The Multitudes

Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to his disciples to distribute to the people. He also divided the two fish among them all.  – Mark 6:41-42

Jesus looked over the field of ragged followers and was satisfied.  He knew that the miracles he performed could be construed as gaudy and theatrical, but what better way for people to accept God’s love?  How else could He get through to these people but by sheer astonishment?  Satiating their hunger was a nice touch too, He thought.  Everyone likes a free meal.  For these were the multitudes with hungry souls.
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Off-the-Beaten-Path

A lot of comics talk smack on doing out of the way gigs.  They will often times begrudgingly accept offers to perform at Firehalls, Elk’s Clubs, and Sport’s Bars in East Laurel Highlandsport (this is probably a real place).   I’ve been in the same boat before.  I’ll have nothing going on that week and a booker will call me with an “it’s-about-a-4-hour-drive” gig.  Well, what else am I supposed to do?  I’ll accept, assuming that the lingering Confederate mountain folk that I’m about to perform for won’t like my brand of ultra-highbrow humor (i.e. Jokes about constipated robots).

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“Tool Man” Finally Files for Divorce

(AP – Detroit) – After years of sustaining a rocky marriage, it was announced today on Detroit’s cable access television station that Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor and Jill Patterson Taylor would be filing for divorce.  

The move comes as no surprise to those who knew the couple.  “She was extraordinarily mean to him,” said Al Borland, Tim’s Co-host on Detroit’s number one rated cable home improvement show Tool Time.  “Every interaction I saw between the two, she was constantly mocking him, being sarcastic and angry.  I’m frankly shocked he put up with her for this long.”

Tim Taylor’s lawyer says that too many irreconcilable differences caused the split.  She would drag him to operas, ballets and library fundraisers, knowing full-well that her husband hated those events.  Tim always tried to be supportive, but she still belittled him and yelled at him.

Jill Taylor-Patterson was also an allegedly horrible cook and often provided barely edible meals for her husband and three sons, Brad, Randy and Mark.

“Tim just supported her all the time,” says neighbor Wilson Wilson.  “When Jill wanted to go back to school for her master’s degree in psychology, Tim paid for the whole thing and even took on more chores around the house.  When Jill’s birthday came around, he tracked down and refurbished an old piano that had belonged to Jill’s family.  He even forgave her when she had a brief romantic interlude with the guy installing their marble countertops.”

“And what does she turn around and make him do?” Wilson’s voice echoing from behind a picket fence.  “She made him, that’s right made him, get a vasectomy.  It’s unconscionable.”

According to reports the final argument was regarding Jill moving her pottery wheel into the garage.  The Tool Man had had enough and immediately contacted his lawyers.

Inside the Improv Green Room: Jon Lovitz

At one point in your life you may have heard the phrase, “A rolling stone gathers no moss.”  Whoever came up with that phrase was telling the truth, but they weren’t telling the whole truth.  While a stone that is constantly rolling doesn’t gather moss, it issubject to significant wear and tear.That being said, I’m happy and relieved that this weekend is over.  I don’t have any moss on me, but I feel slightly eroded.

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Ode to the Guy Losing His Mind at a Driving Range

The calls for “Christ!” echo
off the green turf mats and grass.
Three stalls to my right, to my delight
there’s a man who’s acting like an ass.

He swings his brand new driver.
It’s a Callaway Diablo, I think.
The head connects, a titanium caress,
launching the ball with a “tink.”

His stance is wobbly and crooked.
He takes a sinfully bad swing.
The ball hooks off, he says it soft:
“Stupid Mother-F#!^ing thing.”

And with each ball he strikes
the volume of swearing increased.
His face is so red, I dare to dread
That more expletives will be released.

“HELL, $!#*, DAMN” is all he gets out
Articulating anger in curses.
I’m at a loss but I wouldn’t dare cross
Him when he returns from golf courses.

His anger apparent and noticing now
that I’m staring at his hot, white collar.
Between “F##K” and “thwack”, I tip my ball cap
“Beautiful morning isn’t it, Father!”