That's something that I've always found sort of interesting: with stand-up, if you don't have a punch line every 15-20 seconds you'll lose the room in 30; but they'll then go across the street to an altogether pretentious monologue in some under-stage theater, and sit there for an entire hour without even so much as cracking a smile, and throw roses at the actor's feet. In a way, though, no other form of entertainment is more similar to comedy than a monologue; except that when a comedian does it, it tends to actually be entertaining, Hell, even a terrible comedian can be funny; especially if he/she is a friend: there's nothing funnier than when a friend bombs a set. I'm sure there's all sorts of psychology that can explain why, but really I don't need to know why; I just need to know that it happens to be the case, and so I have something to look forward to every time they take the mic. Of course if they do well, that's great too: so it's really a win-win, no matter what.
Anyways, here are some "jokes." Feel free to be disappointed; everyone else always seems to be. Also, you'll notice that I title my jokes. I'm not sure what that indicates about myself as a person, but it's probably not all that flattering so I'm just going to ignore it.
Absinthe Party at Bono’s on Friday
The weird thing about music to me is that every song you hear on the radio is basically just a remix of a previous hit from twenty years ago. With that said…do you think Bono ever wakes up after a trip, hears whatever sh*tty, mediocre Coldplay song is on the radio and thinks, "I don't remember recording that? I‘ve got to stop soaking my vegan patties in absinthe, that s**t is rotting my brain."
Impotent Contentment
My girlfriend and I broke up the other day. It was kind of rough. She came up to me and said, “Mark I'm pregnant. It's yours.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, jokes on you b***h: I'm impotent! [Long beat] Finally my once-embarrassing inability to impregnate a woman pays off! By the way, get the h**l out.”
Dogs: Emotionally Honest People That can also Lick Their Own Genitals
Dogs are hilarious to me because they have no emotional middle ground; they‘re like what people would be if we couldn't process our emotions and just immediately expressed them all, and were also able to lick our own genitals. Like when you put the dog out: “Oh, outside! We’re going to go play? I hope you throw the stick a couple times, I love it when you throw the stick. Hey where are you going, the sticks over there? Buddy? Hey! Hey! Heeeeeeeey! [Beat] F**k you!
Lost in Law School
My dad still likes to try to get me to do something with my life; “all you have to do is finish school, take the LSAT, and go into law school.” Yeah, that sounds like an awful lot of work just to get paid to be a liar; I can do that tomorrow in any job interview based off of my resume.
Sometimes I want to tell him, “Look Dad: It’s taken me seven years just to complete a single semester of regular university courses. Law school is no longer the issue; I probably couldn't pass a kindergarten class at this point.
“Okay Mark; you've failed nap time every day for the last two months, and while your finger painting technique is obviously more advanced than the other students-”
“-thank you.”
“-I don’t see any real creativity in them. It’s all too rigid, and well-formed. And look at these ‘Science is a Blast!‘ coloring pages: not one smudge of crayon outside the lines. I don’t know, its not looking good. Did you remember to bring your final project?”
“Oh; that was…that was due today?”
I think my final college GPA was, like, 1.2; which is a great turnovers stat-line for the starting point guard on your fantasy basketball team, but it’s not getting you into law school. I’m not worried, though: someone just offered me a fantastic opportunity. Yeah. It turns out, I can win millions of dollars playing on draftkings.com one-day fantasy basketball leagues! So I think I’m gonna be all right.
Making Out at the Olive Garden
The way that people “Make out” really confuses; it's basically just a place holder for sex. So why the hell is everyone doing it for so long? That's like going to the Olive Garden and filling up on the breadsticks and the salad, and then leaving before your pasta arrives.
"May I take your order now sir?"
"No, I'm good. Your endless supply of bread and lettuce was enough to satiate my appetite."
Although, come to think of it: if you’re going to be making out for a while, you might as well just do it at the Olive Garden. Not only would you get unlimited food and drinks while you’re there, but your unsolicited PDA could only class up the joint. What are they going to do, tell you to stop? The guy at table 3 is wearing jean shorts, flip flops with socks on, and a Nascar T-shirt. It’s not exactly a high-end restaurant; it’s no Macaroni Grill, yo.
ODDS COLLECTOR; NO ENDS
I like to collect weird, random s**t: because someday its going to be useful. Someone’s going to walk up to me and say, “Excuse me sir, I know that you’re busy, but…I need three thousand bottle caps. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find them, would you?”
And then finally I get to respond: “Cool! I got ‘em! Finally my admittedly creepy behavior pays off, just like I always knew it would. By the way, good sir…would you prefer those bottle caps alphabetized or chronologicalized?”
Poorly-Timed Mic Drops
You know what the worst time to do a mic drop is? When you still have s**t to say afterwards.
“And if you look at the graph on table 7, you’ll notice that I’m out of this b**ch, suckas!”
[Act-out drop, wait a moment, and then pick it back up.]
“Also, it shows that our net profits fell from 20% to 19% last quarter, so the CEO is recommending that we cut back the lowest rung of the workforce by 90%, or else he’ll only be able to play golf every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday, instead of MondayTuesdaywednsdaythursday and Friday.”
The Neon Speed (that's what I actually named my van. Hence using it as the title)
I had an old van that broke down recently, which I affectionately referred to it as “that red price of s**t“, but which my neighbors referred to as "the mobile amber alert."
It wasn't the worst car in the world, but I still had the police called on me a number of times ~ that number being one. It was an old 1993 red ford cargo van with no side windows. I’m not surprised I had the cops called on me; I’m just surprised they didn't immediately throw me in jail instead of searching the car. And the officer was surprised to find it completely empty of kidnapped children. ‘Cause I had planned ahead; and removed all of the evidence.
Seriously, I drove through New Mexico and got stopped every fifteen minutes by the border patrol; but it was my own fault, really. I was trying to make some extra gas money, so I let a social awareness group put a gigantic sticker down each side. The worst part was their slogan: “Together we can break down the walls that separate us.”
Once I even had a forty-five year old soccer mom accost me; and not in a good way.
“What are you doing here,” she asked; brandishing her garden trowel up against my window like a tomahawk.
“Just here to pick up a friend,” I said.
And literally, this is what she asked me: “How old is he?”
Well now I was pissed. I mean if I had rolled up in any other vehicle, we would never have even had a conversation. I could have been sitting in a Lexus with "I’m going to kidnap and rape your children" painted all over it, and she wouldn't have even blinked. But I didn't; cause I couldn't afford a Lexus; or the paint. So I drove my van.
“Well how old is he?” She demanded again.
“I don't know,” I responded. “How old was your son again?”
That was the one time when I had the cops called on me.
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