Off Campus Comedy Night (Wednesday)

I’m on a show with Derrick Knopsnyder Wednesday night at the Pittsburgh Improv.  For those of you thinking, “Wednesday night…Wednesday night…isn’t there something going on Wednesday night?”

Yes.  The Pirates one game wild card playoff against the San Francisco Giants is the same night.  I get it ok.  We didn’t know that the Pirates were going to be playing that night.  It’s not our fault!

As I understand it, the show is geared toward college kids which means there will be jokes about beer parties, jazz cigarettes and YOLO’ing.  Luckily after all that, I’ll be able to give them a refreshing glimpse into young adulthood.  A big chunk of my set will be devoted to a lengthy exploration of Roth vs. Traditional IRA’s and which might carry the largest tax relief.

Click here for tickets.  If you use the code LOVEHANDLES at checkout you’ll get in for free.

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You Know What? by Neal Huntington

Wow!  Two post-season appearances in a row.  I have to say, it’s a proud day for this organization.  Our entire staff has worked tirelessly to put a great product on the field.  With the win over the Atlanta Braves, a longtime thorn in the side of this organization, we advance to October baseball.

And you know what?  You all are so welcome.

I’ve had to deal with every single moron calling in to Bob Pompeani’s radio show saying that I didn’t know what I was doing.  Remember when all you idiots said, “Josh Harrison should never be in a Major League lineup.”  Well he’s about to win the batting title.  Shows how much you know.

And you know what you can all do now?  You can all suck it.

“You did nothing at the trade deadline, Neal.  You picked us up absolutely no help.”  Oh, really? You like John Holzcomb?  He literally was almost out of the league and now he’s a beast.  I did that.  You all laughed at me when I signed Edinson Volquez.  Well the sumbitch has 12 wins this year.  I did that too.  You like where we’re at right now?  A few more games and we might even win the division.  The Pirates winning the division.  I want that to sink in for a moment.  I want you to re-read that sentence, that is if you can read.  The Pirates, a team that went 10-18 in May this year, are in the playoffs and actually might win the freaking division.

So you know what?  You know what?  Why don’t you all scale the Roberto Clemente bridge, take a nice scenic look over PNC Park and imagine the possibility that it might be filled come October and take a header.

Letters From “Smitty” – The Prank

Smitty

Dear Center for Disease Control,

I write this letter to you with a heavy heart.  For it seems the vial of Bubonic Plague that I obtained from your facility several days ago has gone missing.  You may be thinking to yourself, “Who is this man and why does he have our sample of the Black Death?”  These are all fair questions and I feel as though it is my duty to answer them before proceeding with my request for assistance.

If you were to go back and check your official procurement logs, you will not likely find my name.  I imagine that this is the proper protocol that most other reputable research laboratories go through when they need to obtain various strains of diseases with which they can conduct experiments.  I had initially tried to go through these normal avenues yet was stalled at every turn.  Apparently, one must have a certain set of approved government documents in order to move forward.  I have neither a driver’s license nor a passport nor fingerprints.  My lack of a license or passport is purely a political statement.  My fingerprints are absent because I tried to eat a scalding hot bowl of fondue with my hands at one point in my early 20’s.  Fondue was a very popular thing back in 1997.  Seeing how it was my first time, I had no idea that one must dip some edible item into the flaming pot, not one’s fleshy digits.  Regardless, due to my pre-existing medical condition and subsequent “off-the-grid” status, I was not eligible to receive free samples of one of the world’s deadliest viruses.

However, I would not be a proud American if I merely wilted in the face of an iron bureaucracy.  I took matters into my own hands.  I thought, “What would our forefathers do in this situation?”   So I dressed up like a Cheyenne Indian and snuck into the building at night.  The Cheyenne after all are native to my home state of Wyoming and I therefore had the greatest point of reference and access to various authentic pieces of native garb.  As my tomahawk crashed through the hermetically sealed glass case in which the Black Death had been stored, I thought to myself, “I should probably leave a note.”  Sadly, this slipped my mind at the time and for that I do apologize.  I placed the small vial into my satchel made from buffalo hide and stole off into the night on moccasin’d feet.

You may be wondering my end goal for the tiny vial.  It sounds a tad silly now but it was originally going to be used for a prank on my roommate, “Smitty.”  You see “Smitty” had pulled a doosey of a ribbing on my about a week earlier.  While eating breakfast in our loft apartment above the bustling market district in downtown Sheridan, WY, “Smitty” came out of our bedroom and gave me a look.  I was eating a bowl of cold asparagus and cottage cheese as per usual.  He mentioned to me that I should be more careful.  I asked him what he meant by that.  He then pointed to an area of my chest where he said I had something on my shirt.  When I looked down to verify that my shirt had been soiled, he lifted up his finger and bopped me on my downturned nose.

Well, this was very funny to him.  He laughed so hard that he removed his pants and did a load of laundry.  “Smitty” and I have been known to prank one another.  So I decided to “one-up” this new prank war were in by infecting him with the deadliest pathogen known to mankind.

This leads me to my problem currently.  The vial I obtained has gone missing and I would like your assistance in finding it.  I tried retracing my steps to the last time I remember seeing it.  The only thing I can piece together is that immediately after I left the facility in my full native headdress, I seem to remember wanting to celebrate.  I typically celebrate all of my victories on top of or inside of the Sheridan Water Tower.  I began to perform the Arrow Renewal and Sun dance which is common for the Cheyenne when they have a great victory.  In all the jiggling and writhing, I’m afraid the vial might have slipped into the main reservoir.  I’m not saying that is for sure what happened; only that it seems likely.

As you can see, the situation may be dire.  You may have already received complaints of residents experiencing abdominal discomfort or dying violently.  Please let me know what assistance you can give me.

Sincerely,

Alan Gibbons

P.S. – I was able to get “Smitty” back when the Black Death gag didn’t work.  I called him late one night from a payphone and asked if his refrigerator was running.  He replied that it was.  I told him that he had better go and catch it.  Which he did.  But we all had a laugh about it later over a glass of white wine, “Smitty”, the refrigerator and I.

Street Jokes: Couples Counseling

I know it’s hack to tell “street jokes.”  But sometimes I just really like them and want to share them.  www.reddit.com/r/jokes has a lot of great ones.  I’ll post these from time to time if there are any I really like.  Again, these aren’t mine.  I just read them…

A man and a wife go to a therapist for couples counseling.

When the therapist asked what the problem was, the wife went into a tirade listing every problem they had ever had in the years they had been married. On and on and on: neglect, lack of intimacy, emptiness, loneliness, feeling unloved and unlovable – an entire laundry list of unmet needs she had endured.

Finally, after allowing this for a sufficient length of time, the therapist got up, walked around the desk and after asking the wife to stand, he embraced and kissed her long and passionately as her husband watched – with a raised eyebrow.

The woman shut up and quietly sat down in a daze. The therapist turned to the husband and said, “This is what your wife needs at least 3 times a week. Can you do this?”

The man thought for a moment.  “Well, I can drop her off here on Mondays and Wednesdays, but on Fridays I fish.”