So, internet, here we are. Just like a couple of old west gunslingers, this only ends one of two ways: with you falling in love with this blog and becoming a lifetime fan of my catastrophically witty remarks, or me shooting you in the face… bad metaphor.
Honestly, I appreciate your coming to the site, especially if we’re not in some way related, as that makes up the majority of my fan-base at the moment. I think we’ll have some fun as long as we both understand the rules to our relationship. I’m going to say some weird, borderline awful things. And you are going to listen. It’s basically the same relationship I have with my brother’s cat. On a side note, I hope cats don’t learn to speak English, or I my brother will never want to use his shampoo again.
So let’s treat this like a first date. That may not be a great idea for me because dating has never been my strong point. But, I’ve always been told that practice makes perfect, although I would argue that practice makes a lonely person addicted to pornography.
A little bit about me: I’m 22 years old and I love to harass my 16-year-old little brother’s friends both in person and over whatever social network they decide to let their stupid faces be seen. Teenagers should be neither seen, nor heard, nor treated like real people. They’re like gingers, except teenagers may actually have a soul. I enjoy the little things in life, like a sunset, a sunrise, or the overuse of anti-Semitic slurs. I love movies. I usually watch comedies, my favorites are “Black Dynamite” and “The Diary of Anne Frank.” Alright, just one more joke about Jews and I’ve filled my quota for the day. Oh don’t be offended, internet, I’ve seen some of your work. If you’re going to judge me for a Holocaust joke I recommend you take a look at a little something called “One guy, One cup” (but seriously, I don’t recommend that). Don’t be a hypocrite.
Alright, the date thing wasn’t a great metaphor either.
Let’s be honest with each other, internet. We were bound to join forces at some point. It’s just fate. We’re like Luke and Yoda, peanut butter and jelly, or Captain Planet and those gay kids with the rings. I have a lot to say, and you have a lot of space to fill. It just makes too much sense to hold off any longer.
In all sincerity, I appreciate you, internet. I appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me, to turn all my strange thoughts into a blog for my immediate family, and possibly a few of my cousins, to read. It wasn’t until I started doing comedy that life decided to start showing its beauty to me. I know what you’re thinking, “what’s beautiful about being able to go on stage and make jokes about the reproductive organs of a duck and your possible consideration of beastiality?” I don’t claim this to be the most universal of art forms, I know there will be people out there that won’t get it. And that’s fine. I don’t do it for them. I do it for the wellbeing of my soul.
When Eminem makes a song about killing his ex-wife in cold blood, or when horse-faced Lady Gaga sings about washing the feet of Judas, there is an army of people defending this as art. But, when a comic takes people to an uncomfortable place and makes them laugh when they get there, the reaction is either that they have done so in poor taste, or “who cares, he’s just telling jokes?” The only problem I have with that last statement is the “who cares” portion. Yes, we are just telling jokes, but don’t marginalize the art of it because we’re talking about boners and not poorly playing an instrument in front of screaming teenagers.
I know, it got kind of bitter at the end, didn’t it?
Folks, I will leave you with this. I love jokes. In many ways, they’ve saved my life. I hope you realize that most of what I say and do is just to see what happens if I say it or do it. And although I’d like to think there is a greater meaning to everything I say, I just want to make you laugh. If I can accomplish that, then we’ll be good friends.
Jews are cheap, quota filled.