Friday, November 11, 2011

Just Call Me Jiggles Von Giggles

Oh Jesus. Well, I can't stop fucking eating. What else is new? Food is my boyfriend. I left him for a while but he just crêpe’d back into my life (see what I did there? You see, the word I was going to use is crept but I’m referring to food so I made a pun using the word for the popular French thin pancake crêpe! See, this is why I’m getting paid 20 dollars a week people! Stardom!) He be lookin’ all cute and hot and smellin' all good! But he's triflin! Makes me pay for him and sometimes I get the whole thing down my throat and he just leaves the next day! Another relationship down the fucking toilet! I went to the gym 5 days last week and only one this week. I get sad and bored and just eat. Why did I think that this hunger for food would just go away? One of my blog readers sent me a letter awhile back concerned about my food addiction and that I should go to OA. To that I respond, I’m not fat enough, dear. And if I wanted to talk about myself in groups I’d become a comedian! I don't know. Hopefully I won't blow the fuck up...right now I’m at that stage where I got skinny enough initially so now it’s just going to all the right places. In the words of Young Leek (who is a rapper, not a soup green) "Come on Shorty shake that thing, just show me how you work that frame. Body of a diva shaped like a bottle up in the club looking like a model maybe America’s next? Shining like the diamonds up in my Rolex, WOAH!" I am just jiggling again which I can deal with. My trainer yesterday made me jump on a box 20 times in a row and I got really pissed and belligerent because every time I landed on the box I had jiggles running through my entire body like a bag of Jell-O sitting on top of a speaker with the bass turned all the way up! It wasn't comfortable, although the trainer and the old man on the elliptical seemed to be enjoying the earthquake. It hurt and I was uncomfortable and cursed him and the old man the fuck out. I might not be allowed back. My regular trainer, Frankie "Bag-a-Snack Wells," the hot gabagool, tore his Achilles tendon playing football (big rough and tumble tackle football playing daddy, FUCK ME!). So now I switched to a different trainer until he get's better. His name is Heyward and he’s a super-sweet nice black guy with adult braces and if Steve Urkel and 50-Cent had a baby. But he's tough! It hurts! He doesn’t sit around and laugh about all the broads he nailed that week or where to get the best fresh muzzarelle like Frankie "Bag-a-Snack Wells" does - where my strength training consists of a couple squats, a couple lunges, and hugs and cuddles. I get more of a work out on a Tuesday night during a 30 minute set on a milk crate in front of 8 people at Jake's HAHA Hacienda off Route 9 in Secaucus!  Anyway who cares? I'll be fat and alone. All my girlfriends are getting boyfriends, one by one. It’s kind of alarming how some girls will manipulate a man into becoming their boyfriend. I’ve been watching this process recently with my friends. It’s like this intricate game playing these men like a marionette to get them into a committed relationship. I’ve never seen anything like it! Like step one don’t fuck them, step two don’t fuck them and most importantly step 3 don’t fuck them. What is this labyrinth of deception and manipulation!? Are you MAD, woman!? What is this unholy witchcraft!? You’re born of the jackal! I saw Goody Proctor walk with the devil (and she didn’t fuck him.) I guess I’m missing that part of the brain that plays the game to get a boyfriend in 10 days or less and have 2 year stepford relationships that are not based on real emotion or deep love and just “for the sake of it.” I’m not scared being alone I’ve lived my entire life alone, it’s comfortable. I don’t want to have someone walking around in their underwear farting and demanding blowjobs (i'll suck yo dick when i'm good and ready!) in my house touching my stuff sleeping in my bed just so I cannot be alone. Love should be uncomfortable and boat rocking (don’t bother knocking.)  Anyway, all these ho’s have boyfriends now cause I guess it’s “a la mode” this season and the only reason to not be fat is to get consistently fucked in my book, and that’s not happening! The guy who I went out with whose card got declined and I paid for the dinner he was two hours late for then boned anyway asked me out on a date today. Yeah, high point for my self-esteem. Well he's been really persistent lately and I keep telling him no, no, no, no, no, giving him excuses like "I'm depressed" or "I'm actually dying…so yeah about that you should get yourself checked," but I guess depressed girls with phantom AIDS are his thing cuz he asked me to go see Louis C.K. with him tonight. UGH! The LAST thing I want to do is see that overrated bloated ginger dick...oh and I’m not in the mood to see Louis C.K. either. People think because I’m a comedian I actually enjoy comedy. No. In fact there's nothing I hate more. I find it painful and irritating. Like all I do is come up with jokes and entertain people, why would I want to see someone who is comparable or funnier than I am who is actually succeeding in making more than 300 dollars a year doing what I do? I'm sure an architect doesn’t spend his free time at construction sights...unless he's a homo with a hardhat fetish or something to which I say you do you, motha fucka! I fucking hate comedy. Whatever! I know I should be more positive and loving what I do. I was watching Food Network and some god-awful chef on there was like "I live to cook, I don't cook to live" Do I share that passion? I do LOVE communicating with an audience live...I hate making tapes and submitting myself in a package that is not organic to my brand of humor. I do not like being conformed to "material" I feel like I have braces on my legs when I can't improvise and riff bits (like Tiny Tim if he was played by a hybrid of Zsa Zsa Gabor and Chris Farley.) I do not like sitting down and writing, I like to make it up as I go along. It's not the performing that I hate, it's the business and the competition! Like comedians! Stop telling me backstage that you just did this or that or made this break in your career. Don't brag because I’m jealous! There I said it! Hearing about your success gives me HPV. And it's not a competition because what I do is like nothing no one else does and what they do is like nothing no one else does (if they're any good) so why don't I just do my shit, get the love and validation I need to get through the day from the audience, and leave and watch bad reality shows and eat chicken alone in my underwear? LEAVE ME ALONE (come back, where are you going!?)