Controversy Shmontroshmershy

I'm always amazed at how most Bullsheet controversy seems to dissipate after a few days. Someone says something of an "UH-OH!" status, another responds, double sheet, double sheet, double sheet, everyone stops talking about it. The formula is always the same. It never changes. Whatsamatta, dorks? Don't you care about anything? Apparently not! So, to get your juices flowing, I have come up with a list of controversial topics, opinions, and questions for you to discuss with your friends.

1. Competitive abortion-getting: Horrific new pastime or a woman's right to choose?
2. Republicans: a healthy mix of the wealthy and the ignorant
3. Hey, Homesteaders, I've seen that garden. It's just weeds.
4. Fish-bombing from helicopters in the Alaskan wilderness
5. Unsolicited assisted suicide in the Alaskan hospital
6. New study confirms gays can't read
7. Shampoop: Terrible idea or most terrible idea of all-time?
8. White people < Black people < Darrin Collins < Me
9. Sarah Palin: Is she a Fembot?
10. Will Barack Obama change our babies? Because they're shitting everywhere.
11. Weird Al's Pulitzer: Where is it?
12. Let us return to the time of Eden, strip off our clothes, and have sex with our children.
13. Satan: Better than God, or just more fun to hang out with?
14. Prostitution is hard. No one wants to have sex with my dog.
15. Do the Beijing Olympic medals contain lethal amounts of lead?

Burpee's Blog!

For those of you who don't know, I am in an improv-comedy group at Denison University, Burpee's Seedy Theatrical Co. We are the oldest collegiate improv group in the country, and tend to be extremely funny. And now we even have a blog, http://burpeesseedy.blogspot.com. What more could you ask for? Affordable health insurance? Clean, renewable energy? A house you pay for and live in? Then vote for Barack Obama!

Further Proof That God is Dead and He's Never Coming Back

Last January I posted proof that there can no longer be any just and loving god. I am sorry to say that I have returned with more evidence to support my claim. For no god would ever allow Beverly Hills Chihuahua to become the highest grossing film in America. Not for a weekend, not for a day, not for the blink of one of his million eyeballs.

Loot. Pillage. Make movies centered around jokes a decade old. There are no consequences for anything anymore.

A Return to Simpler, Sexual Harassier Times

Ah, the good ol' days! When couples didn't have to waste time "talking things out" or "sharing feelings" or any of that crap. Nope, any case of wifey getting out of line could be solved with a few quick spanks to the rear. That put her back in her place! And then she could run back to the store for some of that delicious pressure packed Chase & Sanborn Coffee.

But now it's the bad new days! When the modern relationship hierarchy has been warped into a hunchbacked bucktoothed cross-eyed my-tickets-are-in-the-nosebleed-section of a thing. Thanks a lot, Lifetime and the descendents of Susan B. Anthony.

Men, I pray you, do not forget! The woman is a confused animal, weak in skill, thought-process, and size of muscle. Next time she forgets who's boss, you just remind her. The Chase & Sanborn Coffee way!

It's Crackerjack, Ladies and Gentlemen!

If you like the one-act I've posted below, or if you're just too lazy to read it, you can listen to the radio play! Just follow these easy easy-to-follow steps!

1. Go into iTunes
2. Click on the iTunes Store
3. Click on iTunes U (first column on left)
4. Click on Universities & Colleges (third column on left)
5. Click on Denison University
6. Click on Our Students: Artists, Authors & Scholars

And it's the only thing that's posted (as of right now). It's quite funny (in my and everyone else's opinion). The cast is as follows:

Katie Dahm as Narrator
Arthur Kopit as Himself
Me as Me
Evan Hill as Davis

Enjoy!

A Reading of Nicholas Bailey's New One-Act Play, "A Pie Right in the Kisser"

LIGHTS UP on a playwriting class in a small office library. The walls are lined with plays and various theatre texts. There is a long wooden table. Around it sit, in counterclockwise order, ARTHUR KOPIT, the professor; students KIM, DAVIS, NICK, DUSTIN, STEPH, STEPHANIE, BEN, DANYA, KATHLEEN, LAURA, LISA, BRANDALL, KATIE, and JORDAN; and a young professor, ELENI PAPALEONARDOS.

ARTHUR
Alright. Who has something to share today?

NICK
I have another worst play I wrote.

ARTHUR
Let’s have it.

NICK
OK, um, I guess there’s only—well, there’re really two roles, kind of. Davis, if you’ll read Theodore, and Arthur, if you just wanna read the stage directions.

(He hands out the scripts and they begin to read.)

ARTHUR
“‘A Pie Right in the Kisser.’ Lights up on the inside of a house located in Midwestern America middle-class suburbia. Upstage center there is the front door. To the right of it stands a hat and coat rack. There are also some hooks on the wall, in case extra places to hang hats and coats are needed besides the rack. There is one man’s coat and one woman’s coat hanging somewhere; the rack or the hooks, it doesn’t matter. Downstage center is the living room. It is comprised of one large couch, one loveseat, one chair, a large coffee table, and two small stands, each with a lamp on it. The couches are of a contemporary design, with an almost tweed-like appearance, and have an attractive tan color (note that there can be hints of other colors as well, as long as they go with tan. There is nothing more unsightly than an ill-decorated room). The design of the coffee table is of no importance (oval, rectangular, glass-top, etc.), but there should be several coffee table books on it, filled with photography of exotic places and cultures from around the world. The lamps shouldn’t be too big or too small, but instead should look as though they were made to be placed on those particular stands (i.e. just the right size).

It should be noted that both the large couch and loveseat have a few throw pillows on them, all in a complimentary color scheme. There is also a blanket with fringes draped over the chair, in case anyone sitting in the chair should get cold and require a blanket. Of course, it should be supposed that anyone else in a different part of the house might go up and get the blanket, whether or not that person is planning on sitting in that particular chair, either presently, momentarily, or much later in the day. Basically, this is a blanket that should be able to be moved if need be.

There is a door leading to a study stage right. We never see fully inside of it, but a bookcase, table or something in the back of the room should be present so that, when the door opens, we know that this room is in fact a study.

Upstage left there is a dining room. There should be no wall or door separating the living room from the dining room, but instead they should be two distinct halves of the same room. The dining room contains, of course, a dining room table complete with six chairs. An oval table would be best; the kind that you can pull apart to add extra leaves, in case you need to accommodate more guests than you’re used to having. An expensive yet tasteful chandelier perches over the center of the table. It does not contain candles, however, but lights shaped like candles, which gives the same affect without the hassle of hot, dripping wax. Sitting on the center of the table are two slightly used red candles in attractive brass candlesticks. The table itself should not actually be set for dinner. No tablecloth.

There is a swinging door leading to the kitchen stage left, although we never actually see the inside of it. After we get a glimpse of the study we will assume that this must be the kitchen, because rarely are kitchens located on the second floor.

Upstage right there is a staircase leading to this proposed second floor. Family photos hang on the wall, lining the staircase. The photos contain various combinations of a husband, wife, a young boy, a young girl, and a dog (something small and terrier-like). At the bottom of the stairs there is a table with a lamp, a bowl containing potpourri, and a basket that the mail is kept in. A letter opener could be placed on the table, although it is not necessary.

It should be noted that some of the walls of the house are light yellow, some are taupe, and the trim is white. The carpet should be an attractive tan color, though not the same as the couches. I will reiterate a previous point: there is nothing more unsightly than an ill-decorated room.

Somewhere in the vicinity of the living room, dining room, and kitchen door there should be a modern yet modest entertainment center, containing a CD player, several CD’s, and some quality audio speakers. This center should be of a lovely cherry wood color. The CD player is playing a Mozart piano concerto. It is not important which one; there are more than plenty from which to choose, and they basically all sound the same anyway. Suddenly, the DOORBELL RINGS! A man calls from the study off stage right.”

DAVIS (as MAN’S VOICE)
“I’ll get it!”

ARTHUR
“The voice belongs to Theodore, who emerges from the study stage right and goes to answer the door. He is dressed in dark brown corduroy pants with a red plaid shirt tucked into it. He also wears a pair of brown deck shoes with a matching brown belt. A navy blue blazer is optional, but strongly encouraged. Theodore opens the door, and...

WHAM! He’s hit in the face with a BANANA CREAM PIE! Right in the kisser! The pie-thrower is never seen. The Mozart immediately stops, as if someone pulled the needle off a record, making that obnoxious scratching noise.

It should be noted that the pie filling is to be very smooth, completely free of banana bumps. The brand of pie is of no consequence, although a better pie will make for a happier actor, who has to get hit in the face with said pie.

Theodore closes the door and turns around to face the audience. He draws a finger along the side of his face and tastes the gooey goodness. He is noticeably upset (or at least as noticeable as one can be when one’s face is covered in baked goods).”

DAVIS (as THEODORE)
“I asked for chocolate!”

ARTHUR
“A brass bellow: WAH WAH WAH! Blackout. End of play.”

(looks over his glasses, smiles)

You’re on to something here.

(The rest of the class stands and applauds. Nick rises from his chair, accepting the accolades as graciously as he can. The cheering from the class slowly morphs into that of a thunderous crowd, while multi-colored confetti and balloons emblazoned with pictures of Nick’s face fall from the ceiling. The students hoist Nick into the air. Everyone starts to move in slow motion, and the applause swells as...

Lights fade.)

End of play

Jenny and the Baby

Jenny walks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator to get a bottle of wine, but she notices that it's still on the counter from the previous night. She takes the open bottle and puts it to her lips and lets the warm wine slowly find its way down her throat. It quenches and it satisfies and after a moment her headache begins to fade. She sets her purse down on the table and rifles through the mail. There's nothing she's interested in, although the Victoria's Secret catalogue looks alright, so she sets it down to read it later, maybe in bed before she turns out the light. The bottle gets tipped completely vertical as the last drops fall on her tongue. She goes back to the fridge to get the other bottle, but then she sees that there is no other bottle, and that this bottle is the other bottle from when she had another bottle last night. She checks the cupboard, she checks her bedroom, she checks the closet in her bedroom and the closet in the hallway. She checks the garage, but she finds nothing. And even though she just drove stop and start for over an hour, she gets back into her car.

Autumn is finally here and the leaves have split themselves into two groups. There are the leaves that cover the grass and the roads, brown and dead and crispy and cracked. And there are the leaves on the trees, and as Jenny drives she notices how green they are. They are, in fact, all green in their various shades and stages of green. She is startled by this and she stares up and around at the trees in awe. There is no red, no orange, no yellow and no purple; there is brown and there is green. They are alive, or they are dead. They are alive, or they are dead, she thinks, and she gets her first glimpse of yellow and red and stops at the light, jolting her car more than she likes because she finds it hard to pay attention.

A woman pushes a stroller slowly across the intersection, slowly and nearly methodically, Jenny thinks, and she imagines she's done this a million or two million times before. It's routine, it's built in, it's a part of her, almost as much as her own child. Her face is bored, it's routine, and her mind is either moving a hundred miles an hour or not at all. She stares ahead, blankly. The woman stops the stroller in the middle of the intersection right in front of Jenny's car and reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a cell phone and smiles instantly as she opens it. Jenny wonders if the call is from a lover or friend, relative or spouse, and for a moment she contemplates what would happen if she ran the woman down. This woman and her child, the mother on her phone, the little baby asleep in the stroller, or maybe it's not asleep. But the woman pushes the stroller again, talking on her cell phone, smiling and talking, smiling with her baby. Maybe Jenny could steal it and she wouldn't even mind. Maybe she could get out of her car and take the baby and run the woman down and nobody would mind. She could name the child Catherine, or William, she thinks. The light turns green and Jenny is about to press down on the gas but a car comes racing on her right and runs the red light. She is just slightly out of breath, and her headache is just beginning to reappear.

The time is 6:18 in Minneapolis. Jenny knows that where her sister lives it's 7:18. People forget about Mountain Time, she thinks. Television advertises every show with the Eastern and Central Time, and everyone knows about Pacific Time. But she feels as though people forget about Mountain Time, and how it just sits there unacknowledged, how it sits there while everyone talks about the time in every other part of the country. Maybe I should move to Colorado, she thinks, or Montana or Idaho. I could go skiing and I could wake up every morning and look out at the mountains, or I could move to Arizona and look out at the desert. The vast, open wasteland with nothing but sand and the only water you can find is in a manmade lake or inside a cactus, or the rain that falls not that often.

She pulls into the parking lot of the store and turns off the radio, but the radio was already off so she presses the dial again. Her feet hit the pavement, covered by a crunchy blanket of fallen leaves, and she kicks a few in a hesitant spurt of a playful mood.

The store is virtually empty and close to closing, the last few making their purchases or on the way to do so. Jenny walks up and down the aisles, although she knows that she will inevitably head straight for whatever happens to be on sale. She looks for the cheapest bottle of red wine and grabs three and doesn't bother to look at the name. She goes and sets the bottles on the counter and opens up her purse and takes out her wallet. She hears the amount and looks for cash or a card. She looks in her purse and her pockets.

"Christ."

She walks back to return the bottles to their place in the aisle. When she sets them down she looks over at the counter again, and the cashier is busy with the last customer. Jenny walks next to a nearby display of vodka and puts two of the smaller bottles in her purse, smoothly and easily, and with a final nod to the cashier she's out the door and in her car, and as she turns back onto the street she thinks she hears someone, faintly, screaming for money.

A kid on a bike darts out in front of her car just blocks from her house and she slams on the breaks just in time. The belt catches her and she jolts against the seat. She starts crying, softly, slowly, and watches the child pedal away. She reaches for her purse to pull out a tissue and notices a flattened cigarette pack on the ground of the passenger's side. He must have thrown it there, she thinks, it must have slid underneath the seat. But she doesn't touch it, and she wipes her eyes and blows her nose and checks around her for any more children, and when she is certain that it's safe she drives away.

Jenny thinks about packing up and leaving. She wonders what it would be like to live in a place like Montana, Arizona, or Colorado. She wonders what it would be like to be the one who leaves. She wonders if she might like to live overseas. She could pack up everything and just leave, she could leave and go and never come back. Jenny could move somewhere where they don't speak English, somewhere where she doesn't know a word of what anyone is speaking. She could go to Switzerland or China. She could move to Iceland, and live where it's cold up in the mountains and never come down unless she absolutely had to. And she would never come down unless she absolutely had to. Where she could sit and think and drink during the night and day and be alone. And the more Jenny thinks about it the more she thinks it would be a good idea, to get a fresh start, to cleanse, to walk away without looking back. That might work, she thinks. But the more she thinks about it the more she thinks she couldn't go anywhere, not even if the plane was leaving and someone handed her a ticket.

Jenny sometimes wonders if there's a god. Some people believe in nothing. Others believe that God causes everything. She thinks, what's the difference?

She tries to think of other things, she tries, but she can't help herself. She pulls into the garage and wastes no time getting out and into the house, she's sick of being in the car today. The house is dark and sullen and abandoned, and even though she's lived there for years she fumbles for the light switch. She opens the closet to hang her coat and she does and when she closes the door it gets caught on a hanger. She pulls the door a few times before she forces it shut but it catches a coat and knocks it to the ground. It is a familiar, worn, brown leather jacket and she is hesitant to pick it up, but she does, and she runs her hand over it and could swear, she could almost swear, that it was still warm. But she knows it isn't. She goes back into the kitchen and gets a glass and fills it with ice. Jenny takes the two bottles out of her purse and throws the catalogue away. She walks down the dark hallway to the room at the end, but she doesn't bother to turn on the light. There is a rocking chair in the corner, and she sits in it. She opens one of the bottles and empties it into the glass. There is a box on the other side of the room that contains a baby's crib that was never put together. And she sits, and rocks, and stares across the room, and as she brings the glass up to her lips she can smell the faint aroma of cigarettes on her fingertips.

Concealed Carry

Girls are always asking me, "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Let me clear this up:

It's a gun.

MacMow

I've been wanting to mow the lawn for the past couple days, but it's been raining.  And it's supposed to rain every day for the next week.  I should just mow in the rain, naked, like a Scotsman.

Like a true Scotsman!

...

Aw, hell.  I'm Irish.  Which means I have to mow drunk while punching a woman.

...

OK, so my dad and I just say we're Irish.  We're actually English.  Which means I have to mow in a corduroy blazer with elbow patches.  And it's summer, which means that's going to make it fucking hot.

OK

I totes, TOTES promise to write something new (or newish) sometime soon (or soonish).

Holy shit it's those creepy claymation chocolate chip cookies. And I think one of them wants to rape that blonde chick.

Wait, no, she digs him. Although she's probably just flirting with him to suck him in so she can chomp on his delicious chips. SUCCUBUS! SUCCUBI! ALL OF YOU!

Spryng-Tyme is Heer

Yesterdaye I sawe three lasses (dressed in lyght, spryng dresses, and of a moste un-attractive nature) cavortting whilste attempting to barbe-a-cuoe.

Methinks tis tyme for it to snowe agayne.

Things That Should Never Be #1

This kid sitting behind me in the library has that Eurodance remix of "Cotton-Eyed Joe" as his ring tone.

...

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Tony the Tiger Mauls Three Children

BURBANK, CA – Three children are in critical condition after being attacked by Frosted Flakes spokesman Tony the Tiger, in what has turned out to be the worst animated tiger cereal spokesman related act of violence in recent memory.
        The incident took place during a television commercial shoot, in which Tony was supposed to surprise three siblings with a big box of Frosted Flakes for breakfast.
       “Everything was going really well,” stated Tony’s handler, Simone Bremner, “it was just like any other shoot. But I noticed something start to go wrong when instead of running in next to the kids, Tony jumped on the table and growled.”
       Kellogg’s is extremely remorseful, but insists that animal rights helped play a hand in the tragedy. “You wouldn’t have seen this back in 1952 [when Tony first appeared],” said Kellogg’s representative, Daryl Schumacher. “Back then Tony would be so tired and so beaten he’d barely know what was going on. We had him whipped into shape. But wham! PETA comes along, slaps a lawsuit on us, and now three kids are missing half their faces.”
       It was indeed a malicious assault. After jumping on the table Tony pounced on the three children, able to cover all of them with his massive body. He then began tearing away their flesh, growling his trademark–and in this case horrifically ironic–growl, “They’re grrreat!”
       Bremner showed little surprise in retrospect. “What people forget is that Tony is a wild animal. He’s not supposed to be selling cereal; he’s supposed to be in his natural habitat. So when he saw, what were to him, three tasty animals, the predator in him naturally came out.  We should all be thankful it didn’t come out a lot sooner.”
       The three children, whose names are being kept from the public, are being held in the Los Angeles Children’s Hospital. Tony is being held at the Los Angeles Zoo and Botanical Gardens under round-the-clock security. He is scheduled to be put down later this week.

Bullfriends #1

Bush, Cheney Made Love After Every State of the Union

WASHINGTON, D.C.–In what became a regular tradition for the pair, President Bush and Vice President Cheney made sweet, passionate love after the president's final State of the Union address.
        Bush and Cheney's ability to keep their lovemaking sessions a secret was due to their incredible discreetness and professionalism concerning the matter.  But those last few years of secrecy came to a crashing end when it seemed Bush could just not contain himself during the speech.

        "Tonight," Bush stated, "I want to discuss three economic reforms that deserve to be priorities for this Congress.  First, we must balance the federal budget. We can do so without raising boners–I mean taxes!  Without raising taxes."

        It was only one of many slip-ups that were to plague the president's speech.  During the evening he constantly referred to education as "sex education," snickered everytime he said "size," and while talking about his health care plan he stated, "My second proposal is to help the states that are coming up with innovative ways to cover the uninsured.  Heh, like after the last speech, man, Cheney found some innovative ways to cover me with–I mean, Vice President Cheney is a, a, a great guy.  I'n't he?"  He then covered the mic and glanced over at Cheney, whispering, "Phew, that was a close one," to which Cheney just put his head in his hands and grunted.
        The pair was forced to admit to their affair yesterday after speculation of the romance spread quickly throughout Capitol Hill.  In an effort to clear the air, as well as distill any rumors that were floating around, the vice president held a press conference early this morning.

        "It's really not that big of a deal, and in no way is it romantic.  It's just two men who work together very closely enjoying a special bond–humping."  Cheney explained how he had always had a fascination with his daughter's lesbianism, adding that, "maybe there was something to that whole gay thing."
        When asked for details into the bedroom goings-on, Cheney was vague at best.  He did however say that it rarely took place in a bedroom, and that it consisted mostly of the two 69'ing while calling each other dirty names, "Madam Speaker" being a new favorite ever since Nancy Pelosi was elected.

Fashionisto

Today the pattern on my shoes matched the pattern on my underwear! And I didn't even try!

New Health Center Witch Doctor Not Working Out as Planned

GRANVILLE, OH–Correcting what has appeared to be an exercise in terrible judgment, Paul Harrison, the new Denison University Whisler Health Center witch doctor, will be let go at the end of next week.
        "We had been thinking about hiring a new doctor for a long time," said Sonya Turner-Murray, the director of Denison's Health and Human Services.  "We thought that the addition of Dr. Harrison would be beneficial for all involved, bringing an aspect of diversity that we believed we were lacking in our medical department."

        Paul Harrison (pictured), real name Adetokunbo Harrison Madubuike, was met with much skepticism from the student body.  "I went in for a cough drop on my way to class and I was in there for four hours," said junior Jay Hurst.  "And he wouldn't... stop... screaming."
        "I broke my leg when I fell down the hill the other day and I went to Dr. Harrison for some help," stated junior Josh Zingg, "but all he did was rub some crushed Taheebo tree bark on it and make me drink some tea made out of crushed Taheebo tree bark.  Now my leg is gangrenous, and it needs to be amputated.  Thanks a lot, bitch doctor."
        Turner-Murray tried to shed some light on how the health center made its decision to let Paul go.  "We hired Dr. Harrison on the basis that he had graduated with honors from the Harvard School of Witchcraft and Medicine, which we now know to be an utterly false establishment.  Also, we noticed his degree was written in an ink of berry juice on dried animal skins."

Wha'dyou Expect?

My university (as I assume it is with most other universities) has various wicker baskets around campus (service centers, health center, other centers, etc.) filled to the brim with condoms.  Promoting safe sex: it's a wonderful thing.  But after returning from my fall semester in London I noticed that, along with the regular spermicidal lubricated condoms (to kill off any of the buggers that try to escape!), there were now Magnums you could get.  Magnums.  For big, floppy, donkey shlongs.

Here are the various problems I see with this:

1.  You can totally fit a regular size condom on a massive penis.  You can fucking put your entire hand in one of those things.  In fact, I think I saw a girl walking around yesterday with a mini skirt, Uggs, and a Trojan on each leg.
2.  The dickweeds at my school who think their massive penises require these Hefty bags don't need any more ego inflation.  Although, if it gets them to actually use protection, pile 'em on I guess.
3.  This here dickweed doesn't need any more ego deflation.  One night I was with a lady and decided to try a Magnum to see if I could get away with it.  It was like my dick had its own tent.  When I came I could hear the echo.  I don't need this memory bitchslapping me in the face every time I go to the nurse for a cough drop.

Nobody actually needs one of these things.  "But Nick!" you say.  "The regular ones are way too tight!"  Perfect.  They'll cut the circulation of blood, thereby making your erection far less large then it would/might/ought to/should be.

My apologies to anyone who actually has a massive penis that requires a Magnum.  I envy you, sir/madam.

Affleck v. God

I was on a plane a few weeks ago, and the Ben Affleck "film" Surviving Christmas was playing. Even worse, two people opposite the aisle from me were smiling and enjoying it.

God is dead, and he's never coming back.