Literal Albatross: A Thing by Doug Driesel Jr.

I am currently archiving my weekly written podcast on my Tumblr page.  If you like it, click here to subscribe.  The following is from March 8th, 2012.

¡Phew! It. Is. Hot. In. Here. Crack open a window if you don’t mind. That. Is. Better. Oh, no! Did you leave the days of the week’s cage open? Now they’re all flying out of the window. And you know what happens when Thursday flies out the window. It’s time for another one of these stupid things.

And, by the way, if you’re the kind of deity that would be able to keep the days of the week in a cage with a little perch and mirror, don’t put them all in one cage. That’s just cruel. Everyone knows days of the week need their own space. And don’t forget to change their newspaper!

I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that days of the week are important, and it pains me to see them mistreated like so many Sarah McLachlan commercials during a day-time rerun of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. There are only three commercial breaks in The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, and those commercials manage to be played six times during an airing.

Did you know they have another commercial that DOESN’T have Sarah McLachlan!? Yeah, it’s just some other chick. But I’ve only seen it once. It’s like the Sasquatch of dog abuse commercials.

I also video taped it. Sure, it was on an old, ’50s camera, it was blurry and the commercial just kind of lumbers across frame and doesn’t do much, but it was another commercial, I swears it!

That’s how you can tell I’m full of crap and a little crazy. When I scream the plurals of words that should not be pluralized, I’m either crazy or an old, prospector.

Probably both.

Look, all I know is that there is gold in those hills, and you simply cannot have it. It is all mine. I have my claim staked with the zoning board. All the “i”s have been dotted  and the “t”s have been crossed. So, the only way you are going to get that gold is if you kill me and steal the deed from my dead hand, which would be easy. Especially after you killed me. Now, who would shoot me in my back? That is just RUDE!

Just kidding, everybody. I don’t want a War of the Worlds situation on our hands. I was NOT shot in my back. It was all an amusing little playlet. And SCENE.

You can’t see it, but I just bowed slightly. Away from you. With no pants on. NOW IT’S ALL YOU CAN SEE!

I guess what I’m saying here is ancient gods who are not being worshipped anymore and dumb, old west prospectors alike need to just chill out. Crack open a beer. Sit on your rickety chair or throne made of dragon skulls and watch the sunset (and/or watch your big shot brother drag the sun into the ocean). THEN go back to turning into a cow to have sex with women or ranting about gold being in hills (which it most certainly is NOT).

Anyway…Where was I? Oh, yes. In my home. Sitting on my floor. Bhagavad Gita by my side. I use it as a coaster, not enlightenment, by the way. I prefer an unexamined life. I don’t think I’m alone in that.

I assume we’ve all passed a somewhat well-dressed young man while walking down the street. And I go further on to assume that this young man attempted to give you a brochure that he, through a smile that becomes more and more creepy as you stare at it, tells you will probably give you eternal peace. And, knowing you as I do, I assume that you scoffed, then hustled your way to Forever 21 to buy that cute skirt you’d had your eye on.

So, yeah, let’s all drink to the unexamined life. It’ll be easy for me. My drink is right here on the Bhagavad Gita. Which is good, because it’s so hot in here, my drink is one giant water ring. Thanks, Krishna!

I am currently archiving my weekly written podcast on my Tumblr page.  If you like it, click here to subscribe.  The following is from March 1st, 2012.

I don’t care if Monday’s blue, Tuesday’s gray and Wednesday, too. Thursday’s ending and Friday brings another one of these stupid things.

And I start this stupid thing by fretting over another grammar faux pas.  Should I have spelled it ‘grey’ or ‘gray?’ I’m American, but the band I am quoting (The Cure, thank you very much) is English. What to do, what to do.  LOVECATS!

And those are the two Cure songs I know. End of story!

Post Script: As I write this I’m on a Los Angeles bus, rapidly switching seats to avoid the crazy, lightsabre-wielding homeless man who keeps moving into my area of the bus.

Maybe I’m being a bit presumptuous.  I should trust the best in people. I’m rapidly switching seats to avoid this crazy, lightsabre-wielding Jedi who keeps moving into my area of the bus.

However, as you read this, assuming you open it right away, and why the heck wouldn’t you, I will be driving from Missouri to California, traveling across this great land of ours. But enough pandering to lands (they’re not so great, I’m more of a sky man myself), let’s talk about sex, ba-by. But let’s not continue on into talking about you and me. That would be taking things a bit far.

I mean, what do you and I really have in common? Other than that we’re both reading this stupid thing? That’s right. I read it, too. And let me apologize. These. Are. Awful.

Ugh. I just go on and on and on. And on. And on. And I don’t know when to stop. And on.

I’m going to leave most of the links off this one.  Mostly because I’m trying to get this stupid thing done before I leave, but mostly because you don’t click on them anyway.  That’s TWO, count them, TWO ‘mostly’s!  I don’t know how to estimate AT. ALL. 

I will tell you that Friday night will be another awesome night at Magicopolis at 10pm.  Alex Mesrobian, Scott Bowser and Amy Buchwald will be there.  That should be awesome!  Comedy, Magic and Drinking!?!  I won’t be there, though.  All the more reason for you to come out!  1418 4th St. Santa Monica, CA 90401. 10pm. 

Additionally, I will be at The Ed Galvez Punk House on Wednesday the 7th at 9pm!  Really?  Can life get any better?  Of course it can.  What are you, an idiot?  Can you not see the price of gas?  Because if not, you should stop driving.  It’s at M.I.’s Westside Comedy Theater, 1323-A 3rd St. Promenade in Santa Monica. Same zip code, dummy. 

Also, don’t forget to check out the latest in Canadian news atCanada Action News!

And on.

I am currently archiving my weekly written podcast on my Tumblr page.  If you like it, click here to subscribe.  The following is from Feb. 23rd, 2012.

Just as many generations of classic rock fans (all the way back to when it was just called “rock”) have wondered who this ‘Bruce’ about whom The Electric Light Orchestra is singing, so ends another Thursday. And, as usual, it means it’s time for another one of these stupid things.
 
Seriously, though, Jeff Lynne, the hell? Just bringing up this ‘Bruce’ fella without explaining him? And come to think of it, where is Travelling Wilburys Vol. 2? Eschewing conventional album numbering systems that have been in place for years may gain you points with your hippy, counter-culture friends, but it will do you no good here, Sir!
 
It’s at this point that I realize I’ve completely lost my non-musically inclined readers. The first thing I’ll say is you should go look up everything I’ve said if you want to understand how amusing that was. And if you guessed “somewhat,” congratulations, you don’t have to wade through forty years of classic rock continuity on your bus ride.  You hit the nail on the head with your first guess. And double kudos for figuring out a pattern with these little tête à têtes we have every week.
 
The second thing I’ll say is that it’s a leap year. You have an extra day to pay rent! So, bust your ass at the restaurant, maybe you’ll make the one hundred and twenty dollars you’re short this month. But probably not. It is LBGT month in England, after all.
 
I know, that logic doesn’t really track. I just found out about the LBGT month thing today and wanted to shoehorn that into the conversation to look worldly. I now realize that by pointing this out, I reveal my ugly Americanness, which apparently, according to my spellcheck, is not a word. So, way to go America, Microsoft Word refuses to let you have an essence.
 
Seriously, though. Jeff Lynne is awesome. If you’re reading this, Jeff, way to go on Life. You’re spinning the high numbers and chosen college instead of going directly into the work force. Now you’re having a kid and I have to give you money? You’re my enemy in this game! Why am I giving you money for a stupid kid that, by the way, we’re all forced to have once we reached that space on the board.
 
What? Not big board game players? Fine. Moving on, here are the plugs and links:
 
This Friday, Ed Galvez, Jay Smith and Amy Raugust are going to be at Magic After Dark at Magicopolis. I will not be there this week, but you should be! Friday at ten of the clock, post meridiem.
 
Aren’t you curious what is happening in Canada this week? If you were following Canadian Action News on Twitter, then you wouldn’t be. A choice news article for the week: ”Breaking News: Parliament just passed the “We’re pretty much European, anyway” Act of 2012!”
 
Speaking of following things on Twitter, why aren’t you following this thing. And by thing I mean me? I don’t know, you guys. I think I’m pretty funny.http://www.twitter.com/dougdrieseljr
 
 
And here are the video links for the day. And yes, I bolded that in an effort to pretend you care about the video links. But I have a report about what links are clicked and which are not, and you guys are falling short on the link clicking. Anyway, here are those video links (ooh, I did it again):
 
Clan of the Red Wolfepisode two, with a tasty Gremlinsreference in the middle, there:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5IzE5rm0W4
 
While we’re on the subject of Clans and Red Wolves, here’s the very first short that started that whole ball rolling:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kp9Ja02PILU&list=UUagRQOb-RfWFh6CpBBA4oSA&index=10&feature=plcp
 
This one might get a bit tedious, but before I was animating with Clan of the Red Wolf, I was puppetizing with The Smithey Cohen Show. I admit, it I had a lot to learn at that point, but some of the bits were VERY solid:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfBrkdWEagY
 
Finally, here are the links to stuff you can buy:
 
Hows about a link to my debut comedy album?
http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/my-name-is-dave/id355981088
 
And, finally, another Rifftrax short I did entitled “Don’t Touch.” It was my first solo short!
http://www.rifftrax.com/iriffs/big-bunch-doug-shorts-dont-touch
 
Seriously, guys. Electric Light Orchestra is amazing. Listen toOut of the Blue or A New World Record. Nothing funny here. Just a plea for you listening to good music for a change.

I have a bone to pick with Kellogg’s Corn Pops. Look, inanimate cereal. We’re going to skip over the fact that you taste like wet garbage. You are are and always have been the same foul-tasting cereal you were in my youth. When the Kellogg four pack of tiny cereal boxes would come to a close, I would would come face to face with you and choke you down and wonder why my parents seemed to not love me, to force me eat a reject cereal like you. Let’s face facts, Corn Pops: You’re worse than Smacks. Hell, you’re worse than goddamned Boo Berry. I would rather eat a whole bag of Marshmallow Maties without milk than put you anywhere near my face. I am legitimately surprised that milk does not automatically curdle when introduced to your feted lack of taste.

And yet, given e’erything I’ve just said, that’s not the particular bone with which I have to pick. And that bone is not even that you don’t even seem to have a mascot. Unless you count vomiting a mascot, which I do NOT, Sir! Vomiting is a bodily function, not a cereal mascot. That’s just stupid.

Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe you have a mascot, he’s just hideously deformed and you keep him in your factory attic. Maybe he was just born different in a time and place where small minds couldn’t accept him. And everyone know Kellogg’s is a Catholic company, so there was no getting rid of him. That’s why you locked him in your attic, only letting him out to do commercials that air at 3am on ION. Maybe his catchphrase is “They’rrre crrrap!” Everyone knows that hunchbacks are famous for their growling abilities, after all.

But you know what? I don’t watch ION at three in the morning. Unless they’re playing “Elvis Meets Nixon” again. Then, I’m there! So, for all intents and purposes, you have no mascot, Corn Pops!

But, as egregious as that is, it’s not my problem with you. Nor, is it the fact that you’ve simply taken America’s favorite movie-time treat, the popped corn, and turn the words around to create your own misnomer.

I might have to retract that statement. You might be a genius, Kellogg’s Corn Pops. Perhaps people would like me more if I were Cable the Larry Guy. I could go on tour and force stadiums full of people to swallow disgusting, semi-cum-glaze corn shitlettes all across this great land of ours.

You’re unoriginal and terrible, Kellogg’s Corn Pops. But even THAT’S not the thing which I want to discuss with you. No, the particular item I wish to discuss is—Actually, no. That last thing, the thing about your stupid, not true nickname was the thing.

The time of year around St. Patrick’s Day has always been a mixed bag.

Right off the bat, as a kid, I loved St. Paddy’s (how you spell it.  No, it’s NOT Patty.  That’s the ENGLISH was of shortening it) Day.  It all seemed so delightfully incongruous and arbitrary.  Back then, I knew nothing of American history, domestic or foreign.  So, what I saw were rules from a madman’s cookbook.  “Wear green or you’ll get pinched!  Set aside one day to celebrate this specific kind of white person!  Fuck the English!  Did I mention the ‘green thing?!’  Because that’s pretty important.  I will pinch the shit out of you!”

Then, as I grew older, I found out about the drinking aspect of the whole thing.  Like everyone, someone sat me down and told me, “I’m going to tell you what St. Patty’s Day—Don’t interrupt, I’ll call it what I want—is all about.  Yeah, yeah, pinching and green, blah, blah, blah.  But really, St. Patrick’s Day is when people of all creeds and most religions come together to mock the alcoholism that has become a systemic problem in the Irish people by getting plowed and showing them to their stupid faces what they look like.  Best yet, we all claim we’re Irish, even when we’re CLEARLY not, and insist people kiss us on our big, potato-shaped heads!”

Then, you start drinking (I’m switching subjects from ‘I’ to ‘you’ because I’m now speaking more esoterically), and the holiday becomes a competition no one ever really wants to win. Because winning this competition means waking up with dicks and swastikas written all over your puffy, red face.  Did you know you like to take penis in the butt?  Well, one of your friends will let you know by writing it on your forehead while you sleep like a little, drunken angel.

Eventually, setting aside a whole day just to get drunk seems like a chore.  “It’s St. Patty’s Day!  Woo!”  “Actually, it’s ‘St. Paddy’s’ Day.  And could you stop yelling in my ear?”  “You’re a bummer!”  “If being a bummer means people will stop yelling at me, then yes. I am a TOTAL L7.”  “Yeah. That’s what it means. I’m going to go vomit in the bushes.  11:15 on a Tuesday morning!  Woo!”  “When did we put bushes in the front room?”

I might have forgotten to mention that my birthday is two days before St. Patrick’s Day. Who am I kidding?  I didn’t forget.  I left it out to bring it up now.  See, there’s a reason for all this.  But the day BEFORE my birthday is Pi Day.  If I have to explain to you what Pi Day is, congratulations, you probably get laid a lot. Pi Day is March 14, or 3.14 (the first three digits of Pi) and that’s about it.  Nerds snort and push up their glasses when they look at the calendar, that annoying guy from your office says something to which you don’t listen, and you move on with your life.

But Pi Day is also someone’s birthday.  And those someones are Tyler Preston and Scott Bowser.

Tyler Preston is the reason why I never really do anything for my birthday.  Growing up, with his birthday so close to mine, either all our friends did stuff with him on his birthday and were too worn out (being in high school can be exhausting) to do anything for mine or we just did a joint birthday thing where I would end up going home early because even when I drank a lot I hated being around drunk people.

Tyler also carries the nickname “Patches” in some circles.  Those circles are all in a mobile fifteen foot radius around me.  Until well after college, Patches couldn’t grow a proper beard, no matter how much he wanted to.  Because my other very good friend and I were cruel and not creative growing up, that caused us to call him “Patchy” for a while, then drop it.  However, not but a couple months after we stopped calling him that, he comes home with eye patch. Seems he was chipping ice at his work and a piece injured his cornea.  He sees fine now, as far as I can tell, but that bit of coinkidink solidified the name “Patches” forever in my phone.

Not a very good Tyler story, considering this is the guy that got arrested for spitting on a sidewalk and then resisting said arrest, but it’s the story I choose to tell.

Then, when I moved to Los Angeles and got into comedy, I met Scott Bowser.  I am good friends with Scott Bowser.  I’m also the only friend he has that STILL insists on making Mario jokes at him (at least, I would hope I’m the only one).  Some of you may know Bowser.  He’s the guy who gets plowed while you’re talking him until he steers the conversation to how you suck at all things that you do.  And how he’s only telling you this because he loves you.  And how these are MORE reasons you suck.  If you are still wondering who he is, you can find him every Friday night yelling at homeless people at Silverlake Lounge in Silverlake, CA.

Oh, look.  Today is Pi Day.  Snort.

Happy birthday, you jerks.

Ahoy Cats, and the much more feminine “Cattettes.” ‘Tis I, Doug Driesel Jr. Who am I, you might ask. If you do, then shame on you. Get a life. Stop trolling around on stumbleupon and get a day job. The economy’s suffering, and it’s all because you like to read the blogs of random people you find on the internet!

And, if you like that sudden harsh turn in dialogue, then you’ll love today’s edition of my new weekly news letter. It’s a funny little thing, then some plugs. Like the last five minutes of a podcast, only it’s about me and it’s written. So, getting the information while jogging is remarkably more difficult. 

You can find the first edition of the newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/iXmDb

I agree. That does look like a phishing scam url. I find it highly inconvenient. But I don’t really want to put a whole lot of effort into this thing, other than making it funny and worth reading, so there you go. You can subscribe at the top of the page in that link. 

And, um…I guess that’s it. Bye?

Here’s what a dummy _I_ am. I have started a new show Friday nights at ten o’clock at Magicopolis. Remember the bar show that Erik Tate used to do? Yeah, it’s that, only with a new name (Magic After Dark). That’s not what makes me a dummy, by the by.

What makes me a world-class dummy is the fact that I found out I’m doing the show last Friday, and I’m JUST NOW getting to Tumblng (NOT a typo. That’s how that word in that context would be spelled!) that shit!

So, tomorrow at ten pm, you should come out to my dumb show. It’s got two comics, myself and Ed Galvez, and two magicians, one of whom is my co-producer a one Michael Vile.

No cover. All close up stuff. We stand behind the bar and perform for you. Plus, it’s a ten of the clock, so there’s free street parking, if that’s the reason you avoid Santa Monca.

Of the interesting tip, it’s one of the few venues in Los Angeles where you can see comics stretching their legs with 15 minutes. Also, magic is pretty cool, right, you guys?

I hope you come out. I believe you’ll enjoy it. Not to push my beliefs on you. If that was the vibe I gave you, then I do apologize! I was like the Jehovah’s Witness of telling you what I think you will and/or will not enjoy.

So, if you can forgive me for my relentless pulpit grandstanding, then you can find the long and the short of it below.

Signed,

Doug Driesel Jr.

10pm
Magicopolis
1418 4th St.
Santa Monica, CA 90401

In case you missed it yesterday, I ran through the stages of the life of a Rock Monster. I hope you’ll enjoy.

I have a friend who refuses to use Facebook properly.  I had to show him how it is done.