LA Comedy Writer

Okay, I’m not usually one to post audio clips and other shit on here, but while downloading drops for the upcoming podcast…

Oh, I didn’t tell you about the podcast? Well, starting in mid-May, I will have the pleasure of co-hosting a comedy/talk show with the incredible jessica drake. Those who know her, and according to Twitter, it’s about 60K of you, know her as a Hall Of Fame adult film star/writer/director. But, did you know she is also very personable, and has an incredibly Wicked wit? She does, and we’ll be recording our first podcast soon. It will be available on our site, stfushow.com or on iTunes. Totally free, and totally funny, you have my word.

Back to the drop search. A “drop” is an audio clip inserted for effect, e.g. John Wayne might be used when reporting an event which disappoints.  Anyway, while searching for the hilarious, I came across a newscaster, quite formal, with one of those booming baritone voices. He was given copy to read of a quite outlandish story, and couldn’t even come close to getting through it, although I applaud the effort. I defy ANYONE to listen to this, and not crack up. As for me, I can’t decide if I lost more fluids through tears or pissing myself. You be the judge: click here to listen to the newscast.

There’s a big to-do in California, as it’s been discovered that prison guards are the main cause of inmates possessing cell phones (big no-no). It was reported that even Charles Manson had a cell phone. Question…who the fuck is HE gonna call? Tex Watson? “Hey Tex, got a parole hearing coming up, and, I don’t want to jinx it, but I think I got a pretty good shot this time. So, we’re getting the gang back together.  (listens) Yeah, rape, kill, all the shit we used to do. We’ll meet at Spahn Ranch, just like always. That old fuck better not have tossed out my Beatles albums.”

Speaking of music, I did a little listening to Slacker radio on my phone the other day; the 70s Hits station. A little Styx, some Grand Funk, and up pops the goddamned Pina Colada song. It’s quite possibly, the worst lyrics ever written. I’ll explain. I was tired of my lady. We’d been together too long. So, basically he was one nag away from going total OJ on this bitch. So far, so good. Now this was long before match.com, and computers; back when you placed a personal ad in the local paper, then waited a week for a response. So, this dude is reading the personals, while his lady is asleep in bed, next to him. The ad that caught his eye? If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain. If you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain. No picture or description mind you, just this catchy ad, and suddenly the guy was hooked like a stupid bass? For all he knew, this chick could have been tipping 250 lbs, but it’s okay. She likes Pina Coladas. Personally, if the girl looks like Angelina Jolie, she can drink pickle-flavored energy drinks, but that’s my personal taste. Tomato, tomahto. So, the guy agrees to meet this girl at a bar the next night. First, he’s assuming that she reads the paper every day, and will see his response. I’m thinking it wasn’t the Wall Street Journal, but I digress. So, the dude’s in the bar, and in walks his current girlfriend. She placed the ad, and that’s okay with him. They laugh, and go home. How about the fact that they were cheating on each other, you fucking hack! And her ad copy about if you have half a brain, seems to imply that she thought he was an idiot. Is THAT the kind of girl you want in your life? Someone who cheats on you, thinks you’re a moron, and after all that time together, didn’t know what kind of booze you like? How about you kick that bitch out of your shitty apartment, and tell her to take her fucking Osmond records with her? Hmmm? How ’bout that? Make her a fucking pina colada for the road. It makes me think that, in the 70s, I could have waltzed into a recording studio, dropped trou, squatted over a reel-to-reel tape machine, and whatever came out of my ass, had an excellent chance of going to #1 (okay #2 if you like puns). The 70s weren’t enlightened, because for every Jefferson Starship “Miracles”, there was some pothead pussy writing the Pina Colada song.

Sorry for the rant…Enjoy the Oscars.

While sipping my morning Starbucks, I took notice of a little yorkie being approached by a humongous great dane. The dane was thrilled to see such a little dog. His tail was wagging fast enough to create a nice breeze on me, fifteen feet away. Now, the dane probably weighed in at about 80 pounds or so, and the yorkie about 3, but I was fascinated at how happy the great dane was, just to see another of his species. I gave it about a half a beat’s thought, and figured out that must be a “dog” thing. I mean, if I was just wandering around an empty shopping mall, I don’t think I’d be all that thrilled if I came across a midget. I guess for dogs, size really doesn’t matter.

Speaking of man’s best friend, one thing I’m really glad we don’t emulate with dogs is how we go to the bathroom. Imagine how long the lines would be in a bar if you sniffed the first urinal, peed in the second one, stopped, then peed in a third one. Then on the way out, stopped for one last splash in the sink. Damn, you’d get to the bar at happy hour, and your next drink would be at “last call”.

I guess on the other hand, dogs are probably thankful they don’t have the guilt that humans have regarding looks and sex. You don’t have two bulldogs at the dog park talking it up…Dog 1: Hey dude, who’s that bowwow I saw you with yesterday? Dog 2: Oh man, it’s nothing serious. She was just in heat, and I decided to throw her some lovin’. Dog 1: Yeah, right. Dude, she looked like a St. Bernard. She pumps out a few homely puppies, and next thing you know, she’ll have your ATM card for the next 12 years. Plus, you know she’ll never lose the litter weight. But I know how it is, the bitches all get better lookin’ at sunset.

And of course, the female dogs would have their conversations too. Dog 1: Oh girl, you can’t back into every pug you see, just because of a few hormones. Dog 2: He’s not just any pug, he’s got a job and everything. Dog 1: Oh yeah? What does he do? Dog 2: He’s an actor. Dog 1: Actor, my blue ribboned ass. What’s he done since Men In Black? He’ll leave you for a poodle, and then where will you be? A single mom with eight kids. You’ll be damn Octopooch.