Unchain My P.O. Box!
Customer: You couldn't find my package? What are you, blind?!
Postal Worker: Hit the road, Jack.
Customer: You couldn't find my package? What are you, blind?!
Postal Worker: Hit the road, Jack.
Alright kids, I got a hole in me that sex drugs and rock and roll can't fill. First cult with a convincing pitch gets a new member. No Xtian.
More than two years have passed since the beginning of what Mr. Bush acknowledges is the first genocide of the 21st century, yet Mr. Bush barely manages to get the word "Darfur" out of his mouth. Still, it seems hypocritical of me to rage about Mr. Bush's negligence, when my own beloved institution - the American media - has been at least as passive as Mr. Bush.He also wrote that genocide in Darfur hasn't even received as much coverage by the American media the Armenian genocide did in 1915.
Guy #1: She's the one that gave me a hummer in the bathroom. That one over there.Now, when I first saw this, I knew it wasn't me because I am highly against any kind of sex in public bathrooms (as well as in a majority of privately-held bathrooms). Oh, and also because I've never been to McNally Robinson. Also, notably, the item began with "I Guarantee This Quote is False," which makes me wonder who thought of it, and why post it?
Guy #2: Doesn't she run that NY website? Jen something.
Guy #1: She's famous? Well I can assure you it's not because of her BJ skills.
--McNally Robinson, Prince Street
"I like ferrets, but I like people, too. It'd be like a bunch of cowboys coming to New York and saying 'Let's save the rats.'"I actually have a comedy bit about the pet store near my house selling pigeons (basically flying rats) for $5. ("It'd be like if Bed Bath and Beyond started selling kitchen roaches.")
The sense of the word bee meaning 'a social gathering to perfom some task or engage in a contest' was coined right here in the good ol' U.S.A., and dates from the 18th century. The meaning emerged from the social nature of the insect, and came to be used more commonly than match for such activities.
Originally, there were spinning bees, husking bees, apple bees, and even raising bees for house raising. Bees involve a group of people in a community taking on a task that would be too hard to accomplish alone, or that is more pleasant to accomplish in the company of others. A friendly competitive atmosphere also helps work get done faster--who can nail the most planks on the barn roof? who can husk the largest number of ears of corn?--from which the competition we know of as a spelling bee emerged.
Darn it, I missed Second Speller's name. He's a guy who is dressed for the beach in a light blue t-shirt, shorts, and brown flip-flops. Oops-- he just misspelled millennium. I hope I haven't just made the same mistake.Oh, and possibly even cuter:
Betsey, number 5 must spell "cirrhosis." She has misspelled it, I feel so bad! But on the other hand, I guess she probably has never been close to someone suffering from it, which is awesome.Next bee's live blogging will be done by this bee's winner, Jonathan Lill. I expect it will be somewhat less cute, but nevertheless entertaining.
XXXXX SUNDAY, JULY 24 XXXXX*(No, I am in no way ashamed of my lurid interest).
Twins and Multiples Day
This will be the largest gathering of twins and multiples ever to convene in the Big Apple. Talent show, rides, group photo.
Astroland Amusement Park, Coney Island
If you stop midway through rimming someone, would you be doing a half-assed job?Update: A fellow comedian read this and wrote back, "I love this joke as much as I love rimming (a lot)."
famousin.jpFamous in Japan! Famous in Japan!!!
victor.toUnfortunately, the nation of Dziura has not offered the .dziura domain to the general public.
Bicycle, ridden by grandmother while urinating on familyEt cetera.
Dried Semen, chipped off mother’s desk by father
Flattened Penis, used by father to beat children
"My favorite sex toy is your mom!"
"I have a blowup doll of Bob Hope. Is that wrong?"
"My favorite sex toy is just old-fashioned wooden clothespins used as nipple clamps. Not many people can say they are using sex toys that have been in their family for generations! If you use the old-fashioned ones that don't have springs, you can even feel vaguely colonial."
"I've never even seen a Greek restaurant."She looked at me like I had said "New York has a ... a what? ... a subway?? Where?"
"Um, where's a subway around here?"I have also spoken to a number of people who, upon moving to New York, were completely baffled by the presence of large numbers of black people who are native Spanish speakers. There just aren't that many Dominicans in, say, Utah.
(despondently) "Oh... I don't know. Any subway."
100 dollar challenge - m4w - 24The problem with this, as I see it, is that the guy will be *standing*, and I don't think I could kick a guy in the balls that hard if he's upright (since he'd probably be taller than me). If he were laying down with his legs spread, it's a different story.
Reply to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Date: 2005-07-17, 12:05AM EDT
I spoke recently with a friend of mine and we had a debate about whether it would hurt or not to get kicked in the nuts barefoot by a woman. I honestly don't think it would, so I am presenting a challenge to any woman in the New Jersey area between the ages of 18-35, must be under 200lbs and at least somewhat attractive. I am 24 years old, 5'11, brown hair, brown eyes, tan 164lbs. Alright heres the challenge....if you kick me and I fall down, you get 100 dollars plus a free dinner at a restaurant of your choice, if I don't fall down you still get a free dinner if you're cute. :) Let me know if you are interested. Ciao!
You do realize that the Jen is Famous masthead is a complete headtrip, don't you? From left to right you go from "Look at me! I'm dressed in salmon! I got this shirt from Land's End. Go, Middle America!" to "I ahm zo naked. And zo . . . French, perhaps? I is vhatever you vant."Similarly, I recently spoke to Carlos, a guy I went on one date with once and who has gone down in history (using a very ephemeral view of history) in one of my jokes. I'm introducing this bit about tanning salons, and I offhandedly comment that "a Mexican guy I once dated said I had skin the color of ... aspirin."
You do realize that you made that comment, not me, right? I specifically remember making some crack about someone's skin color, then you cleverly rebounded with the aspirin (or was it some type of bread?) joke.As I remember it, it was Carlos, who also said my skin could be chalked up (ooh, chalked, do I sense a pun coming on?) as -- rather than the pleasant-sounding "milky white" -- the color of "salt" or "cocaine."
Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Jen who was the kickboxing champion of her kingdom. Thus she became princess. She bested all the other Amazons of Jen-land, and became raised above them as supreme and benevolent dictator, and scantily clad serving girls served her vegetarian cooking and helped her practice her kickboxing.Incidentally, Maureen is now a rather well-regarded poet. She is selling a beautiful little chapbook on her site for just $3.
That is, until the horrible day that all of Jen-land remembers in infamy. Seeing Princess Jen's amazing boxing skill, her scantily clad serving girls, and kick ass haircut, the evil and pathetic wizard, Jean Claude Van Damme, became insanely jealous. Still, he knew he could not beat Jen in any honest way, as she could kick his effeminate ass from here to Kalamazoo.
So, he lamented (in a dorky Dutch accent) to his trusted and equally lame sidekick, Squelch the Banana Slug...click to read more...
I have never seen a clearer case of the wrong age group for the crime. It's like date-raping a Vietnam veteran.And then there's a little chuckle somewhere, and silence, and silence, and then ... laughter.
But not everyone is happy with Costco's business strategy. Some Wall Street analysts assert that Mr. Sinegal is overly generous not only to Costco's customers but to its workers as well.I am reminded of an interview with Noam Chomsky in a recent issue of The Sun, in which Chomsky said something no one never does -- that corporations shouldn't have the right to exist without the continued consent of the populace, and that, more specifically, it is completely insane that the SEC legally prohibits corporations from doing decent things for their own sake; if an action does not have a clear profit motive, even if it is a normal, human thing to do, it is explicitly unlawful for a corporation to do it, because it is the legal duty of a corporation to maximize returns for its shareholders.
Costco's average pay, for example, is $17 an hour, 42 percent higher than its fiercest rival, Sam's Club. And Costco's health plan makes those at many other retailers look Scroogish. One analyst, Bill Dreher of Deutsche Bank, complained last year that at Costco "it's better to be an employee or a customer than a shareholder."
And this, my friends, is the world we live in, our milieu, the zeitgeist of our own making, a world in which human evolution has progressed from paper plates to disposable penises. A culture that abandoned the hunt for the farm and then retreated to the modern kitchen and the frozen dinner, and in which the stoves we invented (when cooking over fire became passe), now are used to produce replicants of the male member, faux phalluses, rubber obelisks that don't make a mess and which possess the heretofore unimagined benefit of adhering to smooth surfaces, something men never traditionally offered.
So I bombed/tanked/died three nights in a row. Lovely.In other news, this blog appears to have received an extra couple hundred visitors from Gawker today (hello!), and I'm heading out to LA at 7am this morning. I'll be on the left coast for non-comedy purposes, but plan to make an open mic appearance at some bar in Hollywood.
I hope the government doesn't google the word bomb and end up at my door to ask questions.
I have been freelancing at Allure Magazine and we were getting together the September issue. The covergirl of that issue is Mariah Carey and there is a 3 page spread of her in her panties on the inside. So the images go through dozens of people before they are finally approved- they are changed, moved around, examined, everything. The process went on as normal, images were approved and yesterday as it was about to go to press, one of the layout people came down and said "We have an emergency. Mariah's pubes are showing."In order to jump on the (mostly waned) Deep Throat brouhaha, I am naming my UNNAMED SOURCE "Double Penetration."
They basically had to stop production because her bush was peeking out of her nasty panties.
Then there's the issue of the background screen. In the era before the move, Stewart sat in front of a large graphic of a world map.... Now, the only graphic visible behind Stewart for the full half-hour is a continuous scroll-by of the words "The Daily Show" in solid cobalt blue. As if this constant movement of letters weren't distracting enough, the words "The Daily Show" also continuously radiate forward from the back of the screen in smaller white caps, originating from directly behind Stewart's head. I don't have the graphic-design vocabulary to describe this accurately, but let's just say that you can no longer watch The Daily Show without struggling to block out two constant, and competing, written reminders that you are, indeed, watching The Daily Show ... those radiating white caps are just maddening. It's as if Stewart's head is actually producing the letters, like promotional dandruff.
What is the matter with my generation and the need to be friends with the people we've dated? You want to be my friend? Do you know what I do with my friends? I bitch about my relationships. OK then...let's be friends. We'll get coffee and talk about what a loser you are..... Friends. Yeah that's a great idea. Let's spend tons of time together and then not have sex! You know what else would be a great idea if I could become a diabetic and walk around with a cheesecake hanging from my neck!!!! That's be awesome too!Yes, more links to funny people. You read it here first, folks.
|Sleazegrinder radio plug|
Dear Ms. Dziura,The writer is referring to an article I wrote back when I ran an internet marketing firm, about how to measure the results of online advertising. I have no idea how Professor Xavier got ahold of it.
I’m writing to request permission to reprint the following selection for academic purposes only. Professor M.J. Xavier at California Polytechnic University in San Luis Obispo wishes to use it in a course pack for the class detailed below. Thank you for your consideration!
1. “Internet Marketing Metrics,” Jennifer Dziura, July 11, 2002
Course: BUS 419
Term: Fall 2005
Instructor: Dr. M.J. Xavier
University: Cal Poly University, San Luis Obispo
Approx reproduction qty: 40
4186 Sorrento Valley Blvd Ste H
San Diego, CA 92121
I suggest that you take your pants off to reveal that you're wearing another pair underneath. Then you'd be all "Ha ha, gotcha!" and it would be good times all around.
Alternatively, you could take your pants off without wearing another pair. That could also work.
Fathers have been getting drunk and leaving town for centuries when their babies are born: In spite of our storied propensity for engendering life, we do not always welcome it when it arrives, we kind of wish it would go away, we want to be left to our tools and our greasy hands and our shade trees, our violent metal and brief explosions, our gray primer and rust, our certainty of objects. The birth of a child means more life, more crying, more questions, more hunger, more lying and walking away, more required courses, more questions we cannot answer, more tests, more tedium, more teachers, more classroom sitting, more desolate afternoons, more diapers and howling, more unbridgeable gulf, more rules, more discipline, more silence. We do not like life in a lot of ways. For some of us men we like a few books, we like a little racquetball, we like maybe a sauna and some swimming, we like a long drive down a leafy road in a good truck, but we did not sign on for the entire program and it tires us out, frankly, and after the truck is parked we just want to lie down and go to sleep, and it is like this day after day for many of us men, which is why we father kids and go off into the woods, never to speak of it again until it comes up by a careless word or two in the supermarket, and there we are again, saddled with ourselves, bending under the incomprehensible load of what we have done -- given life to a child who now looks out at the world and says, I don't know, man, what you're all so fucked up about, this looks pretty good to me. Just wait, we say. Just wait.
1) Briefly describe the main characters, with goals and motivations for each.
2) Add physical descriptions and backstories.
3) Complete an outline of the story's plot points.
4) Introduce myself at parties as a writer.
5) Expand the outline to one-sentence-per-moment-in-each-scene.
6) Begin fleshing out those scenes, averaging four pages per night.
7) Decide to quit job and become full-time author.
8) Cleverly change protagonist to a heroic loan officer.
9) Confidently apply for loan.
10) Get arrested for assaulting a loan officer.
11) Refer to time in jail as "research" on the "write what you know" theory.
12) Refer to drinking as "research" on the "write what you know" theory.
13) Note that book is suddenly about an author having an affair with a barmaid.
14) Ponder "write what you know" theory vis-a-vis cute barmaid at local hangout.
15) Acquire writer's block by dint of stoically refusing to research.
16) Get badgered by Jen as to timetable and deadlines.
17) Reply angrily that, what, you want me to have an affair?
18) Reassure Jen that, no, I don't think she's propositioning me.
19) Finish rough draft.
20) Second draft turns out to be a big fine book.
I'm thinking two a week ought to be about right.
Skydiving was scarier than standup (unsurprisingly), but the big thing about skydiving wasn't the fear of dying, it was that it's COLD up there and it SUCKS. Breathing freezing sky-wind at high altitudes gave me LARYNGITIS in JULY. Sorry for shouting, but skydiving was not the beautiful swan dive from the plane into the glorious cerulean sky that I expected.
I just called to make the reservation. I hung up the phone and realized the girl never asked for my name. So I called back to give it to her and she did not seem to be aware of the error. As far as I can tell, my reservation was for a guy named Jen Dziura, coming to see a female comic with the same name. Either that or listed as a reservation for one for Mr. One (or Mr. Won).
I went to the store and bought for seven dollars and fifty cents a little tank and some packets and a book of instructions that said “Grow Live Sea Monkeys!” Just add water and you get life! So I put life in my handbag and headed home, hoping life wouldn’t get bruised on the trip.
On my kitchen table, I opened up all the parts of life and set them out before me. Life was made up of: 1 Micro-Vue Ocean Zoo Aquarium, 1 packet No. 1 “Water Purifier,” 1 packet No. 2 “Instant Life,” and 1 packet No. 3 “Sea Monkey Growth Food.” Just add 12 ounces of water and life was mine.
So I followed the instructions for life. I filled the tank, purified the water, and added “Instant Life.” It was brown and looked like dust. For three days, I hovered over the kitchen table waiting to see life, sort of daring life, mostly not expecting it to appear.
When the three days were up, some little specks started to dance around. That continued for some time. I persisted in feeding life and keeping it in a warm, sunlit place.
After a few weeks, the specks started to mate. What progress! They had gone from swimming around the tank to swimming around the tank stuck together.
Well, I’m glad I’m not a sea monkey, I said. They’re boring. I’m bored. I’m so bored I’m going to make myself a sandwich and go to bed. When I got into bed, my boyfriend rolled over and said “How’s life?” Boring, I said. We mated. Then I went into the bathroom because I was thirsty. I drank a 12 ounce glass of water and went back to bed.
Okay, here goes. When you sign up for MySpace, you must not make the oh-so-foolish mistake of signing up as a "member" rather than as a "musician." The two are completely different types of memberships, and as far as I can tell, you cannot convert one to the other.
If you have already signed up as a "member," I think you need to go join AGAIN, as a musician, get all your files up and make a new profile, then go ask all your old friends to be your new profile's friend, then delete the old profile. Or, maybe you could write to MySpace and ask them to convert your membership.
Once you do THAT, you need MP3s. To make them, you need to record your comedy. What I do is take a portable audio recorder with me (search Amazon for "digital voice recorder" and get one with a USB port so it will work with a computer).
I then upload the files from my recorder to my computer, edit them in iMovie (because I don't have GarageBand), export them as Quicktime .aiff files (Export -> Quicktime/Expert mode -> aiff), and convert them to MP3s in iTunes. This is much harder than it has to be. I'm sure you could pay actual money for a decent audio editing program that would make this much easier.
That's it! It's a piece of cake, if by "cake", we mean a big stick in the ass.
iTunes has done what possibly no one else could have accomplished, propelled Podcasting into the mainstream, said Will Lewis, management consultant for KCRW. Our servers have been swamped with a stratospheric increase in traffic. In fact, downloads have increased tenfold as a result of the iTunes 4.9 launch.
Brooke Shields has decided that the time has come to speak out about the series of disses Cruise has shot her way about her decision to deal with her debilitating post-partum depression with a combination of drugs and psychiatric therapy. " I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but after Tom Cruise's interview with Matt Lauer on the NBC show "Today" last week, I feel compelled to speak not just for myself but also for the hundreds of thousands of women who have suffered from postpartum depression," Shields writes in a New York Times op-ed piece published today. "While Mr. Cruise says that Mr. Lauer and I do not 'understand the history of psychiatry,' I'm going to take a wild guess and say that Mr. Cruise has never suffered from postpartum depression." Adds Shields, "If any good can come of Mr. Cruise's ridiculous rant, let's hope that it gives much-needed attention to a serious disease."Actually, after appearing naked in "Pretty Baby", maybe Shields couldn't help but end up a mascara-toting feminist warrior. I'm reminded of a classic story about twin brothers who grew up with a boozing father who beat them and their mother. One brother grows up to be an alcoholic, and the other grows up to never touch a drop of alcohol in his life. When asked why they turned out the way they did, each brother says "With a father like mine, how could I have been any different?"