December 31st, 2009
I just ate breakfast with a woman who works with at-risk youth in Chicago, a music promoter from Nashville, a lady who works for the Chamber of Commerce in Nantucket and a Native American energy healer from Flint, Michigan. As I mentioned yesterday, I was hired to teach my “Humor for Health” workshop at a fancy destination spa in Austin, Texas. I’m fortunate that I was brought out here because this particular getaway costs approximately $1000 a day. It sounds like the premise for a reality show where all the people are in a high tax bracket. I won’t be able to afford this type of vacation until my baby doo-rag line takes off and makes me rich while providing babies in baby gangs some edgy fashion sense. In the meantime, I just market my services to interesting places that I cannot yet afford. My friend Carrie says, “Jax makes them feel like they need her. And they believe her.”
I’ve been doing my “Humor for Health” workshop for a few years and have been brought to fascinating places that promote wellness in the United States and Mexico. There is truly nothing more rewarding than teaching people the rules of comedy improv (which are synonymous to life) by getting them on stage and having the opportunity to act like kids again. Ego is totally stripped away because it’s not about perfection. It’s about expression. I’m blessed to be on the outside seeing pivotal shifts in people willing to step out of their comfort zones in the spirit of growth, honesty and letting go. I’ve always felt that we should strive to live compassionately, consciously and creatively. Over and over, I see my students tapping into all of these and it’s a welcome bonus that these experiences turn out to be exponentially advantageous for my own mind, body and spirit. It seems almost serendipitous that I was invited here as we enter a new year. I am gently reminded of something that I already know. In this vortex of good energy, it just seems so obvious that we need to release old emotional baggage, physical clutter and certain people in our lives who are no longer serving us. So, if we’re still in touch…congratulations. You made the cut. High Five.
It might sound harsh and counter intuitive, but moving forward and implementing a clearing philosophy has consistently held true for me. I have experienced amazing results when I have committed to it and undesirable effects from avoiding it. There is something very empowering about this deliberate act of detachment because I find myself being in control of my life as opposed to it controlling me.
On the last day of 2009, I’m writing to you from the safe bosom of Lake Austin Spa and Resort where my biggest stressor is deciding whether I should go kayaking at 2:00 or take a cooking class on meatballs. It reminds me a bit of the syllabus at my childhood sleep away camp, Camp Seafarer, where we forced to greet other campers and counselors with an enthusiastically earnest, “Ah Hoy there!”
I wish you the most joyous of New Years filled with self discovery, laughs and brightness.
“While we have the gift of life, it seems to me that the only tragedy is to allow part of us to die - whether it is our spirit, our creativity, or our glorious uniqueness.”
–Gilda Radner
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Day 144 - Jacqueline Kabat Stripper and Nun Training Facility
December 30th, 2009
This entry is being conceptualized to you from inside my brain which is residing inside Jet Blue flight 1061. I’m flying from New York to Austin, Texas to teach a comedy improv workshop at a fancy destination spa called Lake Austin Spa and Resort. Basically, I get flown out, put up in a fancy room, fed food made with love and massaged for teaching something I love for a strenuous hour a day. I can’t believe that I get paid for this shit. My life isn’t this glamorous the rest of the year. Yesterday I ate a Cliff Bar with a knife and fork to add some sophistication to my brunch. That’s a lie. I used a spork.
At 5:30 am this morning in 20 degree weather, I told my car service guy that I’m going to JFK Airport. Lucky guy. That JFK. Well, not that lucky at the end. But his legacy simply can’t be ignored because his name is attached to our airports, high schools, scholarships and pretty much anything else within the scope of reputable, class and achievement.
What about entities, objects and whatnot that fall under the umbrella of “less fortunate”? I will donate my name (more of a loan actually….with interest) to these things that deserve the opportunity to have a name preceding their function in order to gain some notoriety and leverage.
Jacqueline Kabat Large Animal Feces Removal Equipment
Jacqueline Kabat Scholarship for Mediocre Students Who Get Into Ivy League Schools Because Their Rich Parents Donated a Library
Jacqueline Kabat Terrorist Training Camp: “Our monkey bars will get you killing in no time!”
Jacqueline Kabat Highway to Hell
Jacqueline Kabat School for "Extras" in Film and Television. “Inspiring failed actors to second guess their career choice since 1988.”
Jacqueline Kabat Duct Tape: “Quiets the screams of even your peskiest of hostages.”
Jacqueline Kabat Ointment Cream for Anything You’re Embarrassed to Tell Your Lover About
This entry is being conceptualized to you from inside my brain which is residing inside Jet Blue flight 1061. I’m flying from New York to Austin, Texas to teach a comedy improv workshop at a fancy destination spa called Lake Austin Spa and Resort. Basically, I get flown out, put up in a fancy room, fed food made with love and massaged for teaching something I love for a strenuous hour a day. I can’t believe that I get paid for this shit. My life isn’t this glamorous the rest of the year. Yesterday I ate a Cliff Bar with a knife and fork to add some sophistication to my brunch. That’s a lie. I used a spork.
At 5:30 am this morning in 20 degree weather, I told my car service guy that I’m going to JFK Airport. Lucky guy. That JFK. Well, not that lucky at the end. But his legacy simply can’t be ignored because his name is attached to our airports, high schools, scholarships and pretty much anything else within the scope of reputable, class and achievement.
What about entities, objects and whatnot that fall under the umbrella of “less fortunate”? I will donate my name (more of a loan actually….with interest) to these things that deserve the opportunity to have a name preceding their function in order to gain some notoriety and leverage.
Jacqueline Kabat Large Animal Feces Removal Equipment
Jacqueline Kabat Scholarship for Mediocre Students Who Get Into Ivy League Schools Because Their Rich Parents Donated a Library
Jacqueline Kabat Terrorist Training Camp: “Our monkey bars will get you killing in no time!”
Jacqueline Kabat Highway to Hell
Jacqueline Kabat School for "Extras" in Film and Television. “Inspiring failed actors to second guess their career choice since 1988.”
Jacqueline Kabat Duct Tape: “Quiets the screams of even your peskiest of hostages.”
Jacqueline Kabat Ointment Cream for Anything You’re Embarrassed to Tell Your Lover About
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Day 143 - Steamy New Years
December 29th, 2009
(2010 has invited all the years to his ski lodge in Aspen. 1984 and 2001 are sitting in the steam room)
2001 – It’s good to see you 1984. You look well.
1984 - Thanks, I’ve been upping my confidence since I’ve been dressing a little more Miami Vice-esque. It’s a bummer that 2009, 1955 and 1972 couldn’t make it.
2001 – Yeah, 2009 was busy burying dead celebrities, 1955 is hanging out with Rosa Parks on a bus and 1972 broke her foot after tripping on some wiring at the Watergate hotel.
1984 – Tragic. I know you know a thing or two about tragedy 2001.
2001 – Oh that I do 1984. 9/11 did give me the leverage to win the tragic year sob story contest trophy. Let’s move forward.
1984 – Fair enough.
(1969 enters, removes his towel and sits in the nude)
2001 – (Disturbed) Whoa!!...1969. No free love here in 2010’s steam room.
1984 – Some coverage. Please. Get a hold of yourself.
1969 – Sorry guys. I just came from this sick concert in Woodstock, New York. For a minute, I thought that I was in a trip tent. My bad.
(1945 enters. She’s in a full coverage bathing suit and a large ribbed swim cap)
1984 – 1945, you look great!
2001 – The end of World War 2 agrees with you.
1945 – Thanks guys. I needed a good event. First, Hiroshima...and 1982 had to rub it in when I saw him last year on the booze cruise in Cabo and he had the band play, “You Dropped a Bomb on Me”.
1969 – Yeah. That was low on the groovy scale.
1945 - On top of that, I had to get a restraining order against 1979 because he went into a jealous rage after 1991 told him about my threesome with 2003 and 1985.
1969 – That’s hot 1945. But I feel you. I wrote a poem for 1968 saying it was time to say goodbye. The essence of the prose was that it wasn’t her..it was me. She was “super cool”…but I didn’t see us moving forward. 1970 and I just got each other. It was very stressful. It made me herpes flare up.
1984 – A poem? Lame. You’re better than that 1969.
2001 –The only people who should be writing poetry are E. E. Cummings, Maya Angelou and Dr. Seuss.
1945 – I agree. I went to see 1988 in a poetry slam. It was just a bad comedy show.
2001 – Yeah, poets mean well...they just get on my nerves. Anyways, it’s really cool that 2010 invited us here for New Years. I haven’t seen him much.
1984 – He’s a little nervous. It’s a lot of pressure being a new year.
2001- Totally. I had to follow the millennium. Luckily she turned out to be overrated so it made my inauguration less humiliating.
1969 – 2010 is preparing. He’s been hydrating, doing Pilates and working on some catastrophes to make his year memorable. I saw his to do list on an excel spreadsheet. He has some real zingers planned!
1984 – Do tell!
1969 – I don’t want to give too much away. But I will tell you this. He finds out who shot Kennedy, the cure for the common cold and finds out where the weapons of mass destruction are. He saves it all on a word document and then…stay with me… his computer crashes! Y2K shows up and says, “Sorry I’m ten years late"…and then destruction ensues.
2001 – That bitch! But it sounds like a great story line. Looking forward to it.
1984 – I’m getting hot. We should probably check in on 1975. She just gave birth to Jacqueline Kabat.
1945 - Oh boy. 1975 is going to need our help. Put on your game face years.
(They all take a collective deep breath in agreement and exit)
THE END.
(2010 has invited all the years to his ski lodge in Aspen. 1984 and 2001 are sitting in the steam room)
2001 – It’s good to see you 1984. You look well.
1984 - Thanks, I’ve been upping my confidence since I’ve been dressing a little more Miami Vice-esque. It’s a bummer that 2009, 1955 and 1972 couldn’t make it.
2001 – Yeah, 2009 was busy burying dead celebrities, 1955 is hanging out with Rosa Parks on a bus and 1972 broke her foot after tripping on some wiring at the Watergate hotel.
1984 – Tragic. I know you know a thing or two about tragedy 2001.
2001 – Oh that I do 1984. 9/11 did give me the leverage to win the tragic year sob story contest trophy. Let’s move forward.
1984 – Fair enough.
(1969 enters, removes his towel and sits in the nude)
2001 – (Disturbed) Whoa!!...1969. No free love here in 2010’s steam room.
1984 – Some coverage. Please. Get a hold of yourself.
1969 – Sorry guys. I just came from this sick concert in Woodstock, New York. For a minute, I thought that I was in a trip tent. My bad.
(1945 enters. She’s in a full coverage bathing suit and a large ribbed swim cap)
1984 – 1945, you look great!
2001 – The end of World War 2 agrees with you.
1945 – Thanks guys. I needed a good event. First, Hiroshima...and 1982 had to rub it in when I saw him last year on the booze cruise in Cabo and he had the band play, “You Dropped a Bomb on Me”.
1969 – Yeah. That was low on the groovy scale.
1945 - On top of that, I had to get a restraining order against 1979 because he went into a jealous rage after 1991 told him about my threesome with 2003 and 1985.
1969 – That’s hot 1945. But I feel you. I wrote a poem for 1968 saying it was time to say goodbye. The essence of the prose was that it wasn’t her..it was me. She was “super cool”…but I didn’t see us moving forward. 1970 and I just got each other. It was very stressful. It made me herpes flare up.
1984 – A poem? Lame. You’re better than that 1969.
2001 –The only people who should be writing poetry are E. E. Cummings, Maya Angelou and Dr. Seuss.
1945 – I agree. I went to see 1988 in a poetry slam. It was just a bad comedy show.
2001 – Yeah, poets mean well...they just get on my nerves. Anyways, it’s really cool that 2010 invited us here for New Years. I haven’t seen him much.
1984 – He’s a little nervous. It’s a lot of pressure being a new year.
2001- Totally. I had to follow the millennium. Luckily she turned out to be overrated so it made my inauguration less humiliating.
1969 – 2010 is preparing. He’s been hydrating, doing Pilates and working on some catastrophes to make his year memorable. I saw his to do list on an excel spreadsheet. He has some real zingers planned!
1984 – Do tell!
1969 – I don’t want to give too much away. But I will tell you this. He finds out who shot Kennedy, the cure for the common cold and finds out where the weapons of mass destruction are. He saves it all on a word document and then…stay with me… his computer crashes! Y2K shows up and says, “Sorry I’m ten years late"…and then destruction ensues.
2001 – That bitch! But it sounds like a great story line. Looking forward to it.
1984 – I’m getting hot. We should probably check in on 1975. She just gave birth to Jacqueline Kabat.
1945 - Oh boy. 1975 is going to need our help. Put on your game face years.
(They all take a collective deep breath in agreement and exit)
THE END.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Day 142 - Classic Big Blue of My Heart
December 28th, 2009
The word “classic” means something that exemplifies a particular style, something of lasting worth or with the quality of timelessness.
-Mark Twain’s “Tom Sawyer” is a classic book.
-Coca-Cola Classic claimed fame after the failure New Coke.
-Sophia Loren is a classic beauty.
-The Vintage Ford Mustang is a classic car.
-If a group of stoners responds to your joke, their response will be “classic.”
In the world of classicisms, in my mind’s eye, there is none more classic than my first automobile, an early 70’s navy blue Caprice Classic. This piece of wonder (that could easily fit the state of Rhode Island and a portion of another New England state) was originally given to my brother then passed on to me. My parents figured that we would both destroy and have mishaps during our early driving years so it made sense to bequeath onto us a car that would cause us endless shame and take up two parking spaces. Interestingly enough, the only dent that occurred was when neither of us was in the car. My brother and I went to the grocery store, got out of the car and an elderly woman lost her grip on her grocery cart and it came rolling toward our car, unaffectionately referred to as Big Blue, at an alarmingly slow speed. Interesting note, we had every opportunity to stop the collision but just froze in bewilderment. Crash. Oh well.
Big Blue was equipped with beige faux leather interior, the barely audible reminisce of the last remaining radio speaker, no power steering and a horn that sounded like a barge transporting 1500 tons of cargo. Eventually the rear view mirror became detached and never put back on our “safe” car. In addition, the classic broke up a lot of high school parties because the vehicle was often mistaken for a police car. She truly was a hot little number.
Yet whenever there is chicken shit, I try to find the chicken salad and there were some notable benefits to the eyesore on wheels. When I was the designated driver, I could fit all my friends in the car. I had a lot of friends. At one of my parties, a couple of people hooked up in the backseat of the car in the garage. Teenage hormones tend to overcome the most unfortunate of ambiances.
Once the car had been tainted by sweet high school love, her work was done and mom and dad donated the car to some Russian immigrants that had just moved to Greensboro, North Carolina. I’m sure their introduction to their new mode of transportation resulted with some Russian explicative that would translate to, “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”
At the end of the day, I do want to salute Big Blue for being such a pivotal part of my teenage experience. I do feel that she did build more character in me than if I was one of those spoiled kids whose parent gave them a new luxury sports car with a giant red bow wrapped by God on their 16th birthday. I promise you this Caprice of my heart: I will shed a nostalgic tear when I go down to North Carolina and see a bunch of pissed off Russians getting from point A to B in your plus size classic goodness.
The word “classic” means something that exemplifies a particular style, something of lasting worth or with the quality of timelessness.
-Mark Twain’s “Tom Sawyer” is a classic book.
-Coca-Cola Classic claimed fame after the failure New Coke.
-Sophia Loren is a classic beauty.
-The Vintage Ford Mustang is a classic car.
-If a group of stoners responds to your joke, their response will be “classic.”
In the world of classicisms, in my mind’s eye, there is none more classic than my first automobile, an early 70’s navy blue Caprice Classic. This piece of wonder (that could easily fit the state of Rhode Island and a portion of another New England state) was originally given to my brother then passed on to me. My parents figured that we would both destroy and have mishaps during our early driving years so it made sense to bequeath onto us a car that would cause us endless shame and take up two parking spaces. Interestingly enough, the only dent that occurred was when neither of us was in the car. My brother and I went to the grocery store, got out of the car and an elderly woman lost her grip on her grocery cart and it came rolling toward our car, unaffectionately referred to as Big Blue, at an alarmingly slow speed. Interesting note, we had every opportunity to stop the collision but just froze in bewilderment. Crash. Oh well.
Big Blue was equipped with beige faux leather interior, the barely audible reminisce of the last remaining radio speaker, no power steering and a horn that sounded like a barge transporting 1500 tons of cargo. Eventually the rear view mirror became detached and never put back on our “safe” car. In addition, the classic broke up a lot of high school parties because the vehicle was often mistaken for a police car. She truly was a hot little number.
Yet whenever there is chicken shit, I try to find the chicken salad and there were some notable benefits to the eyesore on wheels. When I was the designated driver, I could fit all my friends in the car. I had a lot of friends. At one of my parties, a couple of people hooked up in the backseat of the car in the garage. Teenage hormones tend to overcome the most unfortunate of ambiances.
Once the car had been tainted by sweet high school love, her work was done and mom and dad donated the car to some Russian immigrants that had just moved to Greensboro, North Carolina. I’m sure their introduction to their new mode of transportation resulted with some Russian explicative that would translate to, “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”
At the end of the day, I do want to salute Big Blue for being such a pivotal part of my teenage experience. I do feel that she did build more character in me than if I was one of those spoiled kids whose parent gave them a new luxury sports car with a giant red bow wrapped by God on their 16th birthday. I promise you this Caprice of my heart: I will shed a nostalgic tear when I go down to North Carolina and see a bunch of pissed off Russians getting from point A to B in your plus size classic goodness.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Day 141 - Nonchalant Observer -Installment #4 – Brunch at Dad’s
December 27th, 2009
Today is my fourth installment of my “Nonchalant Observer” series. On day 22, I observed (judged) what crossed my path as I sat with my coffee on my Brooklyn stoop. On day 38, I took you with me to the happenings of beach life in the surfing town of Hermosa Beach, California. On day 112, we crossed the age gap and hit a retirement community. During happy hour. Today, you are coming with me to my father and stepmother’s house for brunch in Westchester, New York.
They invited about 20 people ranging from the ages of 4 to 64. Most of the cast of characters were my dad’s cousins with strong New York accents, amazing senses of humor and people you'd still want to be friends with even if you weren't related to them. Basically, they’re the fun part of the family. Every time I see them, we say that we need to make more of an effort to get together between these family gatherings. We don’t. We should. We will.
I made detailed notes from 1:00pm-2:00pm on Sunday December 27, 2009.
The following is presented in “real” time:
1:00 – I walk into my dad’s house and the first thing I see is a beautifully displayed ham. My stepmother is Martha Stewart…without the pretentiousness and criminal record. I have never eaten ham in my entire life and now I’ve had it twice in three days. I'm a sassy Jewess.
1:05 –I’m having a pleasant conversation with a cousin who has eye makeup smeared down her face. Do I say something? I don’t.
1:08 – I notice an older relative getting cracker crumbs all over the floor. We blame the kids.
1:12 – The pimento cheese spread is a big hit. What's the point of the crackers? If I were alone, I would shamelessly just eat it with a spoon. Or spork.
1:17 – A group of us are discussing my grandmother’ 90th birthday in March. Grandma likes to repeat stories. If she writes her memoirs, chapters 3 and 7 would be the same.
1:21 – My cousin with smeared eyeliner returns from the bathroom and said that I should have told her about the makeup fiasco. Awkward pause. We laugh. We drink.
1:25 - I go to the bathroom and don’t wash my hands.
1:26 – I go back to the bathroom and wash my hands.
1:29 – My dad and stepmom’s cockapoo puppy escapes out the back door. Mild Panic. The dog is sitting on the front porch. She couldn’t reach the doorbell.
1:33 – Someone farted. We blame the kids.
1:38 – A group of people start asking me about my comedy career. I sound way more exciting than I actually am.
1:41 - In between 3 pieces of biscotti and eating the chocolate layer off the napoleon, someone tells me that l look thin. I say thank you. With my mouth full.
1:46 - After some wine and coffee, I decide that I should drink some water. I haven’t hydrated since 1997. I take one sip and then misplace my glass.
1:49– The dog starts barking at the 4 year old. Dad says, “The dog doesn’t like her dress.”
1:56 - Half kidding, I tell my 22 year old cousin that I need to drink more and do more drugs. He says that he can hook me up. Immediately after, my older cousin tells me that I need to hang out at his lake house (aka the party house.) Why don’t I see these people more?
1:59 - The Giants game comes on and they don’t start off strong. We blame the kids.
Today is my fourth installment of my “Nonchalant Observer” series. On day 22, I observed (judged) what crossed my path as I sat with my coffee on my Brooklyn stoop. On day 38, I took you with me to the happenings of beach life in the surfing town of Hermosa Beach, California. On day 112, we crossed the age gap and hit a retirement community. During happy hour. Today, you are coming with me to my father and stepmother’s house for brunch in Westchester, New York.
They invited about 20 people ranging from the ages of 4 to 64. Most of the cast of characters were my dad’s cousins with strong New York accents, amazing senses of humor and people you'd still want to be friends with even if you weren't related to them. Basically, they’re the fun part of the family. Every time I see them, we say that we need to make more of an effort to get together between these family gatherings. We don’t. We should. We will.
I made detailed notes from 1:00pm-2:00pm on Sunday December 27, 2009.
The following is presented in “real” time:
1:00 – I walk into my dad’s house and the first thing I see is a beautifully displayed ham. My stepmother is Martha Stewart…without the pretentiousness and criminal record. I have never eaten ham in my entire life and now I’ve had it twice in three days. I'm a sassy Jewess.
1:05 –I’m having a pleasant conversation with a cousin who has eye makeup smeared down her face. Do I say something? I don’t.
1:08 – I notice an older relative getting cracker crumbs all over the floor. We blame the kids.
1:12 – The pimento cheese spread is a big hit. What's the point of the crackers? If I were alone, I would shamelessly just eat it with a spoon. Or spork.
1:17 – A group of us are discussing my grandmother’ 90th birthday in March. Grandma likes to repeat stories. If she writes her memoirs, chapters 3 and 7 would be the same.
1:21 – My cousin with smeared eyeliner returns from the bathroom and said that I should have told her about the makeup fiasco. Awkward pause. We laugh. We drink.
1:25 - I go to the bathroom and don’t wash my hands.
1:26 – I go back to the bathroom and wash my hands.
1:29 – My dad and stepmom’s cockapoo puppy escapes out the back door. Mild Panic. The dog is sitting on the front porch. She couldn’t reach the doorbell.
1:33 – Someone farted. We blame the kids.
1:38 – A group of people start asking me about my comedy career. I sound way more exciting than I actually am.
1:41 - In between 3 pieces of biscotti and eating the chocolate layer off the napoleon, someone tells me that l look thin. I say thank you. With my mouth full.
1:46 - After some wine and coffee, I decide that I should drink some water. I haven’t hydrated since 1997. I take one sip and then misplace my glass.
1:49– The dog starts barking at the 4 year old. Dad says, “The dog doesn’t like her dress.”
1:56 - Half kidding, I tell my 22 year old cousin that I need to drink more and do more drugs. He says that he can hook me up. Immediately after, my older cousin tells me that I need to hang out at his lake house (aka the party house.) Why don’t I see these people more?
1:59 - The Giants game comes on and they don’t start off strong. We blame the kids.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Day 140 - Damn – Ham
December 26th, 2009
The preacher’s wife goes into the local butcher to buy some meat for dinner. The butcher tells her that he is out of everything except Damn-Ham. The woman was shocked with his bad language and then the butcher explained that was the brand of the ham. Relieved, the woman buys the ham and goes home to cook it for her family. When the preacher walked in the house and says, "That ham smells wonderful." His wife replies "That's a Damn-Ham." The preacher was surprised by his wife's use of profanity. She showed him the wrapper and explained that was the brand name of the ham. They sat down for dinner and the preacher says to his son, "Son, pass me the Damn-Ham." and his son replies, "That's the spirit dad, now pass me the fuckin’ potatoes."
This was the first dirty joke that I was ever told and just loved repeating it to family, friends and random strangers when I was around eight years old. It’s phenomenal that just a few “damns” and a “fuckin’” land this gripping prose in the obscene category. Otherwise, it’s just a boring tale of a pious family having a meal.
The original meaning of the adjective profane (Latin: "outside of or in front of the temple") referred to items not belonging to the church. Clearly this was misread considering 9 out of 10 jokes involving profanity involve a priest and a rabbi.
I’m not a deliberate user of profanity unless it’s delivered in an intellectual manner. I tend to find exaggerated vulgarity to be a crutch for poor writing and frankly, quite boring. However, I want to conduct a test and add some profane verbiage to some “best of” quotes just to see how easy a few letters that compose a word can alter context.
“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation and some motherfuckers, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”
"You like me cocksuckers, you really like me."
"My Mama always said, 'Life was like a box of chocolates; you never know the shit you're gonna get.'"
I’ll be back. Fuck. Maybe not.
Bond. James Cocksucking Bond."
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Unless you’re a pussy"
The preacher’s wife goes into the local butcher to buy some meat for dinner. The butcher tells her that he is out of everything except Damn-Ham. The woman was shocked with his bad language and then the butcher explained that was the brand of the ham. Relieved, the woman buys the ham and goes home to cook it for her family. When the preacher walked in the house and says, "That ham smells wonderful." His wife replies "That's a Damn-Ham." The preacher was surprised by his wife's use of profanity. She showed him the wrapper and explained that was the brand name of the ham. They sat down for dinner and the preacher says to his son, "Son, pass me the Damn-Ham." and his son replies, "That's the spirit dad, now pass me the fuckin’ potatoes."
This was the first dirty joke that I was ever told and just loved repeating it to family, friends and random strangers when I was around eight years old. It’s phenomenal that just a few “damns” and a “fuckin’” land this gripping prose in the obscene category. Otherwise, it’s just a boring tale of a pious family having a meal.
The original meaning of the adjective profane (Latin: "outside of or in front of the temple") referred to items not belonging to the church. Clearly this was misread considering 9 out of 10 jokes involving profanity involve a priest and a rabbi.
I’m not a deliberate user of profanity unless it’s delivered in an intellectual manner. I tend to find exaggerated vulgarity to be a crutch for poor writing and frankly, quite boring. However, I want to conduct a test and add some profane verbiage to some “best of” quotes just to see how easy a few letters that compose a word can alter context.
“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation and some motherfuckers, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”
"You like me cocksuckers, you really like me."
"My Mama always said, 'Life was like a box of chocolates; you never know the shit you're gonna get.'"
I’ll be back. Fuck. Maybe not.
Bond. James Cocksucking Bond."
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Unless you’re a pussy"
Friday, December 25, 2009
Day 139 - Jesus & Moses of T.G.I. Friday's
December 25th, 2009
(Jesus glides into T.G.I. Friday's restaurant, Moses waves him down from a booth and Jesus takes a seat)
MOSES: JC!
JESUS: Sorry I'm late man. I was writing my obligatory Facebook status update thanking everyone for the birthday wishes.
MOSES: Happy Birthday man. You don’t look one day past 33! Great robe.
JESUS: Thanks Mo. I got it at Today’s Man. It really breathes well. I love Fridays. I haven’t been here since my last supper. You’re looking well too.
MOSES - My cardio workout was on hold because I was in a cast for a few months after dropping a tablet of commandments on my foot.
JESUS: OMFG
MOSES: Seriously, I credit my weight loss to 40 years of wandering through the desert. And Pilates.
(Waitress walks over)
WAITRESS: Welcome to T.G.I. Friday's, where every day is a Friday.
MOSES: ..or where every day is Shabbat…(reading name tag)..Jolene. Great Flair.
JESUS: Just be careful my child. My first job was at a Fridays in Nazareth. My dad, ya know God, said it would build character. I tripped over the barbecue sauce display and all the pens stabbed me all over my body. (Opens robe to reveal bodily marks and sores) Everyone seemed to think these stigmata were from the crucifixion. But no. No they are not.
WAITRESS: Ew. Thanks for the heads up. Can I get you two central figures of religion something to drink?
JESUS – I’ll have some holy water. No ice. With a slice of lemon.
MOSES – I’ll have a Manischewitz daiquiri with some extra umbrellas.
(Waitress walks off)
JESUS: Umbrellas?
MOSES: Yeah, I was getting high with Noah in his shed yesterday while he was working on this ark bullshit. He asked me to hook him up with some umbrellas.
JESUS: That’s so weird because he just texted me asking for a male and female caribou.
MOSES– He’s been acting off ever since Mary Magdalene gave him chlamydia.
JESUS – Yeah, I tapped that too.
MOSES – Me too. She said that she was impressed with the length and girth of my staff.
JESUS: Nice (looking at menu) I just love the potatoes skins. Can you eat bacon?
MOSES: I love the bacon. Jacqueline Kabat wrote a blog entry called Day 16 – Bacon Fetish(http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-16-bacon-fetish.html) and I’ve been eating swine ever since.
JESUS: I dated Jax briefly…
MOSES: No way!
JESUS: Yeah. Great girl..just not enough in common. I walk on water and she’s a scuba diver.
MOSES: It happens. Let’ go ahead and order I don’t have a lot of time. The Red Sea isn’t going to part itself.
JESUS: Yeah, I’m meeting Judas for racquetball.
MOSES: Well, it’s just great to see you and catch up on this “Religion” (he finger quotes) game. We are pretty kicks ass in convincing people to believe, as George Carlin said, “The greatest bullshit story ever told.”
JESUS: We’re awesome.
(They high five)
The End
(Jesus glides into T.G.I. Friday's restaurant, Moses waves him down from a booth and Jesus takes a seat)
MOSES: JC!
JESUS: Sorry I'm late man. I was writing my obligatory Facebook status update thanking everyone for the birthday wishes.
MOSES: Happy Birthday man. You don’t look one day past 33! Great robe.
JESUS: Thanks Mo. I got it at Today’s Man. It really breathes well. I love Fridays. I haven’t been here since my last supper. You’re looking well too.
MOSES - My cardio workout was on hold because I was in a cast for a few months after dropping a tablet of commandments on my foot.
JESUS: OMFG
MOSES: Seriously, I credit my weight loss to 40 years of wandering through the desert. And Pilates.
(Waitress walks over)
WAITRESS: Welcome to T.G.I. Friday's, where every day is a Friday.
MOSES: ..or where every day is Shabbat…(reading name tag)..Jolene. Great Flair.
JESUS: Just be careful my child. My first job was at a Fridays in Nazareth. My dad, ya know God, said it would build character. I tripped over the barbecue sauce display and all the pens stabbed me all over my body. (Opens robe to reveal bodily marks and sores) Everyone seemed to think these stigmata were from the crucifixion. But no. No they are not.
WAITRESS: Ew. Thanks for the heads up. Can I get you two central figures of religion something to drink?
JESUS – I’ll have some holy water. No ice. With a slice of lemon.
MOSES – I’ll have a Manischewitz daiquiri with some extra umbrellas.
(Waitress walks off)
JESUS: Umbrellas?
MOSES: Yeah, I was getting high with Noah in his shed yesterday while he was working on this ark bullshit. He asked me to hook him up with some umbrellas.
JESUS: That’s so weird because he just texted me asking for a male and female caribou.
MOSES– He’s been acting off ever since Mary Magdalene gave him chlamydia.
JESUS – Yeah, I tapped that too.
MOSES – Me too. She said that she was impressed with the length and girth of my staff.
JESUS: Nice (looking at menu) I just love the potatoes skins. Can you eat bacon?
MOSES: I love the bacon. Jacqueline Kabat wrote a blog entry called Day 16 – Bacon Fetish(http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-16-bacon-fetish.html) and I’ve been eating swine ever since.
JESUS: I dated Jax briefly…
MOSES: No way!
JESUS: Yeah. Great girl..just not enough in common. I walk on water and she’s a scuba diver.
MOSES: It happens. Let’ go ahead and order I don’t have a lot of time. The Red Sea isn’t going to part itself.
JESUS: Yeah, I’m meeting Judas for racquetball.
MOSES: Well, it’s just great to see you and catch up on this “Religion” (he finger quotes) game. We are pretty kicks ass in convincing people to believe, as George Carlin said, “The greatest bullshit story ever told.”
JESUS: We’re awesome.
(They high five)
The End
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