Friday, 28 June 2013


To me the mirror is the most accurate clock in the universe.

The way corporations are polluting our environment soon the real miracle would not be walking on water, it would be drinking it.

The bigger miracle for a faith healer would not be curing the blind, but would be making the ignorant see.

Wednesday, 26 June 2013


If God was Italian, after the embarrassing way Jesus got whacked, he would have never let him in the family business.

Jesus rose from the dead three days later. It takes me that long to get out of bed.

I suffer from empty nest egg syndrome.

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

Egg Hunt

My father was mean on Easter we didn't look for eggs instead we had a land mine hunt.

God couldn't be a woman. If God was, She wouldn't have let (her son) Jesus hang on a cross with dirty underwear.

Do you think God was mocking Jesus's terrible sex life when He let us make a rabbit the symbol of Easter?

Monday, 24 June 2013


I believe in God but not religiously.

Today what comes first, the chicken or the hormones?

I'm not confused about my sexuality... I know I'm not getting laid.

Friday, 21 June 2013


Was Marry really a virgin or was she that good at faking an orgasm?

At the point now that I go to bed with a girl not to have sex, but to get her to change the sheets.

I started to read the bible one night and got pretty far before the hookers arrived.

Wednesday, 19 June 2013


I'm in such a bad rut right now I feel like my next life has passed me bye.

I would be against homosexuality if I knew it included Antoine Scalia.

They say a man thinks about sex every 7 seconds, in my case the other six seconds are thoughts about getting rejected.

Tuesday, 18 June 2013


I never had sex with a married woman, which is probably the reason for my divorce.

I believe in reincarnation my big fear is that I'd be reincarnate and come back as myself.

Before I grew as a person I thought that marriage should only be between a man, a woman, and their divorce lawyer.

Monday, 17 June 2013


I don't need a reason to get up in the morning. I need one to stop me from going back to sleep.

I killed a woman today by accident. I thought she was choking & I panicked. You shouldn't give the Heimlich maneuver to a sword swallower.

I was in love with a blind woman with no fingers because my penis was the only thing she could count on.

Friday, 14 June 2013


I think I looked good in my Halloween costume. it's difficult to see what you look like when you're dressed as a mirror.

I've become more of a dare devil, at this age literally everything I do is death defying.

I stopped getting depressed when I realized that I've added nothing of value to society or humanity & still exceeded my parents expectations.

Wednesday, 12 June 2013


After last St Patricks day I learned to hold my liquor, now I throw up in my hands.

You know you've lived a decent life when your friends are like family and family are still your friends.

I saw a video of the CPAC convention it was like watching a political film written and directed by Fellini.

Tuesday, 11 June 2013


I'd like to leave this world knowing it's a better place then I found it, which means before I die they'll have to eliminate congress.

What does an old heterosexual and a young gay guy have in common? They both have fantasies about erections.

I went to an AA meeting in #Ireland. There was a two drink minimum.

Monday, 10 June 2013

The Whole Story

Years later, when I was living in L.A., and actually married at the time, Larry was single and living in Laurel Canyon. I think we were in our mid to late thirties. He called and asked me to come over to his house because he had something incredible to tell me. Well, when I got there, Larry’s anxiety was not his normal everyday get-up-in-the-morning-and-hate-everything-about-myself panic. No, this was definitely heightened. His face had a washed-out pallor like a vampire who drank someone coming out of Starbucks and couldn’t sleep from the caffeine. I figured either Larry had just read something about a new fatal disease and imagined he had contracted it and was about to die or it was a woman, which of course it was. 

The night before, LD had gone to the movies and while at the refreshment stand fell head-over-sneakers for the popcorn girl. He kept saying, “John, I think I’m in love with the popcorn girl. And I think she might like me. I made her laugh and she gave me more popcorn. What should I do? I think she’s in her twenties, is that too young?” 

      We decided that being a comic automatically took a few years off your appearance and a decade or more off your rate of maturity. So the fact that she was old enough to legally hold a job meant she was old enough to date a thirty-something comedian. 

In our emotional life, there are people years and there are comic years. Psychologically, we’re half-life regressive. For every decade a regular person matures, we mature five, until at some point we’re physically old enough to either actually experience a partial life or just blame it on dementia. 

Since LD did not ask the popcorn girl what her name was, or where she lived, and I knew Larry would never be able to just walk up to a strange woman, he’d have to approach her armed with his best weapon-- one that didn’t require his standing before her stammering. It was far mightier than a sword or even a cocktail in his hand—the weapon was the written word. As previously mentioned, comics, especially Larry and I, were scared adolescents around a woman we fancied. If either of us were a Governor and a very pretty girl were in the electric chair and we could save her life, we’d be too insecure to pardon her, thinking she’d rather get toasted then talk to us. 

He read the letter to me, and of course it was very funny. One line stood out. Larry had written, “If you go out with me, I’m prepared to give up meat for you.” 

He finished the letter and we decided to go to the movie theater that night so LD could hand-deliver it. LD had a brown Fiat (he purchased it when he worked on the TV show “Fridays”) whose first engine he’d blown up because he’d forgotten to put oil in it since the day he bought it. So we drove there, parked nearby, walked into the theater and Larry asked for the popcorn girl. We were taken to a lanky guy, in his early twenties, with acne splattered across his cheeks like crumbs left on a comic’s chair, wearing the exaggerated expression of a Broadway star belting out the lyrics, “I’m younger and better looking than both of you.” 

Larry feigned confidence that unfortunately toppled out of at his mouth and he stammered, “Uh… I’m looking for the popcorn girl.”

“What popcorn girl?” the kid said, like the authority in his fiefdom was absolute. 

“The one who was working here last night,” Larry, trying to cover his disappointment, spoke like he had no authority anywhere on the planet.

“She’s off tonight,” he quickly cranked out, warning the universe the schedule he made was never ever to be broken.

Before His Honor could dismiss us, LD squeezed in, “Can you give her this?” Not giving the Sheriff of Nottingham the time to say no, Larry handed the guy the envelope.

The multiplex mogul, no longer feeling threatened by us thirty-something, alfalfa males, actually smiled nicely at us and said, “Sure, I’ll give it to her when she comes in tomorrow.” 

LD and I turned and walked back to his car, discussing how long he should wait for a reply before knowing whether he’d been rejected or not.

We circled the block and were about to go home, when I thought I saw the guy open up the letter. I told LD, and Larry, never being one to back down from the opportunity to confront his own embarrassment, decided to go back and find out. 

When we approached the ticket booth, the guy was indeed reading the letter, not just to himself, but to three or four other members of the acne brother and sisterhood.

LD walked up to the guy and asked as impolitely and impotently as he could, “Are you reading my note?”

The kid smiled and said, “Yes,” after which he and his crew of pimple people began laughing. 

“That was personal... That wasn’t to you… That was personal.” 

“I got permission,” he said, like he was shoving a dirty newspaper in a dog’s face. 

“From the popcorn girl?” LD asked more surprised than curious.

The guy shot back. “Yeah, she’s my girlfriend.” 

“She’s your girlfriend!” LD repeated like bad Mexican food that hung onto your esophagus, dangling awhile, before it did a nosedive into your gut. 

Their laughter was Miracle Grow for pimples, as thousands of pink mounds leaned toward us cackling. LD didn’t have his usual temper tantrum. No, this time he didn’t have a stage to walk off of, or a bum to fight to the death over a tuna sandwich. He just shouted from the top, bottom and middle of his lungs. “You shouldn’t read other people’s letters!” as he steamed toward the car. When we were driving away, I saw the letter being passed around, the ticket booth bursting with knives of laughter, looking at us until LD and his humiliation passed out of sight.

Friday, 7 June 2013

Bunny Hop

For me being in a relationship is like doing the bunny hop through a mind field wearing clown shoes.

My ex was so jealous if we were on a deserted island & I threw a bottle with a note in the sea, she'd think I was giving out my cell number.

My aunt Rose was a psychic who was obsessive compulsive. She used to send out sympathy cards ahead of time.

Wednesday, 5 June 2013


I'm a romantic. I still dream about someday meeting the girl I'm going to fear being intimate with.

I'm so insecure about my body when I masturbate I put a bag over my hand.

The way my sex life is going I think of impotency as saving it for myself.

Tuesday, 4 June 2013


Forget orgasms. I'm at the age now I'll settle for getting a woman to wet her bed.

I'm not well endowed because of a slight era by my parents who mixed up the words circumcised and castrated.

I'm at the age where I spend my nights worrying about not waking up and I spend my days worrying about not falling asleep.

Monday, 3 June 2013

Sexual Preference

I'm at the age now where sexual preference means Viagra or Cialis.

I learned this in Hollywood. If at first you don't succeed then lower your standards.

If the war of 1812 would've taken place in the 1980s the battle cry would have been don't shoot 'til you see the whites of their nostrils.