I Don't Think I'm Ever Going To Figure It Out

I can't tell a story. Here's an example of me making a very funny story not funny:

So, my friend's cat died a couple of days ago, and she was talking about her boyfriend handling the removal and disposal of the body. I guess she'd been telling that story at work earlier in the day, because one of her co-workers had the following story:

So, this woman was housesitting for a couple who went on vacation for a week. The couple had a dog the woman took care of. Well, one day the dog dies. She's unsure of what to do; apparently, she's unable to contact the couple to get instructions from them, and she doesn't want to leave a dead dog body lying around the house for a week or whatever. She decides to have it cremated and the ashes put in an urn, because that's what she thinks the couple would have wanted.

This is happening in Chicago, BTW, which is very important to the story. The woman doesn't have a car and gets around by the subway or whatever they have out there. She doesn't want to bring a dead dog stuffed in a garbage bag on the subway, and thank god for that. Instead, she puts the body in a roller suitcase and brings that to the subway instead. Guess it wasn't a very big dog.

One guy asks her if she needs help getting it downstairs, but she's very protective of it and says, "No! I'm fine!" But that doesn't help when another guy runs buy and steals the suitcase with the dead body inside.

So now she's got a new problem. She doesn't have to worry about getting rid of the dog anymore, but she also doesn't have any ashes to present to the family as evidence of their dead little doggie. So she goes to their BBQ grill and takes the ashes from there.

A thief stole a dead dog, and a couple in Chicago have spent charcoal that they think was their precious dog.

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What happened?

I don’t know. You know, ask anyone in Hollywood. Everybody has a Bill Murray story. He just punishes people, for reasons they can’t figure out. He was a student of Gurdjieff for a while, the Sufi mystic. Gurdjieff used to act really irrationally to his students, almost as if trying to teach them object lessons. There’s a great story along those lines that Jim Belushi tells about Del Close, the improv teacher: Jim went up to Del once, when he was a young actor, and he said, “Del, I want you to know that I really, really trust you.” And Del kneed him in the balls, really hard, and asked, “You still trust me?” Bill was always teaching people lessons like that. If he perceived someone as being too self-important or corrupt in some way that he couldn’t stomach, it was his job to straighten them out.

Harold Ramis has a really great interview in the new GQ, btw.

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Also: I just learned that Afroman's "Because I Got High" was a #1 single in, among other countries, Australia, the UK, and Norway (Scandinavians really loved it as a whole.)

I mean, it's OK and all, and it's about weed, which is cool, but really, Denmark? It's a simple novelty song. It's Dr. Demento-like. I like Dr. Demento-like songs and all, but I wouldn't want or expect any of them to be the #1 song in the fucking country. Especially if it's in a foreign language! Or how about you, France, don't try to act all, "It didn't reach #1 here," which doesn't hide that it reached #2 over there.

Fuck foreign snobbery.

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Gotta go to a birthday party. Not doing any things for Pride weekend since I have no gay pride, but that's only because I'm am completely absent of any gayness. I never caught it. I was innoculated young or something. Maybe it was watching Heavy Metal as a kid and seeing a hot naked animated lady with a faintly lavender bush. That may sound very gay, but even at age seven or whatever, I was like, "I'd be down for some of that."

So there you go: If you don't want your kids to be gay (not that there's anything, y'know), make them watch Heavy Metal when they're very young.



(Also: South Park had a Heavy Metal spoof? Why was I not informed?

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Gotta run. Here is adorableness.

I'm A Pitiful Site, And I Ain't All That Bright

Holy Fucknuts, I was really drunk last nite.

I am a Bad Decision Generator. If you want to make a bad decision -- e-mail me.

In this case, it was the idea to drink until 1:30 in the morning when I had clients coming in at 11:00.

I was also wearing my "A Wizard Has Turned You Into A Shark. Is This Awesome? Y/N" t-shirt last nite. This girl who I kinda know found the t-shirt itself awesome, and kept raving it about it the whole night, while I was feeling kinda awkward about it, because I have body issues and am too fat to wear almost anything else so I felt like I my t-shirt was just a canvas covering my blubber.

(Also: She put some serious thought into whether being a shark would be awesome or not. Reminds me of these people.)

I also gave away a bunch of burned comedy CDs to people that I had originally intended to give to friends Don and Magi. But they didn't come out last nite, so I got to share Paul F. Tompkins, Mitch Hedberg, and Maria Bamford with other people.

But I think I generally behaved like an idiot because I can't remember much else.

(Also: being hungover and cranky is not the best attitude to have when you meet with clients, so I decided I'd sequester myself away in my office and let the lawyers deal with him. I was unaware that not only did the client bring his cute little daughter, but he also brought a DOGGIE! THERE IS A DOGGIE IN OUR OFFICE. SO CUTE.)

(Also x2: Yesterday when I came home there was a notice taped to my door advising me that I have three days to pay my rent or GTFU. I'm dealing with it. But coming on the heels of (1) A friend who just got a $10,000 bill from the IRS, and (2) his girlfriend, who's cat died the day before, (and (3) -- the guy I met last nite who teaches pre-algebra to 7th graders), I realized I have nothing to get worked up about. It'll get worked out.

I am too blessed to be stressed.

Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time

There's a couple who live on the first floor of my building with a pair of great, friendly, well-behaved dogs. Their apartment is right next to the elevator, by the building entrance, and they frequently leave their front door open so the dogs can play in the lobby. I love dogs, and it's way fun for me to play with them when they're hanging out.

I just ran out to the market, and saw one of the dogs -- Skittles -- laying on the floor in the lobby, looking bored when I left. I gave him a friendly pat. When I came back, he had moved over by the entrance to the elevator, and was looking really sad. I guess his ownerpeople had some friends over, so he was just chilling in the lobby, but he looked morose. I sat down next to him while I waited for the elevator, scratched and him and asked him, "Who's a good boy?" That cheered him up a bit, but then the elevator came and I was anxious to get upstairs and eat my Doritos. (I also don't want to seem like the kind of guy who's only friends in the building are a couple of dogs that hang out in the lobby.)

As the door closed and I waved bye to Skittles, he had that sad look on his face again. I figured he was sad that I was leaving, as he enjoyed the petting and the attention.

But then I thought about it. A dog doesn't really understand an elevator, especially if he never has to ride in one. He just seems people open a door, go into a room, and then not come out again. Or if someone comes out, it's an entirely different person. It's like some weird, trick room that must blow their little doggie minds. Into this little room I go, and then a short time later a little Chinese girl emerges.

It's amazing how dogs remain so cheery in a world they clearly cannot understand.

It's OK, It's All Right, Nothing's Wrong

I'm sitting here, up since six 6:20 am, stoned, depressed but trying to distract myself by thinking about porn star tattoos and how much they resemble the more typical tattoo work that people get done. (My guess is not much, but then I don't hang out and have sex with too many naked people. Especially dudes.)

I check my e-mail, and I get an email from my mom:

Hope you are doing okay

Remy bit a chow when the chow ran out and wanted to attack Max ; Remy bit the chow and the chow ran away

I think my mom is some sort of poetry idiot savant. There is little in life that is less appealing to me than poetry, but the thousand-monkeys my mom has typing away in her head can produce some amazing results.

Sobriety is good for her.

Well You Play That Tarantella All The Hounds Will Start To Roar

You're a dog. You're sitting there on the floor, or in a chair, or maybe you're out for a walk. And then you hear sirens from a fire truck or ambulance. Now, being a dog, you've got really sensitive hearing, so obviously the piercing sirens aren't any fun to hear.

So what is your response to the sirens? Do you lay down and try to cover your ears with your front paws, like an adorable little bundle of cuddleness? Or do you start barking your head of?

Every dog I've ever seen does the latter. Why? Is it angry at the sirens and trying to tell them to stop? Does it think that it should do its job to notify others of the emergency, and starts barking to get people attention, ala Lassie? Is it some kind of quasi-epileptic fit you go into, like those kids who start having seizures when they watch Japanese TV?

What is your problem, dog? Cats don't do that shit.