Webmaster's note--The next few weeks here are going to sizzle up the rest of your summer. An unforgettable week long introspective on a certain "ability" of the Golden Girls is coming very soon. But before that, there are some other things we need to focus on. Keep the comments rolling in and stay tuned.
Why is Everyone throwing Garbage at Me??
- I just don’t get it. Yesterday afternoon, on my way to the Chess Forum in the Village for my weekly brain crosstraining, someone threw an entire 15 gallon sack of rotting garbage out their second floor window right at me! The ballast of the bag hit me square in the bread basket. The Hefty Gladbag ripped in half, cascading me with untold quantities of refuse. I was covered with apple cores, corn husks, and broken down cereal boxes. Looking up in the general direction--my eyes blinded with sour yogurt--I shouted, “Whence came this bag of stinky garbage?!” Naturally, no one in the apartment building confessed to this foul deed, so I sighed loudly and shrieked, “Savages!” I was flabbergasted.
I stood up to brush myself off and realized everyone around me was laughing like jackals. “You nitwits find this amusing?” A child on rollerblades said, “Yea” and high-fived his punk friend. “I’ll give you something to guffaw about!” I swung at them but they were moving too fast. My ego was bruised. As was my stomach.
In a reversal of spirits, the two pickup chess matches I played boosted my self esteem. Who opens with a pawn H2-H4 two games in a row? Amateurs.
So I leave and I’m walking back down Thompson St. and you’d never believe what happened next. A street hobo comes right up to me--for no reason at all, mind you--and completely nails me upside the skull with a mammoth shopping tote. As I writhe on the ground clutching my head, he dumps out the contents of his bag onto my defenseless body. And guess what was inside? You got it. A whole lotta smelly garbage. He must have been looking for beer cans to redeem for a deposit. I’m not sure why he used me as a countertop. I whimpered politely that he please leave me alone. And he did. Eventually.
Playing dead seemed to help drive the hobo away. I’m so over being covered in filth. While removing the chunks of albacore, wadded Arby’s napkins, and oversaturated Hamburger Helper noodles, tourists were snapping away with their cameras. I roared at them like a caged tiger and even chased after one set of gawkers who were undoubtedly from the midwest.
I somehow managed to find the subway and stumble home to the safe harbor of my apartment. I drew the waters for the footspa, pitched my outer layers into the hamper and let the plush beanbag envelop me. No sooner had I placed my left foot into the spa, a flaming Rite Aid bag full of debris comes violently crashing through my window. I started hyperventilating and reached for the nearest New Yorker to pat out the burning waste in my living room. I extinguished the fire, but questions in my mind were still aflame. Namely, “Why is everyone throwing garbage at me??”
I was beside myself. Is this some sort of new craze I don’t know about? I try to keep up with what the kids are doing as evidenced here, but I didn’t read anything on Gothamist about having overloaded bags of rubbish flung at you with abandon. Someone is gonna hear about this!
Variations between the fitness regiments of WWE Superstar Randy Orton and WinneroftheSAT
- Rundown of Routine as stated by Randy:
I try to do Cardio on the treadmill at a slight incline for 30 minutes, 3 times a week. I train abdominals 3-5 times a week. Chest, Shoulders, Back, Legs, once a week. I do Biceps and Triceps on the same day once a week. I try to work my neck 3 times a week, and my forearms the same. Stretching is very important to me. I stretch before and after i train.
Rundown of Routine as stated by WinneroftheSAT:
I try to do Cardio every day. As soon as I triple deadbolt the front door of my apartment, I have to sprint through the terrifying ghettos of Park Slope, Brooklyn in order to get to the safety of the subway. Along the run, I dodge gangster bitches with strollers, turf protecting elderly gangbangers outside the flowershop, and 2-bit gutterpunks eyeballin’ me in front of that Starbucks. I don’t have time to stretch. But I pat myself down and do a head-to-toe valuables check once I’m in the station.
Randy’s Leg Routine:
Superset Thigh Extentions w/ Leg Curls : 4 sets - 12-20 reps.
WinneroftheSAT’s Leg Routine:
Legs are a deep concern to me. So much so that I’ve insured them for one million dollars in a move similar to Tina Turner. In a move similar to Nancy Kerrigan, I’ve begun ice skating at the same rink as Jeff Gilooly. I’m one crippled leg away from a sweet sweet million.
Randy’s Chest Routine:
Incline BarBell Bench : 3 sets - 20 reps.
Incline DumbBell Bench : 5 sets - 6 reps.
Flat Bench : 4 sets 8 - 12 reps.
Cable Crossovers : 3 sets - 15 reps.
*every other week I do 10 sets of 10 pushups, with hands on a bench
WinneroftheSAT’s Chest Routine:
I can Dead Bench 150lbs. Towel Bench 195. Vertical Bench 220. Overhead Bench 235. I have more strength in my heaving chest than Halle Berry has damage to her brain for being in Catwoman. My chest is very important. My personal chest idol, Khan from Star Trek II, gives me something to strive for. His was plastic though. Mine is all real.
Randy’s Back Routine:
Pulldowns : 3 sets - 20 reps.
Seated Cable Rows : 3 sets - 12 reps.
T-Bar Rows : 3 sets - 10 reps.
Bent Over Rows : 3 sets - 20 reps.
Lower Back Ext. : 3 sets - 15 reps.
*one set of pullups to failure*
WinneroftheSAT’s Back Routine
To keep my back in top physical condition, free of pulled muscles and spasms, I avoid activities which could cause irreparable harm such as helping best friends/lifelong family members move, assisting fragile old women with their groceries up the subway stairs, or beginning a back routine.
Randy’s Shoulder Routine:
Side Laterals : 3 sets - 15 reps.
Front Laterals : 3 sets - 15 reps.
Rear Laterals : 3 sets - 15 reps.
Arnold Presses : 4 sets - 8 - 12 reps.
Upright Rows : 3 sets - 8 - 12 reps.
WinneroftheSAT’s Shoulder Routine:
Jumping Jacks: 1 set -10 - Daily.
Extended Arm Twirlies: 2 sets - 5 - Every other day.
Randy’s Triceps & Biceps Routine
Pushdowns : 3 sets - 20 reps.
French Curls : 3 sets - 8-12 reps.
Overhead Tri Ext : 3 sets - 8-12 reps.
Closegrip Pushdowns : 3 sets - 15 reps.
Alt. Dumbbell Curls : 3sets - 10reps.
Alt. Dumbbell Hammer Curls : 3 sets - 8 reps.
BarBell Curls : 3 sets - 8 reps.
Cable Curls : 3 sets - 8 reps.
Winnerofthe SAT’s Triceps & Biceps Routine:
When someone comes up to me and asks, “How did you get those guns?? Do you have a license for those?” I often pause to flex, then respond, “A grand don’t come for free, bro.” I think that’s all I need to say... .... Oh, it’s not? Fine, I do dumbbell curls with the sacks of garbage all over the kitchen floor.
My diet is actually fairly simple. I stay away from carbs after 8pm or so. And as far as Carbs go, I eat a limited amount, usually from mostly potatoes, oatmeal, and pancakes. I try to eat 250 grams of protein a day. About 60% of my protein intake comes from supplements. I like Isopure Meal Replacements, and Protein Powder. Nitro Tech is good as well. I also eat protein bars from LeanBody. Most of the protein I eat from food I get out of egg whites, steak, fish, chicken, milk,and cottage cheese. Sushi I eat around 3 times a week. If i have a sugar tooth, I like ice cream. It is hard to eat good on the road, but you can do it. There is no excuse to eat junk!!!!!
250 grams of protein a day?? That’s like 6 whole chickens, Randy. I try to stay away from consuming the entire corpse of a chicken. I don’t know what the protein or carb content is of a Hot Pocket, but I know they’re scrumptious. When I’m not eating Hot Pockets, I’m drinking Pepsi One. When I’m not eating or drinking those, I’m complaining about the sweeping and widespread free radical damage done to my body from them. Most of the food I eat comes from C-Town or Key Food.
Randy’s workout routine courtesy of www.randyortononline.com
Totally IN... on Wall Street!
Wall St. is all over the headlines as a possible Al Qaeda target. Before some dickwad tries to detonate it, I’d like to introduce you to the Wall St. you may not know. I spend several hours each weekday at the corner of Wall St. and Water St. passing out personal resumes to CEOs and business executives heading to their offices. I usually stick an AM New York or Metro newsie with a shiv to score a stack of free papers. I then insert my resume/headshot along with some expired Burger King coupons (for impact) into the World News section. I do this from 7am until I run out of resumes or until the guy I shanghai-ed comes to.
Anyways, I see a lot of trends there. What’s hip on Wall St. might not be cool in any other part of town. Here’s what’s all the rage in the world’s greatest financial strip:
-Nebulous pleated chinos.
-Shapeless secretarial moo-moos
-Saying to coworkers, “Hey, where you goin’ for lunch?” and “Hey, where’d you go for lunch?” with sheer contempt and unfeeling insincerity.
-Creating your own fresh tossed salad item by item. God forbid you pick a stupid pre-made salad off a shelf.
-Fried chicken trucks.
-Handfeeding pigeons crushed Alka Seltzer.
-Contemplating exactly where you want to place that stop order on Home Depot.
-Tripping people who you deem to be walking too fast.
-Power pocket pool.
-An inverse relationship between the number of identity badges and the loss of self-identity.
-Larry & Curly, the security guards at your building who are always watching, always thinking, always calculating.
-Shattered dreams regarding Midtown and the sadness that comes with not working there.
-Walking around like you’re all important.
-Screaming “Buy!” and “Sell!”
-Polar bear swims in the East River before work.
-Nerdy Indian guys moving in packs.
-Hanging out near the Hanover Square sculpture of Abraham De Peyster--the bronze of the Tory on a toilet.
-Seeing the same people outside their office buildings smoking all the time. Do they ever not smoke?
-Flaunting your Blackberry--a device meant to connect you to the world. Ironically, you are somehow totally disconnected from reality.
-Developing and maintaining an overall persona of lameness.
Click here to see the most current winneroftheSAT posting!
In the spirit of the improv comedy marathon that took place at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre here Friday-Sunday in New York, I am going to pleasure you with a little writing improv.
Here's how it works. I just need a suggestion from you, my readers, of an object--any object. I will then write a fully improvised sketch similar to all those I saw this past weekend based on this suggestion. I am going to log off now and wait for you to email me with the suggestion.
*6 hours go by*
Hello again. Okay, according to my Site Meter statistics, it appears that a mere two people came to my site in the past quarter of a day. And it also seems they arrived here via Google searches for Michael Ian Black and transsexual parents respectively. All I need is a suggestion of one object, then I can begin zestfully improvising about it.
*8 hours go by*
...I just checked my Gmail. Maybe I should have increased the font size on that last open call. I'll look up the HTML programming code for bigger fonts but in the meantime, I'm going to tell you something. You see, readers, improv absolutely cannot exist without the initial audience input. Without the very crucial audience participant shrieking "lollipop" or "razorblade suitcase," there is no way for me to humorously begin miming that I am a short order cook at Denny's who is making runny pancakes during the after-church brunch rush. Without that shout out, I am just writing bullshit that I planned to write about during rehearsal. So, zip me a nice little note and we can begin this bit.
*4 hours go by*
I understand that you may not be fanatics about written improv. Some you have expressed that improv makes you nervous and uncomfortable seeing writers on the edge of disaster, desperately reaching for something to make the audience laugh. But I don't care what you think right now. I just need an object. After that, I will never ask for audience cooperation again--I swear. This site will revert back to monologue format. Oh, and tell a friend about winneroftheSAT.com.
*1 hour later*
Finally...thank you Sally Carvers. The suggestion is "dildo." Very clever, Sally.
(WinneroftheSAT is pretending to plant seeds. He grabs an imaginary garden tool and hoes the ground in front of him. He mimes taking a watering hose to the crop. The water in the hose then gets backed up. He puts his eye up to the hose to inspect what is wrong and it hilariously sprays water all over his face. He then runs over to the other side of the stage and swaggers coolly into the scene swinging a pretend pocket watch.)
WinneroftheSAT II: (In comical fast talking salesman accent)Gee, it must be real tough being a migrant potato farmer in rural Idaho.
WinneroftheSAT: (runs to other side of stage) Sure is. (sprints back to stage right)
WinneroftheSAT II: I think I have something that could help your patch. Listen up kid, I'm only gonna tell you once. In this briefcase are the only tools you'll ever need. (clicks open briefcase, sets it on imaginary table. Looks persuasively at the space where the other imaginary person is supposed to be standing.)
WinneroftheSAT: You're holding a briefcase full of dildos. What am I going to do with a briecase full of dildos??
WinneroftheSAT II: Duh, I dunno. What would most people do with a tote packed with the finest, firmest dildos?
WinneroftheSAT: I just don't see how this helps the potatos.
WinneroftheSAT II: It doesn't! But it'll sure make a lot of people here happy.
WinneroftheSAT: So wait...lemme just recap the previous 10 seconds of dialogue...you're a travelling salesman, and you came to this corporate potato farm, to sell dildos... to migrant workers? Is that right? Why don't you try going door to door?
WinneroftheSAT II: Why don't you try shutting up?
WinneroftheSAT: Oh, let's fight about it then. Gimme that briefcase!!!
(WinneroftheSAT pretends to fight with himself. He runs back and forth punching the air/flailing in a typical improv manner. Each Winner grabs a dildo and strikes at the fake other a la the epic fight scene in the movie Sorority Boys.)
WinneroftheSAT II: Look at us. We're fighting. Over dildos. What have we become??
WinneroftheSAT: We should be making peace with the dildos. Not war. This isn't humanity. This is what savages do.
WinneroftheSAT II: We should get rid of these by dumping them in a hole somewhere.
WinneroftheSAT: Good idea. No wait. We should take them with us. And sell them door to door instead of field to field like I envisioned. Let's get outta here. Fuck this potato farm.
WinneroftheSAT II: I know just what to fuck this farm with too. (Smiles and holds up dildo briefcase.)