Hey, here's another schweet story, about improv this time!

A few years ago, we (IA) were doing a show in Joplin, MO for a food processing plant. They make the burritos and other microwavables you purchase at a gas station.

Joplin is pretty far south in Missouri, which means the IQ's were impressively low. At one point, we had a volunteer onstage who happened to be the only black employee at the plant. Halfway through the game we were playing, some yokel in the audience shouted out "Don't turn off the lights or we won't be able to see Kenneth (or whatever his name was)". Yeah, it was that kind of audience. They also never got tired of yelling out "Get 'er done!".

The blatant racism could have been a story in itself, as unbelievable as it was, but that night, the gods in charge of weirding us out were feeling frisky.

Going into our second to last game, we needed an audience volunteer to escort one of our players, Keith, out of the room to ensure that he didn't hear the suggestions we were getting for a guessing game. The volunteer's name escapes me, but I'll refer to him as The Intimidator. The Intimidator was 6'5'', probably weighed close to 250, and was wearing a camo hat and shirt. While out in the hallway where the guests of the event could go to smoke, Keith and The Intimidator came upon an unlucky young punk in a red hat. The kid in the hat was chatting up some women in the hallway, and really working at bringing his "A" game.

The Intimidator overheard red hat asking the women if they wanted to see his penis. The Intimidator, proving chivalry is not dead, told red hat to shut the fuck up. Red hat, obviously intoxicated, decided to throw down for his would be hoes. He took his shirt off, approached The Intimidator, and asked if The Intimidator would like to see him whip his penis out. Without hesitation, The Intimidator grabbed red hat's man parts and told red hat that he had his dick now, then queried what he was going to do about it. Red hat did what most of us would do: He wasn't about to apologize to and ask forgiveness from The Intimidator, he just started throwing punches in the general direction of The Intimidator's head. The Intimidator was, of course, unfazed and proceeded to lead red hat around the hallway by his man parts, taking in stride the occasional fist that would actually connect with it's intended target. After a few laps up and down the hallway, they eventually collapsed to the ground, knocking over an ashtray and refocusing The Intimidator's rage, escalating it from leading poor red hat around by his cock and balls to brutally pummeling him for his impolite ways.

It was at that moment that I opened the door to retrieve Keith. I saw what was happening on the ground, but the show must go on. We went back to the stage, finished the game, and cut the show short. We went back to our rooms to share what had happened, and then went out on the town to see what else Joplin had to offer. The answer was not much.

A *little* less poo here.

In the year 2000, a band came together of a mighty improv sort. Birthed from that improv/rock god hybrid was C.R.A.G. (Cunt Rocket Asshole Grenade). Our first and only hit single was titled "Coke Binge". I present it to you here in it's purest poetic form.

By the way, at the time there were tons of poetry sites on the internet giving out awards and throwing crap people had sent them into books. This won one of those awards and is in one of those books. I couldn't tell you which ones, but it tickled me silly that a form e-mail was sent out at all, praising the greatness of "Coke Binge".


Have you ever been on an eight day coke binge?
Then you wake up to discover that you've got no friends,
Cause they stole all your money and they drank all your booze
So you head out for the streets 'cause you've got nothing to lose.

Some days are better than others,
Some days I wanna go home.

So you head on down by the corner store
To meet your friend Pimp Larry and he sells you a whore.
She is big and black and dirty and she gives you the clap,
Should've realized it by the smell of her crack.

Some days are better than others,
Some days I wanna go home.

(bridge)

Maybe things aren't that bad, after all
I've still got my legs unlike Paul,
My mom's new boyfriend, yeah he's kind of a drag.
But I think it's pretty cool the way he pees in a bag,
bag
bag....bag bag bag.
bag bag,
he pees in a bag bag bag bag bag,
bag bag bag,
he pees in a bag....


And he shits in one too.

Sorry, one more poo post.

From December, 2005:

I'd like to take a moment to talk to you about something that afflicts millions of people every year. It cares not if you are young or old, black or white, cool or lame. What I want to talk to you about is itchy butt.

Itchy butt itself is only the beginning. Those people affected by itchy butt are also ten times more likely to fall victim to stink fingers or smelly drawers.

The really sad part is the fact that itchy butt can be avoided, and in some cases even cured. The responsibility lies squarely on your shoulders. Proper education and some preemptive counter measures can be taken.

Find time to talk to your kids frankly about itchy butt. Be sure to tell them the dangers of it, suggest ways of avoiding it, and if need be, relate to them how itchy butt may have affected you at some point in your life.

The best preventative measure that can be taken is to simply shower after every time you take a deuce. Second to that are Cottonelle Fresh Moist Wipes( http://www.cottonelle.com/products/folded.asp ). Keeping these with you and in your home will ensure that you and your loved ones will avoid itchy butt even if you don't have the time to shower after negotiating the release of your little brown hostages.

Thank you for your time, and remember: winning the itchy butt battle is up to you. Your actions could ensure the comfort of the butts of tomorrow.

Do not try this at home.

Here's another blast from the past, originally posted July 31st, 2005. Sorry for more poo subject matter. I'll try to make sure not to include it in the next. Here it is:

Ok, when I was coming up, I did some pretty shitty things to strangers.

To be quite honest, it wasn't limited to strangers. But strangers definitely got the worst of it.

One of such things was the poopy dollar trick. If you're unfamiliar with the poopy dollar trick, here's how it works: The first step is finding some poop. It doesn't really matter where, or whos, though I find that it seems a lot more personal, and therefore more rewarding, if it's your own.

Next, you'll want to find something to carry the poopy dollar in. Any plastic bag will work, including but not limited to: Beef jerky bags or Glads Ziplock bags. The best choice will always be something you can seal up, to avoid the smell of the poo.

Finally, you'll need a dollar bill. Though I've always used $1 bills, it is my belief that an even larger bill would work that much better. Remember, the trick to pulling this off is to feed off of other people's greed.

Once you have all the items necessary, you're almost there. Preperation is 90% of this particular project. Actually carrying it out can be both simple and fun.

Use the bag to hold the poo and slather one side of the bill. Be careful not to get it too close to the edge. If the mark sees a bit of poo hanging out the side, they won't bite. Next, fold the bill in half, poo to poo. Once that's done, all you need do is take the poopy dollar to a public place. I've found that the best places are usually grocery stores. Simply put the dollar near the entrance/exit and wait. Soon enough, some sorry sap will come by and pick up the bill. No matter what they do with it, hilarity will ensue. Some will examine it, freak out and throw it. F-U-N-N-Y. Some people will grab it and quickly jam it in their pocket. F-U-N-N-Y. No matter what the outcome, if you've got plenty of bills, you're bound to have an enchanting night of fun and wonder.

Oh, for Blog's sake.

I have stories, some of which I've shared on other public blogging type things, so I think I'll start posting them here every now and again. This one's just a little over a year old, was relevant to the new job I had at the time:

Ok, so I have this relatively new job, a month or so, and like any other job I have a few bosses.

Let me rewind it a bit, Tarrantino style and explain.

I am working for this company, who will remain unnamed for legal and job keeping purposes, whose main responsibility is canvassing for various causes. Right now, we are canvassing for health care (once again, not saying what we were for, for various legal reasons.). The way the office is set up is one canvass director, basically the top boss, two field managers, secondary bosses, and the canvassers.

We're a new office. We will eventually have 4-5 field managers, but for now we have 2. One of which is going to Albuquerque for a month to cross train, right after the new year. SO, our one remaining Field Manager, the other night, gets the urge to poo. I never asked him the level of poo it was, but it must have been pretty severe, because while we were out, some random guy came out and caught him pooing on the side of his house.

We split up into teams to canvass neighborhoods, and unfortunately, I wasn't with this bowelly challenged soul. The police report said, however, that a man was found to be defecating on the side of a civillian's house. Down the block, when approached, the young man who was in tandem with the defacator, claimed to be in league with him, though denied knowledge of the defecator's defacating.

By the way, the guy that caught him had a gun that he flashed a few times, tucked in the elastic of his sweatpants.

Flash forward 30 minutes later, and I'm ready to be picked up. I hop in the van and immediately tell the first and only story of interest of the night, unaware of what had transpired with my colleagues: "I had to poo so damn bad. I jogged a block to a gas station, but their bathroom was out. Then I went to the Sonic next door, asked if there was anything I could buy that could gain me entrance to their crapper; Sadly there was not. So I walk/jogged a half a mile down the road to a Minsky's Pizza and Pub, where the man didn't even make me buy anything, just let me poop for free."

As it turns out, my innocent story of searching for a place to poo may have sealed this poor defecator's fate. Had we been somewhere that had no accessible or reachable shitter, it might have been different. But my story of overcoming anti-shitism combined with the fact that the guy SHIT ON THE SIDE OF A HOUSE, pretty much all contribute to his career with ******** ***** coming to an end.

Drunk time, which means new post for you-all.

Y'all remember that time you had a pet lizard, but it didn't seem to want to live? It's like, it climbed all over it's cage, but never hunkered down and prepared it's life in a 5"X5" cage made of mesh?

Right, you know the one. It held a chameleon that wasn't very good at chameleoning. That one.

Anywho, I heard a story the other day that made me think of my old lizard, and don't ask me why.

Apparently my Grandmother was watching my young cousin, when my young cousin got out of reach and fell down a tall stairwell.

Needless to say, my Grandma was torn up, but she did what she was ordained to, and took the fallen child to the ER. Once my aunt got there, the doctor had decided that the child was fine, but he "prescribed" a beer and/or wine cooler to my grandmother.

This is where it get's "Tom"y. My grandmother spent 3 hours trying to get hold of the local Catholic priest to see if she would be damned for drinking a beer. After an hour of waiting and no replys, she went ahead and drank a wine cooler. Having done it on her own, without the sanction of the church, 10 minutes everyday is spent between asking forgiveness for her sin and Living her life as well as she can (with the exception of the XFL).

The ol' waiting game.

Hey, guys! Did you hear? There's a recession! The job market's pretty crappy! Strike that, it's extremely crappy!

I finally got all my stuff together to apply for a job. After 3 hours of reworking my resume ("But Tommy, couldn't you have just made a new one in a shorter amount of time?" "Yes." "But why di-" "Shut it."), It was all ready to go, so I sent it out with some sweet cover letters to my future decliners. Then I realized that I had lost an entire job description for one of my previous jobs. Where'd it go? I don't know. Is there any way to fix that? Send them an updated resume, apologizing for the craptastic mistake?

Think I'll just eat some more PB&J.