Those Aren't Writers

The writer's strike has really affected my entertainment these days. No Colbert Report or Daily show... and the Those Aren't Pillows blog. All have been off the air without their talented writing staffs. I only hope they can come to an amicable solution to all involved, and get back to creating their entertaining shows (and blogs) soon.

Something really got me mad today. I had an “A HA” moment you could say, a ray of light shown into the usual attic-dark stale recesses of my brain. My new best friend on the radio, the NFL Pick’em Guy, is a total f-ing fraud. And I knew it. Follow me here. Let’s say this guy KNOWS that he can convert a loser into a customer by giving him three free locks in a row, for free. Yes, anyone considering calling an expert sport picker he heard on the radio is now a loser. Anyway, let’s say 10,000 people call him after hearing about his penchant for perfectly nailing his WEEKLY LOCK on his nationally aired radio commercial. OK, let's say The LOCK game is New England -22 against the Jets. Which team does he pick? Well, he fucking picks both. He tells 50% of the callers that it’s New England, and 50% that it’s the Jets. Now he has 5,000 people convince he hit his lock and who will try him out the following week, when he tells 2,500 people that the Steelers will cover against the Sea Chickens, and 2,500 people that Sea Chickens +8 is A LOCK. By the end of week 3 he has 1,250 newly converted customers convinced that this guy can’t miss a pick, which is 1,250 more customers than he had three weeks ago. What an A-Hole.

Am I the last guy on the planet to figure this out?

I saw a double feature with my wife this evening, we went to go see Juno, and Charlie Wilson's War. Both actually are very decent flicks, even though they are nothing like Beerfest. I think it was the first time I saw two back-to-back movies in the theater since JTW and I used to pull the "three for the price of one" movie marathon in SF as kids. And by kids I mean five years after we graduated college.

Each and every one of you should have TWO farms now, since you surly bet one on Pittsburgh this past Thursday, after the Wood Dog raised his pick'em run on Thursday nights to 0-7. I didn't tell you my pick for nothing. Those of you with only one farm right now can only blame yourself.

I have nothing prepared for my upcoming two minutes on stage at the Seattle Comedy Underground for my family Christmas gathering. Well, nothing except some bits about walking my dog. Which doesn’t sound funny at all, until you hear the part about me waiting for his ass to start opening about 20 seconds prior to crapping, and how good that makes me feel. Wow, now it really doesn’t sound funny. But it’s a big deal, when you’re walking your F-ing dog around at midnight in the shitty 38 degree December Seattle rain, and all you want to happen is for the damn dog to take her crap, and when the little butt hole opens up, it’s like she’s getting ready, now she just has to find the right spot, and I’m putting my fists up in a Rocky style victory celebration… So it needs some tweaking, sue me, but this could work. Only a minute forty-five left to go.

If only I had some writers.