tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34858603524537402882024-03-13T17:46:21.941-07:00Confessions of a Cosmic Cowboy ComicThe Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-10818831030559854322012-11-06T15:03:00.000-08:002012-11-06T15:03:22.644-08:00So Much Spin...I'm Dizzy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN3Z80hYlTWSqEnhQeMKI4cUdSvX2L-42gViR0_uc_H49cinrLiPHEeenPaf8CYcP7XEWP4UX0rD9mx43s0rbcknFRSrHimK2cH-LJyqtMHn7ZjT-Q3staD18VIpmR5Yndi3U6r6rc9Y/s1600/Spinning-Top-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN3Z80hYlTWSqEnhQeMKI4cUdSvX2L-42gViR0_uc_H49cinrLiPHEeenPaf8CYcP7XEWP4UX0rD9mx43s0rbcknFRSrHimK2cH-LJyqtMHn7ZjT-Q3staD18VIpmR5Yndi3U6r6rc9Y/s320/Spinning-Top-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“If one morning I walked on top of the water across
the </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Potomac River</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">, the headline that afternoon would read </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">"President
Can't Swim”.</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> Lyndon B. Johnson</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">By the time you read this the
2012 Presidential election will be over. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Thank God! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hope your candidate won.
Also hope my candidate won. So I guess what I am saying is<span style="color: #0070c0;">,</span> I hope we have the same candidate. And he won.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">But you will never know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I have decided that in a
country so deeply divided it would be wise to keep my personal political choices
a private matter (so as not to risk being ostracized by the opposing side). My
father often quoted a kernel of country wisdom that holds more truth today than
ever before: Avoid the front side of a bull, the back side of a mule, and both
sides of a political issue. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">During this election I have
learned a number of things from Facebook:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">1) I have friends on both
sides of the fence (many of whom have defriended each other because of the
election).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">2) Some of them will be very
disappointed with the election results.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">3) A somewhat larger number
will be elated with the election results.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">4) I want to keep them all as
friends regardless of<span style="color: #4f81bd;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>how they voted because I love my friends more
than I love my politics because I trust my friends more than I trust my
politicians. Perhaps that sounds needy or greedy, but it is actually very
difficult to remain neutral in these divisive times. After all, it would be so
much easier to only associate with people that shared my political points of
view; think of all we would have to talk about, such as, “We are right and they
are wrong. Love talking to you!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">We are in an age where many
have become so inflexible in their opinions that having a polite discourse with
a member of the rival party is now a waste of time. Besides, to have a civil
debate about the issues with someone that disagrees with you runs the risk they
might change your mind, then you would have to change the channel you get your
“news” from, and who needs that kind of hassle. Where politics are concerned
“compromise” has become a dirty word. Everything is black and white. Maybe they’ve
developed a Political Grecian Formula, because grey areas have disappeared. I,
for one, miss the time when the political canyon was still able to be bridged
by conversation, but now the chasm is so great that it terrifies most folks to
even stand near the edge, much less try to see the other side. Sad, because factual,
rational deliberation is a pillar of democracy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I always avoid the temptation
of trying to force my opinion on others (although to me, my opinion seems so
convincing!) I know everyone views the world through a unique lens tinted by
their emotional make-up and experience. However, I never avoid a friendly
discussion. Unlike most, I remain fascinated with why people feel the way they
do, even more so if they feel differently than I do, because I agree with
Abigail Adams’ observation, “I've always felt that a person's intelligence is
directly reflected by the number of conflicting points of view he can entertain
simultaneously on the same topic.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">These days it seems the
number of conflicting viewpoints has dwindled down to two, and you must pick
one. Will it be Conservative Red Elephants or Liberal Blue Donkeys? Rush
Limbaugh or Chris Mathews? Ann Coulter or Rachel Maddow? Dennis Miller or Bill
Maher? Clint Eastwood or George Clooney? FOX News or MSNBC? NRA or ACLU?
Pro-Life or Pro-Choice? Hatfields or McCoys?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Hurry and pick your team.
Because the sooner you know what team you’re on the sooner you can close your
mind and open your mouth. Let the group-think hate-speech begin! (Remember
group-think within your party is “team mentality” but within the other party it
is “mob mentality.”)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The above is a perfect
example of “spin” which is a nice way of saying “lies.” Spin is what LBJ was
referring to in his quote at the beginning of this column. Someone recently
emailed me another example:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Judy
Wallman, a professional genealogical researcher, discovered that Hillary
Clinton's great-great uncle, Remus Rodham, was hanged for horsestealing and
train robbery in </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Montana</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"> in 1889. The only known photograph
of Remus shows him standing on the gallows. On the back of the picture is this
inscription:<br />
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"Remus Rodham; horse thief, sent to Montana Territorial Prison 1885,
escaped 1887, robbed the Montana Flyer six times. Caught by Pinkerton
detectives, convicted and hanged in 1889.”<br />
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Judy e-mailed Hillary Clinton for comments. Hillary's staff of professional
image adjusters sent back the following biographical sketch:<br />
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"Remus Rodham was a famous cowboy in the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Montana</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Territory</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">. His business empire grew to
include acquisition of valuable equestrian assets and intimate dealings with
the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;">Montana</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt;"> railroad. Beginning in 1883, he devoted several years of
his life to service at a government facility, finally taking leave to resume
his dealings with the railroad. In 1887, he was a key player in a vital
investigation run by the renowned Pinkerton Detective Agency. In 1889, Remus
passed away during an important civic function held in his honor when the
platform upon which he was standing collapsed."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This is undeniably a funny
example of political spin. Funny in two ways: funny to claim someone that was
hanged “passed away during an important civic function held in his honor when
the platform upon which he was standing collapsed" and funny because I got
this very same story emailed to me during the Bush-Kerry election with name
Rodham changed to Bush. I discovered on Snopes.com that both versions of the
story are big fat lies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Campaigns are not decided on
which party has the best candidate but which has the best spin doctors. These
people rely on a highly creative presentation of facts involving deception and
manipulation to promote their party’s agenda. Spin is so accepted that it makes
believing either side impossible, thus making an informed decision near
impossible. Both sides can back up their arguments with distorted facts; we all
know they are doing it, but we are powerless to stop them. We simply shrug and
say, “Oh well, all politicians lie.” I did a Google search for “Obama lies
Romney lies” and got a total of 227 million hits, more than one for each
eligible American voter. But if we all agree most politicians on either side
are power hungry liars, why do we let them tear us apart? <span style="color: #4f81bd;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I encourage you in the next
election to fully explore both sides of every issue rather than wander blindly
down party lines. Initiate polite debate with people of all political
affiliations rather than dismiss their opinions before listening to them, and
at the very least, agree to disagree. Dig deep for the facts rather than accept
the spin. Because if you really examine it—you will find—that politics is like
an onion, and if you peel away each layer—you will find—more stinky stuff that
makes you cry.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">My name is Steven Kent
McFarlin and I approve this message.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-89934271874493444892011-07-18T08:25:00.000-07:002011-07-18T08:25:10.110-07:00Yellow Journalism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbm1dyzEM1gq9_2Bwwr3t-kCSdmPrui57LYPcFwOtmix01AYLsiG_gBoysOwOTkfBVIvbykEhKXYQcjes0LFObq_z2k_ZKo5sP22DHSgM8Mrg53_NT04oqlV4X3fvrT077Xd6gj7Bb5k/s1600/funny-japan-05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbm1dyzEM1gq9_2Bwwr3t-kCSdmPrui57LYPcFwOtmix01AYLsiG_gBoysOwOTkfBVIvbykEhKXYQcjes0LFObq_z2k_ZKo5sP22DHSgM8Mrg53_NT04oqlV4X3fvrT077Xd6gj7Bb5k/s320/funny-japan-05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I was disappointed Japan’s victory in the Women’s World Cup triggered so many negative comments from my fellow Americans (references ranging from Pearl Harbor to Yoko Ono) and would like to point out there is a difference from appearing patriotic and looking like a sore loser. I too was disappointed the </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">US</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"> did not win, but in light of the year the Japanese have had, you would be hard pressed to pick a country more deserving of something to smile about. (And I suspect the smiles were especially wide in </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Nagasaki</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"> and </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Hiroshima</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I have fond memories from my comedy tour of </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Japan</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">. For those of you who have never been there, I will try to compare the Land of the Rising Sun (for better or worse) to the Good Ol’ USA.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">BETTER</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- It is the land that bad manners forgot. To say the Japanese are polite is an understatement of staggering proportions. For example, if you cause a car wreck, despite it being your fault, the driver of the car you hit will get out and apologize. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- Everyone parties!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m told non-drinkers are rare, and I certainly didn’t meet any.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beer is available from sidewalk vending machines (no fake ID needed here).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when a waitress brings you a beverage, no tip is expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In public places, such as subway stations and airports, the sidewalks are built with “Braille Trails,” small bumps to help blind people to find their way (but also helpful if you’ve had too much Sake).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- All bicycles are designed in the style we would call “girls bikes,” without the bar running from the handlebars to the seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This makes perfect sense (especially to any man who has ever fallen off the pedals).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- Sandwiches are served with the crust cut off, just like Mom used to do.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- The Japanese version of “flipping someone off” involves placing the thumb between the index and middle fingers, which actually closer resembles what you are trying to say.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- The 100 Yen Store (their version of Dollar Tree) is filled with unusual items (such as nose pickers) that make great affordable gifts for friends back home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- Their cell phones are the ones we will be using in a couple years.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Which brings us to the...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">WORSE</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- Everyone has to have a cell phone to call for directions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most streets are not named.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The buildings are numbered, but in the order they were built(?!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without a map, detailed directions, or phone, you should consider yourself lost.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- If you think traffic is bad in LA, try </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Japan</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The country is two-thirds the size of </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">California</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">, with 75% of Japanese land being uninhabitable mountains, and a population of half the United States!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To register a car, you must provide proof you have a place to park it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mass transit is equally congested, a ride on the </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Tokyo</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;"> subway will put you closer to a stranger than a lap-dance in Vegas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- In the Japanese tradition it is customary to soap up and rinse outside the tub, since everyone shares the same bathwater. (Men go first, when the water is still hot, women last; equal rights have yet to arrive.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- The traditional toilets consist of little more than a hole in the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you do find a western-style toilet it is often accompanied with the poster nearby providing instructions on how to use it (the diagram made me laugh so hard I almost ruined a pair of shoes).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- You will never find paper towels to dry your hands in public restrooms; everyone is expected to bring their own, which is easy to forget when you leave your accommodations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And emerging from a toilet with wet hands is inappropriate in any country.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- Needless to say, their use of the English language is questionable, and frequently humorous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, I saw a Beauty Salon with a sign reading: “Repair Shop.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it‘s just a matter of inversion to figure it out: to get an ambulance you dial “119” instead of “911.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s easy to find American food at Makku, Dankin Denattsu, Pisa Hatto, and Taku Beru (McDonalds, Dunkin’ Donuts, Pizza Hut, and Taco Bell.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">- The Japanese have very conflicting standards about sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one hand it’s illegal to show genitalia in their porno films, on the other hand there are vending machines on the street that sell “used school-girl panties.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are other examples of repression breeding perversion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have coffee shops whose name translates into “No Panties Place.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waitresses wear short skirts without underwear and the floor... is mirrored!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">I apologize if this blog has unintentionally offended anyone of Asian descent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a place in my heart for Asians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1969 my father was saved by a Cambodian family during the Vietnam Conflict.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They hid him for over eight months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They still live in </span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Toronto</span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-59335442015250903212011-04-08T09:44:00.000-07:002011-04-08T09:44:26.843-07:00Party 101<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMQD2EdJDgSCV6BhRvsPGXtHsx7hdNSwn7uKbRYpzzw4PNCLyDTSuMwqJRQKvMWWq-D5PkQGPpmannKVVj8e6C0dJfqidDbPj4MbOnoOsrBk_DuqosUmDNImxOIKwWwI6_RqtiLkt-co/s1600/Party101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMQD2EdJDgSCV6BhRvsPGXtHsx7hdNSwn7uKbRYpzzw4PNCLyDTSuMwqJRQKvMWWq-D5PkQGPpmannKVVj8e6C0dJfqidDbPj4MbOnoOsrBk_DuqosUmDNImxOIKwWwI6_RqtiLkt-co/s320/Party101.jpg" width="206" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">While participating in a roundtable discussion at a professional writer’s conference, someone asked how I was qualified to write a column about college issues (since I am well past my school years).<span> </span>My answer surprised my fellow writers. Before performing at over 500 schools as a professional comedian, I attended quite a number of universities as a semi-professional student.<span> </span>Unlike my peers who had one major and attended one college for four years, I had seven majors at five universities (and one correspondence school) over a span of nine years.<span> </span>Seems every summer break I would stumble across inspiration for a new field of study that would send my college life spinning in a new direction the following semester.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The first school that foolishly accepted me was Texas Women’s University. It was only the second year they allowed male students to attend.<span> </span>I was eighteen and had hormones bouncing around inside me like a pinball machine, thus the thought of having two dozen females to every one male was an irresistible lure.<span> </span>The girls on campus joked, “Men here are like parking spaces: the good ones are taken and the rest are handicapped.”<span> </span>There was only one real requirement in order for a guy to qualify for enrollment: he was required to choose a course of study in the medical profession.<span> </span>I agreed, but quickly discovered the sight of blood rendered me horizontal.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So began and ended the first of my following parade of majors:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">NURSING MAJOR – I thought it would be cool to be a “registered” nurse, because I thought they got to carry a gun.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">BIOLOGY MAJOR – I was particularly interested in the mating habits of other species, in case there is anything to this reincarnation stuff – I wanted to know how to score.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">THEATRE MAJOR – I quit after I realized a degree in theatre would only qualify me to tear tickets in half.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">ART MAJOR – Expelled the first semester for trying to trace the model.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">ENGINEERING MAJOR – My dream of getting my own train ended when I was the first student in the correspondence school’s history to be expelled for playing hooky – I mailed in empty envelopes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">EDUCATION MAJOR – I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps.<span> </span>She was a substitute teacher and at this point I was excelling at being a substitute student.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">After almost a decade I ended up being a double major:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">LAW and PSYCHOLOGY – I figured I could be an asshole… and know why.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Before I continue sharing my vast history in higher education, I should also divulge some information about my high school experience.<span> </span>I attended a very small school.<span> </span>How small you ask?<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sex Ed and Driver’s Ed were taught in the same car.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So when it came time to choose a college, I was determined that it be a big one… with indoor plumbing.<span> </span>I’m not knocking small schools. You can have everything at a small school that you can have at a big school—except a secret.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">After my failure at TWU, my parents insisted on choosing the next school I would attend.<span> </span>While they agreed to let me attend a large university, they decided on one that had no distractions to my meeting their high academic standards.<span> </span>They enrolled me in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Big & Boring</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">University</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> (I will withhold the actual name of this </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Texas</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> school in hopes they one day hire me to perform).<span> </span>Within three months I was expelled for living off campus… in Vegas.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">After my failure at BBU, I decided I needed professional help in choosing my next college.<span> </span>I turned to the extensive research provided by an esteemed source: Playboy Magazine, which publishes an annual list of the nation’s top party schools.<span> </span>I knew right away the school I picked deserved its party reputation when I walked in my first class and a bouncer stamped my hand.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Most schools are understandably concerned with “binge drinking” on campus, which scientists define as having five or more drinks in one sitting.<span> </span>At my school, it was not considered a “binge” if at the end of the night you could still count all your drinks on one hand. In fact, it was not considered a “binge” if you could still count.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">At one point during my sophomore year I was reported missing for about three weeks.<span> </span>The beer companies put my picture on the sides of the cans.<span> </span>By then I was drinking beer to sober up.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Needless to say, with all the partying going on—with or without me—I found it difficult to study.<span> </span>It’s no wonder: my dorm-mate would keep me awake all night as he threw up Red Bull & vodka. (What a brilliant combination – totally sick with no chance of passing out).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">All I learned at party schools was that college is the only time in your life you won’t look totally White Trash for having an empty liquor bottle collection. (I hope that didn’t offend anyone… whose parents have an empty liquor bottle collection).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Soon my grades began to suffer, much to the chagrin of my parents, who were footing the bill.<span> </span>Before I had departed for college that year, my father had offered me incentive: if I made decent grades he would buy me a car, and if I made the Dean’s List he would buy me a car that runs.<span> </span>My goal, on the other hand, was to avoid expulsion. I tried taking every course on a pass/fail basis.<span> </span>This puts a student in the odd position of being overjoyed at getting a D, knowing he achieved his goal of doing the very minimum amount of work necessary to pass, and angry when he gets an A, knowing he could have spent less time in the books and more time in oblivion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I finally bottomed out at party schools at the end of my junior year, that glorious time in a college student’s life when every other day someone he knows turns 21 and expects him to celebrate with them.<span> </span>My grades were nothing short of a disaster.<span> </span>When I told my parents the bad news my father asked, “How close were you to a passing grade?”<span> </span>I told him the truth, “About three seats.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">What did I get out of my many years in college (other than eight arrests and no convictions?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">- I got 3,285 credit card applications (estimated at one a day for nine years).<span> </span>I wish I had followed my comic friend, Michael Dean Ester’s advise, and returned each envelope back to the credit card company with a brick inside, since they have to pay the postage. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">- I got a small amount of knowledge of a big variety of subjects and a tremendous amount of knowledge about college life.<span> </span>Such as: real dorm rooms are not as big as the ones on TV and in movies, but if you can survive in the smallest room ever, you will appreciate every other place you live for the rest of your life.<span> </span>Also, it’s a good idea in high school to practice eating cardboard to get used to the food in the college dining halls.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">- I got violated every year. I think the school store should be kind enough to give a tube of KY to every student just before he sells his textbooks back at a fraction of the cost.<span> </span>(I have not sold a textbook back in years and it still hurts when I sit down.)<span> </span>They hated buying my books back because I highlighted.<span> </span>I eventually developed my own system with textbooks: instead of highlighting the important parts in yellow ink, I crossed out everything else in black marker.<span> </span>I just dipped that calculus book in ink.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">- I got a chance to meet people, many of who I am still in touch with today.<span> </span>They call me at least once a month… to ask when I’m going to pay back my student loans.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">- I also got to surprise some people at a professional writer’s conference.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com</span></i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"></span></div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-19760716842307147192011-03-08T13:22:00.000-08:002011-03-08T13:22:04.501-08:00The Reality Of Breaking Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYD0_PcmJlaauuj1jFOoND5DetO_2lV97wMkYRw8mKJ8lf67tcVVyGbPEuKAa8Mg_nKuVdb3giZ_ZgOMvDkUSXCEOUbCgy0JCE4FU8PsjiCCtXB5hIKgMV9Wf07yHYEhvcVRdsBb-Thk/s1600/BoycottReality.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYD0_PcmJlaauuj1jFOoND5DetO_2lV97wMkYRw8mKJ8lf67tcVVyGbPEuKAa8Mg_nKuVdb3giZ_ZgOMvDkUSXCEOUbCgy0JCE4FU8PsjiCCtXB5hIKgMV9Wf07yHYEhvcVRdsBb-Thk/s320/BoycottReality.png" width="320" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I recently said goodbye to a longtime companion. After spending countless nights over several decades in this affair, I’d had enough, and decided to call it quits. Sure, this long-term relationship was often very entertaining, but it reached a point where it frequently seemed like a waste of time, so I pulled the plug…on Cable TV.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This is a major break up! It is the equivalent to Lance Armstrong dumping bicycles; because Cable has been more than just a diversion for me, it has often been my employer. In fact, with the paychecks I’ve received over the years for performing, then writing, and eventually producing, I’m one of the few people that can say Cable has paid more for me than I have paid for Cable. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So our split was not about money, which is the number one problem sited for most break ups. The number two most reported cause is sex, and I certainly don’t have a problem with Cable in that department either and don’t understand the folks who do. (Before the invention of flat-screen televisions I used to tell a joke about a woman complaining to me she hated all the sex on the TV and me telling her she should buy a couch.) In truth sex is one of the things I am beginning to miss most about Cable.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’m now going on three months without it, the longest I’ve gone since I was a very young child (without Cable, not without sex). You see, my parents did not approve of Cable at first; Mom spent her free time reading and Dad spent his playing the piano, so that left me with limited TV options: ABC, CBS, NBC, and PBS. To me, they were my four best friends; to my parents, they were my babysitters. When I finally did see Cable, it was love at first sight. I spent so much of my childhood sitting in front of the television that I can still clearly remember the pattern of the carpet in our TV room. I also recall the arms of our sofa that I used to ride as my imaginary horse when watching westerns.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If you are a college student reading this, you are probably thinking “There used to be westerns on television?” That’s understandable, since the last western on a non-premium network was <i>Peacemakers</i> in 2003, and it lasted only nine episodes before it was sent to Boot Hill. But during the final years of the Baby Boomer generation through the early years of Gen-X, westerns ruled the airwaves. At the peak in 1959, there were twenty-six westerns on in primetime, including eight of the top ten shows. In fact, for eight out of ten years, the number one show was <i>Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, </i>or <i>Bonanza. </i>By the time I came into existence there were still one or two westerns on most networks, but the costs were becoming prohibitive (horses rented for $100 per day). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Back then, people loved to imagine life in a different era to escape the reality of present day. But now, it seems that using your imagination is just too much work and we are content to invite modern reality into our living rooms in increasingly uglier forms. In short we have gone from being entertained by people we aspire to be (Marshall Dillon) to people we are thankful we are not (Snooki).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I first noticed this transition when the afternoon talk shows that featured successful performers (<i>Merv Griffin, Mike Douglas</i>, etc.) were replaced by those that displayed the dregs of society (<i>Jerry</i> <i>Springer, Geraldo</i>, etc.). I believe viewers were attracted to this new “Trash TV” because their problems paled by comparison to those of the dreadful guests on their screen; much of what we call “Reality TV” should more accurately be called “At Least My Life Is Better Than That Guy’s!” To combat the frustrations of our ordinary lives we take comfort that we have not sunk to being a transgender Nazi or incestuous clergy (most of us never even had to sweat out a DNA test to determine if we really are the baby-daddy).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">From the afternoon talk shows, this trend migrated to primetime. The show <i>COPS </i>debuted in 1989<i> </i>(currently in its 23<sup>rd</sup> season, making it one of the longest running shows on the air). Reality TV got a better foothold a few years later with MTV’s <i>Real World</i>, and finally exploded in 2002 with <i>Survivor.</i><span> </span>The reason for the success was explained to me while I was pitching a scripted show to an ABC executive; he shook his head and said, “This is a good concept with a great script, but for the money it would cost me to produce a half-hour of this show I can produce eight hours of reality programming.” Simple economics; cutting out expensive elements like writers and stars shrinks the production costs, and a hit show at half the cost is twice the hit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Of course, Cable TV lowered the bar on what constitutes a hit. Before Cable a hit show could draw over two-thirds of the television viewers, now audiences are so spread over the dial a show is considered a huge success if it can garner even a fourth. And if any show does attract those numbers, then you can expect the following season for other networks to trot out their version; <i>Jersey Shore </i>begat<i> Real Housewives of New Jersey, Jersey Couture, Jerseylicious</i>, ad infinitum. (The common message being the term “</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> culture” is an oxymoron.) The latest adaptation is “Celebreality TV” featuring minor celebrities that are desperate to bolster their careers: <i>The Osbournes </i>begat<i> The Anna Nicole Smith Show, Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica, Dancing with the Stars, Celebrity Fit Club, Celebrity Apprentice, Celebrity Rehab</i>, ad infinitum denuo. This practice of replication is nothing new in broadcasting, as noted a half-century ago by Fred Allen when he observed, “Imitation is the sincerest form of television.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Naturally this derivative programming is not limited to Cable, so I’m also giving the heave-ho to my four best friends of old, dumping <i>all </i>broadcast television. Other than the sheer redundancy, there are other grounds for this divorce. One, after many years of paying my dues as a performer I am disgusted by the recent concept of unearned stardom; I get disturbed seeing William Huang’s cd in the stores competing against legitimate singers that have devoted their lives to their craft. Two, I’m worried about the children. A kid can instinctively distinguish reality from fantasy, they may see a cartoon character walk off a cliff but they know they shouldn’t do the same, but “real” people become real role models. And when children start to emulate the bad habits of say, Paris Hilton, reality star of <i>The Simple Life</i>, or any cast member of <i>Growing Up Gotti</i>, then society will pay a price (and incarceration isn’t cheap). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Yet another reason for breaking up: TV is a big fat liar! There is no reality in Reality TV if for no other reason than being in a room with a TV camera is an unreal situation. Most shows are a mix of so called “real” moments and fake ones. For example, the judge’s “live” comments on <i>American Idol</i> may be prepared in advance while the judges watch dress rehearsals. And in Celebreality TV, the semi-stars often write into their contracts the ability to veto any scene they don’t want shown. Wouldn’t “real life” be great if you had time to think about what you were going to say long before you had to say it, or if you said something you were ashamed of, you could have it edited out? Reality my ass.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Speaking of <i>American Idol</i>, before I am bombarded by emails from outraged fans, I should mention I do not consider it to be true Reality TV.<span> </span>I believe talent contests and game shows belong to a different genre altogether, because they require two elements true Reality TV does not: talent and writing. Plus both are very time-tested forms of entertainment. While <i>American Idol</i> has been the top rated show for the past six seasons, it is not that far removed from <i>Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts</i>, the top rated show in 1951. <i>Who Wants to be a Millionaire?</i>, the top rated show in 2000, is very similar to <i>The $64,000 Question, </i>the top rated show in 1955. Maybe television, like fashion, runs in cycles? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I hope so.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">How ironic: I like my coffee with real sugar, my songs with real drums, and my women with real breasts, but when it comes to TV, well, I’ve had all the reality I can take. Hopefully this form of television will soon run its course, and network executives might look to the past to find programming for the future. Who knows, maybe I’ll live long enough to see the return of the variety show? And if they ever bring back the western, well, I might even consider getting back together with Cable. (Although, I’m going to need a sofa with much stronger arms.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">EPILOGUE: I’m happy to report I rebounded quickly and jumped into a new affair. I am now head over heels…for Netflix!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com</span></i><span id="goog_1220788508"></span><span id="goog_1220788509"></span><span id="goog_573415927"></span><span id="goog_573415928"></span><span id="goog_35060542"></span><span id="goog_35060543"></span>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-21239009523913328832011-02-15T13:01:00.000-08:002011-02-15T13:01:13.270-08:00What's New?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfK3BOpTo1CkRufwn5wyvrJUsnJwoxccEgxxPOZnoQEUFAH7zHs97lz572-PzrGhzKN6WuiyWf2w1vIZSsJEuKNFn_JZDmHoLqmYKRzy3XUorA8P9z4LtoMheUY4JlLeeSxrN8GPdc6SM/s1600/WhatsNew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfK3BOpTo1CkRufwn5wyvrJUsnJwoxccEgxxPOZnoQEUFAH7zHs97lz572-PzrGhzKN6WuiyWf2w1vIZSsJEuKNFn_JZDmHoLqmYKRzy3XUorA8P9z4LtoMheUY4JlLeeSxrN8GPdc6SM/s1600/WhatsNew.jpg" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I suspect most people have a branch of their family tree they consider “poor relations” and my immediate family is no different. We have an Aunt and Uncle that, due to unfortunate circumstances, are basically uneducated and largely uncultured. Good people, just not entirely socially acceptable. I confess there was a time when I dreaded their visits to our home, especially entering my teenage years, that awkward age when peer pressure is colossal and avoiding embarrassment paramount (and few things are more embarrassing than your family). My fear of guilt by association was so strong I recall being mortified with shame when I returned from school one afternoon to find my Uncle mowing the yard shirtless with the tattoos from his Navy years on display, wearing baggy pants that left a generous portion of his boxer shorts exposed for the entire neighborhood to see. My Aunt sat on the porch wearing bleach-blonde hair with noticeably dark roots and a tank top with her bra straps showing. In hindsight (thanks to Hip Hop and Madonna) I now see that my relatives were actually fashion trend setters extraordinary far ahead of their time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I mention this story because this afternoon I had a similar experience of self-discovery; while visiting my sister I came across a photograph of myself at the age mentioned above. I was stunned to see the outfit I was wearing (straight-legged jeans, neon shirt, oversized Ray Bans, and Chuck-T sneakers) is almost identical to the clothes featured in the current issue of Vogue on my sister’s coffee table. My look had recycled. If I had kept those clothes (and could still fit into them) I would be quite the fashionista today. The magazine pictorial touted many new fashion trends for this season that I had seen before, from high-waisted skirts and shorts, to giant purses and oversized hoop earrings. My jaw dropped when they mentioned the comeback—of all things—“Hammer pants,” something I vow to never wear again no matter how popular they become!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This led me to ponder an age old question: What’s new?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I love working on the college circuit because I receive the bonus of being exposed to the latest fads and trends that originate on campus before filtering into the mainstream. However, when spending time at a school I am always surprised to hear students listening to music that sounds similar (often identical) to the music I listened to when I was in college, or in some cases, the music my parents were listening to when they were that age. For example, the musical stylings of Amy Winehouse, Duffy, Joss Stone, and Sharon Jones are almost interchangeable with the sounds of Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Gladys Knight, and Etta James.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This train of thought came to a sad revelation: for the past two decades college students have not had a new style of music they can call their own. They lack an original musical battle cry to identify with and rally around, losing a time-tested weapon to irritate the authority figures in their lives. I feel sorry for their loss.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I am disheartened that for the first time in a century or more the river of original musical genres has run dry. Sure, there are still new bands and new ways to record and produce them, just not totally new music for them to play (or us to listen to).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Although I’m no expert on music history, I can offer a simplistic review of the styles that had an impact on past generations. At the turn of the twentieth century young people were tapping their toes to Ragtime, followed by the truly American art forms of Jazz and Country & Western. In the 30s a new generation embraced Swing. By the 40s Rhythm and Blues took hold. The 50s introduced a style of music that resulted in a cultural revolution: Rock and Roll. In the 60s Soul music emerged and Rock expanded into Surf, Acid Rock, Psychedelic Pop, and Heavy Metal. That expansion continued in the first half of the 70s with Glam Rock, Country Rock, Jazz/Rock Fusion, and then by mid-decade another musical style spearheaded cultural change: Disco. In the 80s Punk, Rap and Hip Hop blossomed, creating cultures of their own. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But by the 90s, originality began to wane and music became derivative. House and Dance are the evolution of Disco. Grunge is a combination of Indie Rock, Heavy Metal, and Punk (which is actually old Garage Rock). Techno and Trance have their origins in earlier works by musicians like Kraftwerk and Philip Glass. Even Emo was definable before this millennium in the works of Fugasi and Rites of Spring. Not to say that there was nothing new in music in the 90s; while no radically new musical styles developed, a new form of musical entertainment did become commonplace: Tribute Bands.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Music didn’t just quit moving in new directions…it did a u-turn.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Not only have people stopped creating new styles of music they have also stopped inventing new musical instruments, at least not instruments that have any impact on popular music (granted, the “vuvuzela” is a new instrument, but despite being popular, it is hardly musical). The last instrument to have any noticeable effect on the music we listen to was the synthesizer, and it was originally invented—are you ready for a shock—in 1876, by Elisha Gray, the man best known for developing the telephone prototype. In 1964, Robert Moog made the synthesizer commercially available for the select few that could afford one; in the 70s miniaturized components made it portable, and by the 80s it was finally produced at modest prices for the public. Today your laptop (or even phone) can be a synthesizer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This brings me to the correlation of the decline in music originality with the boom of household computers. I am not the only one to notice this connection; Jaron Lenier (the man that coined the phrase “virtual reality”) was quoted in the New York Times: “It’s as if culture froze just before it became digitally open, and all we can do now is mine the past like salvagers picking over a garbage dump.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My theory: the computer killed new music, or at the very least, replaced the motivation for creating it. In the past when a creative 16-year-old felt alienated or dissatisfied with the status quo he would reach for a guitar or spit a rhyme. Now they change culture by creating an original website or writing new code, and the benefits are similar: fortune, and for some, fame and the blessings celebrity status bestows. (If a nerdy looking kid like Mark Zuckerberg receives benefits from groupies that formally only Rock Stars knew, then who the hell wants to spend time with guitar lessons?) The internet was first misunderstood, even feared by the status quo, but eventually embraced. The same holds true for Rock and Roll. And the pioneers of both eventually got a very satisfying and financially rewarding last laugh. I grew up wanting to be the next John Lennon or Jimi Hendrix; now kids want to be the next Bill Gates or Steve Jobs, and that is a tragedy to music.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">It is my sincere wish that my theory is incorrect, and new music is not dead, but merely in hibernation. I hope someone reading this column sees it as a call to action and creates something original to blast from my headphones, because I miss seeing older folks roll their eyes and ask “Can you believe what kids today call music?” instead of “That tune sounds familiar.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com</span> </span></i></div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-83488719717048535912011-02-07T07:52:00.000-08:002011-02-07T07:52:11.536-08:00The Game Of The Name<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_6lxaVnvgPXSaizzHBjep0hGX2vUVqvy23-cAe0veBJ5mK6Yvqsif7gif0XJ3keQHBtQYpuGYduyBlPuGYYpDeNGs1S6wzkO_TFtVg9mcUhB_xfPSQRpQ2GJ_PNFYk-hcuUI1FhThqc/s1600/SportsMascots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_6lxaVnvgPXSaizzHBjep0hGX2vUVqvy23-cAe0veBJ5mK6Yvqsif7gif0XJ3keQHBtQYpuGYduyBlPuGYYpDeNGs1S6wzkO_TFtVg9mcUhB_xfPSQRpQ2GJ_PNFYk-hcuUI1FhThqc/s320/SportsMascots.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">RIDDLE: What do Anchormen, Ambassadors, Engineers, Diplomats, Governors, Judges, Medics, Pilots, Poets, and Senators have in common?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As I steered my car into </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Columbia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">South Carolina</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, a billboard on the outskirts of town made me do a double-take; I was stunned to find in the buckle of the Bible-belt, a warning written in large letters: “<b>You Can’t Beat Our Cocks!</b>”<span> </span>The “<b>Cocks</b>” it was referring to was the local team from the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">University</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">South Carolina</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.<span> </span>This was not the first time I’ve been amused by a college team’s moniker.<span> </span>I frequently perform at the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">University</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Akron</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, whose team is called the <b>Zips</b>.<span> </span>When I was in the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Middle East</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> I learned that “zip” is the Arabic slang for penis.<span> </span>Wait, it gets better, the <b>Zips</b> play in <b>The Rubber Bowl</b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As I travel around the country to perform at Colleges and Universities, one of the first questions I always ask the students is about the name of their team, because often it is a valuable source of comedic material.<span> </span>For example, my favorite college cheer is performed by the cheerleaders for the Rhode Island School of Design, which call their team the <b>Nads</b>; how can you not chuckle when you hear thousands chanting “<b>Go Nads</b>!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Team names are a source of amusement and bemusement; some seem redundant, such as <b>Fighting Irish</b>, while others do not – <b>Hustlin’ Quakers</b>, and some are an oxymoron, such as <b>Little Giants</b>.<span> </span>Does it seem odd that you find Cornell’s <b>Big Red</b> in a </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Blue</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> (</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">) and </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Bluefield</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">’s <b>Big Blues</b> in a </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Red</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> (</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">West Virginia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">)?<span> </span>I can understand the <b>Blue Wave</b> being found in Boca Raton, Florida, and the <b>Green Wave</b> in New Orleans, Louisiana, or just the <b>Waves</b> in Malibu, California, but how did the <b>Crimson Waves</b> get to Whiting, Indiana, a totally land-locked state? (Or for that matter, the <b>Crimson Tide</b> to </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Tuscaloosa</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Alabama</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, which is over 200 miles from the ocean?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The weather forecast for college sports is very scary.<span> </span>There are <b>Storms</b>, of <b>Crimson</b>, <b>Red</b>, and <b>Purple</b>, as well as <b>Cyclones</b>, <b>Tornadoes</b>, <b>Hurricanes</b>, <b>Nor’Easters</b>, and of course, <b>Thunder</b> and <b>Lightning</b>.<span> </span>But if nature does not kill us, we still have to worry about being attacked by <b>Cadets</b>, <b>Captains</b>, <b>Colonels</b>, <b>Majors</b>, <b>Generals</b>, even <b>Presidents</b>, armed with <b>Sabers</b>, <b>Silverswords</b>, <b>Bullets</b>, <b>Bombers</b>, and <b>Rockets</b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A citizen of the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">United Kingdom</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> would feel right at home watching the <b>Britons</b>, <b>Celts</b>, <b>Celtics</b>, <b>Irish</b>, <b>Scots</b>, <b>Scotties</b>, <b>Highlanders</b>, or <b>Wasps</b>.<span> </span>For a country without royalty we certainly have a lot of <b>Lords</b>, <b>Barons</b>, <b>Dukes</b>,<b> Knights</b>, <b>Monarchs</b>, and <b>Kings</b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If I was a student athlete, I think I might choose the school I attend based on the name of the team I would be playing for.<span> </span>If my name was Jim, I’d want to play for <b>The Jimmies</b>, or John for <b>The Johnnies</b>, or Tom for <b>The Tommies</b>, and if I was really fat I would play for <b>The Jumbos</b>. <span> </span>If I was gay I might be a <b>Flying Queen</b>, one of the <b>Flames</b>, perhaps a <b>Gobbler</b>, or a member of the only team that shares its name with a gay porno magazine, <b>The Blue Boys</b>.<span> </span>But if I was bi-sexual, I’d be torn between <b>The Pointers</b> and <b>The Setters</b>, or if I was just bi-curious – <b>The Wonder Boys</b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">What if I was a female athlete, would it bother me that my team was named after something that didn’t exist, such as a <b>Lumberjill</b>?<span> </span>Although I’ve never seen a <b>Minutewoman</b>, I confess that I once got so lonely I called one at $4.99 per.<span> </span>Often it is difficult for the women’s team name to correspond with the men’s, for example the women’s team for the University of Texas is called the <b>Lady Longhorns</b>, because as my friend, Vic Henley, pointed out, “It would be rude to call them the <b>Cows</b>.”<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Christians might want to join the <b>Angels, Evangels, Preachers, Prophets, Missionaries, Bishops, Friars, Monks, Saints, </b>or<b> Praying Colonels</b>.<span> </span>Atheists don’t care if they are considered <b>Demons, Devils</b>, or part of the <b>Inferno</b>, and agnostics are not sure if they would rather be a <b>Deacon</b> or a <b>Demon Deacon</b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Students with a criminal record may want to be a <b>Claim Jumper</b>, <b>Vandal</b>, or maybe a <b>Don </b>(they make you an offer you can’t refuse).<span> </span>And if you plan to party throughout your college years maybe you should join the <b>Hardrockers, Brewers, Shockers, Vixens</b>, or <b>Wahoos</b>, (and everyone knows the <b>Stags</b> have wild parties).<span> </span>But be warned that if you party too much the next morning you may feel like a <b>Ramblin’ Wreck</b>.<span> </span>(With the GPA I got from partying, I should have joined the <b>Ephs</b>.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Most schools choose a mascot with a ferocious image in hopes it strikes fear in the minds of their opponents.<span> </span>But I can’t imagine quaking in my boots at the thought of squaring off with the <b>Sugar Bears, Violets, Cotton Blossoms</b>, or <b>Hatters</b> (boy, are they mad).<span> </span>I’m pretty sure I could outrun a <b>Boll Weevil</b> or a <b>Banana Slug</b>, and I’m certain I could dunk on a <b>Troll</b>.<span> </span>And isn’t it an insult to call someone a <b>Squirrel</b> or <b>Hokie</b>?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Although I’m not a professional sports bookie, my fashion sense tells me the <b>Blue Hose</b> would not match up well with the <b>Moccasins</b>.<span> </span>A Spaniard would think it wise to buy a ticket to see the <b>Bulls</b> take on the <b>Matadors</b>, and I’m sure he would enjoy the <b>Oles </b>and <b>Toros</b>,<b> </b>but everyone knows that it would be silly for the <b>Arrows</b> to face the <b>Archers</b>.<span> </span>Wrestling fans and Trekies both would enjoy seeing the <b>Vulcans</b> take on <b>The Rock</b>. An entomologist would want to observe the <b>Wasps</b> compete against the <b>Black Flies</b>, while a zoologist would be riveted as the <b>Armadillos</b> battle the <b>Anteaters</b>, but a sociologist would prefer to see what happens when the <b>Ladies</b> encounter the <b>Gentlemen</b>.<span> </span>And Heloise would write about the <b>Dust Devils </b>versus the <b>Dirtbags</b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The more I learn about team names the more questions I have.<span> </span>Would the <b>Big Green </b>be large enough to defeat the <b>Mean Green</b> or the <b>Mean Green</b> surly enough to beat the <b>Big Green</b>?<span> </span>Would PMS turn a <b>Beaver</b> into a <b>Battlin’ Beaver</b>? Would the <b>Magicians</b> be able to pull one out with the <b>Jackrabbits</b>?<span> </span>If <b>Army</b> plays <b>Navy</b>, and <b>Cowboys</b> play <b>Indians</b>, shouldn’t the <b>Student Princes</b> play the <b>Valiants</b>?<span> </span>Do you really need to go to college to learn how to build a mound, or ride a mule, or husk corn?<span> </span>If not, you probably don’t need to be a <b>Moundbuilder</b>, <b>Mulerider</b>, or <b>Cornhusker</b>.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And how many people knew that it would be possible to see 26 games of the <b>Eagles</b> versus the <b>Eagles</b> and never see the same team twice, or that over one hundred schools have <b>Lions</b>, <b>Tigers</b>, and <b>Bears?</b> Oh my.<span> </span>And am I the only one who didn’t know that putting the<b> Zias</b>, <b>AMCats</b>, <b>Billikens</b>, <b>Blugolds</b>, <b>Duhawks</b>, <b>Geoducks</b>, <b>Golden Gusties</b>, <b>Gorloks</b>, <b>Maccabees</b>, <b>Pomeroys</b>,<b> </b>or <b>Stormy Petrals</b> in the same sentence will make a computer’s spell-check explode?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">RIDDLE: What do Anchormen, Ambassadors, Engineers, Diplomats, Governors, Judges, Medics, Pilots, Poets, and Senators have in common?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">ANSWER: Jockstraps.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com</span></i>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-53240872772105215012011-01-25T06:33:00.000-08:002011-01-25T06:33:27.394-08:00Nude York, New York<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6t9rft5cOyqj6M0GVt0gweKHomJYZ5Obeza6BIn03YSFhzhRkWG_LJmAzDZi-ofGnGIn5mTUUU-xS_AjfPOm9ibxHhivpCMuvfPbEBoYtoLDaj2Cprzi6lqb7cv6FBFkZJkFIPye-CKg/s1600/NudeYork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6t9rft5cOyqj6M0GVt0gweKHomJYZ5Obeza6BIn03YSFhzhRkWG_LJmAzDZi-ofGnGIn5mTUUU-xS_AjfPOm9ibxHhivpCMuvfPbEBoYtoLDaj2Cprzi6lqb7cv6FBFkZJkFIPye-CKg/s320/NudeYork.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">One of the joys of a career in the entertainment industry is that each and every day holds a different adventure.<span> </span>Some are most enjoyable —like a TV show paying me to portray a patron of a strip club where Jenny McCarthy portrayed the dancer—and some not so enjoyable —like having cans thrown at me because the rapper I was opening for, Petey Pablo, was late.<span> </span>But even at its worst, I recognize that I am blessed to not have to face the same boring, predictable routine every single day that most working people endure.<span> </span>Although I like to think I’ve done most everything there is to do as a comedian, I know that is impossible, because you never know what someone will ask a comic to do next, and chances are I will agree to do it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Remember the episode of “The Brady Bunch” where Jan imagines the audience she is addressing isn’t wearing any clothes?<span> </span>Well, I can now say I’ve done a show where there was no pretending necessary.<span> </span>I was hired to perform for a nudist group that had rented out my neighborhood comedy club, Stand Up New York.<span> </span>Although I do not consider myself a prude, I have never had any desire to participate in any clothing-optional group activities that take place in public.<span> </span>(I once refused an offer to visit a nude beach because I couldn’t think of any method to apply sunscreen where I needed it most, without appearing like a total pervert.)<span> </span>However, the members of this free-spirited assembly enjoy a wide variety of fabric-free events such as a Naked Bingo Night and a Naked Reading Night, featuring authors who read in the nude.<span> </span>Much to my relief, the comedians were not allowed to disrobe, since </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> law requires a special license for establishments providing nude entertainment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I am certainly not morally opposed to nudity. <span> </span>In fact, I once worked at Chippendale’s.<span> </span>They fired me, I got drunk and put my g-string on backwards… and it fit (<i>insert rimshot here)</i>.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Back to Naked Comedy Night.<span> </span>My carnal curiosity led me to arrive at the club two hours before I was scheduled to perform. (A first, I admit.) Being the product of a proper sexually-repressed American upbringing, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I entered a room filled with naked strangers.<span> </span>The closest I’ve ever come to that scenario was looking at photographs of Hugh Hefner’s friends lounging around the grotto at the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Playboy</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Mansion</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.<span> </span>Basing my expectations on a Playboy pictorial, I made two assumptions: one, these types of events attract people with bodies worthy of showing off (like Hef’s pals did), and two, these people would be trying to sleep with anyone they could get their genitals on (like Hef’s pals did).<span> </span>So when I agreed to do the show, my biggest fear was that I would be so aroused by the sexually-charged atmosphere, that I would get an embarrassing erection on stage.<span> </span>Once I got a look at the audience, my biggest fear was that I would never get another erection as long as I lived.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Much to my surprise (and disappointment) the nudist group was not composed of people who had spent long hours at the gym, or big bucks at the plastic surgeon, sculpting a body close to physical perfection.<span> </span>In fact, it is safe to say that none of the people baring their assets before me had ever seen the inside of a gym, much less an episode of “Nip/Tuck.”<span> </span>These were not old people. They were more like the parents of old people. Picture in your mind a porno movie featuring the cast of Cocoon.<span> </span>(This made me wonder. Why do people say someone looks great for their age, only when they don’t look their age?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Nudity and sexuality often go hand in hand, but that was not the case with this gathering. And even if it had been, there were five men to every one woman.<span> </span>I was beginning to question my decision to arrive early, but soon realized I had made the right choice, because the comedy started long before the comedy show did. I overheard one woman tell the waiter, “I’ll have the baked ziti with two meatballs.” Which inspired the naked man sitting across from her jump up and wiggle, while loudly proclaiming “I’ve got your two meatballs right here!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The actual comedy show commenced with the very funny, Ross Bennett serving as the emcee.<span> </span>Ross confided, “It's going to be very difficult for my jokes to be effective, because all sense of subtlety is lost.”<span> </span>I almost fell out of my chair laughing when he mentioned, “I feel like I’m in that scene from Rosemary’s Baby.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Next up was a member of the nudist group, Carol Pinchefsky, who also is a novice comedian.<span> </span>She opened with, “Hi, my name is Carol, and maybe you don't recognize me with my clothes on, which is what they told me during my high school graduation.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My good friend Al Ducharme followed Carol, and explained to the audience why he was there, “I hoped this experience would give me some new material, but I see there’s really not much material here.”<span> </span>The audience was still howling at the pun when a ringing cell phone interrupted, prompting Al to ask, "Just where are you keeping your cell phones?"<span> </span>When a member of the nudist group snapped Al’s picture, he protested, “How come you get to take pictures of us, but…”<span> </span>(Not that he really wanted a nude photograph of this collection, unless he was planning on using it to scare away burglars.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The evening was a smashing success.<span> </span>I believe the performers and the nudists all enjoyed themselves immensely, and the only complaint that I’m aware of was lodged by people who were not even in attendance: a Smokers' Rights Advocate Group questioned the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York City</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> law that allows people to take off their clothes in a restaurant but not to light up a cigarette. I found that protest to be just one more thing to laugh about.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Although the audience may not have been as loaded with as many young, attractive nude women as I had fantasized about (actually none) I could not have asked for more appreciative group.<span> </span>They were intelligent, open minded, quick to laugh and very comfortable in their own skin.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I guess it is difficult to take life too seriously when you are buck naked in a roomful of nude strangers.<span> </span>These were people with the wisdom to recognize that the demanding concept of beauty that the media bombards us with is simply not attainable except by a lucky few who are blessed with fortunate genetics.<span> </span>They have accepted they don’t, and won’t ever look like a Madison Avenue Supermodel, and it doesn’t appear to bother them in the least.<span> </span>Instead of wasting their time and money trying to hide their physical flaws, they choose to gather and celebrate their inner beauty.<span> </span>The ego has landed, and it truly was an inspiration.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I found the affair a pure delight and I know it will probably be the last time I can look at an audience and say, “I see some of the men here tonight are not Jewish.”<span> </span>I also walked away with a couple of valuable kernels of knowledge: one, I should never, ever expect real life to resemble the pages of Playboy Magazine, and two, I will never ever sit in one of the chairs at that comedy club again…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i></div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-79139714701779468992011-01-18T08:01:00.000-08:002011-01-18T08:01:38.183-08:00Monkey Balls, Witch’s Teats, & Bridge’s Nuts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMTlrRzcCxPOcY77Ci6r6mo5jkGYQ_kYExjgCQQhaJW9CiXosRR26OYfTLh15NdYC4UlUd-C9ltJDbyUZeCEKoAt-BaYjJUx1ekWBI_xVMkYN73jZkeY3jMwaPmTnd5_-jJ3TmMnOIM4/s1600/winter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMTlrRzcCxPOcY77Ci6r6mo5jkGYQ_kYExjgCQQhaJW9CiXosRR26OYfTLh15NdYC4UlUd-C9ltJDbyUZeCEKoAt-BaYjJUx1ekWBI_xVMkYN73jZkeY3jMwaPmTnd5_-jJ3TmMnOIM4/s1600/winter.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I once met Mel Torme’s daughter who shared a bit of trivia about her father. While her mother was in labor, Mel was waiting out the birth in a room without air conditioning, in the desert town of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Palm Springs</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, in the middle of a brutal summer. To pass the time and to take his mind off the unbearable heat, Mel began to think of things associated with the winter season; chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, etc. The results of this mental exercise produced “The Christmas Song,” one of the most recognized and recorded songs of all time. The reason I retell this story is that I now find myself in the exact opposite scenario; I am writing these words in the frigid cold of winter, trying to warm myself with thoughts of toasty weather. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Winter’s wrath was a condition I had never truly experienced before I embarked on the “Road Warrior” lifestyle of a touring professional comedian. Growing up with the mild winters of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Texas</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> left me ill-prepared for the cruel climates my career would eventually expose me to. For example, the high school I attended did not even have a hockey team for the simple reason there was not an ice rink within a hundred miles (and in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Texas</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> walking on water is considered dangerously close to blasphemy). <span> </span>From Texas I moved to a beach in sunny Southern California, where a ten degree fluctuation from winter to summer made the word “seasons” little more than a rumor (try getting in the Christmas Spirit by hanging tinsel and lights on a Palm tree). When I arrived in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Los Angeles</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> I was shocked to find that many of the homes in this tropical climate had fireplaces (which are about as useless as the referees in Professional Wrestling). Eventually Viacom lured me to </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York City</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, where I quickly received a painful education on the harsh realities of winter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I have concluded that because of my limited early experience with winter conditions, I find it much more fascinating and amusing than the other seasons. I reached this conclusion after discovering I have written more jokes about winter than the remaining seasons combined. Cold is proven to be more conducive to comedy, which is why David Letterman keeps his studio audience in a frosty sixty-two degrees. In cities that have unforgiving winters it is difficult to get the population indoors on a pleasant summer day; the comedy clubs have better attendance in the colder months, often adding more shows and paying more money. These clubs sometimes reverse this trend and offer “summer money,” a term that so angered one comic I know he responded with “Then you are getting my summer act.” (The exception to this rule is locations that see an influx of tourists in the summer and increase the pay, which is why I try to only work </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hawaii</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> in the summer).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">When I analyze humor by season, it breaks down as follows: cold is a bit funnier than hot, and hot is a lot funnier than comfortable. In fact I find “comfortable” is not very funny at all. The one and only joke I have written about spring addressed the myth that men become more romantic at the start of the spring season and my belief the sudden appearance of these loving tendencies has less to do with the mating season of the natural world and more to do with women suddenly wearing a lot less clothing than they did in winter. And the only thing I have found funny about autumn is that it is the only season that balding men can relate to trees. The above examples clearly illustrate that spring and fall are not all that funny.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Extreme weather conditions generate more laughter, which supports the theory of there being a fine line between comedy and tragedy. I frequently voice my opinion that the license plate in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Arizona</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> should read “But It’s A Dry Heat,” (but as another comic pointed out, so is fire). The last time I was in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Arizona</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> during the summer months it was such a dry heat—I saw trees following dogs (<i>insert rimshot <span> </span>here</i>).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As opposed to the bone-chilling weather I’m writing in today, where you could not pet your dog without the risk of his tail breaking off. Let me set the stage; I am in the middle of the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Pocono Mountains</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, in the middle of January, in the middle of a blizzard. The temperature is double-digits below zero, with a wind chill factor that has dogs stuck to fire hydrants. I’ve been cold before, but never this cold. I’ve experienced winters in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Alaska</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> where snow banks that lined the roads were so tall your car moved like it was on a giant Hotwheels track, making it unnecessary to touch the steering wheel. I’ve spent wintertime in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Montreal</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, where urine testing involves writing your name in the snow (in English and French). And I’ve made many winter trips to </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Minnesota</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the state where the license plate should read “Nine Months of Winter – Three Months of Crappy Bobsledding.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But I can honestly say I have never been as cold as I am today. It’s hard for me to envision the Pioneers heading west to settle our country, getting to the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Pocono Mountains</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> in January, and saying, “Well, I guess this will do.”<span> </span>I suspect the people here are all descendants of wagon trouble. For example, this afternoon I was in a phone booth and needed to write down a number, but I didn’t have a pencil, so I just scratched the number in the glass…with my nipple! And that was more painless than my testicles apparent intended migration to become ovaries (however, I am thankful that if they find my frozen body at least they can identify my gender by looking on my driver’s license).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Did I mention I have never been this cold?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And I am not alone. The comedian I’m working with is also apparently not accustomed to such harsh winter conditions. Moments ago, he was so disgusted with how dirty the salt and sand on the highway had left his car, that he decided to go to a self-service car wash. I sat in the car and watched as he sprayed on a layer of soap, which immediately froze, and then he tried to rinse it off, adding another even thicker layer of ice. We are now riding in what must look like the world’s fastest glacier. That’s funny. That’s cold. But… it’s a dry cold.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com</span></i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"></span></div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-81513317262814552332011-01-12T10:43:00.000-08:002011-01-12T10:43:30.874-08:00FN NJ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHa9yTwT2VbN-_xe4Sfe71PvhzXLuOogUuc8xhKi0hwr3ok5_wYG3e3jZ9TeFUKLgndKpNQZD3Qz8cT2RxjDN-HPpl7aaFpOrNe6EFZERgpw0kcXe5wPtVlNg3hto3xqvBR7TBslEVAc0/s1600/jersey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHa9yTwT2VbN-_xe4Sfe71PvhzXLuOogUuc8xhKi0hwr3ok5_wYG3e3jZ9TeFUKLgndKpNQZD3Qz8cT2RxjDN-HPpl7aaFpOrNe6EFZERgpw0kcXe5wPtVlNg3hto3xqvBR7TBslEVAc0/s320/jersey.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I once heard a story attributed to Mel Gibson (long before the world knew he was bat-shit crazy) recalling his sister’s experience, which illustrates how people have the unfortunate capacity for unjustified hatred. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“My sister was getting her hair done one day. She was sitting in a chair and I came up in conversation, and this lady was slagging off on me. She didn’t like it very much. So my sister is sitting in her chair and the lady doing her hair said, ‘This is his sister.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And the lady turns to my sister and said, ‘I don’t like your brother.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So my sister said, ‘Oh, I don’t like your brother.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And the lady said, ‘You don’t know my brother.’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And my sister said, ‘You don’t know mine.’”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Every now and again I find myself guilty of feeling hatred without proper provocation; I know this is wrong. So, whenever this happens I am faced with an internal conflict between what I feel and what I know. I am ashamed to admit that there are a number of people and places that I have grown to hate for no good reason at all. I can’t point to any specific wrong inflicted on me personally, only some intangible quality that has drawn my intense dislike. Sure, there are some people whose reputation is so notorious that hating them without ever actually meeting them seems justified: Adolph Hitler, Osama Bin Laden, Michael Vick, etc. But to hate an entire city that I have never fully explored seems a bit unreasonable. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">At the risk of losing work at every college and comedy club in town, I must make a public confession; I hate </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">. There I said it. I’ll be the first to admit I have not given </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> a fair shake; not once have I sought out a reason to like the place. This is because every time I have been in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> my prevailing thought is how can I get out. I’m sure the city boasts many wonderful attractions and many residents who are a credit to humanity, it’s just I have yet to encountered one. Since my experience of Newark has been limited to it’s exit routes, it’s safe to say I do not base my unabashed loathing on what I found while in Newark, but rather the products of Newark that have found me. I’m looking at one right now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">How do I know the object of my scorn and ridicule originated in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">? I was privy to her deafening cell phone conversation as our plane was landing (as was everyone else on the aircraft and perhaps a few people on the ground). I am now inspired to jot down my vile impressions of this </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> resident while we are gathered at the baggage claim. She has just been met by her husband, who I hate by default, if for no other reason than his appalling taste in women. I fear they are breeding a litter of annoying offspring in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, no doubt in training to master the ability to irritate the rest of the world.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My flight started with the woman in question attempting to board before her row was called and then blocking the passageway for everyone else. It ended with her refusing to allow the passengers seated in front of her to deplane first; she bolted up the aisle before the seat belt sign was off – the aeronautical equivalent of cutting in line. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Good manners prevent me from providing an accurate physical description, but I will say that if she should ever need medical treatment for a fall I would not be surprised if she would be attended by all the King’s horses and all the King’s men. As is often the case with people who obviously never participated in any exercise that did not involve chewing, she is wearing a jogging suit. And as is often the case, she has the hooded top of her athletic outfit tied around her abundant waist in the manner my friend, Ron Morey, refers to as “flying the big butt flag.” I just noticed that the hood of her sweatshirt is hanging down below her rotund buttocks so that it resembles the poop-shoot contraption that is attached behind the horses that pull the carriages through </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Central Park</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The horse’s ass analogy has me laughing, and now I’m feeling a bit guilty for hating </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">. I remind myself many people I know hate the entire state of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, so I suppose my unfounded abhorrence is, by comparison, moderate. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Growing up in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Texas</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> I was unaware how widespread the bad feelings for </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> are along the eastern seaboard; in effect, the closer you get to the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Garden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> the more critics you will find. I feel sorry for children that grow up in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York City</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">; they are probably in college before they learn that “fucking </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">” is two words. The contempt for </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> is so acknowledged they actually sell t-shirts for </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Garden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> residents that proclaim, “</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> – We Hate You Too.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But I have always felt that New Jersey gets a bad rap, and have been very quick to defend it when I can; an increasingly difficult task thanks to the likes of Snooki and The Situation. For example, when someone ridicules </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> for having beaches littered with medical waste and hypodermic needles, I would point out that no one in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> actually goes to the “beach,” they only go to the “shore.” (I think the reason they never call it the "</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Beach</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">" is because that sounds too close to what they call their girlfriend.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I have met my near demise countless times in the streets of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Manhattan</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> by almost being rundown by a reckless driver, and despite that the offending vehicle invariably bears telltale yellow plates, I continue to defend </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">. Regardless that </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> is the only state that I’m aware of that doesn’t trust the residents to pump their own gas without stealing it, I defend it. In spite of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">’s only noticeable contribution to society is providing the setting for the Sopranos and Springsteen, my battle cry has always been “Give Jersey a break, it’s not all bad.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Here is a little test to determine your inner feelings about the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Garden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">. Pick the person that was NOT born in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Joe Pesci</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Meryl Streep</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Danny DeVito</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Joe Piscopo</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Howard Stern</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If you picked Howard Stern you are correct. However, if you are shocked to discover that someone as classy as Meryl Streep hails from </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, then you too have </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Garden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> prejudice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’ve always felt sorry for poor little New </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the state that just can’t seem to please. It shares the very same geographic features and climate as its neighboring states, yet </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Pennsylvania</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> produced the acclaimed city of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Philadelphia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, “the city of brotherly love,” and in its shadows </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> produced </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Trenton</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, “the most dangerous city in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">America</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.” The </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Empire</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> produced the best city in the world, </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York City</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, and </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> answered with nearby </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">. The different values of these municipalities is best illustrated by the fact that the Lincoln Tunnel runs two directions; to go towards New York costs a whopping eight bucks, but to go towards Newark costs zip, nada, nothing, not one red cent. (Fred Allen said the reason they built the tunnel was so people could go to </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> without being seen.) When </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Nevada</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> and </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> both relaxed their gambling laws, </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Nevada</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> created </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Las Vegas</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">; </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> countered with </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Atlantic City</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, which as impossible as it sounds makes Vegas look tasteful. Try as it might, the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Garden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">State</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> just can’t seem to get it right, but I think we should show pity rather than contempt.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Tell me you hate everything about </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New Jersey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> and I will compassionately try to change your mind. But tell me that if it was necessary to give the world an enema, you would insert it in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Newark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">… I will buy you a beer. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com</span></i><span style="font-size: 16pt;"></span></div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-5762085436023819372010-12-27T07:32:00.000-08:002010-12-27T07:32:17.516-08:00Ginger-vitis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq6iOD2mHuhNjO-tOPdSra1exMNwzixZq55CkTb1aoaKiAN4hu0yJaiD9vpMf-1dw5y1o6C8jA1DMajyLrGQrSTjYPm-5iCvSnZIBekBPkLTHK59ji-jzcPHr2nxNoX1vqcyuXUEF86bc/s1600/MC1R.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq6iOD2mHuhNjO-tOPdSra1exMNwzixZq55CkTb1aoaKiAN4hu0yJaiD9vpMf-1dw5y1o6C8jA1DMajyLrGQrSTjYPm-5iCvSnZIBekBPkLTHK59ji-jzcPHr2nxNoX1vqcyuXUEF86bc/s320/MC1R.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I recently got some disturbing news; I discovered that I have MC1R.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Not that anyone can easily tell by looking at me, since I shave my head.<span> </span>I did not start shaving my head to hide my MC1R, I did so because a TV talk-show paid me to shave it on the air; I went from long locks tied in a ponytail to my current chrome-dome look in only seconds, but it took quite some time for me to adjust to the transition.<span> </span>For example, the first time I got caught in the rain it seemed really, really, LOUD! And the first time I went camping, I never thought to spray bug repellant on my shaved head and the mosquitoes saw me as a cranial buffet; so the next shaving cut off all the bumps and for weeks I looked like the victim of a woodpecker attack.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Before I go any further I suppose I should explain, for those unfamiliar with advanced genetic study, what MC1R entails.<span> </span>In 1995, Professor Jonathan Rees, of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Edinburgh</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">University</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, identified the melanocortin 1 receptor found on the 16<sup>th</sup> chromosome (MC1R for short) as the “gene for red hair.” <span> </span>Although news of this discovery took over a dozen years to reach me, it was still quite unsettling to learn that as a redhead – <b><i>I am a genetic mutation</i></b>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">There are not many of us mutants out there, only 4% of the world’s population sports natural red hair, and only 2% of the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">United States</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.<span> </span>Although it may appear there is more; the majority of women who dye their hair do so at home, and the majority of those choose to be redheads (30% red, 27% brunette, and 26% blonde).<span> </span>Of the natural hair colors, red is the rarest, even on the same head; the average human has 120,000 strands of hair, brunettes have the most, blondes less, and us poor downtrodden redheads have the very least.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This is but one of the many negative effects of MC1R.<span> </span>Others include: being prone to industrial deafness, the favorite target for bees to sting, and being more susceptible to sunburn, skin cancer, and wrinkles.<span> </span>My research also disclosed that redheads are harder to sedate, requiring 20% more anesthesia to obtain the desired effect (I suspect this unusual tolerance may be due to centuries of over-consumption of Irish whiskey).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As a child I despised having red hair, frequently begging my parents for permission to dye it any other color, which they persistently denied, forcing me to endure the constant taunts of classmates, such as, “I’d rather be dead than red on the head!” Can you imagine a childhood burdened with the knowledge that others would rather be deceased than to look like you?<span> </span>My parents believed the ridicule I received was a small price to pay for being so “cute.”<span> </span>But as any adolescent boy will tell you, “cute” is not an adjective he desires; he longs for “hunky” or “handsome.”<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Any person born below the Mason Dixon Line (myself included) is familiar with the phrase “I’ll beat you like a redheaded stepchild” (which dates back to the South’s darker days and refers to the illegitimate offspring created by master and slave).<span> </span>This phrase alone always made me grateful I was never adopted (but perhaps my adoptive parents might have let me dye my hair… after they finished beating me).<span> </span>Looking back, I’m surprised my MC1R was not treated with weekly sessions with a therapist.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Having red hair is a feature that has historically been looked upon with an unkind eye.<span> </span>Throughout time artists traditionally depict Judas Iscariot with red hair because of their common belief that redheads are untrustworthy.<span> </span>In the 16<sup>th</sup> century, the fat of a redheaded man was an essential ingredient for poison.<span> </span>The Egyptians had a ceremony in which they burned redheaded maidens in an attempt to eliminate any future redheads, because they were considered unlucky.<span> </span>In Greek mythology redheads turn into Vampires when they die, and Aristotle proclaimed that redheads were “emotionally unhousebroken.”<span> </span>Romans kept red-haired slaves (at a higher price).<span> </span>Brahmins were forbidden to marry redheads.<span> </span>And Adolph Hitler banned the marriage of two redheads because their children would be “deviant offspring.”<span> </span>But Germanic persecution of redheads is nothing new; from 1483-1784 thousands of suspected witches were tortured and murdered for having the abnormality of red hair or freckles, which were considered “marks of the devil.”<span> </span>During the Spanish Inquisition having red hair was proof the owner had “stolen the fires of hell” and should be burned as a witch.<span> </span>In light of the MC1R history of persecution, if I hear one more fair-haired person complain about having to listen to dumb blonde jokes, I just might slap them upside their golden locks!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sadly mankind has still not evolved to ending prejudice against redheads.<span> </span>Currently in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Corsica</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, if you pass a redhead in the street superstition dictates you should spit and turn around.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Liverpool</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, folklore states that meeting a redhead at the beginning of a journey is a bad omen of terrible trouble to come.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Africa</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the UN is investigating allegations of ritual murders of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Cameroon</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">’s redheaded albinos.<span> </span>A popular French proverb states that “Redheaded women are either violent or false, and usually both.”<span> </span>The Russians have their own proverb: “There never was a saint with red hair” because of a common Russian belief that a person with red hair is crazy and has a fiery temper.<span> </span>In fact, I am certain that some of you reading these words also still associate red hair with a crazy temper.<span> </span>An Irish judge, as recently as 2001, fined a man for disorderly conduct stating “I am a firm believer that hair color has an effect on temper and your coloring suggests you have a temper.”<span> </span>Why shouldn’t we have a temper? <span> </span>Redheads have 50,000 years of oppression to be mad about!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">There are countless reasons to be angry.<span> </span>Although some may consider redheaded females to be sexy, the same rarely holds true for redheaded men.<span> </span>My redheaded friend, Phil Palisol, described his only visit to a nude beach, “I have red pubic hair; I looked like Bozo with a double chin.”<span> </span>An opinion echoed by the very funny Patty Rosborough, who says, “Red hair is just not a good setting for a penis.<span> </span>You keep expecting it to jump up and start singing ‘The sun will come up tomorrow.’”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">It is very frustrating as a redheaded man to have so few redheaded icons to look up to, since the most well-known are usually female cartoons: Wilma and Pebbles Flintstone, Jessica Rabbit, Pippi Longstocking, Raggedy Ann, The Little Mermaid, Princess Fiona, Peppermint Patty, and of course, Little Orphan Annie (singing “the sun will come up tomorrow”).<span> </span>What male redheaded role models do I have?<span> </span>Well, there’s Winston Churchill (fat), Vincent van Gogh (crazy), Henry VIII (fat & crazy), and Ronald McDonald (neither fat nor crazy, just money-crazed enough to make the rest of the world fat). As for Conan O’Brien, all I can say is, “Damn you Jay Leno!” (Or as I call him, “Grey-Lo.”) And as for Carrot Top, he is as embarrassing to redheads as Uncle Tom is to African-Americans.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">But this story has a happy ending; I’m thrilled to report I am a MC1R survivor.<span> </span>Over the years I’ve come to appreciate being unique.<span> </span>And as I age I take comfort I’ll never need Grecian Formula because redheads don’t turn gray (we turn sandy, then white) so if I ever grow my hair back out it might be described as “salt and (cayenne) pepper.”<span> </span>I’ve already reached an age where I’ll eagerly accept anything close to a compliment, so now “cute” is no longer disappointing.<span> </span>I’ve finally learned to live with the genetic cards that I’ve been dealt, even MC1R, because in truth, sometimes it’s kind of fun to be an emotionally unhousebroken mutant.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-53127397352419955562010-12-21T06:42:00.000-08:002010-12-21T06:42:48.964-08:00Santa Laws<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0nEy1j1kJi4Jd_PfEEXTlf1YQ8Ichjn4hkRs4oB0rj0vJH0Ws1BpNSkenXL8OtcbGvzIj3uiBrVvffc1rPutKjtBRC3xYJjWnZeadZHOs1NSXdyFhjTrU3K-BBh8kQYauM7hZ3AtK4RM/s1600/xmas+decorations.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0nEy1j1kJi4Jd_PfEEXTlf1YQ8Ichjn4hkRs4oB0rj0vJH0Ws1BpNSkenXL8OtcbGvzIj3uiBrVvffc1rPutKjtBRC3xYJjWnZeadZHOs1NSXdyFhjTrU3K-BBh8kQYauM7hZ3AtK4RM/s320/xmas+decorations.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">It is less than a week until the most anticlimactic day of the year: December 26th.<span> </span>I’m reminded of how my Father often joked that the day after Christmas is the day the world goes from “jingle bells” to “juggle bills.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I always associate Christmas with my family, and can accurately predict their reactions as next December 26<sup>th</sup> approaches, because every year at the end of the day every member of my family always sighs and says “This was the best Christmas ever.” Rather than nod in agreement, this year I plan to remind them that honor probably goes to the very first one (and the fact that our family has a severe shortage of wise men and virgins).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’ve always found holiday traditions a little strange.<span> </span>The word “holiday” originates from “holy day.”<span> </span>But I have trouble associating our customs with the event we are celebrating.<span> </span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">For example;</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">On Easter, Jesus rose from the dead – so I’ll decorate chicken embryos and chew the ears off chocolate bunnies?<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">On February 14th in the year 237 A.D., Saint Valentine was clubbed and beheaded by an angry mob – so I’ll give my girlfriend red panties?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">On March 17th Saint Patrick chased the snakes out of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ireland</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> – so I’ll drink green beer till I puke?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">On December 25th Jesus was born – so a fat man comes down my chimney?<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ah, the fat man, the most famous of holiday figures.<span> </span>If you live in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Turkey</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, you know that St. Nicholas was born in Patara, and went on to become a famous Turkish Archbishop known for his kindness to children.<span> </span>Of course if you live in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Persia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, you’ve never even heard of Santa and you don’t get gifts from him (which totally sucks for little Persian dudes).<span> </span>And if you grew up in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Belgium</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, you had two Santa figures; St. Nicholas for kids who speak the Waloon language, and another for children who speak French called “Pere Noel.”<span> </span>I think the two-Santa concept should be used at stores in America, one for regular kids, and one for kids who want ten items or less.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">While some little boys grew up wanting to be policemen, or firemen, or rock stars, I grew up wanting to be Santa.<span> </span>After all, he “knows when you are sleeping,” how cool is that?<span> </span>I longed for the ability to enter homes with locked doors with ease (almost as much as I longed for that list of which girls are naughty).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The main drawback to being Santa would be living at the North Pole, since I find cold weather very disagreeable.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Brazil</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> they believe “Father Noel” lives in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Greenland</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, which is just a tiny bit warmer.<span> </span>And in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Holland</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> they believe St. Nick lives in sunny </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Spain</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, which has a wonderful climate.<span> </span>Kids in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Czechoslovakia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> believe “Suaty Mikalas” resides in Almost Heaven (presumably the one that is not </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">West Virginia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">) climbing down to Earth each year on a golden rope.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sweden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, “Tomte” lives underneath the floorboards in your house, and rides a straw goat, (thus I would never want to be Santa in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sweden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> because I couldn’t handle straw burns on my thighs).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Since December 22nd is the first day of summer in the southern hemisphere, Santa is known to arrive on Australian beaches riding a surfboard.<span> </span>Cool!<span> </span>The Aussies are not the only ones with a seagoing Santa.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Greece</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, St. Nicholas is also the Patron Saint of Sailors, so his beard drips seawater.<span> </span>No Greek ship ever leaves port without a St. Nicholas icon on board.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Spain</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the traditional Christmas figure, “Balthazar,” rides a donkey, so kids leave their shoes in windowsills filled with straw, carrots, and barley in hopes the donkey stops there.<span> </span>Like </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Spain</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Venezuela</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> they also look forward to a visit from “Balthazar, King of Ethiopians.”<span> </span>And since most Ethiopians are black, children wake Christmas morning and race to the mirror looking for a black smudge on their cheek indicating “Balthazar” has kissed them in their sleep. (How ridiculous, if a kiss from a black person left a black smudge, then Thomas Jefferson would look like Al Jolson.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Netherlands</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> also has some very politically incorrect Christmas traditions.<span> </span>They believe that instead of elves, Santa hangs out with “Black Petes,” mean men with black skin and afros who carry switches and put naughty children in bags to ship them away.<span> </span>St. Nick is not the kind jolly man Americans have come to love, but a strict disciplinarian who carries a Birch rod to beat little ones. <span> </span>Parents use him to threaten their offspring, as in “You better clean your room or St. Nicholas will beat you and the Black Petes will ship you away.” This is the closest the Dutch get to racial profiling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Netherlands</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> is certainly not the only place Santa has questionable associates.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Austria</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> he is accompanied by the Devil himself, who demands children give him a list of their deeds over the past year.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hungary</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, Santa not only travels with the Devil, the Devil has a switch.<span> </span>And in the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Czech</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Republic</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, St. Nick hangs with a Devil that carries a whip!<span> </span>That certainly makes our American elves look better, even the one that wants to be a dentist.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In some cultures there is no Santa at all.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Japan</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> they believe in a priest named “Hoteiosha” who has eyes in the back of his head.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Italy</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> and </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sicily</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> the Christmas presents are delivered by a female, “Bafana,” an ugly witch who was told by the wise men that Jesus was born, but she was busy cleaning her house (another politically incorrect concept).<span> </span>She later lost the Star and has been flying around on her broomstick ever since, leaving gifts at houses with children, just in case Baby Jesus is there.<span> </span>In the part of the world formerly known as </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Russia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, they share a similar belief, except their “Babushika” refused to travel with the wise men because the weather was cold.<span> </span>Duh?!<span> </span>It’s December.<span> </span>It’s </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Russia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.<span> </span>You don’t have to be Al Roker to know it will be cold?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">With all these witches and devils flying around, Christmas can be scary.<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Scotland</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> they are afraid of the elves.<span> </span>It’s considered bad luck to let your fire go out on Christmas Eve because a bad elf might fly down your chimney.<span> </span>(But after seeing the dental work in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Scotland</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, or lack thereof, I can understand how they might fear that elf that wanted to be a dentist.)<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Denmark</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> an elf does all the work, his name is “Nisse.”<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Norway</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> an elf is also the central Christmas figure, “Julebukk,” which translates into “Christmas Buck.”<span> </span>(I’m sure many American merchants share the Norwegians anticipation of the annual visit of the “Christmas Buck.”)<span> </span>With both “Nisse” and “Julebukk” children are taught that if they don’t leave a bowl of food out, the elf will play a mean trick on them.<span> </span>This reminds me of the American tradition of Halloween, where we teach our children extortion.<span> </span>In the part of the world formerly known as </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Yugoslavia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the Christmas tradition involves children creeping into the room and tying their mother to a chair, then shouting “Mother’s Day, Mother’s Day, what will you pay to get away?”<span> </span>She must trade gifts for her freedom.<span> </span>The following week the little gangsters lean on their father.<span> </span>I think the message here is “kidnapping pays.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’ll close with one of my favorite Christmas stories. My friend, Evelyn, had a grandfather that was getting senile and the more things he forgot the more irritated his wife would get. While Evelyn was driving them to their family Christmas party, her forgetful grandfather asked, “Whose birthday party are we going to?” Her grandmother snapped and shouted, “I think his name is Jesus!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So, no matter where you are, or how you do it, I wish you all very “Happy Birthday Jesus.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i></div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-63099852840200010842010-12-14T07:46:00.000-08:002010-12-14T07:46:02.874-08:00Stop Me If You’ve Reword This Before<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIQP6gDC7GnVFLZ8b-6_HqU4GmausucWTUNY1SYaFjXkb8-SMhFGMBjOI5A1wYh93B-Dzbyfx-jzCVE9BqjGGjH6SxHwCF7CQ8nZ2zcw_Lf9jFofQFqdTyFlbLW24bt5cniS6JIiZGtc/s1600/JokePolice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIQP6gDC7GnVFLZ8b-6_HqU4GmausucWTUNY1SYaFjXkb8-SMhFGMBjOI5A1wYh93B-Dzbyfx-jzCVE9BqjGGjH6SxHwCF7CQ8nZ2zcw_Lf9jFofQFqdTyFlbLW24bt5cniS6JIiZGtc/s320/JokePolice.jpg" width="246" /></a><span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div><br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt;">“Thou shalt not steal”</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt;">Exodus 20:15</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I have a new comedy hero.<span> </span>What’s so unusual about that?<span> </span>I’ve never had the opportunity to see his act.<span> </span>I was already a fan from his work as commentator for the UFC (and you may know him as the host of Fear Factor and The Man Show), but now I’ll forever admire and respect his bravery to stand up and speak out.<span> </span>His name is Joe Rogan, and he appears to be on a one-man campaign to let the world know about the lowest of the low in the comedy industry – comedians that steal.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Comics who steal have been around as long as there have been comics.<span> </span>The most notorious was perhaps Milton Berle, who embraced his derogatory title of “The Thief of Bad Gag.”<span> </span>His peers joked that Berle did not have an act – he had everybody’s act.<span> </span>I know this to be true, because early in my career </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Milton</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> attended one of my shows in Vegas and afterward told me, “If you hear a joke you like take it.” Which I thought was about the worst advice a young comedian could get.<span> </span>It is rumored that Bob Hope once said something funny and Berle told him, “I wish I had said that.” And Hope replied, “Don’t worry… you will.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">It is not easy to become a successful comedian; you must have both something funny to say and the ability to say it funny.<span> </span>By stealing material, half the work has been done for you; it is the equivalent of entering a marathon race then hopping on the bus.<span> </span>The worst part is these cheaters still get rewarded at the finish line, because the only people that know they cheated are the other contestants and not the people who give out the prizes. <span> </span>You may be shocked to learn that some of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">America</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">’s best-loved comedians are also the most despised by other comedians.<span> </span>(My resentment for these performers runs so deep that I refuse to pay one cent to see any movie they appear in, or raise the ratings of their television shows, for fear I might be remotely rewarding them and their thievery in any measure.) <span> </span>Each comedian must face this moral dilemma then decide if he values his own honor and the respect of his peers more than the trappings of fame and fortune.<span> </span>The temptation of a shortcut to stardom is so strong many choose the latter, and unfortunately the public remains largely unaware of their misdeeds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I can’t stress enough how valuable jokes are to a comedian, especially if he is not a household name.<span> </span>When a comic first starts out he may only have a couple good lines to serve as the foundation for his career. So, when performer on the level of say, Robin Williams, attends the local comedy club then does a starting comic’s joke on television, the next time that young comic does his own material the audience will assume he stole it from Robin, thus derailing his career.<span> </span>It’s a sad fact, but the public will always believe the more famous comic wrote the bit; that is why this form of thievery is so devastating to the victim.<span> </span>Since humor is considered in public domain there is very little legal recourse for this type of crime; that is why the comics themselves have to self-police the industry since the club owners, agents, and television producers, are more concerned with someone just getting the laughs as opposed to where the laughs originated.<span> </span>I thank God that Joe Rogan has the courage to step forward to serve as our Comedy Police Commissioner.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Here is a list of the accused perpetrators of repeated unrepentant plagiarism:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">ROBIN WILLIAMS</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Perhaps the most notorious contemporary joke thief in the industry, he is known as “the comedic Wynona Ryder.”<span> </span>One of the first lessons I learned in comedy was to never perform if Robin is in the club; the world famous Improvisation Comedy Club in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hollywood</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> even devised a warning system with lights to alert the comic on stage that Robin is present.</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Radar Magazine quoted </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Scott LaRose, a veteran stand-up, saying Williams knows he has a problem but is virtually helpless to stop it. "Everybody knows he's a genius, but he's like SpongeRobin SquarePants," says LaRose. "He's just a big sponge."<span> </span>Another comedian reported, "I remember watching Letterman last year and Ray Romano was on. Ray did a bit that he has been doing for a while about implanting phones in your head to make them more convenient. The next night Robin Williams was on the show and did the same bit word for word. Dave looked like Robin had dropped a turd into his coffee cup (Letterman produces Ray's show)." </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Naturally comedians tend to address disturbing issues with humor; there is a joke making the rounds about a deli in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> that had a sandwich named after him, “the Robin Williams,” they give you a bun, but you have to steal the meat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">DANE COOK</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Joe Rogan appeared on syndicated radio’s Opie and Anthony Show and accused Dane of stealing his, and other comedian’s material.<span> </span>He then backed up his claim by playing clips from Louis CK’s cd, “Live In Houston,” followed by Cook doing almost the same bits on his cd, “Retaliation.”<span> </span>I encourage you to decide for yourself; these clips can be found by doing a YouTube search for: “Dane Cook Steals Jokes – Proof.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In fairness to all the comedians accused of stealing, there are four possibilities to consider before you find them guilty:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">One: the joke is so old or in such widespread use it is considered “stock.” (I’m not proud to admit it, but there have been a few times I have told a joke so old that if Adam and Eve returned it might be the only thing they would recognize.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Two: it is a matter of parallel thought and each comic came up with the joke independently.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Three: they paid an unethical comedy writer to create material and unknowingly bought recycled jokes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Four: (the truly shameful option) it is just outright larceny.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">According to Larry Getlen, of Radar Magazine, “Rogan isn’t the only one who has accused Cook of lifting material. Another veteran comic recalls seeing Cook performing one of his very physical routines at the same club. “I go, ‘Don’t do that bit,’” says the comic, “and [Cook] goes, ‘Oh, sorry man. I won’t do that bit.’ But he did it plenty of times after that.”<span> </span>Dane Cook’s reputation for supposedly being a thief has become so widespread that even a mainstream publication, Mad Magazine, put him on the cover and made light of it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">DENIS LEARY</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">During a national radio appearance Rogan also accused Leary of stealing.<span> </span>This led to a war of words that played out for days in the newspaper in which Denis responded with something to the effect that if Rogan would worry more about his career than mine then he wouldn’t have to be on a show watching bartenders eat worms (Fear Factor).<span> </span>However, to the best of my knowledge, he did not deny that he had stolen material, which would be difficult to do since there is so much evidence to the contrary.<span> </span>In his book, “One Consciousness: An Analysis of Bill Hicks' Comedy,” Paul Outhwaite devotes an entire chapter to word-for-word examples of Leary lifting jokes.<span> </span>This controversy is also mentioned in Cynthia True’s book, “American Scream: The Bill Hicks Story.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Before he died from pancreatic cancer, Hicks was asked about Leary stealing his material and stage persona, Bill responded sarcastically, “I have a scoop for you.<span> </span>I stole his act.<span> </span>I camouflaged it with punchlines, and to really throw people off, I did it before he did.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Comedian Lenny Clark reported that during a televised roast for Leary a carton of cigarettes was left backstage with a note reading: “Wish I had gotten these to you sooner. (signed) Bill Hicks.”<span> </span>The joke was cut from the final broadcast.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I had heard that one of Leary’s final retorts to Rogan was, “I’d like to see him say that to my face.”<span> </span>Well, so would thousands of Bill Hicks’ fans, because Joe happens to be a full-contact Tae Kwon Do champion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">CARLOS MENCIA</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">On </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">February 10th, 2007</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, Rogan gained national admiration amongst comics when he confronted Carlos Mencia on stage at LA’s Comedy Store.<span> </span>The event was captured on tape for Rogan’s internet reality broadcast, “JoeShow.” (You can see it by searching You Tube for: “Joe Rogan Carlos Mencia.”)<span> </span>The clip also features testimony of Mencia’s thievery from comedians: Ari Shaffir, Bobby Lee, and George Lopez, who told Howard Stern last year that Mencia stole 13 minutes of his act for an HBO special, inspiring him to pay Mencia a personal visit. "I just had enough," Lopez recalled. “So one night at the Laugh Factory, I just picked him up and slammed him against the wall.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Radar Magazine reported Nick Di Paolo claims the Comedy Central star also swiped material from him, and notes that “every Latino comic wants to kill him.”<span> </span>According to Rogan, the famed Comedy Store in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Los Angeles</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> has even instituted a Mencia early-detection signal similar to the Improv's for Williams, though considerably less high-tech. "Every time he walks in, the guys in the cover booth just start yelling 'Mencia's here!'" </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’m sorry to report that Rogan had to pay a price for making the public aware that there are unethical comedians that build their careers on the creativity of others.<span> </span>The Comedy Store banned Joe on the grounds that he violated club policy by filming his show there.<span> </span>Wikipedia states “Furthermore, according to Rogan, his agent and publicity firm (who also represents Mencia) forced him to either apologize to Mencia or be dropped from the agency. Rogan claims he chose to leave the agency rather than apologize.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My new hero was left to lament, “People take plagiarism so seriously in all other forms of media, whether its music, newspapers, books, but with comedy, it's like, 'You're on your own, fucker.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Well, Joe Rogan is not entirely on his own, this heroic comedian has my full support.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-61897253072666399622010-12-07T09:12:00.000-08:002010-12-07T09:12:26.489-08:00Scatology 101<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJH6kZMjxPgLUf_9XQcjAOJ-03mRa10ewojtu1BT_2ZfgCBCeIhyphenhyphenIAiphN0Q9I1hlyBciyJP9habFGQ38FWcE0V6IZGgU58R9xH32bXU-Qg3Bwx95V9yIqGM7QVJUyhLsJ01PYxtgc8U/s1600/toilet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkJH6kZMjxPgLUf_9XQcjAOJ-03mRa10ewojtu1BT_2ZfgCBCeIhyphenhyphenIAiphN0Q9I1hlyBciyJP9habFGQ38FWcE0V6IZGgU58R9xH32bXU-Qg3Bwx95V9yIqGM7QVJUyhLsJ01PYxtgc8U/s320/toilet.jpg" width="192" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">A CEO might want “to do one's business.”<span> </span>Racecar drivers prefer to “make a pit stop.”<span> </span>A Hippie would “answer nature’s call.”<span> </span>And a mathematician would determine whether to “go number one” or “go number two.”<span> </span>No matter if you “tinkle, whiz, squat, piddle, pooh-pooh, leak, dump,” or simply “go,” you'll need a “john, can, head, pot, crapper, library,” or some sort of “facilities.” </span></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Italy</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, you would go to the “cabinetto.”<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">France</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the “pissoir.”<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Russia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the “ubornaya” (the adornment place).<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Germany</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the “plumpsklo” (the plop closet).<span> </span>In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Australia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the “toot.”<span> </span>And in jolly old </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">England</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, you visit the “loo” (unless you lived in the 18th-century and then you would go to the “cackatorium”).<span> </span>Whatever term you use to describe it and no matter where you might reside, the toilet is a common and essential part of life—but one that remains curiously unmentionable in polite society.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Some of you are probably already feeling a tiny bit uncomfortable just reading the euphemisms above, despite the fact that they apply to such a universal experience.<span> </span>No matter if you are young or old, rich or poor, male or female—the expulsion of bodily wastes is a daily activity for all.<span> </span>So why is it so difficult to talk about?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As a rule, any mention of the toilet and the activities that take place within, will almost always illicit nervous juvenile giggles.<span> </span>But perhaps we're making some progress in the ability to discuss such common practices above hushed tones.<span> </span>For example, when toilet paper was first manufactured in the 1850’s the advertising industry was forced to refer to it as “curl papers for hairdressing.”<span> </span>Today however, television ads tout toilet paper with advertising slogans like Angel Soft’s: “Comfort Where You Want It.” And in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Australia</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, the Bouquets brand claims to be “The Toilet Tissue That Really Cares For Downunder.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In 1960, one of the early hosts of the Tonight Show, Jack Parr, walked off the show because he was outraged when the network censored him for using a term as tame as “water closet” on the air. By 2001, one episode of Southpark used the word “shit” 200 times, (roughly once every eight seconds). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If there is one thing I've learned in comedy, it’s that repression breeds fascination.<span> </span>Tour guides at NASA headquarters report the most common question they field has nothing to do with space exploration, but rather, “How do astronauts urinate and defecate?”<span> </span>(FYI: Buzz Aldren was the first man to poop on the moon.)<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So in the interest of relieving scatological repression (and a few cheap laughs) I feel I should lower my high journalistic standards and become a bit of a potty-mouth… literally.<span> </span>Although I could easily fill an entire volume with the study of the wit and wisdom of the literary works produced in restrooms (from common graffiti to “Sometimes A Great Notion,” the novel written while Ken Kesey was perched upon porcelain) I will use the space below to share my here before silenced observations and collected kernels of knowledge of the “necessarium.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Perhaps the reason we find it embarrassing to discuss toilets is because embarrassing things often happen there.<span> </span>As a child, one of my earliest memories was stealing that cakes of watercolors from my kindergarten class and watching in wonder as the colors mixed in the boy’s room urinal. Picasso might have approved, but I’m somewhat embarrassed by my young life of crime.<span> </span>Even today, some of my favorite embarrassing movie moments have been set in a lavatory; from the disgusting toilet dive in “Trainspotting,” to the hilarious “beans and frank” mix up in “Something About Mary.”<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">One of my family's most repeated stories centers on a distant cousin from a rural background regrettably using a display toilet at Sears.<span> </span>The first time my dear mother saw a bidet, she thought it was a machine provided to clean her socks.<span> </span>And one of my own recent embarrassing moments was when I mistook a circular freestanding sink for a urinal (which I suppose is much better than mistaking a urinal for a sink).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">When you travel as much as I do, avoiding embarrassment is always a concern, because using the toilet in a strange place can prove to be very risky.<span> </span>First, you must determine your proper destination, and that is not always easy.<span> </span>For example, restroom doors in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hawaii</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> are often labeled either “kane” or “wahine.” Do you know which one applies to you? An Old-English themed restaurant I patronized had restroom doors marked “Kings” and “Queens.”<span> </span>I could not resist asking my waiter “Where do us peasants go?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <span style="font-size: 16pt;">The traditional toilets in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Japan</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> consist of little more than a hole in the floor.<span> </span>When you do find a western-style toilet, it is often accompanied by a poster nearby, providing instructions on how to properly use it (the diagrams made me laugh so hard I almost ruined a pair of shoes).</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXZw6vT52wm89f9e5FYZdbjU_oecWbuxw0q943eJQHUJ9QZ-RtN-5aSeIogZMMAbWRAgdl32vJOY3M0ebzUDdZwrxGF3jooRVLBmRJAmLW5oLXo8AEnI164-W-2E2XoWuha8wBfM_R7s/s1600/japan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGXZw6vT52wm89f9e5FYZdbjU_oecWbuxw0q943eJQHUJ9QZ-RtN-5aSeIogZMMAbWRAgdl32vJOY3M0ebzUDdZwrxGF3jooRVLBmRJAmLW5oLXo8AEnI164-W-2E2XoWuha8wBfM_R7s/s1600/japan.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> In </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Sweden</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, one men's room I visited had replaced the urinal on the wall with just a metal grate covering the entire floor—you simply went where you stood.<span> </span></span></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The Dutch, on the other hand, do not place the same heavy emphasis on privy privacy that we do here in the States. Their sidewalk Port-A-Pottys have no walls, so anyone passing by can see men relieving themselves. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQt8YMrMvIooXkIAcvHk8ePW7mdgqI1cVId5zfVvma6qr5Ar4YGgl8isDQAjpUxDaNULee2nmOSE0nYxlGC0Zbc7koFRWo8vjOpILvo4Pk5gElPC_vxTUX_xxPRGlIV6F99bdcRcLo5jc/s1600/portable+urinals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQt8YMrMvIooXkIAcvHk8ePW7mdgqI1cVId5zfVvma6qr5Ar4YGgl8isDQAjpUxDaNULee2nmOSE0nYxlGC0Zbc7koFRWo8vjOpILvo4Pk5gElPC_vxTUX_xxPRGlIV6F99bdcRcLo5jc/s320/portable+urinals.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> Furthermore, their indoor men's rooms are staffed by a “WC Woman,” who mops around you while you are fully exposed, and expects you to tip her 50 cents for this service.</span></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">That </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Holland</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> experience brought back memories of going to a nightclub in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Milwaukee</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> that had installed one-way mirrors in front of the urinals, which made it unnerving to attempt to urinate while a room full of women was in clear sight.<span> </span>I also stayed at a hotel in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">California</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> that had a men's room with a wall made of stones and an “electric eye” that was triggered by a stream of urine, resulting in water flowing down the wall like a waterfall.<span> </span>It made every restroom trip a pure delight.<span> </span>Any future architects might want to make note of the psychological effects: waterfalls – good, one-way mirrors – bad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My all-time favorite bathroom accessory is a bathmat produced by a radio station in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Memphis</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">. It was dark blue with the chalk outline of Elvis.<span> </span>(I've always loved the irony that “the King” died on “the throne.”)<span> </span>Mr. Presley was in very good company, however, joining Judy Garland, Lenny Bruce, and a long list of royalty who passed while passing. King George II fell off his toilet and fatally smashed his noggin. Norway's King Haaken VII slipped on soap in the bathroom and fractured his skull, and Russia's Catherine the Great died of heart failure while straining to overcome constipation.<span> </span>Foul play met foul odor when Roman Emperor Heliogabalus was hacked to death while sitting on a toilet in 222 AD.<span> </span>And Saxon King Edmund Ironside was killed by an assassin that hid in the cesspool below and thrust his sword upward into the King's backside.<span> </span>Ouch!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hollywood</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> actress Lupe Velez attempted suicide with sleeping pills, but her plans when awry when the pills not only made her sleepy, they also made her vomit.<span> </span>The next day her maid found poor Lupe with her head in the toilet.<span> </span>She had drowned. I read of a man who attempted suicide by jumping into an outhouse, only to spend two days in three feet of raw sewage before being rescued.<span> </span>The police report stated his attempt might have been successful if he had only jumped headfirst.<span> </span>And who can forget George Michael, who chose a public restroom as the perfect location—not to kill himself—but to kill his career.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Since you’ve read all the above scatological musings, I’ll reward you by sharing a trick I learned from a flight attendant.<span> </span>It’s a discrete way to join the “Mile High Club.”<span> </span>(If you don’t know what the “Mile High Club” is, then you’re probably not a candidate for membership.)<span> </span>First, you pretend to have something stuck in your eye, then, you and your partner go to the airplane lavatory to pretend to get a better look.<span> </span>Once behind closed doors—join the club.<span> </span>For those who value a good laugh over discretion, as your partner emerges from the toilet, it is very funny to yell out “Next!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i></div><br />
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</div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-54883005062100884932010-11-27T08:22:00.000-08:002010-11-27T08:22:19.214-08:00The Hate Debate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjIBglRU4UNmd83YlerRMAjvSTP3rRhkklVuEOESiA0a7KfY-vWBgEd6Z_Wdbs4f6FZ-RYGrHBJ-KmGomSc1c-b3lXxmBuihQmpo7K_VFy9oBfUKgcY4yGZUUqfSirk0EQTx69HwKPug/s1600/LoveHate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjIBglRU4UNmd83YlerRMAjvSTP3rRhkklVuEOESiA0a7KfY-vWBgEd6Z_Wdbs4f6FZ-RYGrHBJ-KmGomSc1c-b3lXxmBuihQmpo7K_VFy9oBfUKgcY4yGZUUqfSirk0EQTx69HwKPug/s320/LoveHate.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“I know that there are people who </span></i></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">do not love their fellow man,</span></i></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">and I hate people like that!”</span></i></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Tom Lehrer</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In the world of stand-up comedy, I think most people would agree that you would be hard-pressed to find a performer that strives to provide a more positive message than myself. While many of today’s cast of current comics are busy bashing others, I devote my time on stage to humorously promoting racial harmony, religious tolerance, and gender understanding. I am not a total Pollyanna, but I am definitely a glass-half-full kind of guy; that being said, I should also mention that, unfortunately, I am not totally unfamiliar with being stuck holding an empty glass.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I hold the opinion that in order to appreciate life one must accept the full spectrum of the human condition and acknowledge there are undeniable diametric aspects: birth and death, light and dark, joy and sadness, good and evil, etc. These complimentary opposites within a greater whole are both independent and interdependent. Pain does not exist in the absence of pleasure nor pleasure in the absence of pain; they co-exist in our minds as a balance of sanity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Lately I have been giving some thought to love and hate. You might think a humor columnist, and self-proclaimed optimist, would be drawn to write about love (since laughter can be the sound of love) however, I plan to lead you down a darker path littered with hate. More surprising still, I’ll go so far as to admit: <b>I am a hater.</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I think hate has gotten a bad rap, because as I’ve said before, the opposite of love is not hate, the opposite of love is fear. We end up hating what we are afraid of, and we are afraid of things that are different: different race, different religion, different sexual orientation, even different gender. So, if you hate someone for one of those reasons, that means, on some level, you are afraid of them. Thus, I hate fear, and that is a good-hate.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I know you are probably unaccustomed to seeing the word “good” next to the word “hate” in the same sentence, but hear me out. Good-hate can be fun. I had this revelation while on my way to a Super Bowl party when I realized I was very excited about the game, despite the team I love not participating. I was juiced because the game featured a team I hate. The Yin-Yang of sports: the next best thing to rooting for the team you love is rooting for the opponent of the team you hate. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Good-hate also provides great motivation. I believe if necessity is the mother of invention, then hate may be the father. As a comedian, the things I hate often inspire me to invent a funny way of looking at them, and I think the same holds true for all professions. Here are some examples:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If Karl Benz didn’t hate the smell of horse poo, then he would have never invented the automobile.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If Mark Zuckerberg didn’t hate Tom from Myspace, then he never would have invented Facebook. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If the Scots didn’t hate good music, they never would have invented the bagpipe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If someone didn’t hate safe driving, they never would have invented texting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If someone didn’t hate sobriety, they never would have invented the ATM.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I was discussing my theory of good-hate with my friend, and he suggested that if God didn’t hate mobile homes, He never would have invented tornadoes. I corrected him by pointing out that man invents – God creates. I also cautioned him that his statement borders on blasphemy, because I believe it is okay to speak <i>to</i> God, but not <i>for</i> Him. I pretty sure God has a rule: Speak for yourself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I once saw a protester at the Pride Parade carrying a sign that read: “God created AIDS because He hates homosexuals.” Obviously this person was not a very deep thinker, because if he thought it through, his logic would make lesbians God’s chosen people, and I’m fairly certain that is not the message this guy hoped to promote. (Besides, if God hates homosexuals, why did He make so many of them so cute?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Political spin has become such a prevalent practice that it is not uncommon to see the same story spun in opposite directions. With a good public relation firm virtually any cause can be twisted to invoke Divine support. For example, the folks at </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">NORMAL</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> could say, “If God didn’t hate violence He never would have created marijuana.” Or the American Beef Council could say, “If God didn’t hate vegetables He never would have created vegetarians.” (Which leads to the question: if meat is murder, does that mean eggs are rape?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I have difficulty associating God with hate, but I am aware this has been done throughout the holy books of various faiths. I’m not suggesting we should question God’s word, but I am suggesting we should question a person who claims they speak for God, because who among us truly has that capability? I suppose it is permissible to do so in the name of humor, like if I was to say, “If God didn’t hate dentists He never would have created </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">England</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">.” But when you encounter people who try to speak for God to advance a personal agenda, I suggest you plug your ears. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">As I reread the above, I see that perhaps my sharing my opinion that you should not put faith in another’s opinion is somewhat counterproductive. Sorry to have wasted your time, but my only agenda is to leave the world with some gentle laughter and a tiny bit more understanding in my wake. Hope none of my silly jokes offended anyone, such as Scots, vegetarians, or Tom from Myspace…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I would hate that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com</span> </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-60440311616726772152010-11-20T09:41:00.000-08:002010-11-20T09:41:12.275-08:00I’ll Leave The Blight On For You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cV1x-41jfdSA5dhCGJcxW0EzMNkybk1GtlYocCFZDRQ_PbPdrYftCRRg-v2sgA2rzKpGZJq_W_Y-XDdiWBUCh7_QLads1F6zOoSKRG_TJNe54tZQSoRIzwrMuSNWoMl0D6Uca6x-FqE/s1600/NotelMotel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cV1x-41jfdSA5dhCGJcxW0EzMNkybk1GtlYocCFZDRQ_PbPdrYftCRRg-v2sgA2rzKpGZJq_W_Y-XDdiWBUCh7_QLads1F6zOoSKRG_TJNe54tZQSoRIzwrMuSNWoMl0D6Uca6x-FqE/s320/NotelMotel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><br />
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</style> <![endif]--> <div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">“I once stayed in a hotel that was such a dump, </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">on the postcards the bed wasn’t made.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Mickey Freeman </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Let me start by stating how grateful I am to have a job in the entertainment industry; I am truly blessed to live the life of my dreams. Not to brag, but I have nibbled caviar with movie stars, done shots of tequila with rock stars, celebrated pagan holidays with European royalty, and shaken the hands of Presidents. That being said, I am currently writing this in a motel that has a number in its name. (And you know what you never hear a guest of a motel with number name say? “Guess who I just met on the elevator?”) I can attest that living the life of your dreams is not always a dream-life.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">One of the greatest misconceptions about show business is the notion that it is eternally glamorous. TV programs like <i>Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous </i>and <i>MTV Cribs </i>have people believing that just because one stands in front of a microphone or camera for a living they live in continuous luxury. </span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The stereotypical lifestyle of a “star” may hold true for a select few, but for the vast majority of comedians who spend the vast majority of their time performing on the road, we are at the mercy of the person who provides our accommodations. I can speak for all comics when I say our life is a roller coaster ride spanning the entire economic spectrum of housing, from the mansions to the slave quarters. There has been much talk of late about the gap between the rich and poor; my occupation requires leaping that chasm with regularity.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">True, there have been times when I’ve been lucky enough to receive the royal treatment, literally; I once stayed in a palatial suite in the luxurious Adolphus Hotel that had previously been occupied by the Queen of England, and in Vegas, I stayed in a room fit for a King (AKA Elvis Presley). But these experiences are exceptions to the rule, and that rule is: the person who hires me wants to spend as little as possible putting me up.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">There are three forms of accommodations that my employers use: rental properties (commonly called comedy condos), hotels, and my least favorite, staying on-site. </span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’ve performed at some colleges offering degrees in hospitality whose students maintain a one or two unit “hotel” on campus. I always feel odd when they give me a key to my room and then another key to the front door of the </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Student</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Center</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> it is located in. Worse than that is when they expect me to stay in a dorm room, usually without a television or private bath; sure, dorm rooms look comfortable in movies and TV, but in real life they are closer to prison. Worse still is being stuck in the dreaded Alumni Guest House, which I invariably have to share with the caretaker, usually an older woman (actually, the mother of an older woman) who can’t understand my resistance to spend the evening sitting next to her watching the Lawrence Welk Show. I have learned to always pack a book so I can entertain myself in privacy (no, not that kind of book!)</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The comedy club equivalent to the Alumni Guest House is when you are expected to live at the club owner’s house. Thankfully this is rare, but when it happens I always feel a flashback to my teenage years when I was living with my parents, only this time we are the same age. Ask yourself, how comfortable would you feel if your roommate was also the person that signed your paycheck?</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Comedy condos are like living with the owner once removed, since they are always furnished with their hand-me-downs; when the owner gets a new couch the condo gets the old one, so you feel as if you have traveled back in time, because you reside in a decor that was popular about the time you were born. I can say in all honesty I have shared sheets with some of the hottest female comedians in the world, from Sarah Silverman to Chelsea Handler, unfortunately, not at the same time. To give you an idea of how often condos get new sheets, I once had the son of the club owner visit the condo and comment “Oh wow, those were my sheets when I was in third grade.” At the time he was thirty-five. These condos are frequently lacking what most would consider modern necessities; these days, I don’t know anyone, even a five-year-old, which does not have cable or internet connection. But in condos, you consider yourself lucky if you’re provided toilet paper.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">If fairness to the owners I have witnessed some comedians realize they will not be asked back to the club and trash the condo in their wake. This barbarous behavior runs the gamut of tossing baked beans on the ceiling to defecating in dresser drawers. This happened at a condo in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Oklahoma City</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> the week before I arrived. The owner was so incensed he removed almost all of the furniture; my bedroom had nothing left but a mattress on the floor, I felt like I was on the set of <i>Roots</i>.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’ve also encountered a handful of lonely club owners that impose a “no guest” policy in their condo; if they are not getting lucky they don’t want you too either. Sometimes this policy is limited to the club’s staff. I worked a club in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Houston</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> that was so concerned about the waitresses visiting the condo the manager would get drunk and raid the place in the middle of the night, reminiscent of a Gestapo Storm Trooper bursting through the door while screaming “Vere are da Jews?”</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">One of my strangest experiences was when a club mailed me a map to their condo with my airline ticket. I arrived to find the door unlocked and walked in with my luggage to see a large man holding a butcher knife while making a sandwich. I assumed he was the other comedian, so I introduced myself and asked him which bedroom was mine. I walked down the hall with my bags exploring the place as he followed stammering “What the f…” After a few very awkward moments I discovered that the club had moved their condo and had not bothered to tell me; I had just tried to move in to a stranger’s apartment.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hotels offer a vast range in quality, from Plaza to Bates, and I’ve stayed at every kind, from the ones that make you wonder what the peasants are doing to the ones that make you fear for your life.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My biggest complaint with hotels involves the people I have to share them with. Living on the road is lonely enough without having to hear the couple next door on their honeymoon. If the unmistakable sound of sex gets too much for me to bear I resort to dialing room to room and saying, “This is hotel security, we’ve had reports of screams coming from your room, is everything okay?” A panting voice then assures me everything is fine and promises to keep it down.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The hotel employees are usually no more considerate than the guests. It is common comedy fodder that to get a job as a hotel maid you must prove you are unable to comprehend the words “Do Not Disturb.” (For the funniest take on this, seek out the late, great, Bill Hicks’ routine on hotel maids.) Too get even, before I check out, I unroll about twenty feet of toilet paper and write “Help! I’ve been kidnapped by the maids! Call 911!” Then I roll it back up neatly for the next guest to find.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Hotels offer more scares than a Halloween Haunted House, from two-legged lunatics to six-legged bedbugs. You just never know what malady is lurking. For example, while performing in </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Saint Croix</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">, my opening act, a comedian named Martha Jane, had the rudest awakening ever. During the night, a drain underneath her hotel bed backed up... raw sewage! The moisture seeped up the linens and woke her. Still half-asleep, she stepped barefoot into the ankle-deep mess to see her luggage floating in it (without a paddle).</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span> </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">My comic friend, Al Ducharme, was shaving in his hotel bathroom. In the mirror he caught the reflection of a large rat crawling in his luggage. He was forced to ponder whether it was from his present hotel, or if he had packed the rat from the seedy hotel he was in the previous night.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">At a Super 8 in Wise, Virginia, I was locked in a bathroom for over an hour with no one to hear my screams, before I turned into MacGuiver and finally took the lock apart with a fingernail clipper, a Q-tip, and a box of Kleenex. But being locked in is better than being locked out, as I learned at the Salisbury Hotel in the heart of </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">New York City</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;">. At the time I was married to a woman who had been tremendously over-served by a bartender that evening, resulting in her vomiting in the hotel room trash can, before passing out. The rancid smell soon became such a problem, I decided to place the trash can out into the hallway... without a stitch of clothing (I had the same bartender). No sooner out the door, than I heard it click behind me. Locked out of my room with nothing to hide my shame but a bucket of barf! And she was too unconscious to hear my pounding on the door. As fate would have it, at this very moment, the elevator opposite my room opened. I'm not sure who had the more shocked expression, me or the dozen people, who upon seeing a nude man holding a small trash can at waist level, chose to stay in the elevator.</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ooops, I’ve got to go get some clothes on; the maid just barged in…</span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485860352453740288.post-66034306165314069432010-11-15T10:40:00.000-08:002010-11-15T10:40:09.105-08:00When 1+1=1<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">“You can then feel the same life deep within every other human and every other creature.<span> </span>You look beyond the veil of form and separation.<span> </span><b><i>This is the realization of oneness.</i></b><span> </span>This is love.”</span></tt></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><tt><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle</span></i></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">I started my morning in typical fashion, waking up in yet another heartless hotel room and swilling stale coffee on my way to the airport.<span> </span>I had spent 54 of the last 64 days on the road; slept in 31 cities, an amount the average person would not experience in a lifetime, but for me, it was just another comedy tour.<span> </span>The toil of travel was weighing me down and the fatigue had my usually sunny spirits sagging.<span> </span>My Mother always said the there are two types: the people that tear your heart out and those that put it back, and I always strive to be the latter, but today it was a struggle.<span> </span>Sadly, when I boarded the aircraft for my cross-country flight my emotional state really took a nosedive.</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">When I reached my assigned seat I was disgusted to find a sizable portion of it missing, or more accurately, invaded by the man in the seat next to mine.<span> </span>To say he was a person of considerable girth would be to flirt with understatement, and a substantial amount of it was now spilling into my lap as he was too big to lower his armrests (or trey table). By my calculations, 15% of his body was in constant contact with about 50% of mine.<span> </span></span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">His head rested on his chin, and that chin rested on the next chin, and the next chin followed suite, until the last chin rested atop his blubbery man-breasts; in fashioned terms he wears a “layered look”… when naked.<span> </span>The last time I saw a figure like this it was being milked.</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">The wheels of the plane had not lifted off the ground when he reached in his shirt pocket and produced – of all things – a ham sandwich.<span> </span>Much to my dismay his mouth gaped open and lunged rapidly forward devouring the entire sandwich in three quick bites; I felt like I had witnessed the cross between a human and a Hungry Hungry Hippo.<span> </span>And the fact he was eating ham struck me as damn close to cannibalism, as each of his fingers appeared suitable to make a football with.</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">The thought of spending the next five hours with his clammy body draped across mine was depressing.<span> </span>The only silver lining to the clouds we were flying through was that I could remain grateful I will not have to be a pall bearer when this colossal man keels over with a heart attack in the undoubtedly near future, for it was apparent that he was digging his own grave… with his teeth.<span> </span></span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">In my comic mind I soon found myself silently replaying many of the cruel fat jokes I always try to avoid: </span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">He is so fat he gets in his own way!</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">He is so fat he has to stick his arm out to see if he is walking or rolling!</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">He is so fat when he gets his shoes shined he has to take the man’s word for it!</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">He is so fat he puts mayonnaise on aspirin!</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">Etc…etc…etc…</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">It was at this moment I noticed the man reading a newspaper clipping with misty eyes.<span> </span>Upon closer examination I discovered it was the obituary of a woman about twenty years older than him; in her photo I noticed similar features to his, and in a moment of ego-puncturing clarity I realized this man was probably returning from burying his mother.<span> </span>Suddenly I was transported by memory to the passing of my own parents and the tremendous loss I felt.<span> </span>I was able to recognize that although physically different, this man and I are essentially the same.<span> </span>I was reminded of what my friend, Kinky Friedman, said, “If you look deeply enough into yourself, you’ll soon discover you can see everybody else.”</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">I was filled with shame.<span> </span>Only moments before, I was guilty of finding self-righteous pleasure in this poor man annoying me; his unfortunate defect was actually bringing me a perverse sense of superiority.<span> </span></span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16pt;">I suppose it is a sad tendency of human nature to fail to hunt for our hidden similarities, and to feel that we are separate or alone.<span> </span>We live in divisive times, where most are quick to label others based on differences (blue-red, hawk-dove, conservative-liberal, black-white, Christian-Muslim, </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">ad infinitum) and in doing so, we do ourselves, and others, a disservice. As my mentor in comedy, Bill Hicks, pointed out, “It is only our illusion that we are separate from God, or that we are alone. </span><b style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>We are all one</i></b><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> and the minute you call yourself one thing you immediately separate yourself from all the other things.”</span><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></tt></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">This profound wisdom was echoed by Peter Finch: “We’re like one soul in billions of separate bodies, caged or separated, constantly craving communication – to share, to express, to experience each other.<span> </span>In a good and growing relationship of any kind, <b><i>we move toward oneness</i></b>.”</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">Even if you do not personally believe, as I do, that we share one soul physically divided by prisons of skin, then you still must recognize we share a common ancestor, which at the very least means we are all related.<span> </span>The ancient people of the Cherokee Nation had a saying, “</span></tt><span style="font-size: 16pt;">ea nigada qusdi idadadvhn” which translates to: "all my relations in creation."<span> </span><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you prescribe to the theory of evolution, then that ancestor would be that first fish that decided to crawl out on land and eventually sprout arms and legs.<span> </span>If you believe in the Bible, then we all descended from Adam and Eve. </span></tt></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">On a purely humorous note, perhaps this is the reason that humans so frequently act so foolish toward each other.<span> </span>I read that scientists have proven that the children produced from incest are often brain damaged.<span> </span>So if Adam and Eve had kids, and their kids had kids, then it stands to reason that we are all descendants of brain damaged people.</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">Five hours later I got off that airplane happy to be feeling a little less brain damaged than when I got on. My irritation with the man had transcended into compassion and condolences.<span> </span>I love him (despite there being so much of him to love).</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><tt><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 16pt;">And I love you too.<span> </span>It is not that difficult if I only think about it.<span> </span>By believing that, on some level, you and I are one, makes it easy for me to love you, because as Terrell Owens says, “I loves me some me.”</span></tt></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“The Laff Guru” has taken his message of LAUGHTER=NIRVANA to all 50 states and 23 countries. His awards include: “Comic of the Year,” “Campus Performer of the Year,” and a “Cable Ace Award.” His credits include over fifty TV appearances, including: Showtime and The Late Show. He is represented by GP Entertainment. To find out more about his award-winning comedy act please visit: laffguru.com </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>The Laff Guruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06764876557268647831noreply@blogger.com0