Wednesday, January 30, 2008

This Just In: Rachael Still Giants Fan Despite UnFunny Center

Despite Giants' center Shaun O'Hara's inability to crack a funny joke Rachael Parenta is still rooting for the Giants this Sunday.

Before the NFC championship game O'Hara was accused by a Green Bay Packer of being a dirty player. O'Hara's responded with a tongue and cheek comment that he showered and used deordant everyday. The reporters rightfully so (for once) did not laugh. The sports reporters did not even give him a mercy chuckle. It is unclear if anyone in the press room smiled as the press was not on camera during O'Hara's press conference. During the press conference the center game back to the joke several times as if he thought the lack of laughter was due to people not hearing him the first time. Unfortunately, we did all hear it and it was not funny.

Rachael Parenta was hoping that her favorite linesmen would follow his quarterback's lead and not try to be charming or funny. "One does not have to be funny unless one is trying to be funny," said Ms. Parenta in an interview with herself. "It's not awkward to be dull. However, it awkward to tell jokes like a used car salesman on regional television." Despite this embarassing faux pas by the Rutgers alumn Rachael Parenta will still be rooting for the Giants this coming sunday. When she asked her self about it she said, "Love is not blind. I see how some of the Giants are not as charming as they think they are. But that's what love is. Love is knowing the awful truth and loving your team anyway. These guys might not be joke tellers but they block well. Plus, beating an unbeaten team is easy. Comedy is hard."

-ap

Monday, January 28, 2008

Morning After Blog on Small Hands Ick

Good Monday readers. Today we have another weekly installment (that has not been weekly at all) of The Morning After: Defunct Sex Blog Advice Column.

The following is a letter my best friend Anna (former intern of the defunct blog) has selected from the "The Morning After" mail bag.

Dear Dan Dude and Matilda:

Help! Last night I was having sex with a my girlfriend of three months. We were having sex for awhile and I never orgasmed. My girlfriend freaked out. She got all emotional and started accusing me of not finding her attractive. But that's not true, it was like my little dude wasn't ready it just didn't want to take a nap, so to speak. I don't think that's the right analogy. How do I convince my girlfriend it wasn't her. How do I fix my sex life with her?

Sincerely,

Chuck.

Dear Chuck:

First off I'd like to apologize that you didn't recieve an answer to this question 6 months ago when you first wrote to "The Morning After Blog." All I can say is that Dan Dude and Matilda are horrible people. OK. Horrible is an exaggeration. It's not as if these two are CEOs of a Fortune 500 company or Investment Bankers, but they do kind of suck. I mean, here you are Chuck with a need for answers to save your relationship and where is Dan Dude and Matilda? MIA, that where. Just be glad you only asked them for sex advice and not for friendship. Part of me wishes I was friends with them so I can tell them how much I don't want to be friends with them. Anyway, I'm here for you Chuck, because I, unlike some people, I am reliable and take my social responsibilities seriously. I only hope it's not too late.

Here's the thing, Chuck: you and your girlfriend are victims of mendacious pop culture. 100% of men don't have orgasms 100% of the time. The orgasming "problem" isn't just for females. There are several reasons for this.

1)One of the people engaged in the sexual act puts the kobash on the sex. In this scenario neither person really gets a chance to go for "the finish line."

2)The orgasming experience might be too intense for the guy. For whatever reason the man just won't let himself release his orgasm because he can't deal with the power of his own orgasm at that time. (Yes, women also deal with this as well.)

3)A man might be on some sort of anti-depressant. Anti-depressants can cause impotence and a lack of sex drive, but they can also interfere with the ability of orgasming. Sometimes a person might have been on psychological meds for an extended period of time, and though they are now off them their body has sort of forgot how to "finish."

4)A dude might be drunk. Were you drunk, Chuck? When in doubt blame the booze. Not just in sex but in life in general.

5)A dude might be tired. There is no shame in just loosing steam. Frequently we have sex at the wee hours of the morning after a night of partying or skiing. You're tuckered out and you can't go on. It's OK, just don't be a douche about it if your partner isn't tired. She's not questioning your man hood if she wants to continue on by herself. And vice versa for the ladies.

6)Now, Chuck this might come to a surprise to you but some men choose not to orgasm? That's right. I have met such a man. I have slept with such a man. I know this isn't what happened to you, if it were a choice you would have asked a different question. Also, some man do orgasm but don't ejaculate. The founder of the original blog, Dan Dude, is such a person. Supposedly, the non-ejaculating enables men to have multiple orgasms. I don't know the veracity of such a statement but that's what Dan Dude told Anna when she was interning at the blog this past summer. He also said sometimes he just didn't cum, but would fake it. I have to say I disagree for both men and women faking it. I think we all need to chill out on the orgasms. In my opinion it is not the point or the goal of sex. It is a nice by product, but not the end all be all. If it were we could all just sit at home masturbating all day. We wouldn't have to bother with dating, courting or fibbing to each other to get one another into bed.

So, Chuck, if your girlfriend is still your girlfriend tell her that "shit happens" it's not personal. Just like you don't take it personally that she doesn't always have an orgasm. And if she is one of the those women who always cums (because those women exist) then don't say that last part. Remember people sex is the benefit of a relationship. It is payment for having to patio furniture shop, for having to have dinner with your significant other's crazy relatives. Let us try to stress less and have more fun.

In conclusion go GIANTS!

Sincerely,

Small hands Ick

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Abort! Abort!

Supposedly, this past Tuesday was the 35th anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision. I performed on a very special edition of the "Chicks and Giggles" show celebrating the anniversary. The producers of "Chicks and Giggles" asked us ladies to address the topic for some or all of our act. No to disappoint I busted out my old abortion jokes. I added a splash of new abortion material and did ten minutes on abortion. Let me now share some with you some of that set.

So that Roe lady now regrets having her abortion and the role she played in legalizing it. She now wants abortion to be illegal. You know what, I've regretted a lot of things in my day like spending over $100,000 on a theatre degree, or drunkenly eating a hot dog from a street at three in the morning. Hell, I've slept with men who should never have been slept with. But I don't think these things should be prohibited by law. I don't think Governor Spitzer needs to sign a law that makes it illegal to have sex with Ben Kaplan. Even though I strongly feel it would be in every women's interest to avoid such an experience. What I think should be illegal is shaving our legs. I want a law prohibiting leg shaving. Idon't want to shave my legs, but I have to because the rest of you women are all shaving them. I can't go out in the world a single woman and be the only one not shaving. I have to keep up with the pack and stay competitive. However, if it were illegal we'd all be in hairy bliss. Because I don't think any of you really want to. And then I wouldn't be so itchy and then maybe in the winter I wouldn't have to wear long underwear.

Carolyn had suggested I do my old baby flushing joke that goes like this:
I went to the bathroom in the eatery and there was a sign that read, "Only flush toilet paper." And I was like, "Well what do I do with this baby then? Do I put in the sink? Because that's not hygienic. I have to get back out to the prom someone tell me what to do."

I did that joke but then I had to explain it's not an abortion joke. The baby is alive in that joke. It's a baby abandonment joke. You see, I grew up in NJ. Back in the mid 90s in the Garden State there were all these teenage girls having babies in bathroom stalls at the prom. They'd go to the bathroom, have a baby, and then head back out onto the dance floor. If these girls had had abortions just think of all the prom dresses that could have been saved. And you know I feel bad for these girls. The prom is a time for young people to have sex, but you know how hard it is for a women to get a dude to sleep with her while she's menstruating never mind right after she had a baby. The guy would be like, "There's too much room." They are so insensitive.

Now, I'll just wait for a nice Christian to find this post and then fire bomb my house just like Jesus would do. You know how Jesus loved to kill people he disagreed with. It was his third job. Carpentry, Ministry, and then pipe bombs.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

The Dude Might Read This But:...Oh Well

Last Monday I went to an open mic to hone my craft. I told a joke that I've been working on for a couple of months. You can read a version of it here. It's changed a bit from its original form. Now, In part of the joke I say, "I found him, he's 31, works for the Kaplan Learning Center, and just got kicked out of a band that no one has ever heard of." I got off stage Monday Night and sat down next to two comedians I had never met before. The one guy says, "Hey, I work for the Princeton Review."
I smiled like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar and said, "Oh. Well, it's not you."
He laughed and then asked, "Was it Gary?"
"Uh...Yeah."
Ooops. I'm a lazy lazy comedian. This is what happens when I can not bothered to change the details in my jokes. I had thought about changing the details, but never really got around to it. Once I thought I could change Kaplan to night manager of Kinkos. But now I have this egg on my face epilogue to tell after the above referenced joke, which gets laughs. This means I have to keep the Kaplan -shitty band thing because night manager at Kinkos isn't specific enough. There are too many of them for a random comic to even bother asking if it's the same guy. Ooo unless I change Kaplan to the mail room of Deloite and Touche. I can just take the company that some other dude I once dated worked for and insert it into a joke about this other guy.

Here's some advice fellas: if you're planning on bringing a girl home with you make sure she's not a comedian, folk singer, or poet. (Do you see what I did there? I blamed the victim.)

**please note that as of april 17, 2008 the name of the dude and his place of work has been changed. Because he asked me too. I'm flattered he thinks that this blog is so popular his reputation could be damaged. Or maybe he thinks people will google search him and find the blog. But that has not happened in the 4 months this post has been up. My point is that the comments may not make sense now.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Daddy's Girl? Puleeeese. More people Love Me Than Dad.

The Giants once again won. For you people who read this blog and don't care about football one iota you only have two more weeks of football analogies and what not before we get back to the regular fair of sex and dating stories, with a sprinkle of current event absurdism. For now, though, football is on the forefront of my mind (as it's the only thing that is really going well in my life, and yes I'm aware it is the part of my life I have the least effect on the outcome.)

Anyway. A year or so ago I attended a reading of unpublished essays by various non-famous readers. One woman got up and read an essay, the topic of which I can't remember but I do remember her talking about how there are only two types of women who like football. The first are girls who are trying to get laid by impressing men with their football watching. "Look fellas, I like what you like so therefore I'm worthy of marriage and/or sex." The other girls who watch football do so for some father reason. Basically, this women's contention was that women don't naturally like football. There is something when two X chromosomes get together that makes football watching impossible unless one has an ulterior motive. So much for feminism.

I found this lady's theory offensive. I don't know why. Probably because I'm quick to think people are judging me and out to get me, so why not this stranger reading an essay. Or perhaps because her gross generalizations don't apply to me. Of course I'm always trying to find a man, but not via football. I almost always watch football at home where I can jump up and down, yell and scream at the TV and God, do push ups in a hopes my physical efforts will somehow help a team of men I have never met. Basically I like to make a complete fool of myself in the privacy of my home. The way I watch football is like a girl--very emotional--men don't find that attractive. As for the father angle, my dad doesn't watch sports. He never has. He likes to cook and watch Matlock.

Where did my interest come from then? Simple. At the age of 7 or so my uncle Dom would call me up during football season me and ask me to help him pick the over/under for that week's NFL games. He'd also have a couple of games where he'd ask my advice on whether or not such and such a team would "cover the points." It was great! My uncle and I would have the sports section open in our respective homes and handicap the games. Being an assistant gambler gave me the opportunity to work on valuable reading and math skills as well as strengthen NJ, Italian-American stereo-types. And there it was I wanted to see if I made the right picks so I started watching football.

So you see, I'm into football not because I lacked love in my youth or am seeking it now, but because more than just my parents loved me. Even if one of those people loved me because of his superstitious belief that a child would help him win money.

Eventually I would graduate to horse race betting. At the age of 9 my parents accompanied by my aunt and Uncle Dom took me to Saratoga Springs. I was 9 years old and my family had faith in me that I could handle the complicated math that is associated with "The Track." You know odds, bargins on the board ect. But football had already corrupted me. I usually would pick the horse I thought had the most momentum going into his/her race.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

America's Past Time-Reality TV

If professional football was like the presidential race the NY Football Giants would be enjoying their off season already. Last week all the experts on the television and in Las Vegas said that the Cowboys of Dallas were going to beat the Giants of NY (who play in NJ). All the prognosticators had the same story: The Cowboys were a better team and there was no chance for the Giants to win the game. Does that sound familiar? Isn't that what the experts say about Dennis Kucinich, and Ron Paul? And like gamblers, who place their bets on the teams favored as opposed to the team they want to win, the American voter votes for the candidates they are told have a shot to beat the other party.

Fortunately, in football the Giants actually got to play the Cowboys and it turned out all the experts were wrong. The Cowboys weren't the better team because the Cowboys couldn't catch the ball and the Giants could.

That's the problem with primaries. These guys and one gal don't get to actually play the game. Instead politicians, much like Terrell Owens, just toot their horns telling us all how awesome they are and that we should get our popcorn ready. Do you think Terrell Owens took a play out Hilary's playbook and got a little weepy in front of the media? Well, I want my politicians to play a little. Let America see what these politicians are made of. Let's see how they respond under pressure and in -24 degree weather. The primaries should not consist of conning Iowans into believing you care. Rather, it should be more like "Survivor." We'll put these candidates in some sort of government housing and then set up challenges they have to complete. The last person to sell weapons to the Contras wins their party's nomination. Then we can see who really has the guts to stand-up to Wal-Mart and Halliburton.

All I'm saying is that if I had national exposure I could tell the nation that I'm the best wide receiver ever to play football. If I'm a really good public speaker I could convince you that despite my size, age, and the fact I have five titanium pins in my left ankle that it's true. I'd never have to play a regular season game to prove myself. You all would vote me to the Pro Bowl. And then, it's too late. By the time you see me stink it up at the Pro Bowl I would already be in Hawaii on the NFL's dime. And it wouldn't matter that there are no weapons of mass destruction on the big Island because I already got a free vacation.

My point. I think the Giants have a chance against the Packers and I don't think Ron Paul or Dennis Kucinich will ever be given a chance.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Vote for Me

Last night two of my friends informed me that they would not vote for me if I were to run for President. They felt my temper made me a bad presidential choice. They feared I'd nuke to many countries because the leaders of said country didn't call me back or invite to me some fun summit. Mimicking me as President, "I can't believe Saudi Arabi didn't call me back, those bastards. And after I sold them $300 million worth of weapons. You know what? Fuck them. Where's the button?" I thought this was unfair because I wouldn't be stupid enough to sell weapons to Saudi Arabi. When we sell weapons to countries that are England (whom we didn't sell weapons to-- we lent and leased) it always bites us on the ass the anyway. And if I were to sell weapons to Saudi Arabi you'd think they would want more than $300 millon worth as the US dollar is really weak right now. How many weapons could you possibly buy for that sum of money? Like six?

Anyway, I disagree with my friends assment of how my notorious temper would play out. I think it would actually come in handy as President. I think other world leaders would work with me because they would fear my anger. "We better invite President Parenta to the World Bank Summit. If she finds we all went and didn't invite her, I don't think she's going to trade with us anymore." That would be my platform. If you elect me president I promise the US will get invited to all the cool parties.

more election fun tomorrow when I compare the Giants to Ron Paul and Dennis Kucinich.

Monday, January 14, 2008

I am Woman Hear Me Roar: But Not Vote

Apparently because I'm a woman I'm supposed to vote for Hillary Clinton. It's ridiculous we have nothing in common except that we are both women. I mean, she's married...to a douche bag. And I only date douche bags. Should I vote for her because if she gets into office she's going to out law dating socio-paths. Maybe make manicures tax deductible. Hopefully, she'll hold her national radio addresses during Sex and the City parties.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Side Effects Include

A week ago Thursday I woke up with a case of Meningitis of the body. My joints hurt, my muscles hurt, my skin hurt, and my hair hurt. Friday the Meningitis was gone only to be replaced by some sort of condition where fluid oozes out of body orifices, such as noses and pores. By Sunday I had consumption. Now I'm just waiting to get addicted to morphine so I can I be the protagonist in Eugene O'Neill play.

Through all that the Giants were able to somehow win a play off game, though I have suffered an outer nose injury. I should be ready to go by this coming Sunday. We'll see how my consumption affects my ability to yell at the television.

Have a happy weekend. Stay dry.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Football Dick Jokes: An Abridged Version of What I read Last Night

If you haven’t been able to tell already let me spell it out for you I love football. I even like playing it. Unfortunately, I’m a five-foot tall woman with a slight frame. It doesn’t matter how positive I think, or how many times I read “The Secret” or watch Oprah I will never be a professional football player. Hell, I won’t even ever be a high school football player. If you can’t beat’em, join’em. Join’em in holy matrimony. That’s the only way someone like me is ever going to get close to playing pro football is to marry a professional football player.

But what type of player to marry? Not all players are made the same. Most people’s first choice would be the quarterback (the guy who throws the ball). He’s running the show, he’s the star, he’s the main man, and the face of the franchise. This is exactly why you don’t marry a quarterback. He’s going to cheat on. He’s going to cheat on you because he can. Since he’s so much bigger than you you won’t be able to beat him for his crimes, so what’s to stop him from doing it again and again and again? The only way he’s not going to cheat on you is if he’s one of those crazy Christians, which is just another way of saying “in the closet,” which brings us right back to cheating. No, we are not marrying a quarterback. Let those big-breasted cheerleaders have the disease-ridden quarterbacks.

Since the QB is out let’s consider an offensive linemen (the guys who stand in front of the quarterback). At first this seems like a fine choice. These guys are no-names so they’re modest. They spend there time protecting the Quarterback and helping out the running back. They like to serve—that’s a real fine quality in a husband. An offensive linemen seems the perfect choice, only problem is that they’re all over 300 lbs. Translation: you’re going to have to be on top all the time. All The Time! On top some of the time is great, but not all the time. NO. You don’t get good penatration. Granted, these aren’t some run of the mill obese mental cases. They are athletes. They’re in shape and strong enough to hold up their body weight, but how relaxed are you going to be with 300lbs precariously hanging over you? Despite my beginning of the season crush on Shaun O’Hara, I know we could never marry.

How about the running back (the guy who runs with the ball)? Definitely not. He hits the holes. Now granted I love the idea that this man can find a hole, but I don’t need it hit. I need it worked. Further, when he finds the hole he passes right on through. He doesn’t stick around he’s off to the races. Talk about inconsiderate. Plus, it’s not all about the hole.

We have the defensive line men (the guys who try to tackle the quarterback and running back) no way José. Their whole purpose in life is to throw people on their back and just leave them there until you get back up so they can do it again. Are you kidding me?

I thought a coach would be a good choice, a guy in charge who doesn’t tackle anyone. Too bad these guys are married to their football teams. I’m not a Mormon. And as we learned with the dissection of the quarterback I don’t share my men. And then there is the fact that these guys are always yelling. If anyone is going to be yelling in my marriage it’s going to be me. I’m the angry one. I get to yell. We can’t have two yellers.

Wide receiver—date rapist
Tight end – date rapists
Cornerbark—date rapist
Free safety – date rapist.

You know what they’re all date rapists. All professional athletes are date rapists. Every god damn position, except for the kickers. Now, in football you have two types of kickers, the place kicker and the punter. The punter is out because he usually has a little bit of beer belly paunch. It’s probably because he doesn’t do much. We don’t’ need that. If you’re going to marry a professional athlete he might as well be in shape. Or what’s the point?
This brings us to the Place Kicker (the guy who kicks field goals, extra points, and kick offs) he’s usually svelte. The man to marry in pro football is without a doubt the place kicker. Let me enumerate the reasons why.

The kicker is technically on the team, but he’s smaller than everyone. He can’t tackle and he’s not allowed to be tackled or touched. Basically he’s a football player without all the date-rapistey douchebagy things that come along with football players.

No woman in her right mind would become a place kicker groupie, so you don’t have to worry about him cheating, who’s he going to cheat with?

The kicker position does not require strength, speed or size. It requires aim and flexibility. He’ll have less reason to take steroids. Therefore, I’ll be less likely to give birth to a child with some newly discovered genetic disorder. A disorder I’ll have to spend all my time raising money to help find a cure for.

The place kicker is kind of the outcast of the football team, which means he’s desperate for approval. Is there a better trait to have in a mate?

Go Giants!

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Primary Season

The New Hampshire Primary is today. I think this one is going to be a scorcher. However, I don't think Hillary Clinton is going to cover the points. I don't care how well Eli Manning played in Tampa on Sunday I don't think he's going to be able to beat the Democrats or the Republicans today. Two games does not a presidential candidate make. If I were you I'd only take the over if Vegas is including the Libertarians and the Greens up there in New Hampshire. Otherwise take the under.

In the end I think New Hampshire's weekness is in their secondary and there is no way Ron Paul or Dennis Kucinch are going to be able to cover Jason Witton or Randy Moss. So I'd say if I were you vote for Green Bay they have the best shot of running the table.

Friday, January 04, 2008

Saturday Morning Sunrise

When I was in high school Law and Order was a popular show. Over 12 year later it is still quite popular so popular that it has spawned two or three spin off and every station has their own police detective show and/or franchise. Well if that's the Hollywood trend I want to quickly jump on the high school drama genre. Today I offer up my own drama that takes place in a public high school.

It's called "Saturday Morning Sunrise." Each week we'll follow 10 New Jersey teenagers who are determined to go all the way to Nationals in speech and debate, or what they call Forensics. These warriors of oral communication get their dedicated asses up and out of bed at the crack of dawn Saturday mornings (a non-school day) to compete. They ride on a bitterly cold school bus in order to travel to another garden state high school with nothing but their dreams of Investment Banking, Business Consulting, and scientific research. You think it's easy? Well, you try getting up early on Saturday after a Friday night of Pictionary and soda.

Episode highlights will include maverick forensicator, Rebbecca (who doesn't practice and doesn't study, and yet she's still in AP English and Honors math.), gets herself a boyfriend. He's a modern dancer affiliated with the band. In this very mature, adult episode this couple make-out a little, which is the most action anyone on the team has seen. Oh the scandal.

The episode when the Montville Township Mustang Forensicators have their world shaken upon hearing the news that alum Rashid Patel gave up his Investment Banking job after just two years. He said, "Who cares if you make a ton of money if you have no time to enjoy it." The team does a lot of soul searching, in the end they realize Rashid must be on drugs, like a football player or dead head, or something crazy.

I think the season ending Cliff Hanger will involve Irvin. It turns out the National Forensics tournament in Indianapolis takes place the day before Montville Township's graduating ceremony. Will Irvin, who is the salutatorian, make it back to New Jersey in order to give his speech?

Now don't go stealing my idea people.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Post Holiday Slump.


I know you all are asking yourselves what does a big time comedian, like myself, do when I'm not telling jokes, or writing jokes, or rehearsing jokes? I hike and take pictures of water falls. That's it. My computer is filled with pictures of waterfalls and their surrounding water. And that's why I have nothing to write today. Perhaps, if I took a picture of the ice covered trails my friend and I traversed I would be inspired to write about our stupidity and survival. But no, I just have a picture of some water gliding over some rocks.

Wednesday, January 02, 2008