Thursday, December 29, 2005

Oh yeah we gonna sta

Celebrities have made New Year’s Resolutions:

The next time she has Tom Cruise, Oprah is going to install seat belts on her couch.

Michael Jackson is going to use uncaffinated Diet Coke in his Jesus Juice.

Snoop Dog is going to wait and only smoke pot after six. No, better make that five, five seconds after he wakes up.

Paris Hilton is going to be more selective with the men she dates. She will only go out with handsome young Greek shipping heirs and guys who like toast.

San Diego Congressman “Duke” Cunningham vows to only accept bribes from legitimate defense contractors.

David Letterman is going to use the code words “Monkey Pants” to signal operatives to eliminate Pauly Shore.

Since you asked:
Have you folks seen or heard comedian Dane Cook? He has the highest selling comedy album since Steve Martin and he should. He is hilarious. Today I am getting his CD ‘Retaliation” and renting his movie “Waiters.” His appearance on Conan O’Brien is a riot. The guy is the closest thing to a comedy rock star we’ve had since Eddie Murphy decided to stop being funny.

I’ve been watching his video clips on his site and he is a genius at taking what we all think and are too embarrassed to admit and then wrenching it up to ridiculously hilarious. After listening to him for a long time here is a joke I would write for Dane Cook. Now this isn’t me telling the joke, this is my idea of a joke Dane Cook would tell:

What did your parents tell you when you cracked your knuckles? It will give you arthritis. Guess what? A study reveals that cracking your knuckles prevents arthritis. My parents also said that masturbating causes blindness; this means one more year of masturbating and I’ll have X-Ray vision. Two more years and I’ll be able to see into the future. Into people’s souls. By 2009 I’ll melt tanks with my eyes.

Since you asked, deuce
As we sprecken, I am typing to you while balancing on a big rubber ball. Sure I look like an idiot and somebody walking by might think I have the world’s worst case of hemorrhoids, but it feels good on the back and works out core muscles. And if there is one thing I am about it is multi-tasking. In fact, right now, while balancing on this ball and writing this, I am also sending encrypted messages to an operative in Afghanistan who is closing in on, well, I can’t say, but his name rhymes with O-salmonella Fin Bobbin’. Excuse me.

“Hey, dumbass, look in that cave. No, not that one. The one by the camel. Yeah. He might be in there. And stop running up the bar tab at the Kabul Doubletree. I’m serious, one more Goats milk and Kahlua and Vodka and you are paying all of your expenses, you got that, Double 0 Zero? Those White Allah’s are expensive, Mister Spy Guy. Oh, and lay off the Spectra Vision. There’s a new thing out there called “Penthouse”. Buy it.”

OK, sorry. Where were we? No, really, Dane Cook and one of those big bouncy balls. It’s the way to go.

Here is a new section all the good people here at a.L.B.b. like to call:

Lex writes Dane Cook inspired bits:
(Remember this is not Lex, this is Lex imagining Dane Cook doing this bit while Lex annoyingly refers to himself in the third person)

A buddy of mine was whining he couldn’t meet any hot women. As he said this, there was an incredibly beautiful girl standing outside just outside of the club smoking a cigarette. I said;

“What about her?” He said;

“Oh, Dude no, she smokes.” Then I said;

“What are you, gay? (Not that that is bad) but I said; “What are you, a fag? Yes, she smokes. Everyone knows that women who smoke throw down.”

It’s true. The greatest invention for single guys, before the “gamer” women were legally required to get a butt tattoo and expose their thong, was the smokeless office building. Women who smoke are forced to huddle outside in these little wonderful slut-packs; all you gotta do is cut the slow one out of the herd:

“Dude, her heel broke, get her.”

Then my buddy says,

“But I don’t like that smoky smell.”

Well, now I know he’s queer, not that I’m judging, but this guy has to be gayer than a tofu meatball. She smells like smoke? So freakin’ what? She is hot. If a girl is a gamer and she’s hot , I wouldn’t care if she smelled like a damn pig farmer. Smear some Vicks VapoRub under your nose, like in the autopsy in “Silence of the Lambs,” and take care of bidness;

“Oh yeah, baby, give me some of that pig farmer love, that’s it.”

Remember, ladies, that wasn’t your sweet, sensitive Lex talking, that was Lex channeling the sanity-challenged wild man, Dane Cook. As us propheshional wrighterers know, it is a good excercise to get out of your head for a bit and write for someone else. It's a little thing I like to call: schizophrenia.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm schizophrenic
And so am I