I promise an overhaul of this whole site is coming, but for now, enjoy my acting reel!
Okay everybody, I know I’ve been somewhat MIA lately, but that’s because I’ve been working on my new, super secret project. Which coincidentally, I am ready to take the wraps off of right now! Well, sort of.
I have been making a cartoon with my friend, Nathan Hamill. It is called Weasel Town. It is about the adventures of 2 friends, Dipster and Haunches. One is a dog, One is a cat. I’m not sure which is which, but I can tell you this right now, there are no weasels. Derek Waters from Drunk History is the voice of Dipster and Jason Ritter (Parenthood and starring on Gravity Falls this fall) is the voice of Haunches. It is animated by Xeth Feinberg and features the voices of Simon Helberg )Big Bang Theory), Craig Anstett (Funny or Die Presents), Lindsay Weiglein (Stone Darling), and Sarah May Bates. It is premiering on the Shut Up! Cartoons channel on YouTube July 11.I will be at Comic Con to sneak preview the 1st episode. For now, you can check out the trailer. While you’re there, why don’t you subscribe and make sure to give a thumbs-up, if you like what you see. That really makes a difference! Thanks so much, Eric!
Check out this spooky Halloween video I am in with Josh Simpson and Scott Rodgers. It’s a 4 part series, so make sure to check back and see how it all ends! Please pass it on and don’t forget to vote “funny” because if you don’t, that makes you a freeloading liar and a terrorist. Look, I’m sorry things got so heated. I said some things, you said somethings, but ultimately, I feel our friendship is stronger for it.
Plus, I’m wearing overalls.
Hey everybody, this is a video I made with the site, Funny or Die.
It’s called ‘Sex Robots’ and contrary to the title, it’s a thoughtful piece about societal norms and the male libido. Plus, I’m in a bodysuit!
Please feel free to vote and pass this on to your friends if you enjoy it.
Well, you may have noticed I don’t post that often and if I do, the posts are kinda thin. To be honest, I’m sorta burnt out on blogging.
Putting hard work into something that seems so disposable to most people can be taxing on your motivational sub-cortex. I get about 500 hits a day on this site, but most of them seem to be from people searching Google images to find pictures of Alf or a Samoyed.
In response to this, I’ve taken a giant step backwards into the world of PRINT JOURNALISM!
I now publish my own newsletter/zine/magazine/periodical called “Skizzleplex“. Astute readers will recognize that I posted a blog with that name a while back, but basically it’s just a name I liked and had bought a domain for, so I decided to call my newsletter that.
Anyway, you might be asking what Skizzleplex is? It’s basically a short “comedy” newsletter that’s about 7 to 8 pages long. It consists of short stories (the kind I would normally put on here), clip art of dubiously trademarked sources and random stuff. I also, occasionally, feature a guest writer like John Marshall (the Chris Rock Show) and Kyle McCulloch (South Park).
I have to admit that it has invigorated me. I feel like I did when I started this blog. So I’m sure it won’t be long before I’m burnt out on this too.
Now you might ask yourself, “How do I get Skizzleplex?” Well, it’s easy.
You can send Skizzleplex an email at skizzleplex (at) yahoo (dot) com and request a copy.
At this point, you might be seeing the huge flaw in my plan. Namely: this costs me a lot of money. But that’s kind of the point.
You see, I’ve come to realize that the biggest benefit of a blog being so free and so easy, is that the majority of people don’t feel like investing that much into reading it, with a few notable exceptions. You know who you are and I thank you for your support.
On the other hand, paper costs money. Printing costs money. People recognize this and suddenly your writing becomes worth something. Maybe not enough to pay actual money for, but enough to invest some time and effort into actually reading.
And the biggest expense turns out to be actually mailing this crap out to people.
So, if you have access to a printer and want to save me some money, you can let me know that and then I will send you a .pdf copy through your email. It will print out exactly like the ones that I send hard copies of and it works on any computer in the world, there is no special software involved. Well, maybe it won’t work on Windows ME or something, I don’t know, but grow up.
If you don’t have access to a printer or you’re a jerk and just feel like sticking it to me, that’s fine. I will mail you a hard copy through the good ol’ (not really) USPS.
Below, I’ve attached a story from my latest issue, so you can see the kind of things I’m writing and sending out to people all in the name of anachronism. And remember, if you like what you see, you can always friend Skizzleplex on Facebook. Plus, if you’re really a tool and don’t want me even having your email address, you can always wait it out until I put the old issue up on the Skizzleplex Archive.
So that should about cover it! Hopefully, I will be hearing from you soon because you want to sign up to receive (the .pdf) of Skizzleplex!
My dad doesnʼt trust the government, so when I was a kid, we never had trash service. He got in this big fight with the town, because they said it was a rule that everybody had to have the sanitation department dispose of their refuse. His answer to this was to just stop paying taxes. Eventually, they worked it out and then the garbage men would just skip our house. In addition, he said he didn’t want any goddam Gypsies picking through our stuff, so we also couldnʼt just take it ourselves to the dump. So every week, me and my dad would take our trash and we would go out in the van, late at night. We’d find a lonely stretch of interstate and it was my job to push the garbage through the hole in the floor of the van that my dad cut out. I had to gingerly dump out the contents, a little bit at a time. It would take hours! Iʼd always be real tired the next day at school. My dad said it was the original form of recycling because the other cars would run over the cans and stuff and then everything would get pushed to the side where they had people come by and clean it up every once in a while. He said thatʼs what taxes were for. I didnʼt dare point out that he wasnʼt even paying taxes at the time, cuz he kinda had a short fuse. One time I asked why we couldnʼt just take the bags and ditch them on the side of the road somewhere. He got real mad and yelled at me and was like, “What are we, animals?” And that was the best summer ever!
Well, you may have been wondering where I’ve been lately.
What? No? You haven’t? Not even a little bit?
Wow. OK, well anyway, I’ve been busy working on getting my new business venture off the ground: “Just The Skin!” The world’s first fried chicken skin restaurant!
Let’s face it: everybody loves the crispy fried skin of the chicken, but we all hate eating the meat, right? All those bones and stuff. Who the hell has the time? Not me! And now, neither do you!
Some restaurants will claim they’re selling ‘just the skin’ but the truth is, they take shortcuts to reduce costs and fatten their bottom line. Not us! We take whole chickens, fry them up, take off the skin and throw out the rest! The way it should be!
Our first store is up and running and we’ll soon be expanding beyond the Knoxville metropolitan area, hopefully by the end of the year. We’re looking for interested parties who want to expand their own franchises all over the country.
Which brings me to the point of this post. If you’ve got $750,000 in cash and a net worth over $4.5 million or greater, send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org so we can talk turkey (or in this case, chicken) and discuss this fantastic opportunity at greater length.
Or you can go to the web page we’ve created for anyone interested in finding out more about this great new way to build your wealth: www.skizzleplex.com.
So a few months ago, my mom called me and said, “Hey, I was listening to NPR and they announced that they’re having a fiction writing contest! You should enter that! Because you’re a writer!”
I went online and looked it up. There was actually an interesting premise to the contest; every story had to be under 600 words and begin with the same sentence.
“The nurse left work at 5 o’clock.”
So against my better judgment, I entered.
I didn’t win. I didn’t even get a mention. Luckily, I’m not bitter about it.
Here’s a little description of the contest and the winning entry is at the bottom. Click here.
Anyway, without any (additional) further ado, here is my losing entry, entitled, “I am lazy and rather than write something new, I can post this story I already wrote and pass it off as new and nobody will be any wiser for it!”
The nurse left work at 5 o’clock. Every day, 5 o’clock. On the nose.
For nearly a year, I had watched her, studied her every move. Well, every move as it related to her automobile usage, anyway.
I arrived at the hospital garage a little after nine am. I put my hand on the hood. Still warm. I had just under eight hours.
I pulled the coat hanger out of my duffel bag. After spending a few minutes untwisting it and straightening it out, I moved it around, up and down, along the window, realizing too late that I had no idea how to pick a car door lock.
Seeing as how I had been planning this operation for nearly 12 months, it’s sorta unforgivable that I hadn’t thought of that.
Deciding to improvise, I threw a rock through the window, clearing my throat in a vain attempt to mask the sound of glass breaking.
Immediately, the car alarm started shrieking its deafening sound. One more thing I hadn’t counted on.
As I slid into the debris-covered driver’s seat, I deftly reached under the steering column for the familiar wires. This was one part of the job that I actually had prepared for.
Just like in the internet videos that I had watched at the library, the engine roared to life. Well, I assumed it roared, because I couldn’t actually hear anything but the siren and the ringing in my ears that it had created.
If I had been hoping to drive off, unnoticed, in a vehicle with a broken window and the car alarm going off, I sure had another thing coming.
Though many of the doctors, nurses and various support staff felt free to brazenly stare and point at me as I exited the hospital grounds, luckily, none of them seemed to think it was worth informing the police or confronting me about it.
As I am no fan of confrontation or authority figures, I was pleased with this bit of luck.
After twenty minutes on the freeway, I reached my destination, thankful that it hadn’t snowed today.
As I pulled into the driveway, I was delighted to see that, unlike last year, not only was there no huge line, my car was the only one at the window.
“I’d like one free junior taco, please!” I said, triumphantly.
“Huh?” replied the dimwitted, teenage employee.
“My free junior taco.” My request was met with a blank, pimply stare.
“That’ll be 85 cents,” he replied.
“No, it won’t. It’ll be free. Every year, you have a giveaway to mark the anniversary of the founding of your restaurant. One free junior taco, given out only at the drive thru and apparently not to anybody going through the drive thru on a bike, as I learned last year.”
“Sir, that promotion was 3 days ago.”
As I drove off, defeated, I realized that this free junior taco (the one I never even gotten) had cost me much more than its 85 cent retail value. It had cost me my job, my friends and the respect of my peers in the medieval recreation society. Worst of all, it had nearly cost me my sanity.
But I had a dream and I went for it. It didn’t work out, but at least I took a shot. That’s a lot more than most people can say.
Now it was time to get on with my life and start being responsible.
So I pushed the car into the river and faked my own death.
Here is a thing I did a few years ago. It just got uploaded on the internet. Please watch and feel free to pass it on. It’s by the same guy who does “Drunk History” so if you are a fan of that, you will probably like this.
One of my mom’s favorite stories about me as a child is the tale of the children’s book author, his name escapes me, who came to visit my kindergarten class. For some reason, he instructed us to get into a semi-circle and only then, asked if anybody knew what a semi-circle was. I threw up my hand and replied “a broken oval”. At which point, he supposedly erupted in laughter, so impressed he was with my reasoning skills.
Again, this is coming from my mom, so who knows if this really tickled him to that extent or not.
One of my earlier memories came a year later, sitting at lunch in first grade. I raised my hand and the principal came over to me and I told him that I had just figured something out. No, I’m not sure what the hand-raising was for, I just remember doing it. Anyway, he comes over and I hurriedly related how I had stumbled upon something of great importance.
He feigned interest as I explained that a phone number was like a code. Each number, when entered, went only to one source: the phone that you were dialing. Which is to say that each set of numbers corresponds to one physical entity, the residence which owns that phone number.
This is actually much more profound and not necessarily as obvious as it seems.
For instance, if you dial Ted’s phone number, it goes to Ted only. It doesn’t go to Ted or Mark or Billy.
I remember sitting in an advanced math class in college when I heard the name for this. It’s a one-to-one correspondence, also known as bijection.
What was my principal’s response to this? He said, “You’ve cracked the code!” in a patronizing way. Then he walked off. He probably went home and told his family about what the little fruitcake said to him at lunch that day. He wasn’t impressed.
If you’re small-minded, like my principal, you may not be impressed, either. But keep in mind, I didn’t hear anyone mention this until I was in a 300-level university course for math majors. It’s a fairly specific sort of function that doesn’t come up that often.
But if you’re still not impressed, when I was a few years older, I came to my dad with a really big idea.
Simply put, I postulated that if you were able to drop a rope from a spaceship down to earth, you could create an elevator that climbed the rope, instead of having to launch a rocket to get into orbit.
I was a little sketchy on the details, because I think I thought that the lack of gravity would somehow counteract any forces pulling the rope back to earth. In reality, I think that a weight on the end of the rope would accomplish much the same thing, like a yo-yo on the end of a string swung aroud your head.
I remember being very excited about this and going to my dad and telling him we needed to patent my idea immediately.
Of course, we didn’t.
Well Dad, as you look around your 1700 square foot condo, I want you to take a deep breath and then read this.
That’s right. Even if it never panned out to the billions and billions of dollars it almost inevitably would have… I’m not sure how to finish that sentence.
So I could be rich and famous. Not for something stupid, like being on a reality TV show, but for something noble. Something that would benefit the whole world and would make people think I’m really smart!
Because that’s what this blog is about. I know that it’s pathetic to brag about how smart you used to be, especially when you’re clearly a moron now. But that’s the level I’ve sunk to.
This is like those old men who sit around in a rocking chair at the end of their lives, reliving their glory days, through tales of old. But the sad thing is, I peaked at age 8. I have a sneaking suspicion that something went wrong in one of my early heart surgeries that nobody ever told me about, where I got (relatively minor) brain damage and my gifted abilities went down the toilet to the Normal Town Sewage System.
I should write a book about my bucolic childhood and how everything went to shit when I turned ten, but I can’t. Because I’m too goddamn stupid and lazy to do it! So one of you do it. Just make some shit up and put my name on it and I’ll split the money with you.
Did I mention I was on TV?
UPDATE: Well, hopefully I have fallen victim to a cruel hoax. Since I first reported this, I’ve gotten a few responses saying that it’s apparently not true. Can anyone clear this up? While my journalistic integrity is going to take a hit, I’d prefer that to the alternative.
Below is the story as I first ran it.
It’s been a rough day.
You will be missed.