Hear comedy tips and tidbits from two non-comedians. The guys discuss how even idiots can own their own business, their first time stumbling on to pornography and the fact they’ve never really hit a “hard bottom”. Are soft bottoms holding them back?
Taylor Girls – Wedgie in My Booty
DVBBS – GOMF (feat. BRIDGE)
I’m in Ecuador right now, making it the 10th country I have visited since I started traveling at 18. I actually stopped for a few years, but when my mom died in 2016, it awoke in me the passion to make sure I do the things I want to do now- so I visited 8 of those 10 countries in just the last 3 years. My mom always talked about wanting to go to Spain but early onset Alzheimer’s disease, a sickness that locks its sufferers in hell and pushes families in trenches of cyclical grieve, had an entirely different plan. The month after she left us, in September 2016, I landed in Spain on the day of her birthday…and I cried. I cried because I felt her presence with me. I felt like she was seeing Spain through my eyes and thereby receiving her wish, but I also wasn’t sure when the next time I would feel that close to my mother again would be. I can still remember the last time I physically held her on August 18th. At the end of the trip I cried again because I realized more than ever that you cannot run away from your problems. No matter the distance between you and it, they travel with you too. I never felt that lesson as heavily as I did then, but the amount of beautiful closeness and closure I feel to and from my mama whenever I travel now is unmatched. Boarding a plane to see the vastness of the earth reminds me how small I am and yet how impactful her time here was at the same time. I want to show her how she raised her little girl to be fearless, unwavering, and adventurous. I want my mom to know that her time wasn’t determined by a horrible disease she did not choose, but by how her love, compassion, and joy will radiate in everything she touched, and will continue to touch as long as I’m here. She lives in my heart, and we live in my travels together.
Te echo de menos, mama.
The clouds are heady, planted feet.
Her hands are steady, full of skeet.
I’m ready for you to notice me,
drinking irresponsibly,
I think you barely see.
Right…
I’m in for the night.
No text the next day,
No “hi”, no “hey”.
Been grounded, can’t come out to play.
Hit eject on the rhyme scheme,
yo this dude is weird.
Gold plated, purse sueded, double-team The Beard.
Glory’s faded, understated, at least you made it here.
Shit.
What’s a cadence?
I ain’t been straight since,
my fate was decided by a white fence.
Straddled it, no rattle, bitch.
Rates on them tits don’t tattle, bitch.
You’re a slave, bro.
You need some inspo?
Hit a rave, then abort the in vitro.
He moved on, expired like a coupon
Ex tired, been fired
Saturday’s for Jimmy Neutron.
Hi, I’m Paul,
take a Walker to the Wall,
break a John’s jaw just to watch Fall.
Fuuck.
That was pretty offensive.
Crayola turned pensive.
That’s a broken dish, can’t rinse it.
Imma poke a fish like a stick,
with a wishlist.
The joke is rich.
Pedantic dicks supplant ethics,
with a single bid.
Can’t lie, can’t trick, I was a Pringle’s kid.
Lays tried, brain’s fried, no cannibal.
Cold jokes all Burr, no Hannibal.
The only scratch I see is from an animal.
Old folks hatch dust and bust nuts,
at the hospital.
I’m almost done here.
Fixed chain, no spokes, I got one gear.
Head over handles,
bred as vandals.
Smelly sandals and scented candles.
El fin.
I’m running out of time. No, that doesn’t have some double, deeper meaning…I’ve got 15 minutes to give the people what they want- MORE content. Or do they? How much media can people actually absorb in a day? How much should they? In a world of sensory overload, am I adding to the problem? Why do we all feel the need to “express” ourselves? Why do Dean and I think that people want to listen in on our conversations (i.e. the podcast) or read our blog posts? I grapple with this thought every time I post on here, Facebook or Instagram.Whether it’s personal or for the site, I feel a little whorish assuming that people care about what we’re up to or our thoughts on what’s going on in the world. Am I giving a little bit of my soul with every hashtag and sent emoji? I know it’s just insecurity but at the end of the day I do think it helps. It doesn’t help in the way that’s immediate or measurable but there’s a little part of me that feels like I’m doing my part at the moment. I’ve never really felt like this before. I’ve never really felt like I know what my purpose is. I’m not saying this is it but there’s something in me that thinks, that knows this is what I’m supposed to be doing. This could be the start of a bigger picture or just me mixing the paint but regardless, it just feels right. I’m supposed to be talking it out, talking to you. Time’s up. See you tomorrow.
So if you’re keeping track, you may have noticed that I missed a blog post yesterday. If you didn’t notice, congratulations on living your life. This is usually the point in a project when I give up. I told myself I’d write a blog post everyday but I missed a day, so now I consider myself a failure and won’t continue to write anymore. This probably would have been my m.o. a year ago but I’m done beating myself up over not being perfect (or even close). I used to think that not striving for perfection in everything you did was weak behavior. My quest for perfection usually freezes me at the starting line of most projects because I convince myself there’s no point in doing it unless it’s going to be perfect. Then I just bail on the project. Now THAT is weak behavior. It’s a fear of failure. It’s a faux elitist point of view that blinds me from realizing anything…much less my self-granted potential. I won’t do it this time, I’m not going to quit just yet. I really like doing this. It’s like typing out a podcast you’re doing by yourself in your head. At first I was rolling my eyes at myself. Who are you? Why would you think people are gonna read your fucking blog? I don’t even worry about that anymore. It’s not for other people. This is for me. It won’t be perfect. It can’t be perfect.
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