Drummer, podcaster, and awesome guy Tony Thaxton joins Joseph to obsess on Jim Henson. Topics include the insanity of the Rainbow Connection, the annoyance of Miss Piggy, the metaphorical size of Mr. Henson’s balls, and much more.
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Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of online reviews of TV shows. I like reviews. There are many awesome reviewers out there, but I’ve also read a lot of reviews that are very consternated because the show is not what they want it to be. I decided to take this a step further by forcing myself to review a show that never even existed. Enjoy!
Today I’ll be reviewing that classic BBC mystery show, The Vicar of Murder Village. As fans of the show know, it ran on the BBC from 1969 to 2002. It was broadcast in America on PBS for most of the 1980s and became a fan favorite for the kind of people who watch British murder mysteries at 3 pm on a Sunday afternoon.
This groundbreaking show about a nice lady investigating an endless serious of brutal yet quaint deaths just made its debut on Netflix so a whole new generation is learning that great catchphrase: “Tsk, tsk, don’t kill people.”
If you’re one of those weirdos who are so culturally challenged you’ve never even heard of The Vicar of Murder Village, the premise is pretty simple. The star of the show is Dame Margaret Heatherstone. She played the character of Heather Margaretstone; a feisty female Vicar who is appointed to a sleepy Yorkshire town called Murder Village.
It’s called Murder Village because a minimum of six people are murdered there every week and, of course, it’s up to our kind yet irreverent Vicar to figure out whodunit and still make it home in time to have a nice cup of tea and some mild sexual tension with her gardener, John Trowel. This is a very literal show.
I’ve been reviewing every single episode and today I’m tackling an episode called “Death Leaves A Stain Because It Doesn’t Put A Doily Under Its Tea Cup.”
That is the actual title.
It is the third episode of the twenty-seventh season and let me tell you it is a fucking stinker. This won’t even be a review, it’s going to be an execution so strap on your hate pants and buckle up, fuckos, because you are in for a kill ride.
I don’t even know what those words mean. Did I mention I’ve reviewed every single episode of this show up to this point?
Anyway, this episode was written by an absolute hack named Lawrence Thortonberry. Lawrence was a prolific BBC writer. He died just a few months after writing this episode, probably out of shame.
The characterization of the Vicar is inconsistent at best. He has her eating a chocolate biscuit BEFORE she solves the murder when every knows she ONLY eats a chocolate biscuit AFTER she solves the murder OR if she’s working extra hard to deny her desire to knock boots with John Trowel who isn’t even in this episode until Act Three and then he doesn’t even take his shirt off.
What bullshit! Screw you and every single one of your descendants, Lawrence Thortonberry!
To make matters worse, you have the Vicar’s friend, Constable Jenkins, remark on the fact that there’s been a lot of death lately in Murder Village.
That’s insane. INSANE!
The whole premise of the show is that no one in the town acknowledges the massive death rate of a place called Murder Village. The charm of this show is that it’s basically a village full of people who wouldn’t understand the concept of irony if you beat them over the head with a manual typewriter and then during the beating the typewriter spells out “mUrdEr!” (This actually did happen in Season Seven, Episode Twenty-Two AND NO ONE FUCKING COMMENTED ON IT!)
The point is: the good citizens of Murder Village have never even heard the word “meta” and yet you have Inspector Constable Dumb-ass practically bashing his giant forehead against the fourth wall!
If you’re not rolling in your grave, Lawrence Thortonberry, you should be. I’m tempted to have you exhumed so I can personally install your skeleton on a spit and make sure you are rolling over throughout eternity.
This episode is also jaw-droppingly derivative.
Here’s the plot: A jealous sheep farmer discovers his wife is cheating on him with the local cheesemaker and suffocates him by sticking a block of Wensleydale down his throat. The sheep farmer then goes insane and claims the sheep told him to do it.
HELLO? WHAT? ALL CAPS! RAGE! JESUS! WHAT?
This is the EXACT same plot as Season Fifteen’s masterful classic “Death Takes A Riding Lesson And Gets A Little Chafed” in which the jealous cheesemaker discovers his wife is cheating on him with the sheep farmer and chokes him to death with recently sheared wool. The cheesemaker then goes insane and claims the goats told him to do it.
I mean, what the actual ever living fuck, Lawrence Thortonberry? How could you do this to me? How could you not foresee that this quaint British murder mystery would eventually be streaming on Netflix? That your putrid shit fondue of an episode would be beamed through space to my laptop where I would write a review of it?
And to what end? I mean, why am I even writing this? What is the point of this critique? The episode can’t be changed. The show can’t be improved–it’s been off the air for over a decade. Everyone involved in its production is dead or trying to wipe the show from their IMDb page.
This was not a show that was meant to be reviewed. It’s like reviewing a light wind. It just passes by you. It’s a pleasant half hour of murder based treacle you were supposed to use to fill the time until your bladder could withstand another cup of tea.
It wasn’t meant for me. It wasn’t meant for some angry thirtysomething steeped in irony, student loans, and complex opinions about the shot composition of Reservoir Dogs. I’m offended by this show’s very existence!
And yet there are episodes that make me feel good. It takes me away from my problems and transports me to a lovely little village where all is right with the world because no death goes unpunished and even if it did it wouldn’t matter because all the characters are so emotionally repressed they can only express themselves through their biscuit choices.
And I like the show that way! But you had to fuck up even that small bit of bliss, didn’t you, Lawrence Thortonberry, you hack bastard? I hope you rot in hell with a constantly full bladder and never, ever have access to your preferred style of biscuit.
GOD, I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO NOT HAVE AN OPINION ABOUT SOMETHING FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES! IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK? I AM OF THE OPINION THAT IT IS NOT!
AHSKDHSKDJSDHSKDSDLKSDKSDHSKLDJHASIDHIASDLAH!!!!!!!
In conclusion, I give this episode a B+.
Not the greatest episode, but it could be worse.
That’s it for this review. Tomorrow I’ll be reviewing another episode written by Lawrence Thortonberry. The review will be LONG so if you have kids get a fucking sitter before your start reading. I’ll see you tomorrow for a thoughtful analysis of “Death Fertilizes The Field Behind Mrs. Witherton’s Hydrangea Bush.”
Until then: “Tsk, tsk, don’t kill people.”
If you enjoyed this post FEEL FREE TO LEAVE AN EMOTIONALLY CONFLICTED REVIEW but more importantly, consider supporting me on Patreon. Sincere thanks for your time!
Filed under Comedy Review
Autumn. Kids go back to school. The leaves change. A chill fills the air.
And for seven years of my life, I performed in an incredibly special show.
I’ve done a lot of different kinds of comedy performance.
I used to do a lot of sketch and improv comedy in Minneapolis, Minnesota. In particular, I did a monthly late night variety show called Look Ma, No Pants. It was filthy. Just filthy. The cast regularly polished off an entire jug of Carlo Rossi wine on stage during the show.
One epic show, I was supposed to jump across the stage and land on my knees, but we had spilled so much booze, I hydroplaned and almost slid off the stage. Later in the show, when we were doing some stage combat, one of the other highly trained professional actors accidentally punched me in the face and cut my lip open. Another sketch called for me to tear the white dress shirt I was wearing off my body, which I did. By the end of the show, I was topless, bleeding, and my pants were soaked through with wine.
My friend, who had just bought a theater in Wisconsin, looked at that and said, “Hey, I should ask him to do children’s theater.”
I needed the money so I said yes. I drove out to Wisconsin with some fellow Minneapolis actors and did a nice wholesome show about Johnny Appleseed.
I didn’t even play Johnny Appleseed. I played Johnny Appleseed’s silly friend, Bill. I was made to wear overalls and full body long underwear with the opening in the butt region so I could defecate in an historically accurate manner.
The show itself wasn’t exactly historically accurate.
All of the actors and the director had decided–without any actual discussion–that even though this play was set in 1850s Wisconsin, all the characters should have horrible, vaguely Southern accents.
So I said lines like, “Well, gosh n’ golly, Johnny! You sure done planted a lot of apples today! What you going to do with all of them apples, Johnny?”
None of us knew why we were talking like that. But we all kept doing it FOR SEVEN YEARS.
The cast used to have a joke that if you forgot your line you could just say the word “apple” or “Johnny” and you would probably be right. Because here was the plot:
Johnny Appleseed has a dream to walk the Midwest and share apples with everyone he meets. And he does. The end.
He thinks apples can solve everything. There was a scene where his silly friend Bill was attacked by a bee.
I would say, “AHHHH! It’s a bee! Get it off me!” and dance around like an idiot.
Johnny would say, “Calm down and have an apple.”
Nothing in this show was true. I described the show to my friends as a collection of apple-based lies.
Here’s the true story of Johnny Appleseed:
He did walk the land helping people plant apple trees. But the trees bore bitter, inedible apples that could only be used to make hard, alcoholic cider.
The only reason Johnny planted the trees was so he could give strangers pamphlets about his weird religion. He was a Swedeborgian. Johnny believed that if he never had sex on earth he would be gifted with as many wives as he wanted in heaven.
That didn’t make it into the show. Bill never got to say, “Hey kids, it’s time to talk about our favorite alcoholic religious zealot, Johnny Appleseed! How many wives you gonna have up there in heaven, Johnny?”
Also, did I mention the show was a musical?
In the course of this hour long show, we sang seven songs about apples. In Southern Wisconsin accents.
I can’t sing. I’ve starred in three musicals. Acting is a weird profession.
Here’s a sample of one of the lyrically complex numbers:
Pick an apple, put it in the basket
Pick an apple, put in the basket
Fill that basket – HIIIIIIIGH!
We’re gonna make an apple
We’re gonna make an apple
We’re gonna make an apple – PIIIIIIIIIE!
And of course these songs featured show stopping, Broadway level choreography. All performed at 9 AM by exhausted, hungover actors from a different city.
We would end the songs on our knees. Hands out! Panting! Our sweat reeking of alcohol, having given everything we had to selling our fifth song in a row about apples!
And the audience of 200 second graders would just stare at us as if to say, “What are you doing with your life?”
No applause or anything. And we would fight our way to our feet and continue with our conflict-free apple narrative.
The thing that really made me mad about the kids not applauding is we had told them to do it. At the top of every performance, we did a pre-show speech telling the children exactly how to react to the show.
First, we would do fun little warm-ups. We would ask them if they liked apples like it was a rock concert.
DO YOU LIKE APPLES???!!!???
And they would lose their little minds. Except that one poor kid who would shout out, “Actually, I’m allergic to apples!” No one listened or cared. Because it’s Fall in Wisconsin and you’re going to like apples or GTFO.
Then we’d ask the kids a bunch of leading questions like: What do you do when an actor says something funny?
And the kids would yell out answers like: REPEAT IT!
And what do you when the actors are on stage talking?
THINK ABOUT OTHER THINGS!
And when the actors are done singing and dancing, what do you do?
LEAVE!
These are all real answers shouted at me by children.
After that, we would practice applauding and laughing and listening. Then, no matter how horribly the children had behaved during the warm-up, we always said, “Wow. I think this is the best audience we’ve ever had. Even the kid in the front row who’s flipping me off right now.”
We didn’t say the second sentence out loud.
But all of the absurdity, the lies, the warm-ups, and the hangovers were worth it because I discovered I loved performing for kids.
There were many parts of the show where Johnny Appleseed’s silly friend Bill would fall down or shake his butt at the audience. The children would die with laughter.
Kids are the most honest audience in the world. If they liked it, they laughed. If they were bored, they would let you know in some subtle way like screaming, “I’m bored!”
We would often get cards sent to the theater by kids. The children’s notes scrawled in big crayon letters said things like:
I liked it when Bill fell down and hurt himself!
I enjoyed some of the show!
I have a cat!
My mother is praying for you!
Again, all real examples.
Every day at the end of the show, we would stand outside and greet the kids as they left the theater and got on the bus. They would yell, “It’s Johnny Appleseed and that other guy!”
I would say goodbye to them in my dumb southern accent. “Bye! Bye! Thanks for coming!”
About 90% of the children had a picture of Spider-Man somewhere on their clothing so I would compliment them on their Spider-Man paraphernalia:
Bye! I like your spider-man t-shirt!
Bye! I like your spider-man shoes!
Bye! I like the spider-man stickers on your cast!
And then one day, I was enjoying myself just a little too much.
A child walked by wearing a truly great Spider-Man watch. It was really cool. Not just “for a kid” cool. I wanted it for myself as a mature adult. It was dark red and the actual watch part was like a big spider and the hands of the watch were webbing and I lost myself in the moment and I said:
“WOW-EEE! THAT’S ONE [BLEEP] OF A SPIDER-MAN WATCH!”
But I didn’t say [BLEEP]. I looked around quickly. Luckily, no adults had heard me. But the kid did. He stopped in his tracks. He looked at his watch. He stared up at me.
He looked deep into my eyes and said, “I like it when you fall down.”
I know he meant my literal, physical falling down in the show, but it felt like he was saying, “I know something’s gone wrong in your life that you’re standing on a public sidewalk wearing long johns with a hole in the butt, speaking in a Southern accent, swearing at children about their Spider-Man watches, but you know what? It’s okay, because you made me laugh when you fell down. So maybe it was worth it.”
And maybe it was.
Maybe it [BLEEPING] was.
If you enjoyed this please APPLAUD, DAMMIT and consider backing me on Patreon. Thanks!
Filed under Comedy Real Life, Comedy Story
BAM! BIFF! CHAT! Special guests comic book artist Christopher Jones (Young Justice, Parallel Man) and cartoonist/game designer/human Kickstarter stretch goal John Kovalic (Dork Tower, Apples to Apples) join Joseph for a thrilling discussion of all things superheroes and a surprising amount of Bill Cosby impressions. Recorded live at the wonderful Geek.Kon convention in Madison, Wisconsin.
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For more than a year I’ve been doing a series of daily tweets. First tacos, then monkeys, then daily affirmations, then daily etiquette tips, then incorrect quotes, then fake TV shows, horoscopes, horror, writing tips, holiday tweets, resolution tweets, Hey Girl tweets, Urban Myth tweets, pastry tweets, boring tweets, social media tweets, incorrect facts, and now slogans. Enjoy!
You can also follow me on Twitter to enjoy September’s series of Conspiracy tweets!
Day One – Beer! It’s autocorrect for your mouth!
Day Two – Kale. You can’t fucking escape it.
Day Three – Brunch! It makes your day-drinking socially acceptable!
Day Four – Nostalgia! If things seemed simpler when you were a kid, it’s because you were a kid.
Day Five – Cilantro. It’s what’s stuck between your teeth.
Day Six – Books. Because you have to look at something while Netflix is buffering.
Day Seven – Time Warner Cable. It works sometimes.
Day Eight – Futons! The furniture of visiting in-laws and sad breakups. What went wrong for YOU to be on a futon?
Day Nine – Existential Dread. You could try to get rid of it, but what’s the point?
Day Ten – Mimosas. The drink that says, “Hey, Sunday. Fuck you.”
Day Eleven – Facebook. It’s a great place to complain to your friends about Facebook.
Day Twelve – Cartoon Bears. Without them we would have no knowledge of forest fires or toilet paper.
Day Thirteen – Student loans. The herpes of higher education. Once you get them, you’ll always have them.
Day Fourteen – Autocorrect. Making your communists pervert every shingle tampon since 2007.
Day Fifteen – Low-Fat Twinkies. When you want to eat a lie.
Day Sixteen – Unicorns. Making horses feel shitty and inadequate since 1872.
Day Seventeen – Interrobangs. The sexiest punctuation mark in the world?!
Day Eighteen – Water. I bet you can’t waste just some.
Day Nineteen – Cats. Not giving a shit since 8000 BC.
Day Twenty – An Extra Space After A Period. A great way for humans to fight over literally nothing.
Day Twenty-One – Pedants. Their very easy too annoy.
Day Twenty-Two – Hotel Coffee. Our unique blend of dirt and hate makes all of our guests feel like they’ve been impregnated by a demon!
Day Twenty-Three – Emails. They’re like texts you don’t have to answer.
Day Twenty-Four – Mullets. Business in the front, cry for help in the back.
Day Twenty-Five – Paranoia. It’s always right behind you.
Day Twenty-Six – Hyperbole. It is literally everywhere and it’s made of giant shark-bats.
Day Twenty-Seven – Comedy Podcasts. Without them, we would have no knowledge of stamps.com.
Day Twenty-Eight – Your Own Private Thoughts. They’re like a twitter feed you can’t unfollow.
Day Twenty-Nine – Time. It’s a predator stalking us all.
Day Thirty – ProcrastiHaters. They’re gonna hate eventually.
Day Thirty-One – Guilt. If you don’t have some, you should be ashamed.
Yours in Marketing,
Joseph
If you enjoy my work, you can check out all the comedy words and things I’m making via Patreon.
Filed under Daily Tweet Collection
The moon! People once believed it was made of cheese! Sadly, this is not true. Thanks a lot, science.
Recently, I’ve been giving the moon a lot of thought. When I launched the Patreon campaign to support these blog posts, one of the rewards for backers was suggesting a topic for a post. Annie Lynsen suggested, “How about something you learned in school, one of those things they REALLY drilled into you, that has ended up being completely useless information in adulthood?”
There are a lot a options. In fifth grade, an entire hour of my education was devoted to square dancing. My senior year in high school, I took a class called Wood Technology and learned how to freak out when a pothead accidentally sticks their finger in a router. In sixth grade, I was thrilled to hear we were going to do art projects based on the Vikings! Annoyingly, we had to draw pictures of the actual football team, The Minnesota Vikings.
I tried to take a fencing class in college, but I literally couldn’t find the door to the gym so I dropped it. That one is probably my fault.
Also, a big thanks to cursive handwriting which has never done a goddamn thing for me.
But the main thing that popped into my mind wasn’t actual curriculum. It was just the obsession of one strange human. My fourth grade teacher was named Mr. File. He was very kind but prone to sudden outbursts of screaming. (At least he yelled at us in class unlike my fifth grade teacher who used to go out to her car and wail at the heavens which was somehow more disturbing.)
Mr. File yelled at us about a lot of things–being kind, pencils are for writing not stabbing, and more. He once caught a kid drawing a swastika on his homework and launched into an impassioned speech about the true horrors of the Nazis. It was the first time I heard about the realities of the Holocaust. And it was in gruesome detail.
But the main thing Mr. File screamed about was the moon. He was convinced that he would not live on the moon in his lifetime, but his young students would.
Even then, as a scrawny young nerdling, I got the sense that Mr. File would really like to live on the moon and envied us. He was amazed by the advances in technology in his life, but also horrified by the atrocities of humanity. He was, in retrospect, a pretty old school geek with utopian views of a Federation of Planets type future full of spacesuits, reason, and peace among the stars.
In the middle of classes, Mr. File would suddenly shout, “IN YOUR LIFETIME–YOU ARE GOING TO LIVE ON THE MOON!”
It was very aggressive and sometimes sounded like an actual threat.
He would even use the moon as emotional leverage when we screwed up in class.
“YOU CAN’T MULTIPLY FRACTIONS? WELL, YOU MIGHT NEED TO–WHEN YOU LIVE ON THE MOON!”
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHY THE MAGINOT LINE WAS A BAD IDEA? WELL, YOU MIGHT NEED TO–WHEN YOU LIVE ON THE MOON!”
“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO CONJUGATE VERBS? WELL YOU MIGHT NEED TO–WHEN YOU WILL HAVE BEEN LIVING ON THE MOON!”
So I always assumed, of course, humans will live on the moon.
But now it just seems like why? What is the point of living on the moon? What would be different? We’d just put a bunch of crappy strip malls up there. The moon would just be a very remote suburb. If we were lucky, there would be fancy malls and casinos. It would be like sad Las Vegas in space.
Everything would be the same but we’d stick the word “moon” in front of everything.
“Yeah, I drove my Moon Car to Moon Ikea and bought a Moon Desk and some Swedish MoonBalls.”
The main difference of living on the moon is that it would take us twice as long to say anything.
And we would physically move slower. The moon would be heaven for potheads. They could just bounce around eating Swedish MoonBalls and trying to avoid routers in shop class.
But I feel bad letting Mr. File’s dream die. So I gave some thought to a practical use of the moon.
Here’s my idea: If we actually did have the technology to live on the moon, I would want it to be a prison. I would want the moon to be a penal colony for people who are assholes on the internet.
Like the minute you respond to a tweet or a YouTube video or an article with something awful, you would teleported to the moon.
This brings up the thorny question of how you determine what a bad internet comment is? This is very easy. Do not begin any comment with the words actually, technically, or a picture of a penis.
Basically, if you imagine saying your comment to a real live person and their immediate response would be to punch you in the throat, then you’re going to the moon.
Soon the moon would be full of trolls and the only thing the moon trolls would be allowed to do is write Yelp reviews of the moon itself.
All the reviews would be things like: “This moon sucks dicks.” And somehow the words moon, sucks, and dicks would all be misspelled.
The great hope of technology is that it will actually make us better. That faster communication will allow us to exchange ideas and understanding and empathy, not just be a supersonic rocket to Asshole Town.
Given that argument, I suppose Mr. File would not be thrilled with my idea of making the moon a prison planet for jerks. I also don’t think Mr. File really wanted to live on the moon so he could wear a cool spacesuit and slowly bounce over to Moon Arby’s for some Moon Curly Fries.
I think Mr. File probably wanted to live on the moon to get a little closer to making the fantasy of a better world a reality. He probably wanted us to be a little proactive. Instead of just saying “Haters gonna hate,” he probably wanted us to learn and say something like “Haters gonna get exposed to thoughtful critiques that systematically break down damaging social norms.”
So I guess I did learn something from Mr. File screaming at me about the moon. I’ll do my part by trying to say something kind and intelligent to someone on social media today.
I’ll enjoy my memories of a kind, wistful old man yelling, “YOU’RE GOING TO LIVE ON THE MOON!”
I’ll put the memories through emotional autocorrect and it will come out, “YOU’RE GOING TO LIVE ON THE MOON! PLEASE DON’T BE AN ASSHOLE UP THERE!”
Thanks, Mr. File.
This comedy blog post was made possible by the kind support of all my Patreon backers. Thanks, backers!
Filed under Comedy Real Life
Like almost every human being on the planet with access to the internet, I’m excited about the new Star Wars movie coming out in 2015.
I will click on any article about it even though there’s usually no actual news whatsoever.
To add to the horror, I don’t even want to know anything because I don’t like spoilers.
I knew everything about The Phantom Menace before it came out because I read the character bios on the back of the action figures. Based on those I imagined a plot and thought, “It’s probably not that, though, because it’s kind of messy and stupid.” And then that was it. So don’t read the back of the action figures for the new movie. They will contain actual information, unlike this post.
Just in case you didn’t read the title, there is ZERO news about Star Wars in this post.
We do know this about the new Star Wars movie: it will be marketed heavily.
There will also be lightsabers, boots, probably helmets, and definitely pants. A LOT of the characters will wear pants.
Other things we can confirm: Han Solo will be in it. He might have a limp. Mark Hamill’s beard will play Luke Skywalker’s beard. Carrie Fisher will hopefully write her own dialogue for Princess Leia because she’s super funny and insightful.
This is an alien that might appear in the new Star Wars but probably not:
Sadly, Alec Guinness, won’t be in the film because he’s no longer alive.
No news about Billy Dee Williams as Lando Calrissian. It is possible that Andy Serkis will play Billy Dee Williams as Lando Calrissian which seems like a really elaborate way to say “fuck you” to Billy Dee Williams.
Did you know there was a deleted scene in Empire Strikes Back where Lando catches Boba Fett farting?
Did I mention there is no news in this post?
Will Lobot be in the new movie? Will he just have two iPads taped to the side of his head? Who knows? Not me. Who cares? Sadly, I do. Do you have any news about Lobot? Can I debase myself in some way to get it? Hit me up.
The music will be done by John Williams and if you buy the motion picture soundtrack CD there will be skits in between each song.
There might be a new cantina scene. Lady Gaga will be the bartender and she’ll serve someone blue milk mixed with “death liquor” and say, “Whoops! I’ve got a bad feeling about this!” and then do a duet with Tony Bennett. He won’t have pants. Why are you still reading this?
There could be a character in the film named Jan Solo. Or Typo Mangle. Or Dix Innabag. Or Innuendo Fucknoddle.
There might be a scene where Han Solo shoots Jar Jar Binks without provocation or warning.
Did you know you could make a joke that the “J.J.” in Abrams stands for “Jar Jar”? You sure can! More and more people will do it as we get closer to the film’s release SO GET FUCKING PUMPED for that joke.
The film will have lightsabers.
Here’s a picture of something that isn’t a lightsaber:
If the movie doesn’t have lightsabers, I will literally have a mental breakdown.
The movie could be two hours of medical droid 2-1B explaining the science of midi-chlorians and I wouldn’t give a flying fuck as long as there was a lady in the background with a lightsaber.
Here are other things Andy Serkis might play: The Millenium Falcon, the Dejarik holograms, space, the Death Star again (third time’s the charm!), Khan Noonien Singh, Mon Mothma’s vibrator, or maybe even the drunken podracer, Teemto Pagalies. You learned Teemto drank heavily before the podrace if you played the video game version of The Phantom Menace on the Playstation One.
That last sentence was a cry for help. Help me, help me, Obi-Wan. Don’t you have work to do? A child to hug? Maybe just turn off the internet and get out a piece of paper and write down some things you like about yourself.
This is my favorite line of dialogue from the prequel trilogy: “I am sending you to the Mustafar system in the outer rim. It is a volcanic planet, you will be safe there.” Safe on a volcano planet? Ha ha ha ha! I saw Revenge of the Sith in the theater three times! Why am I still writing this?
Anyway, I like lightsabers, pants, aliens, Lady Gaga, and sprawling space operas about good and evil.
I like that music when Luke Skywalker stares at the twin suns of Tatooine and thinks about his destiny. That one shot has made a huge impact on my life. There’s nothing like it. It’s sad, but there’s hope.
A lot of things in life are sad, but they’re so much better with just a little bit of hope. Even if it’s weird-space-farmboy-staring-into-twin-suns hope.
I hope there will be a moment even remotely like that in the new movie.
Maybe not, probably not. Who knows? I don’t know. Do you?
I like that photo of Mark Hamill and his beard. It makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. A long time.
I have no news about the new Star Wars. Not even from a certain point of view.
No news, no facts. I just have hope. And that goes a long way. Thanks, Star Wars.
This comedy blog post was made possible by the kind support of all my Patreon backers. Thanks, backers!
Filed under Comedy Story
Our guest Audrey Kearns–co-producer of 5 Truths and a Lie podcast and the Geek Girl Authority empire–loves the beautiful choreography of space ships shooting each other with big laser guns! Thrill to such topics as the many ways to escape The Enterprise, Han Solo/Picard slash fiction, and that classic beloved space battle movie Moonraker. BONUS: In an amazing first for the podcast, hear a guest use their inhaler! Twice!
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For more than a year I’ve been doing a series of daily tweets. First tacos, then monkeys, then daily affirmations, then daily etiquette tips, then incorrect quotes, then fake TV shows, horoscopes, horror, writing tips, holiday tweets, resolution tweets, Hey Girl tweets, Urban Myth tweets, pastry tweets, boring tweets, social media tweets, and now INCORRECT FACTS. Enjoy!
You can also follow me on Twitter to enjoy August’s series of Marketing Slogan tweets!
Day One – Benedict Cumberbatch’s cheekbones weigh 37 pounds EACH.
Day Two – The Fantastic Four is made up of these characters: Rock Guy, Hot Johnny, See-Through Lady, and Mr. Amazeballs.
Day Three – The original name of the Bill of Rights was Ten Amendments You Probably Don’t Comprehend The Actual Meaning Of.
Day Four – Cargo Pants were originally called Storage Trousers.
Day Five – The Batman v Superman movie will be a two hour tracking shot of every single DC character crying in the rain.
Day Six – If you eat #kale but don’t tell anyone about it, you won’t get any nutritional value.
Day Seven – John Travolta, Grumpy Cat, and the ghost of Orson Welles have all been cast in the new Star Wars movie.
Day Eight – Schrodinger’s Banana is a paradox in which he is both happy to see you and also has a banana in his pocket.
Day Nine – If you don’t respond to an email within 7 days, you will be killed by an animated gif of the girl from The Ring.
Day Ten – Coffee is healthier if you put all these things in it: butter, Kraft macaroni & cheese, meatballs, acid, poutine.
Day Eleven – There are several dating sites for comedians who just want to meet crazy people and get new material.
Day Twelve – That plastic bag you saw blowing around the street was an amazing motion capture performance by Andy Serkis.
Day Thirteen – Aquaman has a lot of friends.
Day Fourteen – “A case of the Mondays” is a polite euphemism for syphilis.
Day Fifteen – A lot of people have sex in the back of PT Cruisers.
Day Sixteen – Proposing to your significant other via a LinkedIn message is pants-droppingly romantic.
Day Seventeen – The four food groups are: Meat, kale, Doritos dust, and your feelings.
Day Eighteen – Harrison Ford’s earring is a horcrux.
Day Nineteen – The concept for The Purge is based on Trader Joe’s Parking Lots.
Day Twenty – It is illegal to not have a podcast.
Day Twenty-One – The sound bees make is not buzzing. They are screaming about Nicolas Cage.
Day Twenty-Two – Nothing weird happened in Florida today.
Day Twenty-Three – “Twitter” is a clever anagram for “I’ve wasted my life.”
Day Twenty-Four – If you mix Pop Rocks with Mountain Dew it will kill your D&D character.
Day Twenty-Five – Superman’s motto is Truth, Justice, and Sometimes Murder Is Okay.
Day Twenty-Six – The term #yolo was invented by Eleanor Roosevelt during a UFC bout right before she bit a guy’s finger off.
Day Twenty-Seven – If you blow hard enough on an old Nintendo cartridge, Mario will appear and give you three extra lives.
Day Twenty-Eight – A great name for a middle-aged male stripper is “Sex Ed.”
Day Twenty-Nine – Trough urinals in public restrooms are a great place to make eye contact with strangers.
Day Thirty – If you have an opinion and you don’t put it on the internet you will burst into flames.
Day Thirty-One – Every single episode of The Golden Girls was written by a time-traveling H.P. Lovecraft.
Yours in Ignorance,
Joseph
If you enjoy my work, you can check out all the comedy words and things I’m making via Patreon.
Filed under Daily Tweet Collection
The following is a message to the entire world from the superhero commonly known as Aquaman. It has not been edited in any way. This should be clear from all the f-bombs.
Dear Everyone–
Fuck you guys. Seriously.
My name is Aquaman. I am a superhero. I am a member of the Justice League. I am the motherfucking KING OF ATLANTIS and I deserve some fucking respect. Seriously.
Do you know how much abuse I take online? People call me the Arby’s of superheroes. The LinkedIn of meta-humans. They say if the Justice League was a rock band I would play bass.
If you’re going to make fun of me at least get some new references. Arby’s, LinkedIn, bass players–they’re easy targets. I can’t even say “J.J. Abrams” without one of you unimaginative shitheads shouting “Lens flare!” and patting yourself on the back for it. THAT’S A REFERENCE, NOT A JOKE, FUCKWADS!
What? Are you shocked I have an opinion about something nuanced like the intersection between omnipresent pop culture and quality joke construction? WELL, THERE’S A LOT YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT AQUAMAN, SON.
Most importantly, I’m not lame. I’m not “the Ocean’s answer to Coldplay.” I’M AWESOME.
Let’s start with my super powers. People say I suck because I’m only valuable if something is happening in the water. THE WATER? YOU MEAN THE THING THAT IS COVERING MOST OF THE PLANET? LIKE 71% OF THE ENTIRE EARTH?
So, ignoring the fact that I’m hella strong on the land anyway, yes, I’m EXTRA STRONG when I’m in the thing that covers 71% of the planet! You got me there, braniac! And I mean braniac as an ironic term for idiot, not the super villain Braniac whose ass I could kick on land or sea or EVEN THE AIR.
Yes, I can fly. I’ve seen dumb-asses on the internet say I can only fly underwater. THAT’S CALLED SWIMMING, DIPSHIT.
I can also telepathically communicate with any living thing in the ocean. I can call up a dolphin for a ride like it was a fucking Lyft car. And it doesn’t cost me shit, because the dolphins know I respect them.
I don’t just use my powers to command the creatures of the sea. I talk and I LISTEN. Sometimes, I’m all telepathically like, “Hey, Sperm Whale, what’s it like to have the LARGEST BRAIN of any creature on the planet?” And the Sperm Whale is like, “Damn, Aquaman, thanks for taking the time TO ASK.”
I’ve also had it with people making fun of my appearance. They say wearing orange and green makes it look like a kitchen from the 1970s threw up on me. You know why I wear bright orange and green? BECAUSE THE OCEAN IS DARK, ASSHOLES. Have you been to the bottom of the ocean? No? Then stick it up your Mariana Trench, you sad fucking James Cameron wannabes!
Back in the ’90s, I also had a giant bushy beard and a hook for hand. You heard me. I was a garishly dressed man with ridiculous facial hair carrying antiquated technology for no reason. I was a hipster before they were popular!
BUT I’M NOT GOING TO MAKE FUN OF HIPSTERS. I HAVE MORE CLASS THAN THAT.
AS LONG AS I’M YELLING, YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT PISSES ME OFF THE MOST?
People say I’m lame because of my ORIGIN STORY. They say it’s not ICONIC.
Batman’s parents were murdered. Superman’s parents dumped him in a rocket and shot him into space so he could be adopted by a Norman Rockwell painting. Wolverine is from Canada.
But who am I? What does the general public know about me? Who is Aquaman?
Isn’t he that USELESS TOOL from the Super Friends cartoon? I should have sent a piranha up the sewers to give those jerk-off cartoon writers a toilet surprise 30 years ago!
You want to know what my defining trait is? How about this? ANGER. That’s my character now. You know what my backstory is? I CAN BREATHE UNDERWATER AND I’M SICK OF YOUR BULLSHIT! How’s that?
Or, crazy thought here, you could actually get to know me. My real name is Arthur “Orin” Curry. I’m a half-human, half-Atlantean hybrid. I am a FOUNDING member of the Justice League. I have a fucking certificate that says so and everything. I’m crazy strong. I am a natural blonde. I do not dye. I have an Etsy account and an amazing collection of stand-up comedy albums on the original vinyl. I am an avid Wikipedia editor. My comfort foods are waffles and vodka. I’ve listened to every episode of WTF with Marc Maron. I’m really fucking good at swearing. My favorite Pixar movie is Cars. COME AT ME, HATERS.
I will take any shade you have to throw, but maybe–just maybe–it could be clever or informed for once.
Spend some time with me. Get to know me. Then hate me.
Because, I swear, if one more of you unoriginal shitbrained clichefuckers call me the Jar-Jar Binks of the Justice League, I WILL SHOW YOU A WORLD OF PAIN.
OR AT LEAST 71% OF A WORLD OF PAIN.
Seriously.
Fuck.
Thank you for your time,
Motherfucking Aquaman, Motherfuckers.
P.S. My favorite song is “I’m on a boat.”
This comedy blog post was made possible by the kind support of all my Patreon backers. Thanks, backers!
Filed under Comedy Story, Uncategorized
