George Clooney Speaks Out on Darfur!

George, I don't know if you're reading this right now. (Of course you are. I can't imagine what you could possibly have to do with all of your time besides read this blog.) But if you are out there, listen to me very carefully before you take up another humanitarian cause with passion and integrity. The women of the world? They surrender, ok? You don't have to keep out-wonderfuling yourself. THEY WILL HAVE SEX WITH YOU.  Please leave some for everybody else.

Sincerely,

A Selfish Dude Who You are Clearly Better Than*


*Or, if you prefer, "A Selfish Dude Than Whom You are Clearly Better."

The End is Near!

...or so said a sign written in magic marker on one of the many carboard boxes that belonged to a homeless man I saw this morning. He had a shopping cart filled with boxes, clothes, a lamp, and a rolly desk chair on top.

 

Suggestion: if the end is truly near, maybe you lighten your load a little. For starters, I know you've been holding out for that secretarial work but I think you can probably let the desk chair go. Hey, even if I'm wrong, most office work is on a, "You do the work, let US worry about the chair," sort of basis.

 

I saw a street lunatic earlier this week. He was having a conversation with a giant pile of blankets. But then he stopped to fix his hair. And I thought, "Way to pick your battles, sir." He senses he's not going to improve his situation all at once. He's got too much stacked against him, what with the homelessness, the total poverty, the hygiene and of course the insanity. But that doesn't mean you can't feel pretty.

A Haiku to Commemorate My Ten Thousandth Hit

Well, the hitcounter at the bottom of this page tells me that I've hit five figures on the page view counter (and it tells you that, too, if you would only listen. Oh, if you would only listen! But nay. to be continued...)

 

And that means that it's time to write a Haiku to let you know how I feel about it. That's how I roll, if you will. Will you? Gosh, I know I will.

 

On My Ten Thousandth

by Jeff Mac

 

my 10,000th hit

what an occasion for me

someone flick my ear*

 

*The meaning of this line has been argued by scholars for over one second. The true intention of the line is lost because the author wasn't paying close attention, even though he was writing it himself.

Karl Rove steps down!

Well, sort of.

 

I know the big news is about Scott McClellan resigning as press secretary, but Karl Rove is also changing his role in the administration. He's not quitting entirely, of course. But he is no longer going to be in charge of shaping White House policy. He said that while he enjoyed working with that side of things, he was happy to get back to his true calling, destroying the lives of people who get in his way.

Taxes Are Due

Well, your taxes are due by midnight tonight. It's a very stressful time, especially if you make more money than I did last year, I bet. Here are a few last-minute things to remember while you are preparing your taxes:

1. Before you begin a numbered list of things to tell people, you should really have thought of several items that might GO on such a list. Or even one.
2. Don't forget to claim your arms and legs as dependents. Where would they be without you? Nowhere, that's where. Frigging ingrates.
3. Deduct everything. And deduct it FROM everything. It's the only way. I don't really know what I mean.
4. If you smudge the ink on your tax forms, maybe they will make a mistake and refund all of your taxes! Maybe not, sure, but do you really want to take that chance? I know that I certainly don't want you to. Isn't it worth the fines and jailtime for a chance to do something that I've told you to do?
5. Always use an accountant, preferably one who is actually an accountant, and not just a kitty with a collar that says "accountant" on it.
6. When mailing your form, make sure to use standard, regulation mailboxes or post offices. Never simply throw your tax forms into the ocean, even at a moment when you are feeling especially "maily." I'm sure we've all been burned by this one, and it's not worth it.

I hope you are all enjoying our annual "How much do I owe you for those tax cuts for the rich?" ritual, and I hope you all get hammered this evening. Make sure you deduct any money that you spend tonight from your wallet.

Interesting Choices

I just saw a guy in a black leather vest and the worst toupee anyone has ever thought of. I think it was from the, "Oh Why Bother, You're Not Fooling Anyone" line. And he was dressed for, you know, work in a normal office. (I only bring that up because it's not like he was the mop boy at Flashdancers or something. If that were the case, don't change a thing. Sweet look, fella.)

 

I honestly think he could put the leather vest on his head and strap the toupee onto his back, and get away with it. Actually, I'd be interested to see how many more "Wow, you look GREAT today" compliments he gets.

 

(sigh) None of us get to wear jeans, meanwhile he gets to dress like a serial killer And nobody says anything. Well, not to his face, anyway.

Fixing Our Schools: The Bush Plan

Ok, it's hard to understand our President's plans sometimes. He's a complex thinker, and it's not always so easy to crack into that logic. But I'm here to help. Here's what I understand to be the Bush plan on education:

 

STEP 1: Give students standardized tests.

STEP 2: If they fail the tests, punish the schools by taking away their money.

STEP 3: Fearing budget cuts, everyone becomes a genius.

 

Now, at first glance, this might seem like telling a starving person, "Ok, you better start putting on some weight or I'm putting you on a diet, mister." But that is oversimplifying the issue to the point of, you know, truth.

 

The real issue is this: Teachers are lazy. They have grown content on their merely poverty-level salaries. In short, they have lost the eye of the tiger. We need to trim the fat out of those budgets to make room for younger, hungrier teachers who hum the theme from Rocky on the way to work.

 

You can see how this plan could be a total success in President Bush's mind. In a sense, the less learning our children absorb, the more presidential they will become.

See me on ComedyCentral.com! NOW!!!

Hey everybody. I taped an episode of Comedy Central's new standup show, "Live at Gotham" this weekend. It was pretty much one of the best days of my life, I have to tell you. The show doesn't air until the summer (June was the last I heard) but they've got a short clip of my set up there on their website.

 

Check it out HERE.

 

Ferret Alternative

Ok, if there's one issue that has been plaguing us all, day and night, it is the issue of whether or not a ferret is a proper pet. Obviously there are more issues, but this is definitely number one.

 

We need to reduce our dependence upon ferrets as pets. I know that only eleven people have them, but until that number reaches zero, I will pretend to care about this cause.

 

I would like to submit to you my opinion that rather than electing to buy a ferret as a pet, you would be served quite well by just buying a shovel.

 

3 Reasons Why a Shovel is a Better Pet than a Ferret:

• A shovel recognizes you when you come home at night. No? Well, guess what? Neither does a ferret. Sure, it might run up to you and bite your foot and then run away, sure. And I might be impressed by that level of 'affection' if the ferret didn't behave that way towards every object on the earth. He's not going, "Hey! It's that person I love!" He's thinking, "Hey -- a THING! I LOVE things!!! I will chew it/her/him!!!" Ferrets don't know who you are. Ferrets don't know who they are. All they know is that shiny is awesome.
• A shovel doesn't smell like a dead skunk that wiped its ass with an onion.
• You can use your shovel to dig a hole in which to bury ferrets. Convenient!

The Logic of the Dress Code

I know I've written about this before but, well, the tie is chafing me somthin' turrible today. And so, being the enlightened being that many of you have no reason to believe that I am not, I will now try to understand why business attire is required in an office.

 

Ok, let's say they lifted the dress code. You still have to do your job and look neat, but you can wear jeans and sneakers and such. Well, if you're wearing sneakers, you might get the urge to run somewhere. And we all know that criminals run places. Sometimes they do it before a crime, sometimes afterwards. Either way, you will have murdered someone. This will make meetings increasingly more difficult to schedule.

 

The jeans will turn you into a cowboy almost immediately. You will leap up on the fax table screaming, "Yeeeeeeeha!!!!" and you'll do a little step dancing. Now, at that point, what if a fax comes in. Everyone in the office will be so busy clapping and dancing and playing fiddles that they might miss that fax entirely. A sobering thought. So jeans are out.

 

And finally, the tie. Well, this one's obvious. If anyone from a rival company challenges you to a duel with fencing foils, your tie-less neck will be that much more vulnerable to injury, making you a serious insurance liability. Also, if you aren't wearing a tie, you might actually spend a moment of your day free of the thought that your job is choking the life out of you.

 

I hope that this has made you all feel much, much better about wearing office attire. Golly, I know it's changed my life forever and ever.

RAWR!!!!!

That's what I'd say if I were a lion with a blog. Hey folks, that's the way technology's going. I mean am I right, or am I right? Pretty soon, a LION on the SerenGETi will be able to EMAIL his prey and---

 

(We hear the unmistakable sounds of blogger being garrotted. Yeah, that's right - "unmistakable." The sound of a blogger being garrotted is very distinct from, say, an attorney being garrotted. Their necks have a very different consistency and the musicality of the kill is far more...sigh...look, the point is that the guy just had his head sawed off with piano wire. Why? Because that's how it is. Come on, baby, you know how I do.)

 

[We now hear the slightly more mistakable sounds of a blogger assassin being chloroformed. It doesn't happen as often so we might mistake these sounds for the ones made when a rhino doesn't understand a math problem. Or when a jaguar discards a handpuppet. All very similar to the human ear. These are sounds that --]

 

{An assassination noise commentator is beaten with an old IBM electric typewriter. Not a Smith Corona, you say? Don't even try it.}

 

No one. NO one has the slightest idea what this blog entry was about. Least of all me, your host, Jeff Mac.

 

~With that, we hear the sound of Jeff Mac hang gliding into a volcano only to realize at the last moment that lava is wicked hot.~

And Now, Introducing....

Ok, I'm in a panic trying to think of what I can have them say to introduce me on "Live @ Gotham" this Sunday. Here's what I'm working with so far.

• This next comic hails from Connecticut. And nobody gives a shit about that. Least of all him. Give it up for Jeff Mac!
• (alternate version) ...hails from CT, but he promises that he left the moment they let him.
• You might have seen this next comic...ahhhh....on this show? Or at his house if you were ever over there. He hangs out there all the time, actually. Jeff Mac, ladies and gentlemen!
• This next guy...he has a brain. Sometimes he uses it for good, sometimes for eville. Put your hands together for Mr. Jeff Mac.
• Here's a guy you could bring home to meet your family and trust that he won't say what he thinks of them until they're out of earshot! Jeff Mac!!!

Dear Unsatisfied Readers,

...or so I assume you must be with the almost total lack of blogularity here at the home of Jeff Mac. I have the same excuse I always have...ah...a feeble one? I've been wicked busy getting ready for my Gotham taping on 4/2, and I haven't been able to post nonsense on here. For this, I grieve.

 

Here are 5 reasons why I love you all:

1. You are reading this right now. If you're not reading this right now, well, I probably love you too. But at a distance, you understand. And I'm not saying I want ANY of you in my home.
2. You are all better than average looking (at least!) Don't ask me how I know this, but I do. Suffice it to say that my knowledge in this matter involves a Ouija board and frequent email contact with my familiar, a frog named Nicodaemus.
3. You all put out when the mood strikes you. And not in a slutty way. Well, not in a negatively charged slutty way.
4. You find the time for the art of self-love. This one is totally a guess. But it's a correct guess, so I think that should count.
5. You have staggeringly good taste. Almost embarrassingly good. Well, all except for you. No, YOU. Exactly.

I hope to become far less busy in the near future, at which time the nonsense will continue to flow like milk and honey in the land of same name. Which, by the way, sounds absolutely disgusting, for what that's worth.

 

-mac

Erin go Br--ohwillyoupleaseshutthehellup?

I was walking through midtown today, wishing I had superpowers and a bag of priceless diamonds, when I came across a giant crew of fratfolk, already drunk by noon, screaming at the tops of their lungs and jump-hugging one another. I was amazed at the sheer optimism that they were going to have THAT good a time just because it's St. Patrick's Day.

 

News flash: You're still, you know, YOU. You're just wearing more green than you usually do while sitting around getting hammered with your moron friends. And that little dude who no one ever pays any attention to is now being ignored while wearing a green Cat-in-the-Hat hat. We're not exactly through the looking glass, people.

 

Good luck to you, drunkies. I really hope you have as much fun as you seem to think you're going to. But unless you bump into Willy Wonka or Carmen Electra, my confidence is low. I'm thinking that it's just going to be more barfing and slut-hopping, but with a charming Irish brogue.

Abu Gharaib Closing Doors For Good! All Religion-based Humiliation Must Go!

Ok, so what? So we're closing Abu Gharaib? That doesn't mean we did anything "wrong" ok? Greatness is never fully appreciated until after it's gone. Like with Vincent van Gogh. He never sold a painting in his lifetime and look at him now!

 

Granted, Abu Gharaib prison never permanently redefined modern painting as we know it. But then again, van Gogh never hooked up a car battery to anybody's nuts. So let's just call it a draw.

Finally, a Meaty Role for Ice Cube

Well, it was announced that they are making a film version of the popular 1970's sitcom, Welcome Back Kotter, with rapper/actor Ice Cube in the title role made famous by Gabe Kaplan (who was the Ice Cube of his day.) I'm sure Kaplan must be excited to pass the torch to his logical successor.

 

In other news, they are doing a remake of Malcolm X and we've heard casting rumors about George Clooney, Rob Schneider, and of course, Gabe Kaplan who has an edge since Malcolm X often referred to himself as the Gabe Kaplan of his day.

Approval Ratings? They don't need no stinking Approval Ratings.

So Bush's numbers keep going down and down and down. They are lower than they have ever been. If this trend continues, he's either going to have to juggle chainsaws or marry the Fonz or something. I don't even know what that would entail, but I must admit that in either case he would actually go up in my estimation.

 

Then again, with me his numbers have nowhere to go BUT up. He could molest* a raccoon and it wouldn't lower my opinion of him.

 

 

*I only use that word because I'm assuming the raccoon in question would be under age. If the raccoon consents though, hell, roger the thing silly, Mr. President!

Remote Controlled Sharks? Check

Ok so the other day, DARPA -- I can't be bothered to look up what the acronym means, just think "mad scientists creating stuff with which to kill folk" -- have a project in the works for remote controlled sharks. Actual sharks that respond to electrical doodads. I'm ordering one as soon as I...uh...become the Secretary of Defense. (Hey, I can't be that much worse than Rumsfeld.)

 

I wonder if the guys who are designing regular killing equipment (guns, tanks, what have you) are jealous of those guys. I wonder if they think of them as the "Gallaghers" of the death-dealing technology world.

 

"Hacks. Getting all the press, making money from THAT? It's not about all the eye candy and fancy toys, you know. It's supposed to be about the killing. That's why I got into this business in the first place."

Jeff Mac to Appear on Comedy Central

Hello, my lovely chickens. Why 'chickens', you ask? Why not, I say.

 

Some of you have already heard about this (and some of you clever ones might have seen a reference to it over in the "see me live" section.) I'm going to be on Comedy Central! I mean, you read the subject line of this entry so it can't come as a complete shock. Calm down. Just breathe. Deep breaths. How many fingers am I holding up? No, I'm asking you, it's not a riddle. Hello? Call the coroner. That imaginary person just died of something.

 

Anyway, I found out last week that I will be on their new standup showcase called "Live at Gotham." The show tapes on April 2nd, and if you are in the city you should come on out and see the show! I'm assuming that the details can be found at http://www.gothamcomedyclub.com

 

If you are not able to come see that, keep watching this space and I'll warn you when it's going to air on Comedy Central. In case, you know, you live in Australia or Arkansas or something. Should be sometime this summer. And portions of it will be on their website even sooner. Yeeha!

First the Corn Palace, and now this?

I think people are misunderstanding South Dakota's governor's actions regarding the new anti-abortion bill he just signed. It's not about pro-life or Jesus or anything like that. It's just that someone in South Dakota finally realized that no one will ever move there, ever. If he didn't outlaw abortion, even babies wouldn't bother to go there.

 

Have you ever been to South Dakota? If not, let me draw you a picture. On second thought, I'll have YOU draw a picture. Take a blank, white piece of paper. Got it? Ok, that's South Dakota.

 

Now, don't get me wrong. Wall Drug is a fantastic world of doughnuts and ice water. Mount Rushmore has the distinct honor of being the only national landmark that is less impressive in person than it is on a postcard. And the Corn Palace, mentioned in the title of this post, well, that place speaks for itself. It's an arena covered in patriotic murals made out of different colored corn kernels? Seriously.

 

If they outlaw abortions in SD, they better outlaw one other thing: plane tickets out. Or else ain't nobody going to be left to man the Arby's.

Oscars Wrap Up

When will I ever learn? Why do I watch this show? It's like those 2 guys who watch the muppet show, but hate it every time. Except at least they got to watch the muppet show.

 

Sadly, as a comic, I watch in case somebody has a meltdown that I might find hilarious. (They did not. The closest was...oh...I don't know...when Lauren Bacall wasn't wearing her glasses and had a slightly dodgy time seeing the teleprompter clearly? Not exactly scandalous.)

 

Here's what I did learn.

• Phillip Seymour Hoffman watches NCAA basketball with his mom. So do I. Clearly that says to me that I am a great actor. Who knew? 
• I'm not a big fashion guy (you there, stop agreeing so loudly) but somebody needs to tell J-Lo's overachieving eyebrow plucker to take a couple of days off. Holy shit. And she might want to loosen that hairdo a little -- she looked like her face was going to snap and roll up like a window shade.
• Salma Hayek sounds like she is trying to lick everyone on the earth when she speaks. And for this service, I believe she should have won a special Oscar.
• When Ben Stiller was doing his greenscreen spoof and said, "This is blowing Steven Spielberg's mind!" you could read Spielberg's lips saying, "No it's not." Way to understand the joke, Steve.
• Please, Mr. Spielberg, still feel free to pay me a lot of money to do something, okay? I was just kidding!
• No, I wasn't. Unless he really IS reading this, in which case yes, yes I was.
• He's not reading this.
• I know.

Historic Nuke Agreement with India!

Bush met with India -- the entire country! -- and made what he is describing as a "historic" agreement about India's nukes.

 

So India is finally going to give up their nuclear weapons!

 

Nope.

 

Oookay, India has agreed to phase out their nuclear weapons over time!!!

 

Not really.

 

Ok, wait, I've got it. India has decided to continue to make nuclear weapons by the truckload, but they promise to feel really, really bad about it.

 

Pretty close. They basically agreed that India would keep making nukes. It would be like if someone was beating the shit out of their wife, and the couple made a historic agreement to keep doing it! Just not in secret anymore! Hurray!

 

Gosh, that really IS historic!

 

I know! Wait, who are you, other voice?

 

I have no idea.

Nuke Money is No Object!

North Korea says they made nuclear weapons, and are furious at allegations that they counterfeited money in order to pay for it. They not only want to get credit for making the bomb, but for being able to pay for it with their own money. God! Why doesn't anyone understand them?

 

You've got to respect them for that at least. I mean, everyone knows that a nuclear weapon hard-earned is a nuclear weapon cherished. I can only imagine that they are really going to take care of it. They won't leave it out in the rain or forget to clean it or anything.

 

They are going to bring it to bed with them every night. And before they go to sleep, they will kneel down at their bedside and pray, "God bless mama, and papa, and Stevie (even though he totally broke my glow-in-the-dark Milennium Falcon model), and my nuclear weapon. Please keep them all safe until I decide to hurl any or all of them at my enemies. Amen."

Favorite Spam Sender Name

Winner: Barry Manilow

 

Honorable Mention: Alejandro Flanagan

Every Civil War has a Silver Lining!

Ok, so Fox News was questioning whether an all-out civil war in Iraq might actually be a good thing. Now, normally I consider them to be functionally retarded shills for the administration, but in this case, well, they might just have something. Consider these 5 possible advantages of a total civil war in Iraq.

1. Charming blue/gray uniforms would add an air of gentility and decorum to the proceedings heretofore unseen.
2. Ken Burns will have another thing to talk about for 19 hours straight.
3. Years from now, Iraqi nerds will have something to re-enact to distract them from their inability to copulate.
4. New genre of romance novels based upon a Sunni soldier who is nursed back to health by an unrealistically buxom Shiite war widow. (And then he stones her to death for being buxom without a chaperone.)
5. Mint Juleps for everyone!

Let My (Suspected Terrorist) People Go!

The U.N. is saying that Bush must either bring the Guantanamo Bay prisoners to trial or he has to release them. Bush has said that not only will he release them, but in a gesture of good faith he has agreed to send them on an all expenses paid trip to go hunting with Dick Cheney.

 

Thanks, I'll be here all week.

Quick Valentine's Day Advice

I hope you're all enjoying that special time of year when we commemorate the day when St. Valentine was beaten to death in ancient Rome! (Yep, that's really what it is. Romantic, no?)

 

Here's a tip. If you're thinking of going to the Godiva Chocolate store on Valentine's Day, consider this equivalent alternative.

 

1. Buy a small pocket mirror. If you can't find one, you can use a store window or a bathroom mirror in a pinch.
2. Stand in front of your chosen reflective surface, facing it.
3. Extend the index finger of either hand (preferably your dominant hand for optimum efficiency) towards your reflection.
4. Laugh heartily.
5. For added fun, call yourself nasty names that indicate substandard intelligence.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Don't Blame Cheney

Look, I know that the Vice President shot his hunting buddy this weekend. And we can all make jokes about it, sure. But when you read the facts, it's clear that this guy was standing right between Cheney and a newborn kitten. So there's blame to go around. You can't just read the headlines and expect to get the whole story.

Seriously, the only reason he did it was that shooting this guy just happened to be the best way to lure Luke Skywalker to the cloud city.

Come on out and see me sometime!

Hey all! I just wanted to invite you to come out to the Bowery Poetry Club tonight (308 Bowery at Bleecker) at 10pm for HAPPY HAPPY TWO, the sequel to the wildly popular HAPPY HAPPY! It's going to be a really fun evening of comedy, music, and things unclassifiable -- all for a meager three bucks!

See you there!

-mac

So...it's a Cartoon, right?

There are ten people dead and many more injured because someone didn't like a cartoon about the prophet Mohammed. Listen, I'm all for being tolerant of other ways of thinking, but if your death-to-the-infidel-o-meter is set on CARTOON, maybe you want to dial it back a notch.

 

That's not even "an eye for an eye." That's "an eye for a drawing of an eye."

 

Even bin Laden's got to be out there going, "Guys, seriously, what did we say about picking our battles? I'm gonna need you to focus a little."

 

And they're going after random people, so any one of us could get croaked because somebody wasn't crazy about Garfield.

 

Not that I'm comparing the prophet Mohammed to Garfield. Although, they both do get into the craziest mixups! And they both love lasagna. But then, who doesn't?

No Animal/Human Hybrids?!

So, our president wants to ban animal/human hybrid clones. First, no jetpacks and now this?

 

Hey listen, Mr. President. I know that this entry into the State of the Union was probably the result of some icky dreams after the Island of Dr. Moreau came up on your Netflix cue (finally!). But I hate to break it to you -- science is not that interesting. I know that important science is important. That's why it has that name. But you need a posterchild with a little razzmatazz.

 

Be honest, if you were at a party with the guy who cured cancer on one side, and the guy who grafted his son's head onto a chipmunk on the other, who are you going to talk to, seriously? And who's going to be doing all the really interesting drinking?

 

Just think about it, ok? I need entertainment, and a baby with tentacles, antlers, and eyeballs on stalks just might do the trick.

Eve of Destruction

Well, tomorrow begins February, the most horrible monthof the year. It's boring, it's cold, it includes Valentine's Day. About the only good things you can say about it are that a.) there's a long weekend for President's Day, and b.) there are only 28 days in it.

 

Here are some tips on how to survive such a beastly month:

• BUY CANDY: Look they're selling it, people. In no other month can you buy a giant box of candy at any hour of the day or night and have people think that you are a romantic, and not just a person who is about to dismantle that giant box of candy, piece by waxy piece.
• GO TO BED: Go there early and often, and don't get up until you absolutely have to. This one is easy for me to remember because it is my advice for every other month as well. It is also written on my family crest in Latin.
• EXERCISE REGULARLY: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Oh...oh, that was a good one. Oh wow. I needed that.
• PRETEND YOU LIVE IN COLONIAL NEW ENGLAND: Eat stew and put heated rocks in your bed at night? I'm not sure how this helps but what am I, the fucking surgeon general? Some of these are going to be stupid and ineffective and I can't be to blame for all of that. Look at the man in the mirror, ok?
• DON'T GET SO DEFENSIVE: Ok, I got a little huffy during that last one. I admit that. You think I'm afraid to admit that? Well, you're wrong. And probably not for the first time so don't look so smug. You make mistakes too.
• SERIOUSLY, STOP BEING SO DEFENSIVE: Listen, I know I got a little snippy, but pointing it out all the time really isn't helping, all right?
• TWO TIMES ISN'T "ALL THE TIME": You're right. No, you're right. Forget it.
• WHAT'S THE MATTER, BABY?: Nothing. It's nothing. I just get a little touchy during this time of year.
• COME HERE. SHHHHH. SHHHHHHHHH: This is a little gross.
• AGREED.: Let's never fight again.

I hope this little guide has helped at least one person. And at most four.

Somebody Got Some Action!

I think one of my co-workers got laid. Normally a little tense, she is strutting and bopping, shucking and jiving her way around the office with a devil-may-care attitude that seems to say, "I am so awesome, I don't even know what to do with myself."

 

Good for you, office person! Even though your successful mating expedition has forced me to picture you naked -- something I never EVER wanted to have to do -- I feel that this can only be a positive step for you. I promise that I will get over any nausea, dyspepsia, vapors and/or creeps that I am currently experiencing. Probably by eating a doughnut.

 

That's how I get over just about everything these days. And it works. Lawdy lawdy does it ever! I highly recommend this miracle cure to anyone*.

 

*Probably not to diabetics. Although, if you think about it, a doughnut might very well help you "get over" your diabetes, in the sense that you won't be bothered by it anymore.

Meeting Cancelled??!!

Ok, listen. When you schedule a meeting at which you are going to explain my benefits to me for TWO WHOLE HOURS, and all I have to do is to sit there like a baby bird and take it all in, you had better keep that meeting! I was COUNTING on that time, sitting around with zero responsibility for two entire hours. See, now I'm going to have to do "work".

 

You know, I'm considering going anyway. Even though it's cancelled. I don't care if the woman who is running it isn't here. I don't mind. I don't mind in the least. I'll just sit there and imagine what my benefits are if need be.

 

I'm hoping that one of my imaginary benefits is enrollment in the "Bears on Stairs" program. It's like "Meals on Wheels," except if you qualify, they just release a bear into the stairwell of your building. But only if you qualify. Fingers crossed everybody!

In the Bullpen

Well, I was moved from "my" office into my permanent workspace -- a desk with 3 other people in a big room where we all work within 10 feet of each other. It might actually be quieter in here than it was when I was alone if that's possible.

 

The good news is this: there is a window. With real light. From the actual sun! I forgot they had that. I hadn't really noticed it, but my former office would have been exactly as comfortable to me had I been Dracula. Except I'm not sure if the cape might be overkill on the business attire.

 

Now THAT's something I should try: bust the dress code in the other direction. Come to work every day in tails, white gloves, and a top hat. I would argue that, "Hey, if I can use a keyboard and mouse better wearing a tie, just THINK how awesome I'll be in my solid gold cravat!"

 

God I hate working. It goes against everything for which I stand. Isn't this why we fought the American Revolution! Stop making me go to work you limey bastards!*

 

*I don't work with or for any British people, so I guess there goes my theory.

Assisted Suicide Legal Again! (In Oregon!)

Well, the Bush administration was handed a stinging defeat (or at least that's what Yahoo told me) when the Supreme Court said that folks in Oregon who wanted to kill themselves could do it.

 

I feel bad for the President. I mean, if he can't force people to stay alive when they don't want to, what is he supposed to do? I guess the only thing left is killing some more of the people who would rather not die at the moment.

 

Apparently it's only fun killing somebody if they don't want to be dead. I think that was an old Gershwin tune...

2 Week Retrospective on the Transit Strike

Here's the truth about walking 12 miles a day for 3 days. It wasn't that bad, plus I now know that if I ever accidentally have children and can't find a solution to that (i.e take my own life, fake my death, etc.) I'll have a ready-to-tell boring story about that time one year I had to walk real far. So I'll just file that away into the, "In case of children break glass" case that I have installed in my apartment. (The other contents of the case are Bill Cosby's book on fatherhood, a bottle of bourbon, and a sniper rifle.)

Holiday Post Mortem

Ok, here are some things I have learned about the holidays. Well, one thing really. Ready? Gosh I know I am. Here we go:

 

I hate the holidays just like everybody else.

 

I really thought I was refreshingly unique in my total indifference to the holidays. And apparently I thought it was just some weird coincidence that I get fucking furious sometime near the 3rd week of December every single year.

 

I can't say I'm not a little disappointed that I can't just shake it off. I mean, hating the holidays? So cliche! I'm down here with all of YOU people. But next year I'll be more prepared. And I'm never leaving my apartment again. Never get out of the boat, or else you run into a fucking tiger while looking for mangoes. That's just the way it works. If you're in 'Nam. Which I am, people. In a very, very roundabout way.

Happy Birthday, Blog!!!

Well, I just checked and it's my Blog's birthday! Aww...uh...I don't know what you say about a one-year-old. Not, "they grow up so fast" I don't think. Too early. And if I had an actual one-year-old I would be more likely to think something like, "Uh, when is this thing going to grow UP already?" Or, "So...are we 100% sure this kid is mine?" That and, "I wonder how hard it is to fake one's own death..."

 

I'm not saying that all children are little a-holes. But, like adults, I'd bet you that most of them are. I know I was one. And I'm awesome. Can you imagine how much crappier it gets than me? And I was an infuriating child.

 

Anywhoo, I just want to say that I appreciate all of you coming out and reading this bizarre compendium of nonsensia to the tune of almost 8,000 times. Considering the fact that I am lazy and don't really advertise even to my friends, that's so cool of you all to stop by. And to that one person in Finland, thanks to you especially. I can't imagine that I addressed your needs, but I'll do what I can.

 

In my second year as a blogger, I promise to be as lazy and shiftless as I was last year. I will try to make more references to doctors popping out of sandwiches and punching the sandwich eaters in the crotch. I will fail, but I will try. And I will continue to mean well.

 

I love you all.

 

-mac

SHOW AT SOUTHPAW TONIGHT at 9pm!!!

Hey everybody! I'm hosting a show at Southpaw tonight. My friend and comedy colleague, Pat O'Shea, is recording a CD tonight, and to help him get the crowd all roused and riled, I'll be hosting the show along with special guests Brian Kiley (writer for Conan O'Brien) and Rena Zager (Comedy Central's Premium Blend). It's only 5 bucks and the details are over at the right of your screen.

 

And if you've never been to Southpaw, it is a great Brooklyn indie rock venue. Why, you might ask, was I invited to perform at a hip indie rock venue? Well, smarty pants, I'm not sure I care for the tone of the question.

 

Come on down and see me overcome my winter cold with hilarity!

Not all over the map?

Hey! I was just compulsively checking the map of the hits I'm getting on this website (scroll all the way down to the bottom to see it yourself) and some of them have disappeared. My Aussie connections are gone. So is the one in South America. What gives? Did they look at the website and then, several weeks later, take it back? There's no backsies on the WWW, people. If you come here, you are stained forever. That's just how it works.

 

P.S. If anybody knows anybody in Greenland with a computer, have them stop by the site. I'd sure love to see their blip on my screen. If you know what I mean.

Happy New Year!

Hey everyone. Well, it's that special time of year when we pretend to be JUST about ready to change our lives for the better. That's right, it's time for New Year's Resolutions! And I, Jeff Mac, am here to help. Here are my guidelines on setting and keeping New Year's Resolutions that have worked for me every year, except for the fact that I haven't made them up yet. But I bet they're going to be just socko. Here we go!

• COVER YOUR BASES: It's important not to set yourself up for failure. But since you're going to anyway, here's a fun way to feel at least half good. Create conflicting resolutions. For example, one of my resolutions might be to exercise more, but I also make one to exercise LESS often. This way you're a winner no matter what!
• HITCH YOUR WAGON TO A STAR: A lot of people suggest that you create goals that are not too intimidating. I say set goals that are not only intimidating, they are completely impossible. In fact, I would suggest coming up with goals that are SO overwhelming and intimidating that they actually make you pee every time you think of them. I don't know how this will help you but I think it sounds like a lot of fun.
• BABY STEPS: This one isn't about making smaller, more attainable goals. Save that shit for Dr. Phil. I'm actually suggesting that you step on babies. It makes you feel powerful, plus it really takes the wind out of any guilt you might feel over, say, eating every cookie in your house at one sitting. I mean that's bad, but compared to the fact that you've been stepping on babies, it looks comparatively benign.

If you will just follow my 3 simple steps I will be sure to enjoy the New Year.

All over the map

If you are either a.) compulsive, b.) weird, or c.) both (see "me") you might have noticed something new at the very bottom of this blog. There is a little map. It's a hit counter that tells me what part of the world you're in. For instance, I can see that I've had 3 different locations in Australia, of which only one can I account for. I'm known in two Scandanavian countries. And here and there around America. Welcome, weirdos!

Several points:

• Canada and Alaska: where you at? I will try to address your foolishness needs more effectively in the coming months, but I think you need to meet me halfway. So stop by, and just know that I am developing a bit about dried caribou meat that I think you might find interesting.
• Europe: What's up with you folks? I'm looking at just a couple of hits from Sweden and Finland, period. This leads me to believe that in order to "get" me, you have to be either severely depressed, an alcoholic, or a member of ABBA. And lord knows, I hope you're all three!
• Greenland: Does anybody live on you? And if so, are they so friggin' busy that they can't stop by? I don't know if you've been keeping up with your local news but if not, well, that's because there isn't any. You live in Greenland. Embrace how bored you must be and stop by. Ditto for any Antarctic science outpost dwellers. Take a short break from whacking off and/or battling space aliens who you have accidentally uncovered long buried in the ice and stop in, won't you?
• Africa: I know that for most of you, your life is a lot harder than mine probably. But there must be some sort of oppressor/overlord/warlord with a T1 connection somewhere out there. I certainly don't condone his/her behavior, but by god I will accept his/her attention. I'm trying to fill up the map here people. Help me out.

Now, I'm pretty aware that if these folks haven't stopped by they can't read my suggestion that they do so. And I'm also aware that if they ARE reading my suggestion to stop by, said suggestion ceased to apply to them in that moment. I'm well aware of the potential logic problems inherent in a post such as this. Do I care? Honestly, kind of. It bothers me a little. But it's nothing that eating another hundred Christmas cookies can't cure.

Open Letters re: the transit strike.

Dear People Walking in Front of me, Drifting Aimlessly to and fro on the narrow footpath on the Brooklyn Bridge,

 

Cut the shit. I'm trying to, you know, get someplace. Seriously. I'll knife you in your sleep.

 

Love,

 

-mac

 

************

Dear Brooklyn Borough President, Marty Markowitz,

 

Thank you so much for greeting all Brooklynites on the Brooklyn Bridge. My friend, Nicole, has a giant crush on you and I bet she wouldn't even mind the massive boogers you had all over your face. Hey, it was cold out there! Who wouldn't understand that? Keep up the good work, whatever it is that you do, Marty. We Brooklynites love the shit out of you.

 

-mac

 

*************

 

Dear Lady Whose Hat Had It's Own Beaded Dreadlocks Attached To It,

 

Wow. What an interesting choice. Somewhere between "member of the yaya sisterhood on vacation in Jamaica" and "Predator's head tubes". Keep that going. I needed that.

 

-mac

 

**********************

 

Dear Dog Poop The Color of Baby Aspirin,

 

Oh boy, what did your canine creator EAT, my friend? It can't have been healthy, is all I'm saying.

 

Concerned,

 

-mac

Things the Transit Strike has Taught Me

Ok, it's day two of me walking 90 minutes each way to and from work. I've learned a lot of things. Well, not many things. Hardly any things. But I find that if I start telling someone all the things I've learned, I'm generally more than able to BS my way through it. Here we go:

• 90 minutes is a long time. And it's even longer the second time that day.
• It's hard to feel bad for the transit workers when one of their complaints is about moving their pension from age 55 to 62. Yeah, uh, I don't get a pension when I'm a hundred and eleven. Cops get a pension because they get shot at. You drive a choo choo. Get back to work before I die of tired.
• When they tell you that the minimum operating temperature for an iPod is 32 degrees, they actually mean it. There is no Brooklyn Bridge exemption for that rule either. And I, for one, was disappointed. How am I supposed to be jaunty on my way to work when my tuneage cuts out right in the middle of the first act of HMS Pinafore? Uh...I mean...DMX. The first act of DMX Pinafore.
• If you haven't washed your tub in a long time (or, oh, let's say "ever") you can absolutely still take a bath. If you're tired and footsore enough, you won't mind the water's hue in the least.

Holiday Crap

I'm not even being metaphorical. I would like to talk about dung and/or manure around the Christian holy days. I hadn't intended to, but as soon as I wrote that subject heading, it's all I could think about. And it occurs to me that I NEVER get to talk about that stuff. Almost never. It just doesn't come up. I blame the people with whom I converse. What, you people can't bring it up even once? Like:

 

"Hey, where are you spending Christmas? Will you be near any poo?"

 

Or:

 

"Boy, I hope my grandmother doesn't make that pecan pie like she did last year. it was delicious, but it was just too heavy. And also, what are your thoughts on manure during this yuletide?"

 

I don't think it's too much to ask, folks. It's called common courtesy. Look it up.

No Secret Santa

So I just declined to enter the office Secret Santa...I was going to say "competition," but that can't be right. Unless it's a competition for the most awkward and uncomfortable exchange of gifts, in which case I think it totally wins.

 

Look, if something's going to be secret, shouldn't it also be shameful. I know, I know, Secret Santa IS shameful. But it's not trying to be so I don't think it counts. In my homeland of Connecticut we know shame like douchebags know wine vintages (sorry, fans of "Sideways" but if you met that guy in real life you'd get real bored, real fast.)

 

The point is this: If they had an office...again, not competition but...activity? Timewaster? If they had an office whatever called Shameful Santa, I'd join immediately. In a way, I'm already enrolled in that one. Shame is a gift that I give myself. I give it each and every day.

 

I will say that I am THRILLED to have turned down Secret Santa for the first time. At another point in my life I would have just signed up and spent the next week and a half dreading the dual terrors of giving something stupid to a stranger AND pretending to LIKE something stupid received from a stranger. But this year I am just looking forward to hearing whispers of "Here comes Mr. Anti-social" as I walk past the watercooler.

 

I'm just kidding -- I almost never walk PAST the watercooler. Most of my day is spent walking TO or FROM it to pass the time, or to the bathroom to take all of the watercooler water and release it back into the wild. Good bye, pee (nee' watercooler water.) I'll catch you later.

 

I'm losing it, people.

Ooops...

At my job yesterday, I accidentally cared. It was just for a short while but it was pretty unnerving nonetheless. Especially for someone such as myself who, you know, doesn't. Care, that is. I doesn't.

 

But I also don't want to look like an idiot. Even if I am one, I don't want to LOOK like one. (That's the Connecticut way. It's on our license plates.) And I sensed that I was about to look like a real moron. And so I - accidentally I'm saying - cared for a second. I was upset by the fact that this thing that I don't really understand wasn't working the way that I half thought it sort of should have been working. I'm not sure what it did, or what I did TO it.

 

This is my job. I do things that I don't understand to computer programs that I don't understand. And they pay me and give me sandwiches once in awhile. It works, ok?

 

I got over the caring. And I did it by going home and watching Sigourney Weaver slaughter aliens in her cryptically titled film, Aliens. I bet those Aliens care about their job. Fucking shit up and bleeding acid. That's their job. And they do it with aplomb. I rarely do things with aplomb, but I have aplombish aspirations. And I mean well.

 

Good night, ladies. Oh, and come see me at the Comedy BBQ tonight (details at the left.) Should be a fun one.

Important Meeting!

So I had to go to an informal lunch thing with the CEO of the company I'm working for. The idea was that he would explain where the company is headed to peons such as myself who are only there because someone made us go. But there were sandwiches. The sandwiches held me while I wept.

 

As he spoke about fiscal this and diversify that (to a roomful of people who just, you know, WORK here) and used 140 acronyms for things I didn't know about even had he used their unabridged names, all I could hear was, "The market has been really SANDWICH for the last few fiscal SANDWICHES. And I feel like our only route, especially with the SANDWICH server and the SANDWICH at SANDWICH hospital, we have to look to the POTATO CHIPS or we're going to have to FREE SODA," etc.

 

My greatest fears from kindergarten came back to me immediately. I was terrified that at some point he would say, "Jeff, what do you think about all of this?" Because the answer is 'sandwich.' I think sandwich.

So Close...

Last night, for the first time, I finished a novel written entirely in French. I was so pleased. But as it turns out it was in fact written entirely in French dressing.

 

It was still pretty cool I guess.

Congratulations, America!

Well, last week we celebrated our 1,000th execution! Well, of the "modern era." Wait, what does that mean? Oh, that's the past 3 years. Wow. They've been killing folks at almost exactly the rate and frequency at which I touch myself in an impure manner. I can't help but to feel that there must be a correlation. I hope I'm not responsible for the whole thing. That would be so embarrassing. More embarrassing than talking about whacking off on a public internet site with my picture on there and everything? Sure.

 

FYI - The thousandth guy was a murderer who had killed his estranged wife. And not for nothing, but I think maybe once you murder sombody you should probably get upgraded from "estranged". Seems a little dainty for that level of intimacy.

 

I wonder if the guards threw him a little party for being their 1000th customer? The least they could have done would be to have confetti pop out when they threw the switch. You know, something festive to celebrate the occasion.

Happy Thwart Jeff Mac Day!

I hope you are all having a lot of fun at my expense today, you bastards. Slowing down my train. Sending microwaves into my brain to make me almost go to work without my tie on. Walking in front of me so slowly that surely you must be getting some sort of cash for annoying me. How do they reimburse you for that? Is it by the voltage generated in my brain as you waddle up the subway steps holding BOTH handrails? Do you get a check, or do you get a voucher that you can use at the Thwart Jeff Mac store where you can buy car alarms, puffy coats that I can't navigate around, and cellphones that require you to scream in order to be heard?

 

I need a nap. One that lasts until I'm accidentally rich and never have to leave my home again. I love my home. And the second I'm rich, I'm totally going to become a reclusive mad scientist. Well, maybe not a scientist. I know all about how you have to have some background in "science" or "the sciences" to get that kind of a gig. But I'll go mad, though. I'll tell you that much. And I'll be wicked reclusive. Oh, it's gonna be so awesome.

 

"Wicked" and "Awesome" together again. I can hardly wait.

It has come to my attention...

...that some of you have not been reading very carefully. While I appreciate that you are reading at ALL, I stated very clearly in the post below that said post would, in fact, NOT be rife. Not with anything at all. I had hoped it would be rife. I strive for rifeness. I once received a merit badge for rifery. Well, it was more like a sandwich. And I received it only after, you know, ordering a sandwich. Impressive? No. Rife? Not even close. Sexy? In it's way.

 

My point is this, I don't want to hear any of you bastards complain about my lack of rifitude when I clearly already explained that it wasn't there. Especially when said dearth of rifosity was due (as it was in this case) entirely to my own laziness. Don't you think I'm ashamed enough without you pointing out the truth?

 

Brusquely,

 

-the management

 

p.s. I'm sorry, audience. I didn't mean it, baby. It's only because I love you. I promise I  will never hit you that hard again.

Notes from the bunker...

I'm writing this secretly from work. Or maybe I'm writing it from work, secretly. I leave the grammar and usage concerns to you, the public. I've got no time. Either way, it's a secret. And I'm not telling. Not anyone. Not even you, me bloggees.

 

Actually, this is a bit of a test. I'm testing out the process of e-mailing this directly to the blog. Normally a post such as this would be rife with hilarity, but this one is just a test. Rife, I says. Rife as holy hell. It really would be. Rife, I'm saying. I always wanted to have something of mine be rife with something else. I guess I'll have to settle for typing the word "rife" enough times that it loses all meaning. Rife. Yeah, I'm in no way convinced that's a word anymore.

 

Rifely Yours,

 

-the management

One o' these days...

I'm gonna figure out how to blog more regularly. Or less regularly, but with more regularity. I'm not all that grammatical. But I knows what I likes. With me, good grammar is like porn was to that horny old senator who said that he didn't know how to define it, but he knew it when he saw it. And some people probably masturbate to good grammar as well. Or to bad grammar.

"Oh yeah, baby. End that sentence with a preposition! Dangle that participle! Dangle it, you whore!"

I'm sure that happens all the time. Why wouldn't it? In New York City, if you can think of something disgusting that someone might do to someone, there's probably a whole section for that right on craigslist.com.

I thank you and good night.

Thankful

I like to tell strangers what I'm thankful for on days like these*. Terrible grammar in that sentence notwithstanding, I've decided that YOU are the proper strangers to tell. There are no other strangers in my vicinity. Not that you wouldn't be my first choice anyway, dear readers. Which brings me to the first thing for which I, Jeff Mac, am thankful.

• You, the common bored person. Thank you for reading this blog. I really do love that you all are out there, reading this nonsense. I am confident that you DO read this, and that's why I know I can thank you for doing so. If you didn't read this blog, you wouldn't be reading this blog today. Check and mate.
• Turkeys. You guys are wicked delicious. I know that can't be awesome for you, but that doesn't really change the fact that I used the words "wicked" and "awesome" in my thankblurb re: you. If I could only find some way to work in "choice" and "decent" I would account for about 40% of my teenage vocabulary. Which, if you think about it, is totally gross. Seriously, turkeys, thanks so much. Special shout out to the specific one I ate today. That guy was real good.
• The Empire Strikes Back DVD. Thank you for being owned by me so that I can now watch you as the perfect Thanksgiving day movie to watch.
• The Fabric of Space and Time: I am especially thankful for you today, universal law. If you weren't as you are, my Mom might have been in town, expecting me to take her to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. That would have made me poke my eyeballs out with a stick. Some people have told me that I should take my Mom to the parade because after she's gone I'll feel badly that I didn't take her. That might be the case, but I think that my sorrow that I never brought her to the parade will be in some small way alleviated by the fact that I never had to GO to it. It's all about the give and take, people.
• Friday Off From Work: Even though I am not getting paid for working during you, Friday, I surely do appreciate that you aren't making me go for a hard day of work at the building with the ties.
• Again, You. Thanks for reading all the way through to the end. Even if you just read the boldface bulletpoints and skipped down to this, I'm confident that you will go back and read the rest when you have time. And in all fairness, even I didn't read the whole thing**.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! And to all of you who live in the terrorist nation of "not America," uh...hi there! I hope you are enjoying...Thursday.

*i.e. days like holidays designed specifically for being thankful. And for murdering injuns. Either or.
**I learned to write as a child, but I never learned to read.

Google Search: "Spanked to Tears"

As is my wont, I was checking the web stats on this site to see where people have been clicking from. Someone got here because they were looking for the phrase “spanked to tears.”

 

Two things. Firstly, even though I know you didn’t find what you were looking for here…well, to tell you the truth I have no idea what you were looking for so I can’t really say that. All I can say is that I don’t really understand how this nonsense website could possibly have helped you. Not in the way that, say, a prescription for Thorazine might have at least. For that, I apologize.

 

And secondly, I was only spanked to tears once in my adult life. I don’t feel that I deserved it, either. That was what really hurt. That and the really, really hard spanking. Luckily, it happened onstage for all to see. Because if I’m going to tear up as a result of receiving a child’s punishment, I’d like to at least get the laugh.

 

I feel dirty.

 

Sincerely,

 

The Management

Hosting that crazy show AGAIN! TONIGHT!!!!

Ok, last week I told you guys about a show I was hosting where there are people from all over the world in crazy numbers? Well as it turns out, last week's permutation was 2 people from California, 4 women from Ireland, 3 ancient Scottish soccer players who used to be famous, and 14 people of Afghani descent who were from all over the world. Seriously. And those Afghanis had some serious fun. I guess when you come from Afghanistan, pretty much anything besides exploding is fun.

Anyway, I'm hosting that one again tonight (info in my calendar on the right). Couple of great comics on the show. Jesse Joyce, Rick Younger, Blaine Perry. Come on down and see the inspiration for the cantina scene in Star Wars!

Come on down tonight!

Hey all. Sorry for the slightly irregular blogularity, but my new job does not grant me internet access. Apparently I don't "need" it for my "work". Well, I'll figure something out.

In the meantime, why not come get your fix at SWEET tonight. It's at 8:30 at Ace of Clubs, which is at the corner of Lafayette & Great Jones. I think it's Tom Shillue, Jess Wood, and Michael Showalter, with Seth Herzog hosting. Only $5 for all of that. Come by, won't you?

Darryl Hall Lyme Disease 2005

Ok, I have gotten more than a few Google hits from people using that title as the search criteria. Like, kind of a lot of them. I thought I should give these seekers some information -- you know, just a little something for stopping by. Now, I haven't really done any research. And I don't think that it is funny that Darryl Hall has lyme disease (if he does, which I think he does, and Darryl -- seriously -- sorry.) But I do think that people who would say that it's not funny ARE funny. So here we go.

• First of all, there is NO truth to the rumor that Darryl contracted Lyme disease from unprotected sex with a deer tick. None whatsoever. He has filed and won several lawsuits to that effect.
• Also, there is ZERO truth to the rumor that the tick - from which Darryl did NOT contract Lyme disease - was, for a time, seen around town with the gerbil that has NOTHING to do with Richard Gere. None of that is either true or untrue. Get over it. Both of them died eating pop rocks and drinking Coke. Plus, they don't even exist, so that's the end of it.
• The real truth is that he in fact contracted the disease by receiving a tick transfusion to counteract a congenital deficiency he has. A deficiency of tick...juice. It's medical, ok? You look it up.

Seriously, though. I love Hall & Oates, and lyme disease blows, and I hope he's ok. We're pulling for you, Darryl. Our private eyes (pow) are watching you (pow pow).

Whew!

Ok, I figured out the problem from the last post. Apparently a certain blog doesn't like it when you have 35 exclamation points in a title. Well, we're all back to normal now. And please, feel free to come on out and see some comedy. Don't leave me alone with the Norwegians. I'm feeling very vulnerable right now, and their stoic nordicism will shatter me like an ice sculpture of King Olaf. Of Sweden. Check and mate, my friends.

What the Fudge is Going on Around Here?

I was minding my own business, reading my own blog to check and see if I was still adorable (p.s. that's a big 10-4). And what did I see? The sidebar -- including my wonderful calendar -- is WAY down at the bottom of the screen. Why is this happening to me? Why, God? Is it because of the multivitamin? I haven't stolen any office supplies from my new office job yet. But I'll start. I swear I'll start. Just please, please put my lovely standup calendar back up where it belongs, and I promise I'll pretend to start believing in you. Amen.

And if you're looking for a reason WHY I want that sheeyot up here with you, the viewer, it's because I'm doing a couple of really fun shows this weekend. I'm hosting a show on Saturday night that makes me so afraid, I can't begin to describe it. You never know who is going to show up. Could be a great crowd. Could also be a table of 3 Norwegians sitting across from a family of Klanspeople from the Ozark mountains. You should all come on down and have fun with me.

The Day Job: Day One Post Mortem

Ok, first of all, as I was getting dressed this morning, I looked good with the dress pants and the tie. I mean really good. And it wasn't just about sexual attraction to myself (although I totally wanted me.) But I also hearted me.

When I got there, I was brought to my office, which is only temporary until they can find me a place in the maze of cubicles, or "pubicles" as I like to think of them. In "my" office, I put my feet up on the desk. Just for a second, but I wanted to have that feeling once in my life. Wasn't that great, I have to be honest with you. Not that fun.

It has been a long, long time since I was in an office environment. I was like Tarzan being brought back to civilization after those long years when he was a consultant in the jungle. He never really intended to end up in the jungle in the first place. After acting school, he just came here and...well, it's a long story.

I spent part of the day imagining that I was Clark Kent on a really slow villain day, so I had to pretend to be working. I also imagined that I was in an alien prison that was constructed from the innards of my mind to look, feel, smell, sound exactly like a real office. But it's really all a trap. I spent some of that time thinking things like, "My God, it's just like any office back on Earth. You'll never break me! Do you hear me, you seven headed freaks!! NEVER!!!"

I am gonna go absolutely apeballs in this job.

Marathon Man

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The New York City Marathon was yesterday. And I, your humble host, watched it. No, no. No congratulations are necessary. I didn't do it for the praise or recognition.

I would love to run a marathon. And by that, let me just say that no, no, in fact I would not at all love that. I would hate it like I hate getting fire pushed into my underpants by angry toddlers. It happens, people.) What I WOULD like would be for people to cheer for me and shout my name and say, "Good job!" like they do at the marathon, while I was doing something easier than that.

I think I could do a marathon if I didn't have to do it all at once. And I didn't have to run it. And I could just do it in little pieces, like between my bed and my bathroom. At work, between the desk and the bathroom. Basically if I could count my trips to the bathroom towards a marathon, and I get there when I get there, I'm totally in. In fact, I feel very confident that I could start the race tomorrow, and I would never get tired of it. Actually, I know myself a little better than that. How long would it be before I had talked myself into peeing my pants at the desk to avoid training?

The point is this: our bodies were not meant to run that far, and by that I mean that MY body is not INTERESTED in doing so. My brain is. I want to be a badass. Who doesn't? We all want to be a fucking warrior who just motors through this thing. But most people don't get there. Why is that? Because, and I want to be clear about this, it's hard. Like, physically. I've tried to train for a marathon twice. First I hurt my knee, then I pooped myself a little. (I'd recommend the first, if you have the opportunity to make that choice. Word to the wise: choose your sports drink carefully.)

If I was going to run a marathon, I'd want it to be highly publicized. And since I'm not very fast or old or infirm or anything newsworthy like that, I'd probably have to spontaneously combust during the race. And I'm willing to do it. In fact, if I knew I was going to die, and I could pick, "Bursting into flames as I cross the finish line at the NYC marathon" you know I would do it. I'd do it for you, people. Actually, I DO know I'm going to die. Someday, I'm sure of it. I'm almost positive that I read that somewhere. Hm. Well, I guess I'll have to wait until next year, but it sounds like FUN, doesn't it? Sure it does!

Kaboom!

It Worked.

I start my new job on Monday. Apparently, all of my shenanigans worked perfectly. But then, shenanigans often do.

Now I have to decide how to be secretly subversive on a regular basis while I'm there. I don't think it should all be about my naughty parts as I feel that I've mined that territory a bit already. (Although, I am slightly interested in having a weekly feature on the blog called, "What's-in-my-ass Wednesdays.")

I'm thinking that my riskless risks could take any number of forms. Maybe it could be to say a slightly strange word or phrase to every single person in the office over the course of the day. Like, "Howdy, pardner" or "Cry me a river." Or to take one person in the office and treat them as if they are a serial killer, and get really, really terrified every time they walk by or talk to me. You know, pick the sweetest, most quiet person in the office and shake uncontrollably whenever I speak with them.

Then again, this job is only on a provisional basis until the end of the year. Only after that will they decide to hire me for real. So I'll leave the really weird stuff until I'm more ensconced. For now...

God, I wish I had a superhero unitard that I could wear like Spiderman or Superman did. Just under the clothes so, you know, in case the shit goes down I'm ready. But I would think that they would get really, really overheated in that stuff. So many layers! Ah well, I guess that's the cross they have to bear. That and getting punched by villains. Couple of crosses.

No Word Yet

I haven't heard anything yet from the job interviewer-type people (see below). I really hope I did the right thing by putting a vitamin up my ass. I know, I know, everyone hopes that. But it's not just a cliche for me this time. I really mean it.

I've read things that indicate you can get too much of certain vitamins. I might not have even read that -- I might have just half heard it and IMAGINED that I read it. Which is way worse. Maybe I got too much B12 and gave myself a goiter. Or a thyroid. Those can kill. Or at least hurt your feelings. No, like, bad.

The only moment in the interview when I may have choked was when he asked if the job sounded like it was something that I would be interested in. And I know I blinked. I had not prepared to feign interest while I was talking. Had we been playing poker, that would have been a class A "tell." The elk-in-the-headlights* look must have said, "Oh god, I've never been interested in ANY job, sir. I just need money for food."

I don't know if I'm even going to take this job. Like those magnificent bastards over at Cheap Trick, I just want them to want me.


*I don't like that it's always deer. So passe. I bet there are plenty of other dumb animals that watch with interest as you crash into them.

In-person Interview, With a Little Something Extra...

First of all, I would like to thank all of you who put suggestions for me in the comments or e-mailed them to me. I loved all of them. The one that I chose, however, was from Caila who wrote:

"Jeff, put a couple jellybeans in your buttcrack. or just right into your butt."

This idea was just the kind of thing I was looking for. Something that would be completely unnoticeable to my interviewers, but that would most certainly lose me the job if they knew. I was basically looking for something where I could use the phrase "none the wiser."

Well, the sad part is that I forgot to buy jellybeans and I woke up too late this morning to go and get them. So instead, I went to my corporate-ish job interview looking quite professional, wearing my dark olive shirt with a deep red tie, dress pants and my one pair of church shoes*.

Oh, and a Walgreen's brand multivitamin up my ass.

I think I may have gotten the job.

I chose a multivitamin because I figured that it couldn't harm me (although the bottle does recommend taking it with a full glass of water, which I just didn't have time to engineer in this situation.) And on the plus side, who knows? Maybe during the interview I would receive a jolt of vitamin C**!

It wasn't noticeable (to me, I mean -- I'm SURE it wasn't noticeable to them) but every once in a while I would remember it was there and suddenly whatever he was telling me about Medicaid reporting issues would become very, very amusing.

I like to believe that they were thinking, "Boy, what a happy guy. He really seems to like computer programming. It seems that he is so interested in our company, he could just laugh!"

This was all for you, my bloggees. I struck a blow for silliness in the face of big business (and possibly colon health) at the same time in your name. You're welcome.

*I don't go to church or anything, but that's my point of reference for dressy, uncomfortable shoes.
**Couldn't tell if this happened to me or not.

Second Interview Contest!!!

Well, apparently the pantsless interview technique has born fruit - I have been asked to come in for a face-to-face followup. After years of consulting from home I'm already annoyed with the prospect of having to wear a tie and be punctual, even just that one time. The prospect of actually being paid regularly, less annoying.

Incidentally, several people have asked me whether or not I really did my telephone interview naked from the waist down, as if it is some kind of a risk that I dare not take. It was OVER THE PHONE. People, people. I live alone. I can be naked from the waist down any time I choose. I'm not now, but I could be. Wait, hold on. There. Now I am. Does everyone feel better? No? Me neither. It's a little chilly in here.

Now, since my unorthodox interview practice seems to have been effective, I'm trying to decide how I can get the same effect in person without the hassle of being arrested for public pantslessness. I do have a pair of Jar-Jar Binks underwear* that I could wear. Seems pretty tame, though. Maybe I could write, "I hate working" on my chest underneath my shirt. They'd never read it, but it would make me feel better to express that in some small way.

THE CONTEST: If you all have any suggestions of what I should do for this second interview, feel free to leave me a comment about it. Any and all strange behavior/dress will be considered. I seriously do want to do something that will amuse me, but not jeopardize the job. I'm taking requests, people. Get creative. I promise to let you all know who the winner is.

*Serious as a heart attack on that one. When you like Star Wars as a child, sometimes your aunt can't let it go, even several decades later.

Jeff Mac Explains the Universe to You

Why, hello! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone, but I'm sure glad you stopped by. I've got a tale that will turn you as white as a Jeff Mac. It's about a little something called...the World. Come on along, won't you? No? Seriously? Oh, you were just screwing with me, huh? Right, right. Yeah, no, that was hilarious. Very...amusing. Ahem. Let's move on, shall we?

• The Big Bang: First, the universe was very, very small. Then it blew up. And now it's really, really expensive to live in. And lots of times it really sucks. Although, every once in awhile you have the kind of a day that...yeah, but mostly it pretty well sucks.
• Evolution vs. Intelligent Design: This is a very popular debate right now amongst politicians, rubes, and exasperated scientists who have actually been looking into the whole thing for quite some time. Here it is in a nutshell. The evolutionists believe that life occurred somewhat randomly at the start and then gradually, through the process of "natural selection"...Ok, here's the real deal. The evolutionists went to school, the other guys are big, big dummies whose only qualifications are that they have really great imaginations. I report, you decide.
• The Pyramids of Egypt: Are these things still interesting to people? Yeah, they were really, really big. I get it. Everyone, seriously, get over it. When you've got a bazillion slaves rolling giant blocks around all day long until they drop dead, you'd be surprised at the stuff you can get done. (Homework: try this yourself at home!)
• The Grand Canyon: Churchy types believe that this was created in a couple of minutes during the great flood in which two of every single animal on earth was on a boat. Scientists believe it's a big hole. Winner: big hole.
• The Collective Unconscious: This was an idea created by famous shrink, Carl Jung. It's been quite some time since I've read it, but it's essentially that we're all connected to some kind of an indoor, olympic sized pool of intelligence. Sounds hilarious. I'm totally in.

Now, I have not claimed to be an expert in any of these fields. Until right now. I am an expert in any of these fields. Good night.

I'll try anything once!

Anyone who says that they will "try anything once" is clearly not very imaginative. I'm willing to bet that any one of us could instantly come up with 5 things that they'd never, ever bother trying for every one that they would. Some examples.

• Pass a bicycle through your nose. Yes, the whole thing. Sure, you can take it apart. What, don't you want to try it even once?
• Color in every area of your exposed skin with a black sharpie.
• Shave your pubes into a sort of a hitler moustache and run down the street naked in Israel.
• Try a role-playing sex game where one partner pretends to be someone winning the Nobel Peace Prize while the other one pretends to be a klan member demonstrating at the ceremony. Full costumes, podium, burning cross are all mandatory.
• Build a home out of hotdogs. Live there, just for a month. Don't even want to try it one time? Just once? But you'll try ANYthing once!

America's Next Bottom-tier Model

This weekend, I entered and won a mock beauty pageant. It felt so good to be rewarded for all of my mock beauty and to be named the current reigning, "Mr. Lower East Side." What does that mean to you, the small child viewing at home in your footie pajamas? Well, it could add a little gravitas to the proceedings around here.

For example, if your boss catches you reading this at work and says, "Why are you reading this douchebag's blog instead of working?" you might want to try this out.

"Uh, hello? That douchebag just happens to be Mr. Lower East Side 2005-2006. You might want to check your tone, you colossal a-hole. Get back in your office before I smack your little bottom for you. Would you like that? You'd love that, wouldn't you? If I just spanked you mercilessly in front of all of your employees until you wept gentle tears? Well just maintain that stupid look on your face, daddio*, and your dreams will all come true."

And when you are then fired for insubordination/moral turpitude (a la Kim Catrall's character in Porky's, in the days of yore) we can go and get a cup of coffee and you will feel so relieved that you are no longer working for a buttpipe like that guy. Or lady. That's called "gender diversity" people. Look it up. It's very big with the kids today.


*Throw this term from the beatnik 50's in there for spice. If your boss is female, you can try Mommio, but it is highly unorthodox. Or at least midly unorthodox.

Full (frontal) disclosure

Ok, it was a little bit too cold for total nudity so I just went bottomless on my telephone interview. I feel like that made my point sufficiently and I think the interview went quite well.

If you have the opportunity to do a bottom-half nudity interview, I can honestly say that I would recommend it. It's not unlike the old "imagine them in their underwear" cure for nerves. That one never worked for me. But if I get a second interview (which will be in person) or if I get and take the job, I can assure you that I will be imagining myself without pants. Just like I imagine all of you, my lovelies.

Job interview just minutes away

Since my job interview will take place over the phone, I have decided to do it naked. Why? For you, the blogreading audience at home. So, while I am discussing the differences between SQL Server 2000 and Microsoft Access data structure, attempting to get someone to give me money on a regular basis, I'll be entirely in the buff. I feel that it will give me a sense of freedom that will give me that competitive edge.

Plus, it's a little chilly in here for total nudity, so I imagine it will boost my energy level somewhat.

This is all very experimental for me, so I promise to report back on my findings.

Interview Technique

I have a job interview tomorrow. And this time, I'm going to be completely honest. No more of this bullcrap where you say "what they want to hear" or "what will not get you tossed out." So here are all the questions I usually dread, and my new answers.

• So, why would you like to work for us: Oh I'm almost sure I won't LIKE it at all. I guess the main reason is that it's the only way you'll send paychecks. I mean, am I wrong about that? Seems like that's how it works these days.
• Tell me about you: Do you mean physically? Like, my dimensions...down there? Because if so, that sounds like sexual harrassment, and I'd like to sue rather than actually have to come to work for the money. That was so easy - thank you!
• Where do you see yourself in 5 years: Oh, there's no WAY I'll still be alive in 5 years. No, I would NOT like to elaborate, sir. Oh, sorry. Madam.
• What would you say is your greatest weakness: Mm. There are so many to choose from. And they are all great in their own way. I just hate to judge them like this. Hm...Let's see...'terminal adorability?' I'll go with that one.
• Do you have any questions for me: Nope. Oh wait. Who will I be speaking with on Mondays & Fridays when I'm calling in "sick"? Is that you? It's really nice to meet you.

HA!!!!!!!!!

I have you now, you shitstain spam-commenters!

Dear Gentle readers who read the comments on my blog (yes, you two.) You might have noticed all the total SHITE that shows up like:

Say, I was just looking around. I am for liking your blog. I am return often! Please to check out MY website about x-rated dishwashing detergent.

Well, I finally figured out how to defeat the bastards. From now on, if you would like to comment on the blog (and if you are a human and not a computer program, you are encouraged to do so as often as you like!) you'll have to do that thing where they have 5 or 6 wavy, trippy letters. And you'll have to type them in. Enjoy!

-mac

Rome: The Series: The Observations

Well, I've been watching Rome. Why? Because 6 Feet Under is over. And I have so little in life. Don't bother me. I just watch it, ok. Several things to note about HBO's new Emmyhole:

• Lots of sex between people who actively dislike one another. Huge pastime in ancient Rome. You'd find someone who you couldn't stand, you'd make sure they couldn't stand you, and you'd bang like the wind while your servants stood around. Just like today.
• Many Penises. Uh, holy shit. Ease back on the penis throttle, there, producers. Your cock-to-episode ratio is a little high. Even last night, I thought we had made it through an entire 60 minutes completely dong free. And then, in the last 30 seconds, what do I see? Baby wiener. Full frontal infant.
• Everyone on the planet is British. Romans, Egyptians, whoever. Well, there was one Greek guy with no nose who had a Greek accent. But other than that, it's Brits as far as the eye can see, dicks in the wind.

Why am I watching this show? Because I took Latin in high school, ok? Ladies?

Dear Autumn,

I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry I shouted at you last week. I'm sorry I called you the b word. Now please stop being incredibly rainy and depressing for everyone in the tristate area.

Come on, baby, why you rainin'? Shhhhh, shh, shhhhhhh. No, no, no. Stop raining, baby. Let's get you out of that uncomfortable green foliage. Ok, ok. We'll take it slowly. That's cool, baby. You drop those leaves at your own pace, Autumn.

Seriously. Please stop the raining. I've forgotten what the sun looks like. And yet I seem to remember enjoying it. And I think if I saw it now, I might pee a little. Not a bad thing. Like tears of joy. Pee tears of joy. Look, don't worry about the specifics. Just get it done.

Love,

The Sad, Seasonally Affected Guy in Apartment C1

Career Wanted:

Me: Unmotivated person looking for paycheck.
You: Anyone who isn't too fussy about what you'll get in return for the writing of that check.

Basically, I'm looking for a very low level of commitment in exchange for a lot of money. I mean, a big, huge pile of it. You don't have to actually put it into a pile, but piling is a plus. And I'm really not looking to do ANYTHING for it. The ideal situation would be if for some reason you place a high dollar value on my inactivity.

If just knowing that I'm probably somewhere sitting around not doing much of anything is worth cash to you for some reason, I think we may have a match.

Oh, and if you wanted to do something that in NO way inconveniences me, but for which I am legally within my rights to sue the living holy hell out of you, that would be fine as well. I'm easy. I'm easy like Sunday morning.

Dear New Laundromat,

How are you? I am just fine. Couple of quick things:

1. Your swipecard-based payment system frightens me, and yet leaves me secretly thrilled that I get a glimpse at the future of laundry. You make me feel like a real Jetson, and for that I will always love you.
2. This is less a comment than an observation. I really like the plasticy picnic tables. It's like McDonaldland without the burden of french fries or fun.
3. Please smother that swarm of children who circle me, wherever I go. But before you end their adorable lives, please ask them how they know. How do they know? How can they tell how badly I am wishing that they would give me at least a 5 foot no-child perimeter? And once they determine my no-child-please-zone, who trained them to coordinate their child-in-laundry-cart assault for maximum disturbance of my inner peace? I'm trying to be wicked enlightened over here, and it's very difficult when my brain is generating elaborate visions of each of them crying.

Sincerely,

That guy who moved away from the childcluster about eleven times before realizing that they were following me.

Dear Autumn,

What the fuck, season? It was supposed to be getting cooler by today. We're halfway to friggin Halloween over here. I'm simmering squash soup as we speak, yo. It's hot as balls in here!

I think I speak for all of New York City when I say get out of my mufuggin' dreams and into my car*, beyotch.

Listen, I only really like clothes you can wear in cool weather, ok? Basically anything they mighta wore in Aliens3. I'm talking drab and utilitarian, made for comfort and warmth, and fighting off aliens and/or space prison inmates. I can't wear that shit now though, can I? No. I have to wear everything I own in case it gets cold or warm or whatever the fudgicle you're going to throw at me. I'm sick and tired of this shit.

Get it together, Fall. You're embarrassing yourself.

-mac

*I caught myself singing that song on the street. Out loud. Yeah, uh, don't ever do that. Billy Ocean doesn't garner nearly the street cred you might imagine. Neither does being a pale-ass Connecticutian, fyi.

Farewell, old friend.

I retired my wallet today. I could give you any number of reasons why I did so, but let's go with the fact that there was no part of it that was attached to any other part of it any longer. It looked like something you might pull out of Tom Hanks's pocket in that movie where he hangs out with the volleyball.

As to why it fell apart? I think the reason is clear. It died of loneliness. It missed its lifelong soulmate with whom it was born to be: money. My old wallet died of a broken heart.

As I tossed its lifeless form into the trash, I could swear I heard a tiny voice say, "Tell money I always loved it." Money knows, baby. Money knows.

I hope that my old wallet is in heaven now, reunited with all those dollars that I read about every year when Social Security sends you that thing that tells you what you've made for your entire life. Now that I bring it up, I miss those dollars. I wonder what they're doing now...

Meat'Normous!

Ok, Burger King has introduced a new breakfast sandwich called Meat'Normous. It has ham, bacon and sausage with AN OMELETTE. On a roll. I don't quite know where to go from here. I feel like we've gone almost as far as we are likely to go in the direction of putting foods on top of, inside of, or just near other foods. These are all I can come up with:

• The I've Got A Small Penis-wich - It's a turkey and swiss cheese sandwich. But stuffed into each slice of turkey is a prime rib steak. And in each slice of cheese you will find a baked potato jammed in there. Wrapped around each slice of bread are slices of breaded and deep-fried bacon. The toothpicks that hold the sandwich together are made of steel-reinforced lard.
• The Compensator - One pound of lean roast beef piled high on the four pounds of fat that was cut off of it to make it that lean. Instead of bread, this is served between two live crocodiles that have been lovingly stunned into docility for easy devouring.
• The Meat-meeters Meat-style Affair: This is a whole, fresh baby orangutan dipped in honey-mustard made of the aqueous humour distilled from whale eyeballs. This one comes with a slab of tofu with which to wipe your mouth.
• The Powerhouse - With this one you start with an entire loaf of sourdough bread and a bison. When you take a bite, a board-certified cardiologist pops out and punches you in the dick.

Friendster...now?

Ok, I just joined. Like, now. I also just recognized Alaska and Hawaii as states. Next week, I am going to start listening to something called "jazz" which seems to be very popular among the hopheads and negroes.

It's not my fault. I was perfectly content to live my life without a friend(ster) in the world. But somebody asked me to be their Friendster. I wouldn't want to be unfriendlyster. Or unfriendsterly. The point is, I wouldn't want to be a douche. Sometimes you can't help it -- sometimes you're just a douche. That's life. (Apologies for obviously cribbing that douche line from Anna Karenina. Boy, what a douche Tolstoy was. Well, that's what I heard.)

Now that I think of it, I wish that there was a website called "douchester." I would join that in a heartbeat. But then it would probably get cool and I'd have to wait 3 or 4 years for it to dork down again. And then I could rejoin.

There you go. TotalUnbelievableDorkSter. I could get behind that. Or SteamingTurdSter? I think I'd only be genuinely excited to join "Foodster" because I mostly just enjoy eating. And I wouldn't even join that. I'd just keep eating, you know, sort of freelance.

Maybe I'll start a website called LonerSter, and you just don't sign up. I think I might enjoy that.

Ode to the Beginning of Autumn

-by Jeff Mac

Ah, Autumn. Oh...uh...you. You back-to-schoolie time when we buy pencils. And by "we" I mean other people. Young people, most likely. Or older people who draw things and need that eraser. Ahhh, eraser. Sorry, different ode. Sorry, sorry.

Ah, when your leaves turn...ok, hold on. I'm not going to start sentences with "Ah" anymore. It's just my way of deflecting just how bad an ode this really is. But we all know it's a total shit ode, even among shit odes. I don't even know how many GOOD odes there are. Probably...eleven. Yeah, I'm sure that is the exact number.

Ok, recommencing ode.

Hey, Autumn! Nice rack! I mean "foliage." Fall foliage is nature's rack. And she's looking good. Mother Nature, you total MILF, you. (No MILFs were harmed in the writing of that sentence.)

Ok, time to say something three times. Clever poetry people do that, you know. Ok, uh, here we go.

Autumn dreams, floating in streams of golden orange.
floating in streams
floating in streams
floating in streams

I hope you don't mind, hope you don't mind that I've put down in ode. How wonderful life is, now Autumn's in the...wode.

Ugh.