Jokes:
-When you hire mobsters for a hit you
have choices like when you're getting orange juice at the
supermarket: you could have your victim become lots of pulp, some
pulp, or no pulp at all.
- I can't promise anything but
interestingly enough I've read that the expression “swearing like a
sailor,” comes from general sailor and fisherman life in London in
the 19th century. All around the Billingsgate Fish Market
men and women would say the worst words there are left and right. The
way one puts sprinkles on a sundae, was the way people put cries of
“Shit!” in the air in these parts of England. The way I like to
think of the place is “way before Jerry Springer's time.”
- This is a true thing: whenever I have
to buy a greeting card I get sad. You see, I used to go out with this
Asian chick named Gree Ting and whenever I have to buy a birthday
card for my Grandpa I remember the lust and fervor Gree and I once
had for one another. None of that is true, except for that sometimes
buying greeting cards makes me feel sad and I can't really explain
it.
Sketch:
A Meditation On the
State of a Handful of Pals and Pals of Pals I've Seen After They Have
a Break-Up
Obviously, the characters are labeled
man and woman because it doesn't really matter what their names are
for this.
(A man walks into a restaurant and runs
into a woman he knows).
MAN: Oh... hi there.
WOMAN: Hey, Jack. I heard you and
Margaret just broke up. That's really rough.
MAN: Yeah... *laughs weakly*
...rough...
WOMAN: But I heard you just got a
promotion at Cigna insurance. That's super exciting! I'm so happy for
you.
MAN: Yeah. Well, fortunately, that
stuff just involves working through some tests and then if you do
well you get paid more. All I had to do was just skip a night of
watching The X Factor and sit my lazy ass down with a mushroom pizza
and this Cigna-issued textbook and dive right in. So the next day I
could just...
WOMAN: Jack... Jack, I hate to
interrupt but is that a hole in your shirt?
(WOMAN points to an apple-sized hole in
MAN's shirt)
MAN: Oh. Oh, I guess there is a hole in
my shirt. I guess I didn't notice that before and uh...
a beat
MAN: Oops.
WOMAN: Jack, I'm not here to be rude
but you haven't been keeping your mustache at it's normal level of
sheen. I mean I normally never do this but normally you're a
Tom-Selleck-looking-motherfucker. I mean, Jack...
MAN: I get it! Okay?! I get it! I'm a
wreck! I've become a hulk of a man.
WOMAN: Well, I'm not saying that. I
just mean that...
MAN: No, just say what you're thinking!
I look awful. I look like an ostrich that went to JC Penny.
WOMAN: What? No, all I meant was...
MAN: I know what you meant. My general
appearance has become a speed-bump in your day. I get it. My gross
self is making your life unpleasant. I know where you're coming from.
I understand. My body is a big fucking nuisance to those holy fucking
appendages that you call your fucking eyeballs.
WOMAN: There's no need to be
dramatic...
MAN: No. And why don't we cover my
whole body while we're at it? My hair is receding, my face is oily,
my belly is fat like a rhino's, my...
WOMAN: Jesus, Jack. Take it easy.
MAN: No, this is what you want, isn't
it? And don't even get me started on my cock. My awful, hopeless,
useless cock. Margaret always joked it was fun-sized but I of all
people know... there's a bitter, awful truth behind most sarcasm. My
stupid, perpetually unhelpful cock. I could never pleasure a woman
with the dumb thing. I don't even think I could pleasure a small
animal if I tried. I mean I've never thought about trying but even if
I went for it with even a small animal like a possum or something it
would probably be bored the whole time.
WOMAN: I have to go now.
MAN: Oh.
a beat
MAN: Aw, man. Sorry. I'm a little
grouchier than usual. I'm not in a good place right now.
One last joke:
- There are two things that make me
blush: even the smallest compliment and cumming on a screaming
partner.
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