Pt. 2

Welcome.

Treat yourself, and head out to Joey's Comedy Club in Livonia tonight and sit at a table while I stand on stage and wax poetic about all kinds of important stuff.

I am no longer a part of the Party Jerk Network as it no longer exists. I'm sure the steel wheels (unrelated to the Rolling Stones album) of Martin Butler's mind are turning, and a strengthened and solidified reemergence will happen when you least expect it.

Think about how stupid you are made to feel almost every single time you visit the mechanic. Now consider the humiliation an acquaintance of mine faced when she took her car into the shop for a twisted seat belt. Those grease monkeys are still cackling as they eat their liverwurst sandwiches without washing their hands.

I saw a Monkees live record the other day. I was pumped as I am a Monkees fan. It took a few seconds before the realization hit me that the "Monkees" never played live. If I end up getting it I plan to listen to it while I eat some of that "crab" meat they sell at the grocery that comes in unnatural stick form.

Gay's are the new Martians on TV. Every new show has one flamboyant homosexual male that serves as the clash of context. This role used to be handled by the token space alien on TV. It's as if the gay male is still such an oddity to middle America that TV executives just plug them in as needed to create amusement where there really isn't any. Does a show about redecorating a trailer home get picked up by MTV unless there's the most outlandish gay man with a handlebar moustache?