Tuesday, October 23

I'm Back, Bitches.

Thanks to the prodding of a woman I've never met who lives half a world away, via Facebook no less, (and partially because I needed an outlet for my abject opinions that remain generally unconveyed to those in my inner circle as well as a good source for sketch material) I have decided to throw my hat into the ring of blog-dom once more.

The other day, I wrote and almost posted, for the first time in foreva, a mondo-rant about Ellen DeGeneres' degenerate behavior with regard to her dog issues. I stopped when I realized that I didn't want to only write a pseudo-angry blog anymore. No, friend, my goal this time around will be to write essays. I fancy myself a lay-person's David Foster Wallace. For those not in the know, David Foster Wallace is simply the smartest man alive. He is an uber-nerd to the nth degree who, like me, doesn't mind getting inside a piece of writing and just messin' around. He adheres remarkably to the literary non-fiction humor device of using a lot of big words and complex sentences and then dropping a phrase on the reader like "tough titty." If you followed the above link, you'll notice that the keywords section for his book references someone named Dick Filth. An intellect after my own heart. His desultory use of footnotes in most everything he writes is sublime and perfect for anyone with ADHD just mild enough to allow them to sit and read a book.

Join me, won't you, as I endeavor to write magazine quality pieces where there once were only weird jokes about Ron Popeil (albeit, some pretty good ones). This isn't the beginning, but a prelude to the new beginning. A toast to Jody. A toast to Admiral Cook (Captain Cook?). And a toast to the self-indulgence that is, blog-dom.

I remain, your loyal idiot.

Sunday, November 19

The NFL Is Retarded

Testaverde Means Green Head
The NFL is retarded for a lot of reasons. The first reason being their reliance on an outdated, 16-game "schedule" to determine who advances to the "playoffs", with the winner of this tournament being crowned the NFL "champion" for the period of one year, or until the next "Super Bowl". Everyone knows this is a load of hogwash. At the beginning of every season, why don't they just give the Vince Lombardi trophy to the Giants? Boom. Super Bowl Champions in perpetuity. Here ya are, there ya go and how's your sister.

But the dumbest thing the NFL has done in a while, aside from making it against the law to breathe on quarterbacks, is preclude me from entering their Super Bowl ad competition by making it nearly impossible for me and about 90% of the country to enter. When they say in their ad that people will be given the chance to pitch them an idea for the greatest Super Bowl commercial of all time, they really mean it. Or meant it, as the case may be, because the contest is all but over. The last possible chance for me to pitch a commercial idea will be on December 9th in a state over 1,000 miles away. The NFL selected three locations, Giants Stadium in East Rutherford, NJ, Texas Stadium in Dallas, TX and Invesco Field in Denver, CO to hold the contest. Well, being that I live in NYC, my only opportunity to cash in on The Greatest Super Bowl Commercial Idea Of All Time was at Giants Stadium. Unfortunately, this event was held on the 17th and 18th of November. Three simple words go a long way in describing how I feel. "What" followed by "the" and finally "fuck".

This is the dumbest, most stupidest contest of all time. Willy Wonka is rolling over in his fictional grave it's so stupid. Has the NFL ever heard of the internet? Clearly not (a quick look at the layout of their website will confirm that they have, believe it or not, not heard of the internet). I mean, why couldn't people submit their ideas over the internet? Oh, wait, sorry gang, we just covered that.

The Greatest Commercial Mind Of All Time will just have to wait for some other ad contest to unleash The Greatest Super Bowl Commercial Idea Of All Time, because true to its title, the GSBCIOAT can sell anything. Even AIDS. Yeah, that's how good it is. So, yes, what I'm saying is...if there's a contest for the greatest AIDS commercial of all time, this same Super Bowl idea would still win. Don't ask me why the GSBCIOAT ends with the line, "It's positively AIDS-tastic." It just does and it works. You'd have to see it. Way to go, NFL. Missin' your big shot to be inexorably linked to AIDS.

I'd also like to point out that the NFL set a very low bar by stipulating that the potential commercial would be "the NFL's" greatest spot ever. NFL commercials suck, but for the shots of actual football they show. It's really not that hard to come up with a better commercial than Don Cheadle reading a monologue over punch-you-in-the-face music. Unless you hate Don Cheadle and are on shrooms, and so when you watch the commercial you imagine yourself punching Don Cheadle in the face. Then, it'd probably be pretty hard to make a commercial you'd judge to be better.

Blog Self-Critique:
I didn't think this would be any good and then it wasn't. One for one. But then again, this blog is mostly read by chicks and I think they'll dig it anyway, because chicks dig everything I do. Two for two. Somehow I knew I was lying when I typed that last sentence. Three for three. Alright!
Brian's rating: 4/11 Should I Have Even Bothered To Pick This Baby Back Up Agains


Monday, November 13

Hello, My Babies

A Funny Thing Happened...
Let's skip all the nonsense and get right to it. So, after returning home from getting soaked while watching the Giants take NFL-sized dumps all over the field, I found this waiting for me in my MySpace inbox:

Below, for your edification, is my response. It helps if you actually view Beau's profile. I apologize for the blurry text above, but I wanted to blow it up for you and that, pathetically, was the end result. Now, again, the response:

Dear Beau,
I've been sitting here for the past couple of minutes debating whether or not you are real or some sort of Zack Morrisian joke. At first, I was convinced your identitiy fell into the category of hipster irony that is so often seen from profiles of people named Kevin or Mr. Awesome, who choose pictures of John Basedow or the Ultimate Warrior to visually represent themselves. I've just now decided this isn't the case and you are in fact just a regular guy whose fondness for a well-fitting pair of khakis is equaled in intensity only by a disdain for t-shirts.

I have a few questions and I hope, since you've taken the effort to engage me in this discussion, that you'll take the time to indulge me. What do you find funny? Since homo-erotic dick jokes and in-poor-taste cancer jokes are out, what exactly is it that you laugh at? I'm sure we can find some sort of comedic common ground, since you claim to be a "funny" guy. Is your favorite comedian Caroline Rhea? Gallagher? Mitch Hedberg or Kevin James? What movies get you going? Cars? Shark Tale? I know, Shrek II, right? Also, this will no doubt come off as testy, but who made you the god of comedy? Lastly, how much do you bench (addendum to the last question - I hate to buy into stereotypes, but how teeny is your weenie?)?

I'm not really offended by your inability to find merit in what I'm doing. If there's anything I've learned it's that comedy is the most subjective of all the arts (Isn't that strange how it's concurrently completely subjective yet utterly objective? What people find funny varies widely based on personal tastes, yet for each individual the definition of comedy starkly rests on laughter. They either do or they don't. There's no middle ground). Sure, some people think the stuff I do is beyond bizarre (see synonyms at stupid, lame, retarded, dumb, gay and awful) and yes, some of those people are my best friends. They hate it and that's okay. But I invite you to take a look at my YouTube channel. Read comments from the many people who are in love with what I do - pay special attention to the women who want to have my children. There was a time I thought Will Ferrell was appreciated by everyone. I've come to learn that just as many people find him completely unfunny as those who piss their pants at what he does. I don't usually put stock in cliches beginning with "they say", but they say the true sign that you're achieving something worthwhile is that people come along who try to bring you down (I realize that's a total bastardization of whatever it is "they" actually say). So I thank you for writing. It let's me know I'm doing something right.

I'm not delusional. I know that I have a long, long way to go to achieve the level of success that I expect from myself (that being writing and producing my own sketch comedy show as well as blockbuster summer comedies, perhaps a book of essays - this is in no way an exaggeration). I'm sure you're familiar with the state I'm in right now because I know you must have felt the same way when getting into weightlifting - before you could make change for a dollar with your ass cheeks. I began writing a blog about a year ago to get a feel for how people would respond to the nonsense "etched amidst (sic) the vaults of my brain". The response was great. I randomly had literary agents contacting me within just a few short months and the love and adoration of a select few grew into the grudging respect of a few thousand. A major pitfall of mine over the last two years has been an utter lack of direction. I'd like to give myself outs and say that family and personal crises are partially to blame, however the burden of failure lies completely upon my unfettered shoulders. Part lazy and part Irish, it's a constant struggle to apply myself to my craft while evading the overwhelming and ever-present desire to drink until I shit my pants.

And don't get me wrong, I know that all I've done is produce some extremely low-budget YouTube videos, applied naively to be a writer on the David Letterman show and written about 60 pages worth of puerile blog fodder (I've also sang on-stage with Meatloaf and appeared in a national commercial, but I consider these to be career lowlights). And yes, I've only graced a stand-up stage a few times and now I'm developing a sketch comedy troupe so, sure, you could say I still have focus issues. But hey, I'm doing stuff. For the first time in my life, I really know what I want to do. I embrace the challenge of trying to make every human being that encounters my "comedic lung cancer" laugh, and if not that, at least be entertained. And yes, even people who are addicted to Creatine (High-five! I accept you!).

In closing I'd again like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to explain myself. I'd also like to congratulate you on your graduation from Harvard at the age of nineteen, although I'd like to think that if I were a little more motivated I could have done the same. And, finally forgive me, but I was wondering if I couldn't turn the question, with a little tweaking, back around onto you. What exactly is it that you aspire to in your obsession with UFOs and bodybuilding? I mean, the amount of time you must put into lifting weights/staring at the sky is truly mind-boggling. From my limited vantage point, it would seem we are equally wasting our Ivy League educations. Perhaps you and I are not that dissimilar. Maybe the only difference between us is that I know that, despite my shortcomings and flawed reliance on Lady Luck, people appreciate me...and you know you can rip a phone book in half. But then, I guess such a skill set is to be expected of someone who lists himself as his own hero (and maybe [your] parents). Thank God you don't want kids.

Hugs and Kisses,

Blog Self-Critique:
Hello, Loyal Thirty. Are you still there?
Brian's rating: 5.6/11 Opening Up Way Too Much About Himself On The Internets


Thursday, September 14

Video Killed The Blog-io Star

lonelygirl15's Death Is Another Man's Chance
It took a fortnight, but here's a brand new video. It's about one young man coming to terms with terrible news. Think Philadelphia or Paul Reubens.

If it doesn't work for you, try this link.

Blog Self-Critique:
Brian wonders what his original blog fans think of this whole video thing he's been doing. He also wonders why YouTube features the dumbest shit in the world while he languishes in the aether - alternating between listless staring and uncontrollable sobbing. Of course, he was doing this anyway before the YouTube vids.
Brian's rating: 9.9/11 Jake and Gary Busey's.


Tuesday, September 5


Random Celeb Photo Caption Attack

Khaki ensemble: $70, Diapers for the baby: $20, Dying from a frightened stingray after a lifetime of fucking with crocodiles: Priceless.

Fragen Und Antworten
Jeanapolis Fragt...
What room in your apartment would you make state-of-the art?

Und Brian Sagt...
This is an easy one. I asked myself, "Where in my apartment do I do all the most important business?" Easy. The shitter. By far the most important room in any building, bathrooms maintain the illusion of civilization that us human beings just can't seem to shake.

If I had my druthers, and I often do, I would turn my bathroom into the most state-of-the-art bathroom in the history of dump. First thing I'd do? Chrome. Everywhere. I don't even know what chrome is made from or how state-of-the-art it is, but it's just kind of cool to say.

"Hey, wait'll you see my bathroom. It's chrome. Yeah. The whole fuckin' thing. Mmhmm. Chrome soap. Feel that toilet paper. That's chrome."

Once everything down to my contact lenses was made out of chrome, that's when the real upgrades would start to happen. I'm not sure they're in the biz, but my first phone call would be to the people at Laz-E-Boy to see if they make toilets. My toilet would be made of black, leather chrome. And I could recline. And you know that little handle they've got on the side? Yeah, well, pull it one way and I'm reclined. I'm nearly flat, shitting (an ultimate in luxury, the Sultan of Brunei actually shits upside down). Push it in the opposite direction? It flushes. Sort of pull it away and out from the seat? Bidet. Chrome bidet.

I've got a confession to make. Usually, when I've finished doing my business in the bathroom, whether it be a number one or a number two - or even a number fourteen (yeah, a real dooh-sie. That's when your shit actually drops YOU off at the pool. Drives the car and everything) - I don't wash up. In a world full of germs, I've never felt like mine are that nefarious. The world can deal with my germs cuz they're probably a lot less threatening than Osama or Saddam's germs. Talk about biological warfare. But I know it's polite to wash up and sometimes I feel bad, so here's what I do. My bathroom would be so state-0f-the-art that I'd have ninjas. On call all day and night. Ninjas with supersoakers. And they'd hide in my apartment until I make a trip to that bathroom. And then BAM, they'd spray me down everywhere. They'd throw throwing stars (shurikens) made of Caswell and Massey violet soap and use Q-tips encrusted with diamonds to clean my ears. Right before they went back to hiding, they'd incinerate any rogue pubic hair with lasers from their eye-sockets.

I hate getting out of a shower and stepping onto a wet, sloppy bathmat made so by the previous showerer. Hate it. So the floor would not be made of chrome. The floor would be made from equal parts Bounty paper towels and artificial turf. This combination would ensure dry conditions while allowing for a putting green to be installed in the bathroom. I'm not a big golfer but feel it's important to bring golf into anything labeled "state-of-the-art" as golfers, to me, seem the type most concerned with such things. Odds are if you're a golfer you own at least four things from Sharper Image, home of only the finest, most state-of-the-art useless shit. If you need a coffee maker that protects you from identity theft AND daily gives you a FunFact! about the St. Louis Rams...in chrome, Sharper Image is your spot.

I could probably answer this question for a while, so we'll move on.

caitlinanne Fragt...
how often do girls tell you that they love you?

Und Brian Sagt...
Rarely, if ever. My mother once told me she loved me but was quick to point out that it was Opposites Day. We laughed until I cried. Somehow, no matter how adorable I am, I remain very lonely. This is why I'm often found with my face painted up like a kitten, pawing at the mirror and humming Jeff Buckley tunes.

Blog Self-Critique:
A solid return from Labor Day weekend. This Labor Day found Brian in Maine. Brian would like to use this space to remind himself not to return to Maine until after the invention of instantaneous travel. Is that an oxymoron? And, yes, Brian knows that shit about Steve Irwin was mad harsh, but c'mon, only seventeen people have EVER died from stingrays.
Brian's rating: 5.7/11 State-Of-The-Art Commodes.


Tuesday, August 29

Hot And Fresh Out Tha Kitchen!

Bosom Buddies Meets Wisteria Lane!
Made another short. Here's its shameless plug.

If that doesn't work, try the link.

Blog Self-Critique:
See it again, for the very first time.
Brian's rating: 7.9/11 Peter Scolaris!


Tuesday, August 22

Are you a Hulk-A-Maniac?

Random Celeb Photo Caption Attack!

Hey, Pete Doherty. Drugs called and said they'd rather not be associated with you.

Fragen und Antworten (Question and Answer)[As Promised]
Iantabee asks...
Why do you think rollarskating [sic] (as sport or creative expression) has fallen out of fashion and do you think we can expect a resurgence any time soon?

Brian says...
I think the best place to look for your answer is at the source, founder of rollerskating and German, Edward J. Rollarskaten. He famously sponsored a contest in the mid-60s in which five golden skate-keys were packaged with his own brand of skates, Der Skaten. All the children of Europe bought rollerskates in hopes of finding a key and winning the prize, a $100 gift card at Red Lobster.

Brief Aside w/r/t Red Lobster and the 1960s
In December 1963, Red Lobster Deutschland had created a contest of its own called "Wie rot is deine Lobster?" (How red is your lobster?), which asked customers to provide photos of their nether regions dressed up as a lobster, with the prize for winning a $25 gift card at Sizzler. See, the head of PR at Red Lobster knew he was going to be fired for "some bullshit" (he was schtupping the CEO's wife, which, admittedly to many [CEO included] is far graver an offense than connoted by the phrase "some bullshit") and as revenge he developed the contest in secret with the hope of ruining Red Lobster's image. After a brief uproar, however, scandal inevitably led to sensation. In 1964, most parents were forbidding their teenage sons and daughters to be seen anywhere near a Red Lobster and we all know what happens when you tell a teenager or parapalegic they can't do something (they go out and achieve and in doing so, inspire!) Well, needless to say, by the summer of '65 Red Lobster was officially the coolest place a teenager could find himself.

The socio-cultural climate of Europe being what it was at the time, Rollarskaten's skate-key contest moved rollerskating from fad to fantastich overnight. Merchants couldn't keep them on the shelves. Public parks all over the world were redesigned to accomodate the craze (Christo has long credited this near instant alteration of public space as the seedling for his life's work). In 1976, rollerskating (both dance and sprint) became an Olympic sport. The popularity of rollerskating remained strong through the 1980s. Who can forget those pictures of a rugged, virile Ronald Reagan chopping wood, resplendent in cowboy hat and Chicago Quad Rollers? Sadly, it was another US president who would bring the Age of Skate to an end. Eager to win votes away from hip upstart, Bill Clinton, President George Bush sought to attract the youth of America to his '92 campaign. But, what was sure to be a powerful photo-op turned ugly when, while touring the factory of Phantom Rollerblades, Bush upchucked his ill-advised Taco Bell lunch straight into a size 11 Derby Special. Powerful photo-op indeed! Rollerskating never recovered.

Sadly, Iantabee, I don't think rollerskating will ever make a comeback. Now that Dean Kamen has created the SegWay, rollerskating is for pussies.

No children would pose for this photo out of shame. They hired an illustrator who was given only one direction; "Draw a kid rollerskater". Look! He couldn't help but draw a total pussy!

Okay, this kid is flanked by two black dudes (the ultimate in cool!) and he STILL looks like a huge pussy!

Do you want to be a pussy, Iantabee? I didn't think so.

Blog Self-Critique:
Brian had fun with this and he really thinks it shows. If you are the parent of the chubby Asian boy above, sorry Brian called your kid a pussy. (But, c'mon). In truth, Brian grew up enjoying the heck out a good skate at the Florham Park Roller Rink (Though he was once made to sit a song out by the "referee" for simultaneously jumping and skating. In Brian's defense, the song being played at the time was House of Pain's Jump Around. Remember that? Those fuckin' referees? "Hey, if you don't, ya know, skate around in a circle, in the same direction everyone else is going, I'm gonna blow this whistle. And, then, who'll be Mr. Cool Guy, then?"). Life was good. Technology was improving. Rollerblades were rad. His high school years were spent playing a fair amount of rollerhockey at something called Yode Arena. This was during breaks from romancin' the high school ladies in his bedroom, or as Brian liked to call it, "Chode Arena".
Brian's rating: 6.8/11 Triple Zings!


Monday, August 21

Paris Hilton Nude Sex Blond Naked Tape Video Oral Nightvision

Random Celeb Photo Caption Attack!

"Check out my new album. It's called I Triple Dog Dare You To Be A Bigger Whore."

Ask Brian AnYtHiNg!
So, a female fan (read, doomed innocent) made the mistake of contacting me through MySpace today. It took zero time to make her my fantasy girlfriend of the day. And by that I don't mean anything gross. She just became the girl I thought of anytime I felt like getting jealous and irrational. I though about her all day.

She happened to also ask me a very random question. In the process of answering I realized there's nothing I enjoy more in this world than answering random questions. That's the truth. I love many things:

tacos, bourbon, reese's pieces, the Mexican War, gaycancer.com

But there is apparently - or at least not after today - nothing I heart more than random Q&A. I say all of that to say this. Please write me with your random questions and I will answer them. Much like what happened today with my new MySpace chum (4 life!):

Kathy's Question:
How do you feel about capes?

Brian's Answer:
Capes are important because without them, people like Superman and Batman would just be weird guys in tights. Also, judges wear capes. So I guess what I'm saying is capes are important for the added sense of legitimacy they bring to everything a cape-wearer does.

A good example of this is how I always wear a cape when I park outside my ex-girlfriend's house.

Blog Self Critique:
Brian's done nothing for a week straight. Still, he thought his off the cuff joke in reply to the MySpace girl was pretty clever, spur of the moment shit. What'd you think? Just regular, plain old shit, huh?
Brian's rating: 2.444444449/11 Should Would Couldas.


Wednesday, August 16

Punchline: Tom Hanks' Forgotten Opus

Random Celebrity Photo Caption Attack!

"So then I said, 'Well, if I'm cheese, white women are mice!'"

Genesis (Was Not A Very Good Band)
So, I did my first set of stand-up this Sunday at Mo Pitkins in the East Village. It went really well. If really well means having seven of your friends and ten weirdos in stitches. Actually, I have no idea how it went, but for what my friends (who were probably lying to make me feel better about recently being rejected by a girl with no arms) said after the performance:

"Way to go," said Greg.

"Hilarious," said Joe.

"I would have liked to have seen more nudity...and young boys," said Incorrigible Father Patrick.

To be honest, the whole thing was kind of like when Will Ferrell debates Jimmy Carville in Old School. I sort of came off the stage wondering what had just happened. And maybe I blacked out a little. But that's just cuz I was insanely drunk.

Anywho, here's one of my bits from the performance. It may not be pure comedy gold, but it's at least pure comedy myrrh.

Aforementioned Stand-Up Comedy Routine
I’ve been having a lot of trouble lately with how gay I’ve become. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Ya know, I think there’s a little Christopher or Patrick in all of us. But there comes a point in every metrosexual’s life, usually en route to a hassle free hand job on the Upper West Side, when he thinks, wait a minute, what the fuck team am I playing for here? It’s really an issue of my percentages were getting too high.

See, I used to quote my gayness at 20%. I have a flair for aesthetics that just won’t quit. Given a dust ruffle I will complete a room. But then I started noticing things that forced me to bump it up to like 36% gay. I started complimenting women on their pants. Ya know, referring to things, other than girls, as being cute. “Oh my God, that is such a cute bag. Where did you get it?” Things like this were creeping out of my mouth, while maybe a few other things were creeping in, if ya know what I’m sayin’. So, partially out of denial and partially to help all the metrosexuals out there, I’ve started thinking of gayness in terms of milkfat.

Whereas out of 100%, I was once 36% gay. In the jolly old land of milkfat, I am 1% gay. Back when I was 20% percent? Yeah, skim gay. Whole gay, 2% gay, there are many colors in the gay milk rainbow.

And people come up to me and they say, "Hey, Brian, how do I know what kind of milk I should be drinking?" It’s very simple.

If you own a lufa. Skim gay.

If you’ve misplaced numerous lufas up your ass. Whole gay.

If your preferred choice of bathing suit is a banana hammock. Skim gay.

If you refer to your asshole as The Banana Hammock. Whole gay.

If your idea of a fun night out is a couple appletinis and some making out, with a girl. Skim gay.

If your idea of a fun night is a couple appletinis and anal sex in the bathroom of an Arby’s with a she-male named Glen, ya know what, that’s not even whole gay. That’s just weird.

Ya know, if you’re doing stuff like shaving another man’s balls and then sprinkling the shavings on a salad with a little homemade creamy Italian, I can’t help you. That’s some heavy cream. And everyone knows, heavy cream is gross.

Blog Self Critique:
Brian's rating: 5.6/11 Someone told me this week I'd never make it to elevens!


Friday, August 11

Spray It On Your Meat Bat

Random Celeb Photo Caption Attack!

"Stinks worse than A-Rod."

Blog Self-Critique:
Creating this caption was like getting a hit off Armando Benitez in the bottom of the 9th. For everyone who doesn't understand, Armando Benitez sucks. Brian did a run through of his first stand-up set with his roommate tonight. On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the most chuckles ever heard in the history of giggles, he scored a 2. Brian is excited to know that he can only get better at stand-up.
Brian's rating: 2/11 Everybody Take It Easy, Longer Stuff Is Comings