Youth in Revolt

Crazy Lady: What are you reading?

Steve: It’s a book called Youth in Revolt.

Crazy Lady: What’s it about?

Steve: Um, it’s about a kid who does some wacky stuff.

Crazy Lady: And he gets in over his head?

Steve: Yeah.

Crazy Lady: So it’s like WarGames.

Steve: Okay. Sure.

Crazy Lady: Cool.

Are You Fucking Kidding Me, Snickers?

Make a Wish, Baby

You know that one song you downloaded to settle a bet, or to put on someone’s “so hilariously bad!” mix CD? Oh it was so funny, that song! You showed that person with your obscure 70’s AM Gold reference!

You’re on a slippery slope, my friend.

One day soon, you’ll be sitting in your office with the iTunes on random/shuffle. And even though you started rocking out to the Pixies or the High Tension Wires, or some other respectable band, you’ll find you’ve lost track of time, and suddenly your head is swaying back and forth to “The Biggest Part of Me” by Ambrosia.

That’s when you lose.

Can’t Hardly Wait!

Remember that movie? That’s how I feel about tomorrow night, only not as lame. I was so confident (like Mike Dexter!) a few weeks ago, and now I’m so nervous (like Preston Meyers!). What if Obama doesn’t win? What if I have to live in a world where Sarah Palin is Vice President? What if I lose my virginity to Seth Green in a bathroom? It’s all so scary!

If you click the li’l picture there, you’ll see the tagline for the movie:

Yesterday’s history. Tomorrow’s the future. Tonight’s the party.

That sort of applies to the election, too. Although I guess “Yesterday’s history. Tomorrow’s the future.” really applies to everything, as it’s pretty much just the definition of “yesterday” and “tomorrow.” And in this case, tomorrow’s the party, and tomorrow will make history. Which I guess leaves the future for yesterday and today. Math!

My point is, I’m finding it hard to concentrate. I’m totally going to lose my job at the orange juice factory!

I’m Voting For That One

Please Hold For Your Listing

LISTS ARE FUN. They are the shortcut to comedy. I published a lot of lists on Kittenpants over the years, like this and this and this.

But listing can become an obsessive habit that lasts forever. Uncle Sloppy, and I would get stuck on a topic and wear the fuck out of it until the list reached its pinnacle of cannot-be-topped. Then we’d forget about it for a while, and then list some more. Examples, you say?

Genius.

Katey took this picture on her cell phone at a CVS today.

if this is a picture of you, I’m sorry but you are wrong.

Reminds me of the time Uncle Sloppy and I were driving down Sixth Avenue in NYC and saw a guy who, I swear to Jarod, must have weighed 600 pounds wearing a baby blue t-shirt that said, “Are you gonna eat that?”

He just totally owned it, you know?

This lady was wearing matching “Genius” pants. She is not “owning it.”

Penn.

“‘Chris[topher Walken] is like a poem,” rhapsodizes Sean Penn, a longtime friend and admirer. ”Trying to define him is like trying to define a cloud.”

You mean a visible collection of particles of water or ice suspended in the air, usually at an elevation above the earth’s surface? That kind of cloud?

Just checking.

Dream Writer Still On Strike

Last night I stayed up way too late watching season 4 of The Wire and then somewhere around 7 a.m. decided to try and catch a nap before work (smart!). For the record, I made it in to the office just before noon.

But first I had the most insane dream in which every single plot point came straight out of The Wire. I was rehashing everything that happened in my mind and turns out, my dream writer is a total hack. There was not one part that I didn’t immediately connect with something I had just watched a few hours before. What a total disappointment.

The best part was, in the dream I met this hot cop (not one of the characters from the show – at least my sleeping brain can imagine up an attractive guy without any help from television) named Jon Paul. And after flirting with me he gave me his business card. Then later in the dream I met his captain, through some retarded coincidence, and I was like, “Hey do you know this guy Jon Paul who works for you?” And the captain asked his last name. So, my dream brain, totally on the spot to make up a last name, pulls out his business card and I read it out loud: Jon Paul Jonpauldenber.

I shit you not. That’s the best I could do.

Even in the dream I said it sounded fake. I started to wonder if I had been totally played (which happens even in my dreams!) with a fake business card. Luckily I woke up (because my brain called “bullshit” on the whole story) and never found out.

I guess the point is I should stop working on that screenplay, seeing as I can’t even dream up an original idea. What’s next? The dream me adopts an adorable black kid to boost dream ratings? Go back to dream creative writing class, man.

Crazy Islands Are So Over

The other day my friend Will and I had a conversation that led to the phrase “Insanity Peninsula” being added to my Twitter as a “that’s my new band” name.

But now I’ve decided to use it as an expression for batshit behavior. Like this article I read on Videogum.com today:

Basically, Dane Cook’s dog pooped all over the common area of his apartment complex. He denied it, but there was video evidence, and finally the owners took him to court. A judge decided to evict Dane Cook. But Dane Cook has attempted to appeal the decision with the most cramazing work of jurisprudence ever.

Cook claims he only rented the apartment in the first place because his heroes, [John] Belushi and [Steve]] Martin, used to live in the same complex back in the day, and according to the court docs filed in L.A. County Superior Court, he would suffer serious “mental and emotional” damage — and his career would crumble — if he was forced to leave. In the docs, Cook claims, “I know that the presence of those that have lived there before me affects me deeply and provides me with inspiration.”

Insanity Peninsula!

Plus, destroying Dane Cook’s career seems like the perfect reason to evict Dane Cook.