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Friday
Feb022007

Unbookable Down.

 

Brett Clawson

 

Brett Clawson jumped off a bridge. He liked the drink, more than most and shrugged off all the trouble with a laugh like a teenager who just egged a bus.

There was plenty of trouble.

At least four DUIs and who knows what else. Last I saw him was in September in Louisville. He was making yet another attempt to stay sober - this time at the demand of the state. Failing a piss test would have meant going to jail but eating shit in front of 19 rubes at the Comedy Caravan makes the threat of jail sound like a suspension from school.

He was drinking by the second night and I know how he felt. I'd have been drinking too and I was.

 

Clawson was the happy kind of out-of-control drunk. Mischeivous seems to be the right word. Even sober. He'd call and tell me that he'd gone into work, punched in and walked right back out the door to fuck off all day before stopping by to punch out.

All class. Always fun, always funny.

I guess it was his birthday and he got fucked up again. He got chased at 90 mph by the cops. Stopped, ran and jumped off an overpass. Smashed his noggin on the interstate below. The coma lasted for more than two weeks until he died January 31st.

On his Myspace page he blogs about what turned out to be his last gig with Brett Erickson. He writes, "If you want to come to the show but don't have a place to stay, let me know and you can crash on my hotel floor if we actually fall asleep."

Fucking top that. All class.

And I bet he was laughing on the way down. He was always laughing.


Check out his site at www.myspace.com/brettclawson and watch the clip. Then check out his other site www.myspace.com/brettclawson17and listen to the song "Catch Phrase". Fucking hilarious. Download it here.

 

I'll make sure the band at the St. Louis date in March learns it by then, even though Clawson's Myspace says "No Cover Bands" under music interests.

Who's With Me?


I'll wait a few days before I write about other shit. I can't bring myself to do the anchorman-style..."And in other news..." bullshit.

I don't know who you have in the Superbowl but I'd bet Clawson would have been cheering for bad calls and career-ending injuries. With that laugh. A kid causing trouble. Cause some trouble today. And laugh about it.

Who's With Me?

 

Brett performing at Funnybone

Saturday
Jan062007

Happy New Year. It's the first year of the end of your life.

I've been cramming for the exam for our 2008 presidential bid. All the boring parts, which encompasses nearly all of politics. In four days I'll be moving to Austin. I haven't given a minutes thought to the logistics of it, where I'll end up or other petty details because I'm reading up on laissez-faire economics and other thrilling subjects.

No wonder nobody pays attention to politics.

These are the things that made me quit school. But I owe it to the American people, if not to lead them to providence then simply to shit on their parade of dull assimilation.

Or, at least to make the whole process interesting. Sure, a presidential election isn't 'Dancing with Emmitt Smith' [PIC] but you'd think you'd have a stab at being equally entertaining.


 

Meanwhile, as I try to smear knowledge on my brain like intellectual Neosporin, Bingo found a puppy.

The puppy has chewed up and destroyed my Bose headphones, my telephone, a hundred socks or other articles of necessity and my love of dogs.

But it makes Bingo happy.

 

While I was in Costa Rica last week, Bingo brought the dog to the veterinarian for what she believed was a serious problem. A discolored swelling in the ... a seemingly unnatural growth... she was sure it needed to be checked out

It was a boner.

Bingo took the puppy to the vet because it had a boner.

But the puppy makes her happy and that's all that counts. What does a girl called Bingo name a puppy? Ichabod. I suggested Tuburcules! (spelled with the exclamation point, my least favorite punctuation that, while sometimes necessary makes everything look gay) but it was rejected in favor of Ichabod.

 

 

Bingo brings the puppy to an obedience trainer who for 250 dollars - a mere quarter of a thousand bucks - will show you the long way to teach a dog what a rolled up newspaper and a fancy shoe in the toilet-hole does for free.

 

 

I will never understand people who complain about being or being products of single parents. If I ever had to raise a child while faced with an equally obligated but oppositely inclined co-parent, I would end up beating them both into assisted-living.

And between the girl and the dog, I don't know who's in greater need of supervision.

Maybe if I drank less, Bingo wouldn't be so shocked by an erection that she rushes for medical aid at the sight of one.


WHAT BINGO AND THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA
DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW! 
BINGO'S DOG IS A GAY! PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE!



First, Ichabod and neighbor dog "Bronx" (not his real name) engage in heavy petting.

 



Next, the smaller Ichabod goes low to lick him into a full state of arousal.



Now Ichabod uses a tongue-bath to heavily lubricate the neighbor dogs cock and asshole (legal in Arizona).

 



In this photo we see Ichabod mount Bronx with seemingly no regard for intimacy
(see George Michael).



Howling, God-mocking orgasms ensue!

 



Finally, the spent sodomite Ichabod drifts into a slumber on his gay lovers back.

These scenes are printed here not to stimulate but solely as a warning.


On note of my penis [See Nov. 28, 2006 UPDATE below], thank you for all of your reassuring emails regarding my "problem". It all cleared up and all that remains are the deep psychological scars that drive me out of sleep screaming and pouring draft-beer sweats.


Recommended Reading -

I can always read in Costa Rica. No phones, internet, television or puppies being trained. Just beer and books.

So I will highly recommend "The Franklin Cover-Up" by John DeCamp". So far as conspiracy theories go, it's as fucked-up, scary and refreshingly unique as anything in the genre. And it's still going on.

I also - on a recommendation - started The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William Shirer. 1,100 pages equals about two weeks in Costa Rica for me. I was only there for one. The next 600 pages will take 8 months. I wish History Channel went in chronological order and I could get this over with.

In the meanwhile, don't tell me how it ends.


The team is forming for the 2008 presidential run. It's coming together strong. If I die of liver failure between now and then, it was the CIA, no doubt.

The site will be up with actual content in January. And from there, we will slowly start ripping into this like rats on a babies toes. Get in on it. We will need all the help we can get.

Jump on the message board while you're supposed to be looking at porn at work. Don't let the gloomy malcontents that occupy it queer you off. They're there to weed out the weak. And get on the Myspace. Yes, you think it's faggy but science has proven that you can get psychotic pussy there and it also gets people to my shows without having to milk the prostates of comedy club overlords.

So get on it. www.stanhope2008.com

Today on Headline News, the NYC Health Commandant was justifying banning trans-fat in New York restaurants by saying "It's government's job to make sure that people live safe, healthy long lives."

It's come to a point where making jokes about it isn't enough. It's either run for office, stockpile weapons or bail to Costa Rica. The last option I'll consider in 2009. At least I'll be able to finish my book.

Tuesday
Nov282006

My Cock Looks Like A Croaking Bullfrog.

 

And, it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.

I have a history of problems with ingrown hairs, each incident worse than the next. They always occur after I trim the ugly area and always in the same place - in the nether region where the underside of the cock-shaft meets the balls. The frontal-taint. The disputed Kashmir region of my groin.

 

And now I have an abscess there the size of boneless mouse on the under-carriage of my undesirables. I tired applying a drawing salve to try to get it to a head. The ointment looks and smells of hot-tar roofing and I don't think it would draw anything but looks of derision from whoever does your laundry.

Generally, I never go to the doctor. Everytime someone has scared me into going it turned out to be a waste of time and money. But after a week of having this grotesque monstrosity ballooning in my undergarments daily, I finally made an appointment down the street at the clinic.

 

Anatomy of an Ingrown Hair 
[More HERE
]

"I have a 2pm with Dr. Hoffman available on Wednesday" she says and I take it, knowing full well of Dr. Hoffman's reputation. If you read this blog regularly, Dr Hoffman is the same ancient, boozebag doctor that prescribed an over-the-counter lice shampoo to our previous vagabond con-artist roommate when he caught crabs from a local skank and blamed it on motel bedding after infecting the entire house.

Yes. The doctor wrote out a prescription for over-the-counter medication. We also heard that he sent a man for an EKG after the patient complained of gas pains. He is legendary in Bisbee for his incompetence. But after a week watching your dick balloon around it's gullet like a snake on Thanksgiving, you take what you can get.

Hopefully I won't have to follow up on this update. If I do, it's not going to be good. Happy endings don't make for good comedy.


Somebody said "Nigger!"

No, I'm serious!

I wrote about it briefly - since there isn't that much to say - on my Myspace blog. I watched the video and commented on what I saw. I wasn't aware of the extent of the media blitz until I sawKramer on CNN surrounded by Jesse JacksonPaul Mooney (the most racist comic I have ever witnessed) and a few other black "leaders" talking about his shame and the "personal work" he would be undertaking to find what inside of his soul made him say such things.

It was one of the most embarrassing spectacles I have witnessed in the recent past.

This is no longer about anything that he said onstage. This is about the uncut cowardice of people unable or unwilling to simply say " Fuck you. I was pissed off and I said some shit. Go fuck yourself if you don't like it."

Michael Vick of the Atlanta Falcons. Same shit. He flipped off the fans who were giving him shit - at the Falcons own stadium no less - and then he's giving a heart-felt (if the publicist who wrote it actually has a heart) apology for his sins on ESPN.

Send your camera crews out to the homes or workplaces of these empty cocksuckers who actually heckle people to the point of snapping and make them apologize.

 


Kramer vs. Non-Kramer


Rev. Jesse Jackson


Paul Mooney

 


Mr. Vick

 

 

"I'd like to say that I am truly sorry - not only to Mr. Vick who has tried his best to fulfill my empty life by throwing a ball around - but also to my friends and family who I embarrassed by drinking too many overpriced beers and then shouting into the face of an athlete so savagely that he actually responded by extending his middle finger - making my life seem complete by finally being acknowledged. For this I realize that I am a worthless asshole."

Jesse Jackson - and if you are black and don't consider him or any other human being to be your leader or spokesman, please be vocal about it - is on CNN to discuss Michael Richards outburst as though it were as significant as MLK's assassination on the same day that a 92 year-old black woman was murdered by police in a drug raid and an unarmed black man was killed by police on his wedding day.

It no longer matters what Michael Richards said. The fact that you care - or that the mass media force you to take an opinion in order to distract you from shit that really matters - is the true problem.

Today, millions of people said the word "nigger". Some of them were racist. Some were black. Some were kidding. A couple of them were parrots. Others were reading Huckleberry Finn.

It ain't news.

Today, people in positions of power are trying to fuck you over. They use terms like "African-American", "spreading democracy", "fighting for freedom", etc. They call themselves leaders. They tell you that it's in "your own best interest" or "for both of our safety".

I'm tired of being logical. I have a shelf full of great books and documentaries I just bought from Amazon and I have a rampant infection in my shameful area. If you can't figure this shit out on your own, I'm not the guy who's gonna be able to help right now.


We did a benefit CD for our friend Mr. Hinty called Morbid Obscenity. It's a comedy CD featuring me, Andy AndristSean RouseLynn Shawcroft and my good friend Banjo Randy. There's still some left and I feel like a douchebag that it didn't sell out to pay for his surgery. So buy one by clicking here. It'll be worth a lot when we're dead and we're all pretty close.

 


Morbid Obscenity



Stanhope in '08

 

The presidential run is getting in order. We won't start kicking it in the balls for a couple months yet. Get on the mailing list or the Myspace page (preferably both) because we're going to take this as far as possible.

You keep asking me if I'm serious.

You have no idea.

Let's have fun again. Fuck the rest of em.

There will be no apologies.