Mr. G., Manhattan Comedy School and Me (I?)

Mr. G and crew came to our standup comedy class with Karen Bergreen. Mr. G. lives!

[ooyala code=”04ZGRyYTE6EfezPjpa-TmEicD80OiTkE” player_id=”71fea79861d14fce867bc2d59a66edd8″ auto=”true” width=”1920″ height=”1080″] MIDTOWN, Manhattan- The stage. the lights. the audience. it’s never easy performing for the first time. “I’m ready and I’m really excited,” Sumi Vatsa said. “I feel a little sick. I’m excited, but it’s a flood,” Paul Lutvak said. These New Yorkers took the jump into the world of […]

via It’s a G Thing: Manhattan Comedy School offers lessons in laughter — New York’s PIX11 / WPIX-TV

IMG_1326That’s me. I have no recollection of this but I’d do it again.

Mentropy

Chaos of the mind

Is it Cracker Jack or Cracker Jacks? Sonofabitch or son of a bitch? I want the Pittsburgh Pirates to play the Somali Pirates. I am deeply ashamed of my inability to use chopsticks effectively. “Can I please have a fork? I am sorry as well.”  Despite the fact that treatises have been written about the spork, I still feel like I have something to offer on the subject. Growing up, I wanted to be the first Jewish matador. People have referred to me as granular. I refuse to look that up. I spent more than seven hours in a row working on financial spreadsheets when I got up today. Just coffee, no solid food. I think that makes me granular. My rabbi told me I am permanently ritually impure. I’m still hopeful. I recently came out as bald to my family. They said they had suspected for some time. Why did I wait so long? I want to spearhead a scalding water challenge for burn victims. I like raising a stink which leads me to believe that farts are lighter than air. What follows is this – if there is a hole in the ozone layer, does outer space smell like shit? Where’s Neil?

Ready or Not Card

Something Rotten In Ballpark

Best to avoid the cheap seats at MLB games for now

MLB issued a statement warning ballpark security personnel throughout the league to be on the look-out for a group of 3 related individuals believed to be clearing out rows of game-goers with release of what is being described as an unusually pungent, foul-smelling form of bowel gas. A witness at Citifield on Thursday noticed one of the alleged gas-passers, likely the eldest, piling unusually large amounts of sauerkraut on his frankfurter. “He nearly emptied the container. It was clear to me what he was up to,” said the witness. Concession staff also noted the three ordering chicken fingers, Cracker Jack and sweet Italian sausage and peppers, with extra peppers, according to Premio staff. All three had large-sized vanilla custard in Mets mini-helmets. It is believed that they were taking advantage of their likely lactose intolerances in the hopes of increasing their respective gaseous contributions. The odor was so intense, said those within a few feet of the three, that their eyes were burning and they were forced to leave their seats in disgust. Thankfully, the stadium was near empty for the afternoon game with the Braves allowing for those suffering to move closer to the field to compensate for their visual and olfactory disturbances. “It smelled like burning flesh,” said one elderly sufferer who did  take note of the cruel irony of this occurring so soon after Holocaust Remembrance Day. “But I did get to move my seat way down near the action, so, overall, not so bad,” said the man apologetically while blinking uncontrollably.

Stadium security estimated their ages as between 55 to 85 and of possible Jewish ancestry based on the males over-sized hats, sun-avoidant behavior and large amounts of poorly-applied facial sunscreen. The three are likely related based on the similarity of their poor posture and unbalanced gait. They were last seen headed to Bronx. They are not armed in the traditional sense but should be considered dangerous within a radius of 5 feet and just after feeding.

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A pixelated image of the alleged suspects. Keep your distance warns MLB authorities.

Mr. Met Joins the Tribe (not the Cleveland team)

Force Kin

Mr. Met was glaringly absent from yesterday’s Mets afternoon folly vs. the Braves at Citifield in the Queens, N.Y.  Upon further research, it was discovered that he was home recovering from a ritual circumcision that was performed as part of his conversion to Judaism. He will soon participate in the ritual bath ceremony (Mikveh) at an undisclosed location. As this ritual is performed without any clothing on and involves submerging oneself into a pool of water, he is quite concerned about any burning or irritation he may experience at the site of his most recent procedure of which he describes as completely unrecognizable. Calls for comment for this article from Mr. Met’s mohel have gone unanswered.

To honor this occasion, the Mets organization will have each player uniform affixed with the commemorative patch as shown below.

1996.85.6_001.800x800

America’s Pastime (Past Time? Past-Time?)

Hitler Goes Oppo

Going to see the Mets today at Citifield with my elderly baseball-loving (baseball loving? baseballloving?) parents. We are all fans of this great game (greatgame? great-game?). My great-grandfather (gg? g g?) threw a near no-hitter at the Buchenwald Baseball Center. Rumor has it that the Führer himself, sporting number eins on his uniform, went “oppo” and hit a soft liner over second to break it up. He was likely motivated by the chin music he heard at the previous at bat. Little known fact – a very dense matzoh ball and a baseball share a remarkable number of physical properties. I will likely eat food today that will cause me to miss an inning or two. Which reminds me why I spend more on toilet paper than I do on food.

For those at the game – no comments on my hat unless earnestly positive. It is of the Fedora species and was purchased in haste on the streets of Venice after a wicked head-based sunburn. 10 euros which could be $1000, don’t know.  Did not negotiate due to fear and my overtly Jewish features that would feed the stereotype. Keeping receipt.

My Head

I am the one who knocks….things over.

As a bald man (with compensatory beard), the top of my head is particularly vulnerable to the elements, e.g. the sun. I love how hats look on other people just not on me. I wear them anyway but always with crippling self-consciousness.