Mulatto Jesus Supreme Court Nomination Hearing

Sen. Lindsay Graham: Now Mr. Jesus, you went to the University of Michigan is that correct?

Mulatto Jesus: Uh, yes. Yes sir.

Sen. Lindsay Graham: And on the evening of September the 16th, 2004, you met a young woman named Ashley Perkins is that right?

Mulatto Jesus: I-I don't recall.

Sen. Lindsay Graham: Well whether you recall or not, Ms. Perkins was visiting her friend Britney Wilson that night in Ann Arbor. And she was considering transferring from SUNY Oneonta to Michigan in the spring.

Mulatto Jesus: Ah yes, now I remember.

Sen. Lindsay Graham: Glad I jogged your memory, Mr. Jesus. That night you said to Ms. Perkins, and I quote, "You gotta come to Michigan - it's the number one party school in America."

Mulatto Jesus: I-I think I said something like that, yes.

Sen. Lindsay Graham: No Mr. Jesus, you said exactly that. And yet according to Playboy Magazine, for the year 2004, the University of Michigan was only ranked the #7 Party School in America.

Mulatto Jesus: I just meant it was a really great party school

Sen. Lindsay Graham: But you didn't say "great" party school, Mr. Jesus. You said "Number One" party school. I checked Playboy's rankings and in fact Michigan wasn't even the Number One Party School in the Midwest. That honor went to the University of Wisconsin.

Mulatto Jesus: Well I seem to recall a U.S. News and World Report ranking of party--

Sen. Lindsay Graham: Mr. Jesus, don't come into the halls of Congress and try to tell me that U.S. News and World Report's rankings of party schools can even compare to Playboy's. Playboy's been in this game for 49 years - U.S. News didn't even mention schools' party scenes until the Bush Administration.

Mulatto Jesus: Why do you care about this? I didn't even hook up with that girl - I was just drunk and making idle chat. I guess I got confused.

Sen. Lindsay Graham: Got confused? Lied? Mr. Jesus can't even keep his story straight. This is why I care, Mr. Jesus - because if you are playing fast and loose with the rock-solid precedent of Playboy's party school rankings, then Lord knows what else you'd toss out the window in order to get your way - over 200 years of case law? The Bill of Rights? The Constitution of the United States of America? You, Mr. Jesus, and your activist judging ways, are what is wrong with American jurisprudence in the 21st century!

(beat)

I yield the remainder of my time to Senator Lieberman.

Guy whose name is ASDF

Online Merchant Customer ServiceBro: Yeah we canceled your order because we figured it was some guy just typing random stuff on his keyboard as a prank

Guy whose name is ASDF: But if my name were Joe you'd have sent me the sweater? Look I have rights you know. I'm a human being!

Online Merchant Customer ServiceBro: Well we were thinking about sending it out but then we saw your email was "asdf@asdf.com" and we were sure it was fake

Guy whose name is ASDF: What's your name?

Online Merchant Customer ServiceBro: Mark

Guy whose name is ASDF: If you could get Mark@Mark.com wouldn't you make that your email address? I mean I don't think I'm being unreasonable here - if--

Online Merchant Customer ServiceBro: Look man, do you want the sweater or not?

Guy whose name is ASDF: Of course I want the sweater! Now just to clarify, the address is 2473 slfjsldfj --

Online Merchant Customer ServiceBro: Alright nice try buddy

[dial tone]

Guy whose name is ASDF: Hello? HELLO? Goddamnit. I guess I'll just have to start calling myself Asher again.

[sigh]

High School Newspaper Op-Ed: DOUBLE STANDARD

by Cayla Langley

Have you ever noticed how girls who hook up with a lot of different guys are called sluts? And yet guys who hook up with a lot of girls are called players! I'm sorry but that doesn't pass the smell test in my book - what we have on our hands at Coolidge High is a big ol' DOUBLE STANDARD...

First Date with Girl Who Has Amnesia

[Setting: Hunan Szechuan Empire Gourmet Palace]

[Amnesiac Girl and I are looking at menus]

Me: You probably don't remember this, but Chinese food is like the cutting edge of the food culture right now. And this place is the epicenter of it all!

Amnesiac Girl: Wow - good thing I have you to take me to the hot places

[Waitress approaches our table]

Me: Hi, we're splitting everything. We'd like to have the e-egg drooop soup to start. Am I saying that right?

Waitress: Ees egg drop soup

Me: And this one is Ch-chicken with brickoli?

Waitress: Ees Broccoli. Thas it?

[I nod]

[Waitress walks away]

Me: Seriously it is like impossible to keep track of all these new cuisines

Amnesiac Girl: But somehow you do it!

[I wave the "stop, stop - too much" motion]

French Stewart Teaching A Sketch Comedy Writing Class

[10 students are seated around a table. French Stewart is at the head. He has a script in front of him]

French Stewart: OK, what do we have here? A leprechaun who gets picked on for being tall. Hmm I like it, but it's missing a certain je ne sais quoi. Oh wait, I know... it's missing SQUINTING!!! How many times do I have to tell you this - just write it down because it's an equation you won't want to forget: Squinting equals Comedy!

Student: Yeah but-but there are other things that're funny besides squinting

French Stewart: What's your name, son?

Student: Lance

French Stewart: Well class, I'm not gonna tell you what to think. But I just ask you this - was Lance a staple of Must See TV? Does Lance have a place in Malibu? Does Lance have a lifetime supply of DiGiorno pizzas?

[Silence]

French Stewart (picking up another script): Now let's see - Kamikaze pilots arguing whether to order the Sushi Deluxe or Sashimi Deluxe for their last meal

[Whole class laughs]

French Stewart: Pretty funny right. Because the Japanese guys look like they're squinting with those eyes. (beat) COME ON! Did I take a wrong turn on my way to the Comedy Club and walk into the Museum of Tolerance? I mean Jesus!

Scene from the Time Out Pub

[11:30 PM and 10:45 PM, dressed in sexy cocktail dresses, are sitting at the bar with 6:00 PM, dressed in a business suit, tie undone]

6:00 PM (looking at his watch): It's 6:00 in Dublin right now! Bartender - Irish Car Bombs for me and the ladies!

[The three of them do Irish Car Bomb shots]

[In walks Noon, wearing a Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt. The ladies turn toward him]

11:30 PM: Oh. My. God. It's Noooooon!

10:45 PM: He is so fucking famous - and hot!

6:00 PM: Ooooh it's Noon, he's got a real name, not a number - ooooh! Look ladies this isn't Spain - there are no siestas in America. In these parts you're usually at your desk with your tummy growling for a Chipotle Taco Salad at Noon. But at 6:00, you're out of work, slippin' into something a little more comfortable for the evening...

[Noon sidles up to the bar. The bartender eagerly awaits his order]

Noon: A strawberry daiquiri for me, and two more for these lovely ladies

[11:30 PM and 10:45 PM move away from 6:00 PM and sit next to Noon, who hands them their drinks]

Noon: You know in Puerto Rico, Noon is officially siesta time. You are legally not allowed to be working at Noon. True story

[11:30 PM and 10:45 PM coo]

[Into the bar saunters Midnight. He is decked out in his finest clubbing attire - Ed Hardy shirt, black jeans, Gucci sunglasses indoors. The whole bar turns to watch him]

11:30 PM (whispering): Holy. Fucking. Shitballs. It's Midnight

10:45 PM (whispering): He is the biggest celebrity in the Time world. And he's fucking sexy as as all hell

[Midnight sidles up to the bar]

Midnight: Goose. On the rocks.

[Bartender pours a glass of Grey Goose and hands it to Midnight]

[Midnight wags his finger "No"]

Midnight: One for everyone in this joint

[Midnight whips out his American Express Black Card. 11:30 PM, 10:45 PM, and all the other ladies in the bar congregate around Midnight. With the rush of people, Noon is forced to shift over to where 6:00 PM is sitting]

Noon: Don't these girls realize they're usually--

6:00 PM: -- asleep at that time. Tell me about it.

Noon and 6:00 PM (in unison): Fuckin' Midnight

[Noon and 6:00 PM take sips from their respective drinks]

[8:07 AM, dressed in a short-sleeve button down, tie, and unironic George H.W. Bush glasses, approaches Noon and 6:00 PM]

8:07 AM: Hey guys, so let me caveat this by saying the lockout has this whole season very much up in the air, but I was wondering if you guys wanted to sign up for my Fantasy Basketball League? We're goin' with ESPN this year - Yahoo!'s mobile integration was just not up to snuff

[Noon and 6:00PM shoot death stares at 8:07 AM]

Indian Family Dinner

[Indian Mom, Indian Dad, and their son Anil, are at the dinner table]

Indian Dad: Your mother and I are very upset with you, Anil

Indian Mom: Very upset!

Indian Dad: We have always dreamed that you would marry an Indian girl. You'd continue the bloodline, carry on the tradition passed down through generations of Indian culture. But now we learn from your cousin Chetan you're dating this Rebecca girl?

Anil: This is America, Father. I can date whoever I want to date. And I want to date Rebecca - so what if she's white? We love each other

Indian Mom: It's too much! It's too much! I need a breath of fresh air. Talk some sense into the boy

[Indian Mom steps outside]

Indian Dad: OK give it to me straight, son. What's it like to fuck a white girl? Is it everything I imagined?

Anil: What?! I thought you were angry at me

Indian Dad: No no, I just have to say these things for your mother. Now we don't have much time - tell me is the sex with the white girl great?

Anil: Uhh... I... I guess it's pretty good

Indian Dad: And does she have light pubes?

Anil: Wait - what?

Indian Dad: Light pubes - not black

Anil: Uh... I mean they're kind of a dark brown - chestnut maybe?

Indian Dad: Ohhhh the non-black pubes! What about the smell of sex with a white girl? Describe the smells for me, son

Anil: Dad, this is just - I can't tell you how weird this is! No more talk about my sex life. If you're so curious about white girls why didn't you just date one when you were my age?

Indian Dad: Are you kidding me? You think I could've just gone and dated a white girl?

Anil: Oh right - the whole arranged marriage thing

Indian Dad: No one in my generation had an arranged marriage - the problem was white girls wouldn't give Indian guys the time of day back then. Not for lack of trying on our part. But nowadays I walk down the street I see Indian guys with white girls left and right. You don't even have to be that desirable an Indian guy to get a white girl these days - no offense

Anil: I just don't see it like that, Dad. I love Rebecca, and she happens to be white. But I'd love her just the same if she were Indian or Asian or Hispanic

Indian Dad (tearing up): Oh son... that was the dream we Indian men have always had since we came to this country. Have you ever seen those immigrant pyramid murals?

Anil: Oh yeah, where at the bottom is the first generation immigrants who are farmers, then the next generation stands on their shoulders and are factory workers, and the next generation up is shopkeepers, and so on until at the top are minority doctors and lawyers and businesspeople standing on the shoulders of generations of immigrant-Americans

Indian Dad (ecstatic): Precisely! But my generation was doctors and lawyers. We need to add another generation to the top of that mural - your generation, standing on our shoulders, nonchalantly has its dicks in white women's pussies!

[Indian Mom re-enters the room]

Indian Dad: And so Anil, that is why we forbid you from ever seeing Rebecca again

[Indian Mom smiles]

[Indian Dad winks at Anil]

Barbecue in the Year 3000!

[A group of 30-somethings are already at the BBQ, including couple Xavier and Jarina. A new couple, Zilas and Ordana, arrive. The couples pair off by gender]

Zilas: Dude, you are not gonna to believe the traffic while I was flying over here. I took Space Highway 8713 - bad. idea.

Xavier (disinterested): Oh hey Zilas. Yeah, I guess it is the weekend

[Another guy butts into the conversation]

Quixen: Did I hear someone say he took the 8713? Guys, do you not know about Suborbital Service Road 5621? No one's ever on it - zips along at nearly supersonic speeds

Zilas: Yeah until you hit those Space Traffic Lights.

Quixen: Come on bro, I'd take a few stops in exchange for no congestion any day. Xavier, whadda you think?

Xavier's Internal Monologue: Who gives a fuck? Wow you can get to this boring barbecue 10 minutes earlier if you take one route instead of the other! Whoop dee frickin' doo!

Xavier: I'll be honest - I took 8713 myself - it's a highway, no stops

Quixen: Yeah except when you're in Space Bumper to Space Bumper traffic! Space Jesus Christ!

[Jarina and Ordana sip Space Wine]

Jarina's Interior Monologue: I cannot believe Ordana's Space Boots are genuine Martian Leather from Tazlee Kallen Boutique. Maybe if Xavier actually buckled down and got a real job like Zilas instead of "pursuing his artistic vision" I could afford those. His "artistic vision" has got me in boots from five seasons ago. From Space Macy's. Fucking Xavier. Fucking Ordana with her fancy boots. Bitch.

Jarina: Oh my god, Ordana, your boots look amaaaaazing!

Ordana: Oh my god, thanks! Zilas got them for me at Tazlee Kallen!

[The two groups - men and women - rejoin]

Xavier: How're you enjoying the barbecue, honey?

Jarina: I'm having a great time, sweetheart!

Xavier: Me too!

Unsolved Mysteries: Rockaway Beach Edition

So Rich, Todd and I were walking toward Rockaway Beach on Saturday. I spotted a condo building facing the water that was holding an open house, and managed to convince them to come with me - "see a beautiful apartment we can aspire to, it'll be chill" was how I sold it. But as you'll see, our experience was anything but chill...

We entered the building. A chipper young white guy gave me a folder and a form and asked me to fill in my information. A minute later, I handed the filled-in form back to him, assuming he'd now lead us upstairs. But instead I heard a voice cry out from the elevator bank. "I'll be taking you on the tour," it proclaimed.

I turned around and found myself staring at the rather voluminous silhouette of a Real Estate Broker. "Right this way, gentlemen," the Broker beckoned. The Broker, still shrouded in darkness, stuck out a brown hand and shook mine with the firmness you imagine Rick Perry shakes voters' hands with. "Strong handshake - I like that in a man," I thought. In the elevator, I admired the Broker's red polo shirt - a nice hue, one I had been looking for myself. When I looked closer at the polo, I noticed that the Broker had small breasts. "Man-Boobs. Poor guy," I said to myself.

Then the elevator opened and the Broker led us out. And right in front of me was what some in the African-American community refer to as a badonkadonk. "That ass - that's a woman's ass! Wait a second - were those Man-Boobs actually Regular Boobs?!" I asked a banal question about square footage just to hear more of the Broker's speech. "The D-Line units like this one are 1,147 square feet," the Broker replied. Damn it! The pitch of the voice was either low for a woman or high for a man!

As the Broker rattled off answers to questions I didn't care to know the answer to in the first place, I searched for any clues I could find. "The washer-dryer is in the unit" - let's see, the haircut is short and gelled - is that Dyke-y or Dorky?! "Roof access is ava

ilable until midnight" - what about those glasses - damn it, Unisex frames! "We allow subletters but right now we're 100% owner-occupied," - come on, shoes have got to give something away - nope, asexual cross-trainers.

It was hot and Rich and Todd were getting antsy when we got back in the elevator and the Broker asked me if I wanted to see another unit. "No," I replied, "but why don't I take a business card so I can call you to follow up." "My business card's stapled to the folder you got on the way in." "Great, thanks so much!" I exclaimed as we got to the lobby. I ran out into the fresh air, ripped the card off the folder and took a long, hard look. This is what I saw:

That's right - I was in a full-on It's Pat! situation. The last name, which in many cultures gives away gender, was no help either. In fact, I'm not sure what nationality the Broker was - I was convinced Indian at first but now who knows - Mexican? Pakistani?

This person is a total enigma, and it's eating me alive. All I do now is type "Alex Torryn" in Google and stare over and over at the results for some crumb of a hint. Here is some of Alex's internet presence:

Real Estate Agent Listing [the picture: ]

Condo.com profile [ the picture: ]

Rockaway Real Estate Agents listing - 75% of agents have pics []

Youtube listing [no face, no voice]

SOMEONE HELP ME!!!

ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN MAN WOMAN MAN WOMAN ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN GENDER CONFUSION ALEX TORRYN HERMAPHRODITE? ALEX TORRYN ALEX TORRYN ALEXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX....

AT&T and Me

Me: Your service is really spotty, I'm gonna leave you

AT&T: No you won't

Me: That's not true, I will. When my contract is up, it's Sayonara AT&T, Hello Verizon

AT&T: Yeah right, you limp-dick faggot. You don't have the guts

Me: I... yes I do

AT&T: No you don't. Now wait till the iPhone 5 comes out and we'll re-up your contract and sell you a 16GB unit for $399

Me: Well... maybe I'll get the 32GB version

AT&T: No you won't, you broke bitch

Me (whimpering): Yes, Daddy