Smoke Up!

Painting at 5 am while Bob Dylan sings about going to find America.

We make America.

Right here on the stage.

You don’t need to hitchhike Bob. Just buy yourself a ticket. We’ll bring America to you.

Anywhere else you’d like to be? We can do that too. From ancient Greece to the land of Oz.

We’re the Virtual Travel Agency.

We all smoke. We smoke, but we say that we want to quit. That we’re going to quit.

That’s the cool thing. Guilt is in. Guilt is hip. It’s okay to do wrong, as long as you want to change.

It wouldn’t be hip to actually quit. To succeed in something all of your friends have failed at thus far. To walk around gloating your victory as they huddle outside of a door in sub-zero temperatures for a couple of December drags. Then where will you be? In the “No Smoking” section. All by yourself. Lonely. You’d have friends if you smoked. You could hang out and smoke with someone who you would never befriend under smoke-free circumstances. Smoking gives you a common bond that makes you part of an unspoken secret society of those who refuse to breathe easy. Do you really want to throw that away? Smoke up brother. Smoke up.

She Shook Me All Night Long

She was a slow machine,

Her motor was filthy,

And frankly, I've seen better.

She was however, an epileptic, and that is the only standard that I maintain. I like it when they go into a seizure while we're making whoopee. There's nothing like it. It makes me feel like my bedroom prowess is the cause of both her involuntary shaking and the foam that has formed around her mouth.

I feel like a real man.

The Grotto is Empty

One week ago today, Hugh Hefner's penis detached itself from his body and left the Playboy Mansion. It's current whereabouts are unknown. Just before exiting the home of the men's magazine mogul, witnesses claim the overworked piece of genatalia turned to Hugh and uttered the following:

"I quit. Seriously man, you haven't given me a day off in, like, sixty years. Fuck you, I'm retired."

In the week since Hugh began his penisless existence, the Playboy Corporation claims he has taken up needlepoint and Mahjong. Mr. Hefner also claims to have a new found appreciation for "The View" on ABC. As for the location of his penis, Mr Hefner says that he could care less.

"I feel like I've wasted most of my life having sex with extremely beautiful women. When you add it up, I've literally spent years of my life inside of various vaginas. I'm through with that. Now, I want to learn how to bake."

You Can't Go Back

I never did learn any of those old school hip hop dances in the 1980's. Sure, I can mention their names and identify with those who were around for "The Cabbage Patch," "The Running Man," and "The Roger Rabbit," but the moves of this era are not fossilized in my muscle memory. That is one of my great regrets.

The Kiss After

I imagine that if you kissed someone on the mouth after they tossed your salad that, while you might mean it as a sign of affection, they could view you as a weirdo who wants to taste his own feces and never want to see you again. You would probably be thinking, "This guy just had his tongue in my poop shoot, who is he to judge?". My advice would be to offer him a breath mint and get on with your life. He was all wrong for you anyways.