People often question my genetic makeup. But I say, it’s just as important to look beautiful on the inside as you do on the outside. This is why I apply foundation, lipstick, and mascara to each and every copy of deoxyribonucleic acid in my entire body before leaving the house each and every morning.
Over the last week or so, I’ve noticed all these ads on TV. With Santa Claus in them. And it’s not like these commercials are merely appropriating the likeness of Santa’s image in order to peddle their products. No, Mr. Claus himself personally appears in these ads and plays an active role in helping these companies sell their wares.
In other words, it turns out that Santa Claus is a fucking sell out! Just like the rest of them!
And this devastates me on such a personal and profound level, I can’t even begin to tell you. But I’ll try.
See, I used to be Santa’s number-one biggest fan back when I was a kid. And I remember each year around holiday season, all my friends would be asking their parents for brand-name-X pair of designer jeans, or state-of-the-art-company-Y’s latest video game console. But not me, no siree. When my parents asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told them that I was totally down with whatever artisan hand-crafted toys Santa and his merry band of D.I.Y. punk-rock arctic elves decided to churn out that year.
And I loved those fucking D.I.Y. artisan toys!
But now in retrospect, it seems clear that the man that I used to non-ironically call “St. Nick” was just biding his time. He was merely building up his indie cred, until he finally got the big blockbuster company deal. And he fucking cashed in.
What a fucking sell out.
in preparation for my soon-to-be short-lived comedy career, I have crafted a handful of esoteric “walks into a bar” jokes:
an anthropomorphism walks into a bar. get it?
a solipsist walks into a bar. or perhaps it was merely an internal mental projection of some sort.
a premonition always had a feeling that it would walk into a bar.
a paraprosdokian walks into a bar and no one gets the joke.
a malapropism walks into a barn.
a simile walks into a bar like a metaphor checks into a hotel.
that’s all I got . . .
This sentence is a microcosm of a much larger sentence that you are not privy to.
I know that a lot of people feel that “observational comedy” has become so overdone. But I think I’ve found one facet of the genre that has yet to be fully exploited.
The way I see it, most comedians tend to focus their efforts on making witty observations about the world. But me, I have decided to dedicate myself to making all the observations, not just the witty ones. For instance, in my burgeoning comedy routine, I will say things like “Hey look, a chair.” Or “This thing in my hand appears to be a microphone.” Or “It seems as though nobody is laughing right now.” And so on.
All in a day’s work for this comedic pioneer…
Sorry I have once again been away for a while. I was busy executing my secret plan to overthrow the government via a strategic use of non-dairy creamers. Everything went swimmingly. Operation successful, achievement unlocked, and all that.
I’m sure that some of you may be thinking: “But the government doesn’t *look* overthrown. It seems like all the same people to me.”
To which I reply: Sure, all the politicians may seem the same on the surface. But have you looked inside their coffees?
Why do we always “face” obstacles? Why not “torso” obstacles, or “leg” or “arm” them instead?
I take that back. We really shouldn’t arm obstacles. Obstacles are bad enough already without the weapons.
The term Achilles’ heel has an apostrophe, because it’s a reference to the heel that belonged to the ancient Greek hero Achilles. Therefore, by the transitive properties of apostrophes, when we talk about something being our Achilles’ heel, that something does not actually belong to us. It belongs to Achilles. Even though that guy has been dead for like, forever.
And given that Achilles allowed his own Achilles’ heel to be shot by an arrow, I really don’t think that we should be trusting this Achilles guy with all of our Achilles’ heels!
Seriously, we’re really vulnerable here – this is an area of weakness that someone may exploit.
If the shoe fits, wear it. That’s what they say.
But first, I want to know where this shoe came from? Is it brand new? Or does it belong to someone else? If so, do they have any communicable foot-borne diseases that I should be aware of? Also, why are they so willing to part with their own shoe? Is there something wrong with it? Or perhaps it was stolen without their consent? And if I were to wear it, wouldn’t that make me complicit in some kind of shoe-thievery activities?
Also, what kind of shoe are we talking about here? If it’s like, a four-inch heel, then sorry, I can no longer wear heels that high since developing plantar fasciitis. Or if it’s a Birkenstock or one of those weird orange clog-like things that Mario Batali wears, then fuck you, there is simply no way that I am putting crap like that on my foot!
And I can’t help but notice that it’s “if the shoe fits” – singular. So then, what about my other foot? Am I really supposed to walk around with only one shoe? The more that I think about it, this whole thing sounds like some kind of shoe-based pyramid scheme. Or perhaps I will be forced to sit through a day-long timeshare sales pitch before they actually give me the other shoe. No thank you!
The authorities really should investigate these shoe people. They are up to no good. I’m sure of it.
I am secretly plotting an overthrow of the government via the strategic use of non-dairy creamers.
I am not quite sure how I will deploy them yet. Check back with me in a month…