Category — True Story, I Swear

Some advertising guy somewhere must have really loved pop-up books as a kid, because when he got older he invented pop-up ads. These are the intrusive, obtrusive ads that open windows on your computer, blocking your screen so you have to consider buying their product.

My question is, why don’t pop-ups sell things I want? Who is wasting the massive amounts of money trying to sell things none of us obviously want. I mean, I close all my pop-up ads. Doesn’t everyone? Testosterone. FICO scores from irreputable banks you’ve never heard of.  Virus Software ads with no way to close the window other than a hard reboot. Gambling. Sex. Weird products. That’s all you get.

Can’t I get a pop-up offering me a 50% off sale on televisions from BestBuy? Or maybe Mercedes Benz has a buy-one, get-one-free weekend. That would deserve a pop-up. Even a pop-up about donuts from my local donut store would make me happy.

The thing is, I see so many useless products pushed at me in pop-ups that my resolve is weakening. I need help or else very soon I may actually buy some of these things.

A  set of imitation horse-hair men’s wigs?

Sure, why not.

A supply of special freeze-dried nibs from some South American bush, guaranteed to change mind/body/soul by 40%?

Here’s my credit card number.

Bouquet of fleshy, latex ‘realfeel’ calla lillies?

Gotta have ‘em!!!

You can see how it becomes addicting. There’s a rush to buying something you don’t need at all. just today I was asking myself what would happen if you replaced testosterone which wasn’t missing in the first place? We’ll find out in 6-8 weeks, I guess.

Anyways, I’d love to talk more, but a very intriguing window just opened and it asked if I like money… Do You Like CASH?

Yes, sir, I DO!!!

(Des Moines, Iowa)

Yesterday at approximately 4:13pm, Dennis Geary of Lower Farn, Iowa placed his feet on the family coffee table as he watched a commercial for a local fireworks business. At the time, he was seated in the living room with to his wife, Emmeline, sister-in-law Alice, and the neighbor’s overweight teenaged son, Norb, who always hangs around their house

When the incident occurred Mr. Geary was still wearing the boots he had on from feeding the Geary family farm’s 300 chickens that morning.The boots left a small smudge on the leftmost edge of the table, near where Norb had chipped it once by throwing a tennis racket.

Emmeline, who tries to keep good house, has fought tenaciously to keep guuests’ feet off the furniture in her home. After noticing Mr. Geary’s boots on the table, she chased him from the house. Alice commented on his manners and Emmeline’s choice in men. Mr. Geary spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in the barn with his chickens.

The table, bought in 2007 for $24.95 during a sale at Wal-Mart, sustained light damage. Efforts to clean it succeeded easily, but the wounds and rankled nerves won’t soon be forgotten in this quiet town. Locals have been divided in their support on the incident, with local Elk Lodge #43 supporting Mr. Geary. The lower Farn Lady’s League, and some of the shops in town have sided with Emmeline.

Norb is undecided.

We will update you on this breaking story as developments occur.

We all love songs, even when we can’t understand some of the lyrics. Sometimes we go years thinking we know the lyrics of a song, only to find out we’ve been singing the wrong thing on karaoke night.

Here are a few of the things I have sang, out loud, in front of people for decades before finding out I was wrong.

Jimmy Hendrix – “Purple Haze”

What Barry Heard – ” Scuse me, while I kiss this guy!”

What Jimi Said – “Scuse me, while I kiss the sky!”

Pretty close, but I wonder why none of my male friends ever told me.

Here’s the inimitable Mr. Hendrix at Woodstock singing the song properly (I still think it sounds like “kiss this guy”).

Big Country – “In A Big Country”

What Barry Heard – “In a pickle tree, dreams stay with you.”

What Big Country Sang – “In a big country, dreams stay with you.”

I spent a few years looking for pickle trees. I even asked a botanist lady once on a field trip to the Ontario Science Centre where I could find pickle trees.

Here they are, Big Country singing the inventively named “In A Big Country”.

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band – Blinded By The Light

What Barry Heard – “Blinded by the light. Wrapped up like a douche, another runner in the night.”

What Manfred’s Band Crooned – “Blinded by the light, revved up like a deuce, antoher runner in the night.”

Apparently I’m not the only person who had issues with this one!

And here’s the real version… with funny subtitles.

So… what song lyrics have you misheard?

It makes a difference which underwear I wear when I blog,

I swear.

If wear the ones with a tear, invariably my posts go nowhere.

On somedays and Sundays I blog in the nude,

to some this seems unspeakably rude.

On Wednesdays I blog wearing a thong, why is that so unspeakably wrong?

Try it out, you’ll see it’s a big blog-a-thon.

By Thursday my briefs are all in the laundry,

so I re-post old posts, and and re-wear old undies.

Yes, my undies go right along with my moods,

so my blog posts reflect them, just as they should.

So which pair of knickers wears I today?

I don’t know if I’ve the gumption to say.

You’d never believe me anyway.

…

(Actual Elephant Undies From Photo Available Through This Link)

When you write comedy you always feel like you’re not as funny as you’re supposed to be. Except occasinally, when you make youself laugh hysterically. Usually, though, you’re the only one laughing.

Part of what you have to confront to write comedy are three tenets about your own humanity:

1) Nobody likes me.

2) I am afraid if I am not funny, nobody will continue to like me.

3) If I try too hard to be funny, nobody will like me.

Pretty much a Kobayashi Maru of comedy.

Your funny reputation and the resulting hyperbole about it will set people up for massive disappointment. These stoic, unhappy faces will remind you of the view from your crib. Take, for example, the time the funniest guy I ever knew came to visit me in college.

The funniest man alive’s name is Jonathon Cooper. And he *is* funny. He used to make all the guys in high school laugh when we’d go out riding on our bikes drinking purple Jesus.

But, in univeristy I sawthe tragedy of comic expectation before my eyes when Jon came to visit my residence. For WEEKS before Jon arrived another high school friend of ours walked around the residence halls crowing “The funnies guy EVER is coming! You won’t stop laughing the whole time he’s here. Wait til you meet him! Oh, he’s amazing” You’d think Chan-o (nickname, don’t ask) was standing on a sidewalk in front of a nickelodeon trying to fill seats in the place.

So, a few weeks passes, and everyone is abuzz with the impending arrival of the funniest man alive. (Jon *is* funny. Have I mentioned that?)

Jon arrives at 11pm on a Friday night, after four hours cramped between a greyhound window and a large, sleeping passenger who’d leaned on him the entire journey. Jon is tired. Jon carries two giant, heavy duffel bag. Jon trudges up the res steps, down the hall and into our residence room where he finds a sea of fifteen faces looking at him. The whole floor (and a few guys from other floors) had been waiting antsily in their chairs and sitting on the floor for Jon’s arrival.

Jon: “Hey. Chan-o”

He drops his bags.

Chano-O: “This is him! He’s so funny! Go on, Jon. Make us laugh!”

Everyone’s heads turn to Jon. He looks at Chan-O then back at the audience.

There is a long silence. Chan-O laughs nervously.

“Yeah, be funny!” someone yells from the back (seriously).

Exepctant smiles as they lean forwards, hands on their knees, like kids on Christmas morning. Except, as you guessed, Jon’s got nothin’. He’s been put on the spot hasn’t a goddamned clue what to say. I cringe watching the situation collapse inward on itself.

Jon just stands there.

One by one the audience members give up.  They glare at Chan-O as they go back to bed (Chan-O had woken them with a Paul Revere like ride through the halls). Jon tries to smile at them politely as the edge past him out the door. He apologises for his bags as one person trips over them.

I sit there, rapt at the pathos I am witnessing. It’s epic.

Uncomfortably, thirteen more people file out. Chano-O tries to make some light banter. The last person slams the door hard on the way out.

That was it. Jon *did* spend the rest of the weekend cracking everyone (including those initial audience members) up with his imitation of ChanO’s ill advised hyping of his arrival. I did tell you Jon is funny.

The lesson I got that day is that comedy wilts under expectation, or pressure to please an outside master. We must be funny, first and foremost, for ourselves. When we do that, we can stay out of our heads enough to find the vein of funny in everything around us. When we *try* to be funny, however, it’s just fear of falling on our face. Of humiliation. Of not being liked. Chano-O tried to be liked by promising everyone Jon would be funny for them, and it failed.

It's really *him*! Follow Jon at therealjoncooper on Twitter!

We tried to milk Jon like a comedy cow for his joke milk from his fun udders and his chuckle-tits, and his laugh nipples, and all like that. But you can’t lead a cow to water… or something like this.

I will leave you with a confusing quote:

Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says “But Doctor… I am Pagliacci.”  -Watchmen