Alien Night Club - Show 29?
Alien Night Club <the transcripts>
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Show 29! Hello hello hello, Show 29.
Allegedly.
Not that it matters. Another day, another dollar. Someone here recently asked me if there is such a thing as an Earth Monetary Unit. EMU for short. And if it is true that on Earth people use big birds similar to ostriches for financial compensation in exchange for goods? And could they come to Earth and go to an emu farm and get “money”?
So I said, No. No to all of that. Well, yes, you can visit Earth to visit an emu farm and say hi to all the nice birdies.
But if there’s a single unit of currency on Earth, I don’t know what it is. Once upon a time it was gold. And perhaps one day it will be again. But last I heard, the closest thing would be the U.S. dollar, which is the global reserve currency and is used for buying and selling oil. Which is why it’s also known as the petro dollar. Something which will probably never change, if you know what I mean. No matter what. Don’t even really want to think about that.
So I guess be on the lookout for aliens visiting emu farms.
Anyway, welcome to the show. I am your host Captain Blank and this is the Alien Night Club. It’s classy and it knows it. Now all aboard the sodomy meat train.
So, if you don’t mind, let’s get right into it: guns.
Are there people out there who have sex with guns? They like to integrate a gun – a firearm – in their sex?
I’ve never seen it, never done it, never had anyone tell me they do it.
So I know nothing; I am merely the messenger. To quote the gentleman from Six Pack, starring Country Music Legend Kenny Rogers but also Diane Lane and Anthony Michael Hall. How insane is that? That movie rules. During the Getting In Shape montage, Kenny is doing sit-ups and one of the kids, the little blonde boy, is sitting on his feet counting for him. And Kenny finishes his set sit-ups and he flops back onto his back, exhales loudly, grunts and exclaims at the newfound bliss of rest following a period of intense effort and or work. Because he just did a buttload of sit ups. So he’s tired. The muscles in his abdomen and upper thighs are burned out, full of lactic acid, and Kenny decided to stop. He actually could’ve kept going and forced another 10 or 20 or 100 reps over the course of many, many minutes. But he reached his predesignated number and stopped. Mostly so the kid could say his line, which was, That’s real good. But you’re still fat.
And then he pokes Kenny’s fat, distended stomach. And it’s hilarious. A child telling the truth. One of the great tropes stroke themes of all time. Like when kids call the cops to report that their parents have pot in the house.
What do you do? If you’re the cop or the dispatcher on the other end of the line and you hear a kid who is clearly 4 or 5 years old calling to say their parents smoke weed, what do you do? What does the law say? That they are legally obligated to go do a welfare check on those kids? That they go get a warrant and play that recording for the judge to get it quickly and then go to the residence and bust the door down? And arrest the shit out of those parents?
Or do you send a car to tell the parents what happened and to quote unquote encourage them to MAKE CERTAIN that those kids never do that again.
Dramatic pause.
Unless it’s an ACTUAL emergency.
And then the parent is like, Oh……. Yeah…….
And they suddenly realize just what the cop is telling him. He her it they them is saying, Look, if you have weed in there, probably get rid of it – immediately – or pretend to throw it away in front of the children – throw away a baggie of oregano – and then be MUCH better about not letting the kids see you do it.
So they go, Oh…….. Yeah……….
And they get it.
What they do I have no idea. Throw it away for real and quit smokin weed cold turkey as of that moment when they DIDN’T get arrested in the middle of the day in front of their children and neighbors? With someone recording the whole thing on their phone as soon as that freakin police car stopped at their house and the cop got out real slow…and walked around the car…and slowly up to the door…before knocking…
And the conversation happened, which is public record as far as I know.
And then the cops friggin left. They departed the area. They dee-dee-mou’d.
It’s an interesting philosophical approach to parenting. How much you tow the line once you have kids. Some go out full-bore and stop doing anything that’s sort of risky or potentially unhealthy such as smoking or drinking or smokin weed. But having zero alcohol in the house, like not even a bottle of wine – somewhere that the kids can’t get it, of course – for a special occasion. Like Tuesday after work. Oops, did I say Tuesday? I meant Mundee.
Which means you best get on that side hustle we talked about awhile back. So you don’t dread Monday. Mondays in general.
It’s just another day.
In some countries, it’s totally different from yours. Their Monday is different from your Monday. In America, Sunday is a rest day. It’s the 2nd half of the Super Bowl that is the weekend. Those 2 days. Even though Sunday is the first day of the week. We all know that, even though we don’t live it. We don’t feel it. For us, Monday is the first day of the week. Which is why we kind of dread it. It’s like, Okay, well, here we go again; another week; let’s hopefully try to make the best of it and get through it; I’m sure everything will be fine; it’s just that there’s a bunch of stuff I haff to do this week, stuff I KNOW I MUST do, and I don’t want to do those things. But I haff to. It’s part of my job. So I do them. But the older I get, the more and more I don’t want to. But I know I haff to. It’s how I earn my living. It’s how I get money. That’s the ONLY reason I do it. For MONEY. If I could get money some other way that sucked less – or at least didn’t suck more – I would totally 100% do it.
And we trip out when we see a frog do that croaking thing where they make the sound we all know as frogs croaking but they also inflate their throat sack thing. Their little neck stomach tummy belly inflates and the act of having air move in and out of it makes the cool little croaking sound. I personally love the sound of frogs croaking. Sometimes it gets a little loud. When you combine it with the bugs, it is freakin noisy. It’s like 10:30 at night and you’re watching TV or something and your body is going, Hey. We’re tired. Go to bed. NOW, please.
And you’re like, Yeah, yeah. I’ll just binge season 9 of Emily In Paris real quick.
And your body is like, Again!?! That’s the fourth time this month. We’re tired. We’re barely hanging on here. Muscles are fucked. Feet are fucked. Immune system is hanging by a thread. Kidneys are fine but adrenal glands on the penthouse of your kidneys are like, fuuuuuuuuuuuuck; please – PLEASE…for the love of God, please cut back on the coffee.
Which leads us to another TV show you may or may not have seen yet but you should. It’s funny. It stars Amy Poehler. It’s called Please Cut Back On the Coffee. And she plays a mid-level executive who works in Endocrinology. Except that it’s the Endocrinology department inside a human body. As in inside a living person. She’s in charge because everyone else died. So each time someone in charge died, the next person in line was forced to take the job. And they couldn’t leave; they were stuck there; so they took it. And then they died. And then so did the person after them. And the person after them. And the person after THEM. And it got ALLLLLLLLL the way down to middle management. To people who had no idea how to run a company. A big, important company. A company known as The Endocrine System. It’s not an easy system. It’s not skin. It’s not tongue. It’s not ear. It’s not armpit hair. Those are all easy systems. You think it’s hard to work in the Ear Department? It’s a subset of the Sensory System and hearing is a big deal, yes, for sure, but the focus is on the hearing. The nerves do all the work and everyone else just sits there, pretty much doing nothing, just sort of watching and doing their thing and sort of watching the cerumen accumulate on the walls of the canal. That’s earwax to you and me, Rusty.
Point being that the general manager of that job was given the job. And he she it they…
Wait. There’s 2 songs we need to get to. I forgot both names. That’s not the name of the song. I didn’t mention them earlier because I was on a roll. But I was afraid I would forget the names. And now I have done. Let me see if I can recall what they were.
Neck Stomach Tummy Belly.
Oh yeah: The Penthouse of Your Pussy. That’s a song about where your cat lives. Where cats like to live. And where they should live. So if you have a cat, make sure they have a nice environment. Especially a nice place to sleep. Even if that’s with you. Make sure they have a nice blanket or a box or a cat tree or something. Someplace they will feel safe.
And if you’re ever holding your cat and there is a sudden loud noise, perhaps a door slamming, and the cat in your arms starts to panic and squirm and you’re like, Oh, shit; I’m about to get scratched all to hell…
…and you drop the cat…
…you say screw it; the cat will land on its feet because that’s what they do and it’ll be fine but if I don’t react quickly now, I’m toast. I will get scratched A LOT. And I don’t want that. I hate being scratched. It hurts when it happens but mostly it hurts for like a week after that and it almost always gets infected and is more painful and more red and puffy and gross and yes I pick the scab off when possible. I try not to do it if it’s going to bleed after I do it. If you’re picking your scabs off and they bleed, you need to wait longer. It’s not ready. That scab needs to be there for another 5 or 6 or 7 days. You can keep an eye on it and probably try again in a couple of days but it definitely needs more time.
Point being that that happened to me and my cat did not land on its feet. It landed kind of on its side and broke its shoulder.
I did not know or see or realize this at the time.
But the next morning, I saw that cat run through the room and its front left leg was flopping around all over the place, way up high at the shoulder, moving in a way a cat’s front leg never moves under normal circumstances. Their little shoulder joints are a bit more like our knees. They’re mostly for moving forward. It’s not like our shoulder where it can move in crazy directions and to extreme degrees. So when I saw the cat’s leg flopping backwards, I knew something was bad. Vet concurred. Kitty went night-night. And yes it was sad. So don’t drop your cat. Set them down. Because what would you rather have a week from now: a scratch on your arm and your cat? Or no scratch but also no cat; because kitty had to go night-night?
I’d rather have the itchy, weeping cat scratch and still be able to play with and hold and pet and feed and play with my cat. Cats are amazing. So when 1 of your beloved cats dies because you dropped it and it fell on its shoulder and snapped its scapula in half and had to be put down AND IT’S YOUR fault – it is totally, 100% because of you and something YOU did – that sucks. A lot.
Point being that Amy Poehler is about right in the middle of the mid-management team so when she finally takes over, half the team is dead. It’s like her and half the people. And they all got hired after she did. So most of them know even less.
Imagine that’s you at SpaceX. And then Elon comes in and freaks the fuck out and tells you you’re fired. And you’re like, No, Elon, I am not fired. Because I am not leaving. There is work to do. You were right: we have a window that is currently open, and now is our chance to get our asses to Mars. Schwarzenegger Total Recall accent, Elon: Get your ass to Mars. Get your ass to Mars.
You get the idea.
Anyway, you say to Elon, No, I am not fired. I am going to help us get to Mars and this is the best place to do that and I’m staying. So everybody get back to work because we have so much work to do to simply get TO Mars that it’s actually best not to think about it. Think about it in terms of how do we go about it and what is the overall plan? Because that way, we can work it backwards. But we don’t want to dwell on how LONG it is ACTUALLY going to take. We’re talking DECADES. Yeah, we MIGHT have 2 humans on Mars within 10 years, maybe six, maybe maybe maybe four, but there won’t be people LIVING there for awhile. People plural. Like…DOZENS of people. Dozens and dozens. Actually living. That’s going to take awhile. And hopefully a volcano – or nuclear stupidity – doesn’t wipe us out first.
Again, point being that Amy Poehler is the new CEO. She’s in charge of the adrenal glands. Both of em. And she knows nothing. She knows how to make the adrenaline go out but not why or when.
She knows what buttons to press to make the adrenaline get excreted.
But she doesn’t really know when is the right time or how much or exactly why. Because it seems like there are a lot of reasons why and when they need it. And it can happen at a moment’s notice. So there’s no sleep. No one in Adrenal sleeps. There aren’t enough people. They need exactly what they have JUST to keep things going the way they are. But if that motherfucker keeps up with the caffeine and the stress and the exercise and the bingeing and the lack of sleep – but mostly the stress – and the caffeine but mostly, like, 90% the stress – and someone else on the team dies, it’s curtains. It’s curtains, lights out, nighty-night. Just like my cat with the broken shoulder. He was orange and his name was Beans.
So that’s Amy’s life. She’s the unprepared CEO blasting adrenaline every time there’s stress – whether it be caffeine related or sex related or kettlebell related or almost rear-ended the person in front of them because they were sexting related or whatever, it’s her job to make sure it happens. And somehow she’s been doing it. Things are a mess and it’s getting harder and harder and eventually something WILL break and hospitalization may even be likely. At the very least, some sort of medical attention that won’t be cheap. It will be a very involved process over many months. Months. Maybe 6. Maybe more. Maybe even 8 or 9. Or 10. Or a year. Or 13 months. Maybe if there simply IS no more adrenal function and the kidneys — and the owner — are screwed and their ass is getting dialysis and fuckloads of pills, then maybe Amy and her people can get some sleep – FINALLY – and they can hire some more people and do a better job.
Because, right now, she and 15 other people are all that’s left on the big office floor full of cubicles. Almost all of which are now empty. There used to be a lot more people in the department. Over 100. That was considered a minimum compliment. 200 would’ve been ideal. Maybe 150. But they made it work with 100.
But now there’s 15.
Imagine if everyone was humping to make it work when there were 100. And now there’s only 15! 15!!! 15 with multiple exclamation marks. 15! High voice. That’s 15%. It’s like if you had a hundred grand – a hundred THOUSAND dollars – and now you only have 15K. From 100 grand to 15 grand. And it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t spend it on a vehicle or lose it in crypto or forex or penny stock trading. No, 85 grand was taken from you.
Okay, a bit of a mixed metaphor here but you get the point.
It’s like The Office where everyone is calm and wearing business attire and is bound by the conventions of corporate conduct and the silent, everpresent wrath of HR which will fire them if they step out of line in the slightest. And they’re all kind of zombied-out. From lack of sleep and being forced to live in pure madness.
And by the way, those 85 people who died, those bodies are still in there. Decomposing. And everyone just LIVES there now, otherwise EVERYONE dies, so they look terrible. They look deranged and crazy. Unkempt. Unshaven. Delirious in a lot of ways. Always rambling on about Here comes the coffee, here comes the coffee. Or, They’re in traffic again. Or, They’re at the gym twice in one day again; fucker.
And it’s a shit show in there. It was once a brand new office floor full of cubicles with offices around the outside. Now each office is a dwelling and the middle of the room is a menace: a maze of cubicles, full of dead people. Because once the closets were full, there was no place to put more bodies. So it got to where they just left them in their chairs. So Amy and her team only go in there when they haff to.
And the whole floor is mostly dark because most of the overhead fluorescents went out a long time ago and no one ever had time to stop making adrenaline in order to change the lights. So it’s kind of a big drug den. A factory with fluids and stuff. Like a giant fulfillment and manufacturing center. Like a Tesla factory. Raw materials come in, adrenaline goes out.
And sometimes it’s not enough, sometimes it’s too much. Dysregulation has been a problem for a long time. It used to be easier but then there was so much demand that they were pumping it out almost all day. And only barely catching up at night. But then the bingeing began and sleep decreased. And the team kept getting further and further behind. So they started working harder. But a lot of times, shipments of raw materials arrived late, undersupplied, or not at all. And things got harder and harder. And folks started keeling over. And parts of the gland began to not work. And there’s talk that Cancer is on its way. If not here then somewhere. Either that or the Aorta people are gonna crack. That thing is gonna tear wide open and bright red pretty arterial blood is gonna spray out into the pericardium and the brain is gonna be like, Um, what the fuck? And Heart’s gonna say, That’s it! Hull breach! It’s over. We’ll keep going as long as we can but there’s nothing we can do. You guys up in the brain department are on your own and you’re going to be first to go. But…you dumb-asses brought this on yourselves. You and the Eyes and the Stomach. Fuck you guys. Have fun dying.
And the Oxygen people stop visiting the Brain and it shuts everything off. And one by one, every system goes offline. The Oxygen stops and all the nasty shit starts. The Decomposition office swings into high gear for one great, glorious final run. And the whole time the Bones department is like, Fuck you guys! Suck our dicks, motherfuckers, because we ain’t goin nowhere. We’re gonna be around for thousands of years.
And then Ears is like, Um, actually I heard the family is cremating so, um, bad news, Bones. You’re going out with the rest of us.
And the whole time Amy Poehler is living in that hell, which is probably more like The Walking Dead than The Office, even though those 2 shows are terrifyingly similar when you get right down to it. But infection and viruses and bacteria are constantly flying around and hanging out hoping to take over. Only the Immune System keeps everything in check. They’re like an elite military with total reach over the entire organism. They are everywhere. Keeping things mostly clean and healthy and functioning. But the viruses and bacteria are like zombie hackers trying to come in and wreak havoc. And then after things have been REALLY bad for a long, long, LONG time, that’s when Cancer shows up. Silently and kind of pissed off. Not real talkative. Just very persistent. Determined. Not easily deterred. Either physical removal or intense, intense, long-term saturation chemical warfare is required to get Cancer to leave. And sometimes they’re immune to all of that. They run the show until the brain goes down. And that is not a good day for anyone. Well, except for the decomp division. It’s their time to shine. And the Bones people. They get their last laugh much of the time.
Point being that poor Amy Poehler is in there, all delirious and methed-out and filthy, wearing a hard hat with a light on top of it, rambling non stop and trying to run a factory with no staff. And she has a cat with a broken leg and it flops around every time the cat walks or runs or jumps up on her desk. And Amy carries the cat around the factory, and its leg is bent completely backwards. But at this point the cat doesn’t even seem to notice. And she thinks it’s just kind of cute at this point. She goes, Yeah, I see it. I just think it’s kind of cute at this point. I figure the cat’s a goner anyway. We all are. So as long as she’s happy. And she seems fine. She’s purring right now. I don’t know if you can hear it but she is purring. Which means she’s happy. So her little floppy chicken wing cat leg doesn’t seem to be bothering her much at all. Does it smell like death and decay in here?
And you’re like, Yeah, kinda.
And Amy goes, I thought so. It’s just that we’ve all been in here so long that none of us can really smell anything. We’re constantly asking each other if it stinks in here. Because we all have moments when we think we smell something bad. But then it sort of goes away. Like a sound someone heard that was far away and then it stopped. And then you all stand there listening, not saying anything, trying to see if you hear something else so you can confirm to the person who asked that yes, you heard it, too. Or in this case smelled it, too. And you know how when you’re at home or at the office and someone farts, that area is contaminated for a few minutes? Well, we all realized, like, a long time ago, that none of us had smelled a fart in ages. It had been ages. And it used to happen almost every day. It was basically part of the work day. It was like a prank we were all in on, waiting to see who was going to get pranked with the fart cloud that day. Who was going to walk into it and smell it and freak out and start coughing and running away, gagging? Because that’s hilarious. This job sucks, this whole concept of human work in an environment like this is completely fucked but here we are doing it and we’re all slowly becoming psychotic. And we all know it. So, yeah, farts are funny. Seeing someone walk into an invisible fart cloud and almost throw up is hysterical. It’s the best part of the day. And when it happens in the morning, you’re bummed because now there’s nothing to look forward to. Normally it’s good if it happens around 3. Definitely sometime well after lunch. It seems more innocent if we all haven’t just eaten a little while ago. Because we don’t actually WANT anyone to barf. Just to ALMOST barf. That’s really funny. Smelling actual puke is not funny. Point being that none of us had smelled a fart in a really long time. And then finally people began confessing that they were the office farter. And pretty soon, we had all admitted it. We all came clean and confessed that, more than once, many times in fact, we got up and went for a walk whenever we knew we needed to fart so we could blast it out in a certain area, like maybe by the water cooler. That’s always funny because there’s always people over there. One of the secrets to being a good employee is to drink a lot of water. Go to the water cooler a lot. And walk kind of fast and look at the carpet while you walk. Those 2 things will make you look serious. So when upper management sees you, they’re impressed. They think you are obviously on your way to do something important so they are not going to stop you. Even better is if you have a manila folder or 2 or 3 or a handful in your hand and under your arm. Or you have a tablet with a strap on the back and you wear it on your hand like a digital capitalist baseball glove. And in your other hand you have a stylus. And you have a headset on and are on a call right now at that moment. That makes you look REALLY impressive. And so do that each time you go to the water cooler. But walk back a different way. So no one EVER knows where you are. This will add to the mystery that is you, such that your mystique will soon grow. Until you look like Mystique. All naked and blue and sexy with red hair, sitting in your chair at your cubicle, trying to figure out how you went from being a member of the X-Men franchise to sitting here in a cubicle sending and receiving email and mostly pretending to work because you’re not sure what you’re supposed to be doing. Point being that no one had smelled a fart even though we all knew that we were all farting constantly every day all day long in every area of the office. But that none of us has smelled anything or laughed at anyone else walking into an invisible fart cloud in a long time. So then someone farted and we all tried to smell it. And we couldn’t. So then we started farting in each other’s faces and trying to smell it, and sometimes we could! That was an exciting day. We actually smelled something. So then we started farting in our mason jars and then putting the lid on it and sneaking up on someone and opening it right in front of their face, right under their nose! And our cute little mason jars became transparent canisters of invisible stench. And we thought it would be fun to create and manufacture and sell a product called Farts in a Jar. But we couldn’t figure out the point beyond a one-time gag gift. Like a coffee mug that looks like a breast. Those are always great. With the pointy nipple with the hole in it and everything, so you can actually drink out of the nipple while sipping your coffee. Who doesn’t think that’s hysterical? If you don’t find that hysterical, you should come work in a factory that smells so bad you can’t smell rancid noxious waste gases from inside another person’s body. Because that would certainly change your mind. So then after Fart in a Jar, we thought Farts in a Jar would be a funny name for an American Indian tribe to give to a non-American Indian person, like the way Kevin Costner became Dances With Wolves. The Indians saw him running around chasing that wolf and they called him that because that’s what they saw him do. So if they see you fart in a jar, they’ll call you Farts In A Jar. And to be totally honest, I wish that was my name and that I had done it first but it’s not because I didn’t. I’m Carries Dead Cat Lady. She’s not dead yet but there was one day when it looked like she was. That was the day they named me. My name used to be Amy. But it’s not any more…. Is it, guys? Nope. Now it’s Carries Dead Cat Lady. It was quite a shocker when we realized she wasn’t dead, by the way. She just perked her little head up one day and meowed and yawned and started purring and acted like everything was fine. Like she hadn’t been dead and lifeless for about 16 hours. 16 hours is not 3 days and we want to be respectful, but after that we changed her name from Snowball to Jesus. But we pronounce it like in Spanish so it’s like Hey Soose. Like if you were calling Dr. Seuss on the phone and he picked up and said, Hello? and you said, Hey, Seuss, what’s up? And he was all like, Oh, not much, just thinking about where the sidewalk ends and what’s after the end of that sidewalk. And you’re all like, Oh, cool, that’s not an unbearably heavy existential crisis cinderblock to the side of the head at all. Not even a little bit. Or maybe if you were in Israel and you were on your way to get Ben & Jerry’s and you were driving and you saw a horse, you’d be all like, Hey, soose! because soose means horse in Hebrew. Anyway, as you can see, I have Hey Soose in a papoose. That’s like a baby carrier invented by the native peoples eons ago, before there was J.C. Penney or Sears or K Mart or Walmart or fuckin Tom Ford. Tom, I don’t know if you do baby carriers but you should! I would buy one. You think just because I work in a complete hellhole and I can’t smell farts and my cat only has 75% functionality in its limbs that I don’t long for a hip and stylish method of transporting said cat on my person in such a way that does not inhibit my ability to do my job and live my life my way according to my rules? Because of course I do. I love it here. I’m an adrenaline addict, just like the motherfucker I work for. Neither one of us sleeps much and when we do it’s not well. If they would just cut back on the coffee. There’s word that we’re all going to make the stomach stop accepting it. If they puke every time they drink coffee or consume any caffeine, things will change around here real quick. What? Wait, what? Okay, the lungs and the nostrils are telling me that there are other ways to not sleep. And that caffeine is the least bad way. And you know what that means: job security. Back to work!
And she takes her cat Hey Soose in the Tom Ford kick-ass black leather stroke vegan leather NOT made from fossil fuels papoose and she runs off to make more adrenaline. The elixir of life. And that’s her show. And it’s called Please Cut Back on the Coffee. And it’s The Office meets The Walking Dead. Minus the throat slicing at Terminus scene, which was one of the most fucked up things ever put on television. In my humble opinion. And you know what’s even more fucked up? In that scene, the guy wielding the baseball bat is so casual about the whole thing. Because he does this all the time. He and his people are there to survive. And they have already accepted long ago that that means killing and eating other people. And so a method had to be devised by which they could do that. And all things considered, it’s probably fairly humane. Apart from the intense fear, of course. It would be better to hit them in the head when they’re sleeping. Or to walk up behind them and do it. So they don’t know it’s coming. Because the meat would probably taste better if they weren’t undergoing extreme violent reaction moments before getting hit on the back of the head by a fiercely-swung baseball bat that’s gonna make them go night-night. Point being that of course that guy is cool with it. He’s been doing it regularly for a long time. Many months. How long does it take you to settle into a new job? About a week? 3 days?
If you were a resident of Terminus, would you rather be the batter or the slicer? The Batter and the Slicer. That could be another show about those 2 dudes and what they do when they’re not batting and slicing. Are they friends? Are they lovers? Are they married? Do they like each other? Hate each other? Live together? Even know each other’s name?
Who knows?
Imagine the interview for that job: Now, would you say that you’re better at hitting a baseball or cutting rope with a big knife?
So, with that being said, how about a song?
How about 2 songs?
SB, I believe we have a double-header coming up, do we not?
SB: You are absolutely right, Captain. And for the record, I am terrible at hitting a baseball and I wouldn’t know how to go about slicing rope with a big knife, either.
Noted.
SB: Good, glad we got that settled. Ladies and gentlemen, put your appendages together and show your appreciation for the sweetest band in the system, The Hot Fudge Sundaes, as they regale all of us with 2 brand new hit songs: Neck Stomach Tummy Belly and Oh yeah: The Penthouse of Your Pussy. And yes they are going to be every single little wet and juicy bit as sexy as you are expecting. Fellas…hit that.
{musical interlude}
Thank you, gentlemen. My earholes are so full of cream that it seems like the perfect time to get back to talking about fellatio. I was saying something about how nice it is.
That’s pretty much it.
Especially when it’s done well.
And don’t worry about lack of experience. Enthusiasm goes a long way and is far more important. Technique can be acquired. Enthusiasm is often innate. But with experience comes comfort so over time you get less nervous about it. The way you know you’re good at it is if you can achieve the desired result hands-free. Unless it’s the first time for the recipient. Because then they’re going to be so excited and scared and horny that they’ll finish in about 60 seconds no matter what you do. As long as you’re within six feet of it, they’re going to be excited.
But, as familiarity breeds contempt, eventually they’re going to be hip to your bag of tricks. So that’s when it’s your job to try different things and see what they respond to. If they’re lying there silently, maybe there’s an issue. If they’re actively watching and saying things and breathing heavily and flexing various muscles and maybe squirming around a little bit, remember what it is you were doing when they squirmed the most or became the most vocal. Because you want to build up to that. Make them wait for it. At least a few minutes. And make a show of it. Show them that you know what they like. Do it and then stop and do something else. And then go back to it. And then stop and do something else. And go back and forth like that for 10 to 20 minutes. They will be putty in your hands. No pun intended. Because you don’t want putty; you want an iron snake! An iron meat snake. Because meat snakes are full of iron. Especially if the iron comes in the form of a little blue diamond-shaped pill that you got out of a box that said Pfizer on it. Because here’s the cool thing about Viagra: it allows one to get it up and keep it up without worrying about it. Normally, one’s erection sort of comes and goes, depending on what’s happening during the lovemaking. Bigger, smaller, harder, softer. And then harder again. Until climax. That’s usually how it goes. And every guy has experienced that moment when it simply will not cooperate. You want to do it but it doesn’t. You want to bone and it’s asleep. Viagra wakes it up. Way up. So much so that you don’t even need to think about it. Once the sildenafil kicks in and you’re hard, you stay hard. It’s amazing. It’s such a relief.
And the haters are all like, Not being able to get it up is Nature’s way of telling you that you’re too old to reproduce, you old fuck.
And the old fucks are like, We still want to fuck, you dumb fuck.
And thus we have the eternal struggle between the Old Fucks and the Dumb Fucks. And they each control a different aspect of culture and society. So it’s an interesting collaboration.
Accordingly, at the beginning of the show we were talking about people doing it with guns. Is that over the line? Does talking about that put us so far past the line that the line is a dot to us?
Is it loaded?
If the line is a dot to us, so be it.
How much does having it be loaded heighten the experience?
How many cops get called to a scene to find someone with a shotgun up their whatever but missing other vital things?
Do they laugh? Is it just another Monday? What’s worse: that or being Amy Poehler in Please Cut Back On the Coffee?
If you were the cop, at least you could still smell a fart. In a jar or not in a jar. Better than being trapped in an adrenal gland full of death where it’s always in the upper 90s. Always hot and muggy.
By the way, if anyone starts selling Fart In A Jar, 3%. Thanks. Although I’m pretty sure I heard about a chick on Onlyfans farting in jars and sending them to her fans. So I guess she already figured it out. So never mind. I don’t think I would want fart money anyway.
Anyone here of the visual light spectrum who is afraid of the dark? If so, what is it that concerns you and causes you to be afraid? And do you sleep with a light on?
Because if you think about it, one person, let’s say they’re both adults, may sleep with the light on – cue Enter Sandman! – because as a child they lived in a bad area and they were worried about someone breaking into their house in the middle of the night. So they kept a light on to, hopefully, deter anyone from breaking into that house. Because the light is on. So someone is home. The other issue could be that having a light on allows them to actually see the intruder.
And at the same time, maybe someone else sleeps with a light on because they’re afraid of ghosts. And they saw Ghost too many times and they’re afraid those screaming shadow creatures are going to come and drag them down to Hell.
And maybe someone else simply wants to be able to see where they’re going because they typically wake up in the middle of the night to pee, for example. And it’s easier to avoid kicking the bed and breaking a toe and having the nail come off if there’s a light on somewhere.
By the way, are blind people afraid of the dark? Anyone? Because how can they know? For them it’s probably mostly about saving money on electricity. Of course the lights are always off. Because the lights are always off. Noon or midnight makes no difference. It’s the same thing. But does feeling their way through a room feel different at noon than it does at midnight? Sound plays a role, for example.
But if you’re afraid of the dark because of supernatural, paranormal activity, make a sign. Make a nice sign for the ghost. A Ghost Sign. Something the ghost can read.
Vital reaction! I said violent reaction earlier when we were talking about Terminus and the Batter and the Slicer.
I’ve never seen a ghost as far as I know. I’ve had weird stuff happen to me, though. I have seen some weird stuff and experienced weird stuff. Stuff which defies a logical explanation. And in the absence of a natural explanation, through deductive logic – or perhaps reductive logic? – what remains is a supernatural explanation. One time I heard the sound of a bird flapping its wings. That actually happened twice. Decades apart. In separate houses. In 2 very different parts of the country. Clear as day, too. Silent room. And then over in the corner is the distinct sound of feathers rustling. Was it a guardian angel stretching? Maybe. Does that angel stand there and watch EVERYTHING? Are they so far advanced that they don’t care if we’re naked or masturbating or having sex or doing whatever? Just like you don’t think much when your toddler is trying to eat a book.
That’s just what they do at that age.
Similarly, doing stupid stuff is just what we do at this age. The age that we’re in when we’re in our physical bodies having a physical experience here on Earth. And those angels are there to look out for us. Like the paramilitary special operator Oxygen Squad protecting Amy Poehler from viruses and bacteria. The O Squad.
I once heard a voice in my car when I was driving. I was going to change lanes without signaling or looking. I heard a voice from the back seat. It said, Uh, Captain, look over your right shoulder.
So I did. And there was a car there. And if I’d changed lanes, I would’ve hit them.
Do these lines mean anything to you guys? They’ve been in my mind for a few days.
Now it’s not hard to understand
Why we just speak at night.
The only time I hold your hand
Is to get the angle right.
So were you guys all wearing masks up here during the pandemic or was that just an Earth thing?
Probably just an Earth thing.
You guys probably get vaccinated before going to Earth, huh? It’s like going to swim in the Freeling’s swimming pool after the storm in the 1982 smash hit horror flick Poltergeist. Probably a good idea to have some band aids and Neosporin on hand.
Remember when the TV people stacked all the kitchen chairs in a pyramid on top of the table? And then in The 6th Sense when they’re in the kitchen and then all of a sudden all the kitchen drawers and cupboards are open. You think that was deliberate? Intentional? Conscious? Homage?
Imitation is the highest form of flattery. When you put some Doritos on a plate and sprinkle grated cheese on them and drizzle some hot sauce on top and heat it up in the microwave for a minute to melt the cheese and you sit down and enjoy that plate of nachos, is that cultural appropriation?
If Earthlings visit another planet and another species of intelligent life where there is no illness or disease and they share that technology with us and we use it on Earth and pretty soon there’s no illness or disease on Earth, is that cultural appropriation?
Have you seen Little Red Corvette? I read that they were going to call it Pocket Full of Horses. But Little Red Corvette is probably better. It’s about a woman who's a part-time escort and full-time party girl. And she’s known for making out one time, love em and leave em fast…burning rubber in her little red Corvette. And she churns through guys. A different guy almost every night. Sometimes 2 or 3 in the same night. She’s insatiable. She’s much too fast. And the more she parties, the lonelier she becomes, so the harder she has to party to stay ahead of her loneliness. And we witness the slow-motion train wreck as she self-destructs. Lines of blow. Acid. E. Weed. Tons of liquor. Threesomes. Foursomes. Fivesomes. But she’s always gone when they wake up.
And then she meets someone like her. Someone who knows her games. Because he plays them, too. And they like to race from L.A. to Vegas. He rides a motorcycle and they like to get going 160 mph on the freeway out in the middle of nowhere, him on his bike and she in her Vette, and then look over at each other. Something about looking at each other at 160 mph, staring into each other’s eyes in the middle of the potential for great danger is very very VERY exciting.
When they get to his sick place in the desert – away from the fucking strip – they go at it like animals all night in the back yard, in the pool. And they run around for days completely naked. Eating and sleeping and talking and laughing and making love. And she’s always snapping photos of him on her phone. Candid stuff mostly. Him chopping vegetables. Him shaving. Him sitting on his bike, a sunset in his eyes. Always when he doesn’t know he’s being watched.
And it’s so obvious that they’re perfect together. But she always gets into her little red Corvette and leaves while he’s asleep.
And then they invariably bump into each other in a club. And they pretend to meet and flirt and buy each other drinks and talk about cars and bikes after she notices his jacket and boots, Alpinestars legit racing boots.
She eventually takes him back to her place and she has tons of pictures of guys everywhere. Hundreds and hundreds. Pics she took on her phone and printed. And they’re all candids. Very few of them are the guys smiling because they aren’t posing; they’re being photographed when they’re not aware of it. So it’s more like the real them. Which is what she’s interested in.
People know her everywhere she goes. The girls hate her cuz they ain’t her. The guys hate her cuz they ate her…and she never called them again.
Must’ve been some pretty lousy head, then. Sheesh.
Because we’re talking Paul Verhoeven meets Brett Easton Ellis levels of explicitness. Full frontal. Weed. Blow. E. Crazy sex. Lots of tongues. Tons of nipples and bare butts and the sound of skin slapping. Them lying in a huge four-poster bed with curtains and the whole shebang…with the bed out by the swimming pool in his backyard. Pitch black desert lit by the full moon. Cool night air tightening his nipple as her tongue dances a circle around it, teasing him.
What if I told you that it stars Aubrey Plaza and Kumail Nanjiani?
And it’s funny as heck. As funny as it is sexy. Which is what makes it not only good but great. The best part of the show is that they aren’t afraid to go slow. There’s a lot of silence. Because the magic is not in the words. It’s in between the words.
There’s one scene where they go to a big-time Hollywood hills Halloween party and Kumail dresses up like Prince and does Little Red Corvette karaoke. With the purple sequined overcoat and scarf and jeans and boots and he dances just like him and the whole business.
And what costume does she choose? Princess Leia in the gold bikini? No.
She comes dressed as Heath Ledger as the Joker. Green hair, purple suit, smudged white face, everything. And she walks around all night telling people that Heath Ledger ruined Batman…because no one will ever be as good. And then she goes, You wanna know how I got these scars?
He’s the hottest casting director in town, by the way. Which is why EVERYONE is trying to sleep with him. But she’s totally disinterested. And he’s like, Don’t you know who I am?
And she goes, I don’t care who you are.
Because she’s not an actor. And he immediately begins trying to talk her into doing a movie. That he has a dozen projects she’d be perfect for. She can read them all and take her pic. One phone call and it’s a green light.
And she says, Where’s the fun in that? The fun comes from doing what people tell you not to do, what they say you can’t do. There’s no danger in green lights. There’s no impatient, impotent rage at a green light. Red lights force you to stop. And look around. And be part of the world for a minute. Because everybody is sitting at that red light together. Everyone is forced to wait. It doesn’t matter what car you’re in, what clothes you’re wearing, what job you came from or are going to, how much money you have or don’t have, or how happy you are or aren’t. Everybody waits at the red light. Everyone is the same. Maybe that’s why red is the color of communism. Green is the color of money and go and run off on your own and do it your way and to hell with everybody else.
He asks her why she does what she does…for money.
And she says, If you’re good at something, never do it for free.
And when he can only look at her, imploring with every beat of his heart, she says, Why so serious?
That’s our show!
Thank you for coming!
See you tomorrow night!
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