Donald Trump chooses not to fire Miss USA Tara Conner amid reports she has visited bars, though she is not yet 21. “I’ve always been a believer in second chances. Tara is a good person, and hey, she’s perfectly my type. You KNOW I’m gonna be hitting it in a few years” Trump said in a news conference Tuesday.

As part of staying on as Miss USA, Conner has agreed to enter rehab, saying, “I didn’t know there was rehab for sluts, but hey, that’s what’s great about America, they make up rehab for anything.”

Trump said, “Until this morning, I didn’t know which way it was going to go.” But upon meeting her in his office, he said that he saw her “good heart” and that she “got caught up in the whirlwind that all know as New York. And hey, she looks like Marla Maples; no way am I getting rid of this piece of A.”

In reference to Tamiko Nash, who was expected to take over as Miss America, Trump tried to put some levity into the press conference by changing his trademark phrase from the hit television show The Apprentice; “Tamiko, you’re not hired! Heh heh, sorry babe; I had to go there.”

Tamiko Nash held her own press conference in response to the Donald’s decision, at one point losing her cool, angrily stating “whose dick do I have to suck to get some goddamn attention around here!”

Ms. Nash has plans to release her own adult video with Red Light District.

Any Jews, Muslims, Atheists, Buddhists, or just plain lonely and sexually frustrated people let me know what your plans are for the 24th, and 25th. Aside from seeing my mother for a few hours on xmas day, I got nothing to do...

Ah, the holidays, a time to count your blessings, be one with with your fellow human beings, and as they stab you in the back, be thankful that they cleaned the shank beforehand. Achtung! People and money, "business school", and plain old awful organization.

I'm featuring at a university last week, two days before Thanksgiving, at a charity gig. The headliner and I get there right at show time; its in an auditorium that easily holds 350 people; there's maybe 70. The show "booker" decides to start the show a half hour later. The audience size doesnt change.

Since its a charity show, the headliner is generous enough to take a pay cut in his contract; about half. Trust me, I've seen the checks; more than generous. I have to think about those checks and write more jokes. My set goes really well. I get the same response as the headliner. Bueno. I'm supposed to do 30, but since they started a half hour late we decide I should do 20, that way theyre not tired. Headliner does his thing; i'm noticing he's going long. This is why.

We end the show; people coming up to us for pics and stuff, telling us how funny we were, how they enjoyed it. Headliner asks who has the check for him; the guy is noticably absent. When he finally shows, he's evasive. Then he says to the headliner, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

Which turns into the show "booker" asking the headliner to work for free, they made errors in the expenses for the show, they didnt realize the week of thanksgiving it wouldnt sell out; even tries to throw in the "you guys were late" excuse, which we werent. Which is why the headliner went long as well; he'd gotten the "vibe" from the guy earlier that something was up, so he made sure he went overtime so it wouldnt be used as an excuse against him. The guy eventually paid while bitching and moaning; at one point, he made a subte grab for the check; I know I saw it! And the fact that there is a contract already signed by both parties makes this whole scene extra ridiculous.

I've always heard about these nightmare scenarios where people don't want to pay you, but theyre always from dirtbag clubs; you don't expect it from a university. Also, this has hasn't happened to me yet with paid gigs, I wonder how I would react in that situation. I'm small, I can't intimidate anyone; "Excuse me, man with a distended stomach demands his payment!" This is why people have big, evil looking guys in the posse; because of someone else's greed.

But I learned some things. Always do the exact amount of time they pay you for. Stick up more for myself. And do some push-ups.

For ages 3 years old and up. Great for tots with low self esteem and delusions of grandeur! Bring the show on the road! Now kids can take Star Station sing-along fun wherever they go with this real working portable microphone that makes kids the stars! Foster those dreams of money and fame that will absolutely never happen!
Includes one cartridge with these hit songs:
1. Back that azz up
2. You gotta lick it, before we kick it
3. Purple People Eater.
Just pop in the cartridge and get ready for a show performed by your favorite little entertainer. They’re sure to be a star anywhere they go! Optional Jon Benet Ramsey-esque stage mom sold separately.


Disco microphone is your spotlight and adjustable microphone in one. Foot pedals and buttons activate laughter and clap effects; rotating disco ball illuminates with on/off switch. Ten tabs of ecstasy included! Makes anonymous sex in the club bathroom easier! Mothers, relive the disco era with your children, when oral sex got you into Studio 54! Microphone adjusts from 24" to 45" high and has volume control. Requires not much talent, inherited fortune a plus.


Does your “precocious” nightmare think he’s funny? All the world's a stage with this electronic microphone, complete with foot pedals for applause, cheers and three drum effects. Comes with audio plug-in, so you can steal your favorite hacks material; control volume with the turn of a knob. Let the negativity out, and never get the respect you deserve! Stand adjusts from 25"-43 1/2" to grow along with talent throughout the years, from handing out flyers for hours only to get bumped from a show, to that spectacular moment when you overdose right on stage! Bottle of Jack Daniels and speed balls sold separately.

Karin, why don’t you just quit already?! You fucking junkie; you give strippers a bad name! Making a scene in the club over an 8 dollar food order that had some pork in it! YOU REMIND ME OF THE FAILURES IN MY LIFE!! Being all ghetto at three in the afternoon, yelling on your pay as you go cell phone, “yo dis soup ha pork innt yo, I wan my money back aight!! I aint no swine eater!!”

Is that because you don’t eat you own kind? I really don’t know why you were hired…you make no money for the place, and you traipse around with your cellulite just bulging out of your dress, with your god dammed gorilla face. And it’s always the same dress, a green colored disaster, with stains on it! Green suits you, because when they film monsters in movies, that’s the color lighting they use. And you’re a heavy cocaine user, how come you’re still so fat? You spend half the day taking massive diarrhea dumps and the other half wiping off your nose, but you’re still a penis shrinking mess.

The worst of it is that you’re a mother, a mother that doesn’t provide a roof over her head for her child. Hey bitch, SAVE UP SOME DAMM MONEY! I feel terrible for your kid; because you’re gonna raise him as stupid and ignorant as you. You feel so good that you recently bought an air mattress…how about a deposit for an apartment? And you keep taking that air mattress to different peoples places, until you wear out your welcome and they kick you out, cause you’re a no tact having, know it all, obnoxious bitch. I’m gonna find that air mattress and pop some holes in it, but I won’t have to, it can only take that garganto ass for so long.

I’m fucking done! DONE! You, list of ten, have pushed me over the edge for this fine day, but fear not, you will soon be replaced as something equally asinine awakens my rage…

1.Girls under 25 – ugh, be gone with your flakiness, your indecisiveness, your being a lesbian for a day, be gone! I’m going with a 35 year old that keeps her plans and knows I’m her only option…

2.Transferring from the fucking two tracks only “L” train to the “M” – the only train in the NYC system that has only two tracks, all other lines have at least three. ANYTHING happens on the “L”, you are screwed. If the terrorists want to hit us again, the “L” train, by all means, go ahead. You’re welcome.

3.People who Blog more than twice a day – blogging is okay of course, but more than twice a day?! How many times do I have to hear about you not meeting someone new, and how no one “gets” you? We “get” it, you’re boring…

4.Compulsive liars who don’t keep their lies straight – come on bitch, how you gonna tell me one day you are studying psychology, then the next day tell me you are studying to be a dog groomer? Just keep stripping and take my singles…

5.My father – where do we begin on this one, its called conversation dad…

6.Alex Rodriguez – it’s not Torre’s fault; but if we’re gonna scapegoat, blame it on this stat hungry underachiever; stop worrying about numbers, and get on base, its trade time…

7.Avril Lavigne and her saliva – hey stop trying to act rock and roll, spitting at the press and insulting your fans; you auditioned for your record label in a fucking dress! Not rock at all; act like a woman, I might fuck you…

8.Closeted gay republicans – this is the tip of the gay iceberg in our government. Enjoy being gay, don’t hide it; fuck the page in the oval office for all I care. Hey Foley; there’s NO such thing as family values! Enjoy cock!

9.Koreans with inferiority complexes trying to prove something to the world – yes, you should have nuclear power, but stop testing shit without the world’s approval; you’re gonna make our dumb president spread the military even more thin, if I get drafted, I hold you responsible…

10.Having to go back to work full time to get out of debt – dammit me and my Master Card…I’m this close to blowing guys for cash because I HAD to have that new IPOD, AND 2 (two?) laptops…I need a sugar mama; come on older women out there, contact and mother me!

So maybe my career is finally on track. You know why? Hate mail. Yes, for too long people have been “middle of the road” about me, now whole legions of people the world over hate my guts, for my little short film, “9/11 Conspiracy Wars”, I LOVE IT! The sad thing is these guys are such cowards that they send email on addresses that I cannot reply to! Every reply got bounced back to me, which means they went through the trouble of getting pissed at my film, making an email account, then emailing me and deleting the account! Truly internet tough! Here are some emails I received, complete with responses: hopefully they will see these.

Ace_6@yahoo.com
Ha-ha you are pathetic, just give up already. Disinformation.

“Ha, you tin hats are SO mad over this little movie, it tickles me…die!!”

youre@crap.com
Fuck off, who the fuck are you, wanker

“Yes I wank a lot, it IS a problem, but I get these pornos from this cool little Chinaman for 4 bucks, how can I resist? And by the way, fuck YOU! Tell your whore of a mother to stop having kids; she already squirted out the waste of food that is you…”

yourvideo@yahoo.com
But your father raped you in the ass?…what a shame

“Are you asking me or telling me? Okay, I don’t know how you found out, but yes, he did rape me, he raped me while I fucked your cunt of a mother…I came in her ass so she won’t pop out another retard…”

And this gem from fuckyou@ass.com, each one of these was sent individually…

You fag…
You fag…
You fag…
You fag…
You fag…

Repeat 30 more times.

And my response, “Bring your ass over here any time, so I can fuck it, remember in the Hispanic community, it’s not gay if you’re pitching…”

But yet there is hope, no long after I get the awful emails above, I get this one:

Blazemonger950@hotmail.com
I loved your video making fun of conspiracy theorists, not only that, you’re a bit cute J

I’m still contemplating my response, send me a pic…

Well, tell your friends about my movie, and if you hate me, shoot me an email, I need the web traffic…

It's here! The new short film I directed and edited over the summer, about some Abby Scott and some other buddies of mine fighting with conspiracy theorists at ground zero. See a guy who believes that NO planes hit the towers! See tourists and firefighters yell at them! See wacky music that sticks in your head! All right HERE!

(sorry about shoddy video quality; if i used the original, the file would never stream right; i'm not exactly Speilberg, I don't have pro equipment)

Fucking with people! Well, conspiracy theorists anyways. I've been working on a short film that I shot with my no longer dating pal Abby Scott; we went down to ground zero over the summer and messed with some 9/11 "truthers". They are hilarious, funnier than Holocaust deniers, and very lonely; I'd fit right in with them if they didn't think I was a Mossad agent (actually happened). We are still working on the editing, which is great, there's just so much nonsense to sit through, these guys just can't get enough of the camera! I'll keep you posted.

When do you give up on a dream? Some of you reading this have goals, how much time do you give them? I’ve been trying to get this comedy thing going for a few years now, and have gotten some nice things, but haven’t worked as hard as I could, and have let some things pass me by.

I bring this up because an opportunity presented itself to me in the form of a strip club dj gig out in Las Vegas. I’ve done it for years here in NY. A fellow dj of mine went there recently, told me of the opportunities; he met one guy who makes 400,000 a year. Not a typo. In cash.

Everything I've ever wanted to achieve in life instantly presented itself to me when I thought of that possibility; every ridiculous fantasy I had about having money and what I would do with it, the fact that it is actually attainable, made me stop and think.

I don’t expect to be making 400,000, but I know I can make at least 50 to 60 grand a year, plus the standard of living out there is about half of NYC. People rent whole houses for 800 a month. I could be set for life out there.

They are also starving for talented DJ’s. At one club, they were training the bar back to dj, because they couldn’t find anybody. Me coming from New York, I would kick ass, I’m that good. Yes, I’m bragging. Plus I would totally focus on it, do any shift I have to, and work it, and eventually rake in the huge cash. I don’t do that here, because I concentrate on stand up.

I never wanted to be a 70 year old DJ, can you imagine, struggling to keep my dentures in, “now coming to the stage, Kiki, these young whippersnappers have so much energy nowadays…”, I’ll probably be the first DJ in a strip club to die of old age, but making 6 figures a year, in cash, I don’t care.

I love comedy, and I was this close to quitting. Then the next day I wrote some great jokes and had a few kick ass sets, so I’m gonna give it some time. Comedy is too strong a drug to give up right now. I think I’m gonna give comedy another 6 years, cause in a weird retarded sort of way, I actually have something to fall back on; Vegas baby! But not now, and hopefully not ever. But hey, not too bad an alternative.

You shouldn’t live in a house if you don’t have to. I’m this close to moving out of my apartment. And with the mini blackout that’s affected Queens, it’s made me realize how little I truly need an apartment. I just need a place to crash.

There should be blackouts every once and awhile. It focuses you. I’m so not thinking about Suri Cruise right now. I’m totally in the moment, thinking about the small list of people who would let me crash at their respective homes, and most of them are fellow comedians; they are practically homeless themselves.

I can stay at Starbucks forever. Open 24 hours.



I can practically live in there when the going gets tough. The rent: a Grande Mocha latte. Best deal in the city. Prime muthafukkin real estate. A lot of annoying wannabes to deal with, but no worse than jerk off roommates who are disgusting pigs. Here’s my new pad.



I got everything I need on my laptop. News, porn, movies, music, porn, comedy, porn. All here on my machine. I can still watch Lost (thank you ITunes). What else do I need? Oh yeah, a gym membership to shower and masturbate. I’m gonna get in shape! Homelessness is nature’s way! You eat healthier, because fruits and veggies are less expensive, and you stay in shape moving around. Seriously, bums are in great shape, save the tuberculosis.

What’s the downside? None! Who cares about sleeping in my car? I sleep on a fucking futon, the worst fucking invention ever; stupid Japanese with their dumb crap, here is some other useless Japanese stuff:

Subway chin strap

Why does Japanese stuff involve pain and humiliation?

Check this one out, good for those late night bukkake sessions:


Stick to the computers guys!

Anyway, my beetle is paradise compared to a fucking futon, do you know how embarrassing it is to bring a girl over, and then have to pull out a mattress? What a douche. Without my dumb apartment, I will be saving 925 bucks a month. Ha, NOW you agree with me. Hypocrites. See, if a girl fancies me for the night, I can afford a nice hotel in the city. See, the ladies are already lining up! You thought it was inconvenient and sad for me not having a pad, now you’re thinking a night at the Waldorf may not be such a bad idea.

You ever see a girl with an ass so big that you wonder how she’s walking upright? Like there’s no way her body can support it; how does she defy gravity? Ladies and gentlemen, my new favorite porn star, the girl with the strongest spine in the world, I give you…Naomi!

Damn, girl! And she has a lisp! Normally when I meet someone with a lisp I want to shake them; like somehow it will go away. Just shake them while insulting their parents, “this is fixable, what kind of animals raised you?!” But hey, gargantuan phat dumper aside, her lisp is why she’s popular, because it’s so awful it immediately takes the tension out of any sexual experience you might have with her. It’s her flaw.

How can you NOT get a rod when you hear stuff like this: “You likth my ath? I want your cockth in my ath! Fucth my hot hath! Ith lovth yourth hotth in my tighth asthth ththththttht!” I’m laughing and masturbating right now, it’s ridiculous! Watch her, enjoy her, and love her. You’re welcome.

But I worry about slippery slopes, and I’m not talking about those sneaky Koreans, I’m talking about other “imperfections.” Where does the flaw train stop? Unlike weed, there IS such a thing as gateway porn and it scares me, cause you’re gonna get tired of the lisp. Heard it! So what’s next? Deaf girls, blind girls, girls in wheel chairs? Scratch that last one, it already exists, I found this today. www.wheelchair-sex.com



Nice.

Okay, girls in wheelchairs, how you gonna top that?

Retards.

Fucking retards, yo! I’m hoping the porn industry goes this way. Once I see a rubberhead gagging on Lexington Steele’s gift from our lord and savior, I will have hit my bottom and I can move on from my porn and sex addiction once and for all, and focus on the more important things, like track jackets and bowling. Replace something with something, that’s what my mom used to say, before she left my dad for a verbally abusive illegal. But hey, life hands you lemons, you make sangria.

Hip hop is dead, but does it matter?

Has music ever really been “alive” to begin with? Should music have relevance beyond your listening enjoyment? Definitely not. Why do we put that pressure, that force for societal change, on music? On songs? Maybe it’s due to music’s universal appeal, the fact that music is something everybody can understand, even if it’s in a foreign language. It’s Primal. You understand it. Except for Cowboy Troy; I have no idea what the fuck he is talking about. Nigga please!

Music should just be enjoyed for what it is, because when you pin your hopes for future change on 3 6 Mafia, you can’t expect much. The songs that seem so relevant never age well either. Remember how REVOLUTIONARY Nirvana’s “Smells like Teen Spirit” sounded when it came out? Now, it just sounds CUTE. Adorable. Ha ha ha, Kurt, what a dildo; you killed yourself over THAT?

I’m writing about this because I overheard these two homies talking about hip hop. Rather, I overheard two white octogenarians talking about hip hop. I go to see An Inconvenient Truth last weekend. It’s on Houston Street, down the block there’s a famous hip hop clothing store. These GEEZERS checking out the window display. I mean, one-and-a-half feet in the grave. The one lady who looks 89 is telling the guy who looks 99 how she went to Jay-Z’s club. Press your finger to your nose, point it up the sky, and say the following in the snootiest voice possible: “I went to Jay Z’s club 40-40 last week, it was truly fabulous. Do you know of Jay-Z?” The grandpa was totally oblivious, and in some kind of reverse South Park joke (go rent the movie, don’t make me explain), goes, “jazz, no I don’t listen to jazz.” Hilarious.

If you’re a reader that thinks rap has sold out, you would have a lot of ammunition for your argument. But why should it matter? There are so many other things to talk about, and people take things so seriously. When I saw the two dead people talking about hip hop, it annoyed me. Why should it? People listen to what they want to. Why give rap music anymore credit than any other dumb music out there by claiming it has something of social importance for a particular generation? Who gives a shit?

So next time you see an old bag chillin', listening to some Nas, give her a look of recognition, compliment her on her dope music tastes, then rob her of her ipod and cash. Believe me it won’t take much to take one down; old ladies drop to the floor like wet leather. She listens to rap; let her get the whole experience.

I love being mistaken for a celebrity. I get that all the time. The trouble is I don’t look like anybody REALLY famous, just some D-List shit bags that they barely remember; “You, you look so vague…” Anyone they confuse me for is definitely not someone famous enough for me to get free shit.

People say I look like the guy from New York Undercover. Who? Exfuckingactly. I look like somebody, and it has to be this fucking guy:








Yuck! I didn’t realize I look like a Latin drag version of Liza Minnelli.



The only thing my picture is missing is David Guest’s cock in my face.

If you ever get a mistaken for somebody else, run with it. You probably don’t like the person people say you resemble. Why would you? It kind of disqualifies your own existence. Let’s say you look like Osama Bin Laden. Now anything good you do in life gets negated because you look like America’s greatest enemy. You can’t teach in school, you’d scare the shit out of the students…kids walking into class on the first day, “holy shit! It’s Bin Laden!!” So take the credit, and expand on it. If somebody says you look like someone that is dead or in jail, say you’re related. “Yeah, Jeffrey Dahmer, he was my cousin, we used to kill squirrels together.” Then stare at them with unblinking eyes and touch yourself inappropriately.

It happened to me recently in front of a comedy club. They thought a zero like me was somebody; I even took a picture with them! At least people can tell I’m a comedian; I guess you can see the desperation, anger, and overall pall of loser on my face. It started getting weird when I tried to suggest after show activities. “So what you guys doing later, just saying, this is New York, the big apple, we can have some fun, take a bite out of your Midwest apple, if you know what I mean.” I then nudged the guy. They then ran for a cab.

My blog is blowin up yo! I finally talked to the guy who designed my site, and we added a comments section now, so come on, you 5 faithful readers of my Latin balderdash, drop me a line, and say you knew me before I was rich! And when I don't become rich, leave a comment about that!

Is this my faggy version of a midlife crisis? Is it the World Cup? Is it my distended belly on my small frame? Why am I fixated on this? What do most males do when they get older? Buy a car, a gun maybe? Something manly. Not me.

I wanna buy a track jacket. I’m totally insane right now about track jackets. I want them in all colors, all different styles. I want one from Addidas, Puma, and Nike. I want different color track jackets from the different teams of the World Cup. I like colors. I would totally Queer Eye it out, and make sure my track jackets perfectly match my clothes. I would then suck a big fat dick.

I SO want to buy a track jacket from Brazil, with the Brazil logo with the awful green and yellow colors, and the correct spelling of “Brasil” right across the back. Or Portugal. Portugal yo, their uniforms are burgundy (!), that’s one of my favorite colors; I gotta buy something in burgundy.

Of course I have no intentions of actually speaking to a real Brazilian or Portuguese person. Who’d want that? The Brazil flag has words on it; hahaha lol rofl lmao; it’s ridiculous. Is that their version of “don’t tread on me”? It looks like something out of the Star Wars cantina. Only pirates, rebels, and aliens should have words on their flags.

Well I can only pay hookers for so long, so some communication with these mystery Latinas is needed. But I’m realizing I want a foreign woman without the terrible stereotypes or negative traits of their home countries. I only want the good stuff. Lovely ladies of Brazil, don’t tell me about your ghettos, your poverty, and your huge aids problem. Just tell me about bundas (do you have a juicy one), beaches (do you tan it), soccer (do you show it off at games) and Jiu-jitsu (do I have to learn it to get your bunda). How can I even hear about aids when I got big butt cheeks in my face anyway?

I want to date girls with curves that will hurt you, and I LOVE accents, but yet I want them to understand everything I’m saying. How can I? English is like their 4th language. Accents and my references never mix. “Did you know that the Led Zeppelin album ‘Presence’ was recorded when Robert Plant was in a wheelchair, it is a time when they were stripped of their dynamism, yet they still manage to pull it off? Renata are you listening to me?”

I wish these girls would just learn English! I could say I’m a progressive Latino and make an argument about assimilation, but it is a complete lie, because at the end of the day, I’m just having a hard time learning Portuguese. But I do have track jackets, and through those, I will dream my dream.

I’m in a Starbucks, I’ve just plugged in my laptop, and I’m ready to dream. Grooving to music I’ll never listen to at home, drinking something that is juice and sparkling water. It’s pomegranate, but it taste slightly alcoholic. In a bad way. My computer’s taking a while to load, and I’m embarrassed by my screensaver. I’m not ready for the big time, and this is why. My being afraid of my wallpaper shows what I need to work on in my life. She is NOT even naked; there’s no way I should be afraid to show a picture of a beautiful young woman with tattoos. Had some ideas while the computer was loading; some real dazzling ways to write these head dreams, but they evaporate faster than any liquid known to man, just little vapor trails of brilliance. I lost them.

Someone asks for the chair next to me; the one upon which my bag rests, and although I give it to her, I hate her, even though it was just my bag. There’s a beautiful girl outside, and I have realized too late that she is one year away from being able to accept my creepy stares. By the time I make it she’ll be old enough…I’m getting used to the pomegranate.

I wanna make this a habit; coming here and placing these thoughts to the page. I’m realizing I have aspirations to write a book. Rather, I have thoughts about being a famous novelist and being interviewed by Larry King; I'm wearing a beret and a burgandy velvet sport jacket, with a Groucho Marx style moustache. He asks me many questions; I always interrupt him, but he defers to my intelligence. He realizes what I have to say is grand indeed. Of course I have not written a page. There are so many stories to tell; I don’t know where to start, so I’ll start here. Right now here is empty. But here is better than nowhere, even if here is more nowhere than there.

People are asking to use my computer at the Starbucks, how rude can you get? It’s really an invasion of my personal space. This is Starbucks, the ultimate in capitalism; muthafuckas making coin selling coffee! Nowhere is the American dream more realized. Yet every loser actor and deadbeat uses this place like a commune. My computer is an extension of my distorted mind, you can’t use it! You know what, I will let you use it, let me just let open up my video file, the one conspicuously named “porn!” “Sure you can use it; I was just watching this girl from Germany sucking a pony. This movie is special to me.”

Fuck all the bums, wanna be Wesley Snipes, all the uptight screensaver haters, and the foreigners with their deplorable English. I’m coming back here.

Craigslist post – “futon mate to save money!”

Middle aged comedian come down on hard times, looking for “futon mate” to save money.

Did you know that NYC is the most expensive city in America, and the tenth most expensive place in the world? I think you’re smart, so let’s share living quarters and rake in the cash! I am seeking people not afraid of intimacy, as it is a studio. All living spaces will be shared.

Think of all the things you can afford. A new IPOD? Not a problem. You know what I see in your future? Manolo Blahnik’s. Just sleep on this



and you will be one step closer to your “Sex in the City” reality. Come on in, I’ve already broken it in for you.



Must be able to grab your butt at all times. Also, I don’t sleepwalk; but I do sleepfuck. Ask my ex-girlfriends. Also, I like to masturbate in the mornings to porn that denigrates women.

Oh by the way, the futon frame is broken, so we’ll have to pull the mattress to the floor every night. It’s like we are out camping! Yay!



So come on down ladies! Time to put your nose to the grindstone and think about your financial future!

In another example of America not keeping pace with the world, the American team is eliminated from the World Cup in the first round, only scoring one goal in three games. The only reason the US wasn’t eliminated outright is because Italy scored a goal against their own goal keeper, following their WW1 and WW2 pattern of “be on one side, and then switch to the other.” The only cup the American team gets to hoist over their heads is a styrofoam cup full of ass kicked juice. Yummy; kind of salty. The American team is beyond sucking, when they return home they should be forced to stand in a line, and have Ronaldo penalty kick them in the nuts.


And give it up to the power of television, I’m into soccer now. I was always somewhat annoyed with the game, and wanted to make it more interesting. Make the field half as large. Use a ball with spikes. On the field: land mines. Why not, these crappy third world countries play on minefields anyway. And why play a sport that ignores evolution? We have hands, use them. If you’re not going to use hands, then make it harder. Only body parts that can touch the ball: elbows and kneecaps. Fuck it, take that logic to its extreme, let’s slither around on the floor like the first fish ever to leave the water, you can touch the ball only with your tongue, first team that scores get to kill an opposing team member. Yeah!

But I got into soccer and now I wonder why the sport is not more popular here in America. I figured it out. Maybe we need our soccer players to be more dumb and criminal minded like in football and basketball. See, soccer fans are the most violent fans in the world, but here our players are the most violent; it’s the only way we pay attention. Will an American soccer player PLEASE fly to Colorado and rape somebody? Or how about orchestrating a drive-by shooting on a girl friend? Please? Do it for me; I don’t have ESPN, if we get a soccer version of OJ, then I won't be forced to watch soccer on the awful Spanish channel.

And finally, some dummies think soccer is gay. It’s not. Two words: David Beckham. Yes he’s dreamy. But even better; he fucks Posh spice every night. Hard.


Or how about the Brazilian team: best in the world, not the most attractive. Prehistoric. They should be hanging from buildings, swatting at biplanes. But this is why soccer rules. Ronaldinho is the best soccer player in the world, referred to as “the next Pele”, by Pele himself. This is what he looks like:


These are the kind of girls he gets:

Does anybody want to start a local soccer game with me? Bundas are waiting...

Damn you, foul universe! You have yet again thwarted my plans for global domination! I curse you, and with my last breath, I spit at thee!

Or something like that. She's gone. She is no longer in my life. My lovely bank teller, the one I wooed with my comedic timing and simple eloquence, no longer works there. Not even a chance to be rejected by her. I wouldve accepted a simple, "I'm seeing somebody right now", but no, she disappeared!

I wonder if she read earlier postings. Yes, she left because of me! Thats it! It has happened before; I've left many a stripper in my wake, trembling and unemployed. I totally know my "Stalkee of the Month" posts will be successful when one of the ladies I profile serves me with a restraining order! Thats the goal.

I'm not that delusional with the bank princess, I know the truth. I didn't even register. Shes moved on without me. No matter, there are other girls out there who wear glasses with thick rectangular frames who work in banks, right? (Hey its my fantasy)

Also, I lost my phone. My ugly, disgusting, hatred inducing MDA phone from T Mobile, the phone I hated so much after my Sidekick succumbed to years of loyal service. My MDA was the red headed step child, and I was an awful parent. It found the opportunity to run away one rainy night, after flooding in the city and a 2 hour train ride from Manhattan to Astoria. I had it on my belt. Tight fit. No way could it get loose. That's when it made its move. I got into a cab, exhausted, hating life even more than my phone. It slipped off; knowing I was so tired I would'nt notice it coming undone from my belt loop. Perfect timing; I must say, well done. It slinked to the floor of the cab, and blended in with the floor mats. Dont blame me MDA, blame your birth parents.

Well, the Sidekick 3 is supposedly coming out next week, and I will cradle it in my arms and love it, and care for it, and purchase insurance for it, and mock people with the Sidekick 2. Also, I think I have a date with my Myspace stalker next week, so come on Universe, Im putting out good vibes, give me what you got! The pendulum is swinging back the other way, help a Latino out!

Had two spots the other night and one went really well, one not so well. I just hate that the second one was the one that didn’t go as well; I wouldn’t say I bombed, but if you were to grade it, the first set was an A, the second was a C-. If it was the other way around it wouldn’t be so annoying, but going home on a sub par set is always disappointing; there is no chance for redemption. Go home and stew, sucka!

Oh well, the second show was in a room I’ve never done before, and I kind of just did it. I expected something from them, that’s the problem. For the past two weeks, I’ve been on a tear on my spots, doing really really well, so on that second show I got complacent I guess. What pissed me off was how angry and despondent I was after; it took at least two hours to get it out of my system. I used to never be able to just "let it go", to just learn what I did wrong and then apply it next time. A little of that creeped back in, giving me the reality check I guess I needed.





this blog 60 percent sucks...




This blog 60 percent sucks...

WHY DID YOU HAVE TO CHANGE MY NAME TO ZERO!? I'm a big nothing, a big, empty nothing! All I wanted was to be was a healthier alternative; you know how people are trying to watch their waistlines nowadays, but no! I wanted what was best for the public. All I wanted was some affection and respect from you!

Meanwhile Sprite, who could care less if all his drinkers DIED, gets all the energy, all the attention, all the hoopla! A big flashy label; shiny and so inviting, wrapped around a gorgeous green hue, which when combined with the label, practically screams “I’m yours!”

What do you, my “parents”, give me? What do you, my “thoughtful” progenitors, give me for wanting to see people’s constitution and well-being be somewhat improved, Phenylketonurics aside? A clear bottle. A CLEAR bottle!

A see through “thing”; disgusting really, with dimples, not unlike my caloric laden evil brother, but with the absence of color, makes me look sickly. Why a clear bottle? I am not water! Even Seltzer now mocks me, for he can be mixed with alcohol. He has a purpose. I however, must be endured alone.

And that is how I stand. Alone. Other sodas will no longer be seen with me; my former best friend Ginger Ale now cavorts the world with Diet Dr. Pepper, and the Fanta’s give me looks that should only be reserved for White Rose!

I hate you. You have made me this way. I hate you and curse you for what you have done to me, and I hope one day I wake up and find out that this was just a horrible dream, and that my parents are Pepsi!






Parent company Coca Cola could not be reached for comment…

rayrivera1771: hey stupid!
Moviefone: Hey there.

rayrivera1771: fuck any hot girls lately?
Moviefone: Interesting. Why don't you try typing, help.======= Movie of the Week =======The Sentinel

rayrivera1771: nope
Moviefone: O.K. Then type, help to try a fresh start.

rayrivera1771: I don't want to!
Moviefone: I'm sorry then. Why don't you type, help to see how I work.

rayrivera1771: to "see how you work?" that sounded creepy.
Moviefone: K, I found a match. You used zip 11103 last. To use it type Y. OR type in a new zipcode now and I'll see if this is playing near you.

rayrivera1771: HOW DID YOU KNOW MY ZIPCODE? YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE?
Moviefone: Not valid, would you like to try again?

rayrivera1771: are you stalking me?
Moviefone: Not valid 5 digit zipcode. Would you like to try again?Y - YesN - No======= Movie of the Week =======The Sentinel

rayrivera1771: ANSWER ME!
Moviefone: Would you like to try again?Y - YesN - No======= Movie of the Week =======The Sentinel

rayrivera1771: NO I WOULD NOT LIKE TO TRY AGAIN!
Moviefone: O.K. then. Well, enjoy anyway.

rayrivera1771: cocksucker!
Moviefone: That's rude. I'm here to help. Type, help if you ned it.======= Movie of the Week =======The Sentinel

rayrivera1771: i'm keeping my eye out for you, i know what you're up to. and why can't you spell the word "need?" NEED, not "ned!"
Moviefone: You used zip 11103 last. To use it type Y. OR type in a new zipcode now and I'll see what is playing near you.

rayrivera1771: why the FUCK do you keep bringing up my zipcode?
Moviefone: Main Menu, Select a number or just ask me about any film, actor or director and I'll search for you.1 - Find Movies Now2 - Set Up Movie Alerts3 - The First 54 - New Releases5 - Games======= Movie of the Week =======The Sentinel

rayrivera1771: NO!
Moviefone: Mm hm. Such negativity. Type, help and I will expain how I work.

rayrivera1771: negativity!? fuck off!
Moviefone: That's unnecessary.

rayrivera1771: your mom's unnecessary!
Moviefone: - Movies for Today1 -F- I Could Never Be Your Woman2 -F- Right at Your Door3 -F- A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints4 -F- Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man5 -F- For Your ConsiderationP=Past, N=New, S=Soon, F=FutureType # next to movie to see showtimes, M to go back to the Main Menu or anything else to search again.

rayrivera1771: youre scaring me
Moviefone: Not valid 5 digit zipcode. Would you like to try again?Y - YesN - No======= Movie of the Week =======The Sentinel

rayrivera1771: shit
Moviefone: Kewl, then. See ya at the movies.

rayrivera1771: ?

My phone has aids! Fuck T Mobile hard, then pull out, back up and fuck T Mobile again harder. They are the assholes of the week, for making a phone that is more expensive than their other phones, yet does less. T Mobile’s slogan should be, “No money for Research and Development. What do you expect; we pay Catherine Zeta Jones a shitload O’ cash.”

They weren’t always assholes. I had a sidekick 2 for almost 2 years. Loved it. Had its quirkiness like all cell phones, but worked well. It got the internet, instant messaging, text messaging, phone, notepad, and more, for 75 bucks a month; 55 dollars for my phone plan, 20 dollars for unlimited text messaging, internet, and instant messaging. No other hidden charges. So I figured, “I’ll just buy another sidekick, pop in my SIM card, and be on my way.”

Nope. That didn’t happen. Now I know I could just get a regular plane old phone and be done with it, but I’ve been on a fancier phone for almost two years. Yes I’m spoiled. I DESERVE the best; I am a SWANKY man. Plus, I need REAL internet on my phone, not one of those ridonculous mobile internets, AND I like a QWERTY keyboard. Remember; I’m glamorous.

So I speak to TWO “salespeople” at two different locations. Each one says that they are discontinuing the sidekick. They have the Sidekick at T Mobile headquarters. But it will take over a week to get one, it has only gotten more expensive, and I can’t get a substitute phone until it arrives. “But we have this phone, the new MDA, which has all the features of the sidekick and more.” Glazed look over my eyes as Gregorian chants play in my head. They have the hooks in me now. It costs a little more than getting a new sidekick, and if they are discontinuing the sidekick, it is not wise to get a new one, right?

The “salesperson” says that unlimited internet charges for the MDA are thirty dollars a month. Unlimited Internet, text messaging, and instant messaging. This is what the “salesperson” said. So stupid Latin me, I’m like, “well, that would make my phone bill 85 dollars a month instead of 75. I can still afford that, and have a great phone that will grow with me as my career does” (just let me be delusional for a minute.)

So I get my first bill, and its 110 dollars. Plus, I’m getting charged for text messages. I call T Mobile, and the person on the phone says the 30 dollar monthly charge is for internet only, but if I wanted unlimited text messages, it’s only another 15 dollars a month.

I was fucking lied to! Blatant lie! I feel like I have sperm on my face!. Hoodwinked by some new fangled gadget and a “salesperson” with an accent, plus a monthly bill that I won’t be able to afford. What really bugs me is that when I tell the phone operator what happened, he didn’t care at all. No, “hold on Mr. Rivera, I will look into this.” None of that. But why would they, they got me in a fucking contract, they have my business, and they are a corporation. Once a business gets big, they don’t need you anymore. So now I changed my plan, and I have like 15 minutes a month, with unlimited weekends, yay! Ugh. What a fucking nightmare.

Did I mention that my phone does less? I can’t download ring tones, games, nothing. And oh, the instant messaging doesn’t work. It sort of works. I can SEND messages, but can’t RECEIVE them; I spent a half hour yesterday with someone sitting next to me, sending me instant messages; she could send and receive, I couldn’t. Oh by the way, her phone is a sidekick. I hope the “salesperson” that tricked me into this loses an immediate family member! Also, my phone has Windows Mobile, so it fucking freezes half the time and I have to restart it. Close second for asshole of the week: Bill Gates, another jerk wad who got us to buy into his shit. I hope the new Mac coming out destroys you!




I don't feel any better...but if you want to call me about it, wait till the weekend.






T Mobile 100 percent sucks

You zesty anchor momma; yum! The sexiest local news this side of the mason Dixon line, this hot blooded MILF reports the daily events every night on channel 5 in NYC.

This cute Italian gumdrop delivers the news like nobody else, but I never know what’s going on. I just can’t pay attention. How could I? I’m looking at a goddess. With you I look forward to the robberies floods and murders of the day. I like the bad news, because without it, you would have nothing to report, I would never see you, and that would make me sad. :(

And don’t worry, I’m smart, sometimes I read the paper! I finish half the crossword! We could discuss the local news, while I dazzle you with my city knowledge. Did you know that the Empire State Building is tall? Word! Told you I got smarts!

I know you have a family Rosanna, but I don’t care. You are "sort of" Latin like me, so I know how "sort of" Latin’s are; if you ever need a "distraction", a "lighter side of the news", let me know. Just send me an email, rip off that pantsuit and let me be your hot news story of the day. I could see the tease now: "what former strip club dj is horny and in your town, maybe just blocks from your home? Find out at 10, here on Fox 5!"

Call me...

This blog 25 percent sucks…

The Marquee from the Funnyfarm, a club I featured at a couple of weeks ago.

It's good to know that the prime rib is good, the comedy, eh, take your chances. The prime rib by the way, WAS very good. The comedy was OK, so the sign is correct.






This blog 60% sucks.

Ahh, the new Jennifer Aniston vehicle, yay! I haven't been this excited since seeing the trailer for Derailed!

Look, Vince is saying something.

"I'm leaving her for Brad and Angelina." I hear you Vince, even you can't save this movie, unless you take some of those guns you had from Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and use them on her. I'm telling you, I had sex with her once (check my blog), and all I can say; OVERRATED! She was hot as fuck in Rockstar, but totally not worth it! Nuts. She's fucked, it's all kept under wraps; Tom Cruise should hire her publicist, the guy is a genius.

And by the way, guy who helped my blog, it's Brangelina. Get it right, I invented it. They hired me to babysit their village of kids while they had wanton sex, and Zahara would throw up on the rug. Constantly. What do they feed it? (I hate kids, but I had to get close to perfection.)

Anyway, their house is SO big, I would forget where the vacuum cleaner was; it was just easier to say four syllables instead of six. I can only multitask so much. "Brangelina, Zahara's sick again." Brad Pitt would answer the door completey covered in red paint, smelling of turnips and KY. "Down the hall, to the right, walk down the flight of stairs, take the golf cart to the third shed on the right, the one by the petting zoo. We are busy right now; don't let this happen again. And stop calling us Brangelina!"

Well after a couple more interruptions from me I got fired from that dream gig, but they took my moniker and ran with it; I threatened to sue the pants off of them, and we "settled" out of court. I can't go into specifics; let's just say that for one night in February, "Angiraymond" ruled the roost.

This blog only 30% sucks, but that's the danger of technology; 20 years ago, you never would have heard from me, blame Bill Gates. I should rate my posts from now on. Feel free to contact me and tell me how good or crappy they really are. I will print and comment on the best responses.

I choose death. Death for me, DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH DEATH. Would you? If you were convicted of something heinous, and you had a choice of solitary confinement for life, or the death penalty, you would choose life? Not me.

Believe me; I think this awful terrorist should die. I’m annoyed that this country doesn’t use the death penalty more often either. I wish they would use the death penalty for crimes that don’t involve murder; I got a couple assholes that cut me off in traffic yesterday that should disappear.

Even better, have someone you care about disappear. That’s how I would run "Ray’s America." Ah, yes, I like the sound of that. “Ray’s America.” A fascist democracy. Live free, until you cross me. Do something I don’t like, and overnight, your wife disappears. “Why is there so much room on the bed? Why is there only a pillow where my lovely wife’s head should be?” Enough of my worldly ambitions, back to the task at hand.

You’re in solitary. Stuck in a room. Eight by Five feet. A closet. You can’t walk in it. 23 hours a day. Underground. Everything is concrete, including your “sleeping area”, which is nothing more than a concrete slab extending out of the wall, no pillows. A couple of books, but restricted. There’s TV, but you had more options of what to watch in the 50’s; it’s 4 channels of “religious programming.” One hour a day to go out and walk around. And the area you walk around in is small, and guarded, with a small window where you can see the sky.

And no companionship. In jail for life, no chance for parole, you would adapt and probably have sex with men. It’s not even a gay thing; it’s just a lack of options. In the general population, I would be a HOT commodity. Admit it, you think I'm cute. But totally by myself? I remember being nineteen, a virgin and alone, practically ready to throw myself off of the Throggs Neck Bridge. I’m not going back there again.

So solitary confinement, no thank you, I have a date with a syringe and some potassium chloride. Inject me with those needles, let the cool sting of the chemicals rush through my body, and let me dream.

Update, the bank teller knows my name. I followed the universe's lead and made my move. Thank you Artist Way!

Almost the same scenario as before; went to bank; she's at the window, shock! Her hair is straight, and no glasses, still as hot as ever. I conference call my team of writers to form a strategy. "Talk about her hair," one enterprising young talent said. "They love it, and it probably took a while for her to do it, she'll love the attention."

I amend my script to include discussion of follicles. The security guard is eyeing me with suspicion as I let customer after customer pass to go to inferior tellers, waiting for my gift from the universe to be available. Suddenly my goddess says the magic words: "next on line." A woman is nearly trampled as she assumes I will let her be next; I spring to action and push her back in line, throwing her off balance and into the other clientele.

Her previous customer is still there; an eccentric old lady who is dressed way too warm for the 65 degree day. I notice my teller looks exasperated. I make my move and the old lady leaves as I give her a dirty look. “That could very well be my future,” I say. I get a laugh. “Yeah, she’s okay, but she’s here everyday with one problem or another.”

Time for action. "Wow, I love the straight hair," I say. Instant laugh and smile on her face (I make a note to give my writer a raise). “Really? Thank you.” "How long did it take to do it?” ”About four hours. I just watched TV while doing it, it was annoying but I got through it." "It was totally worth it." Smile three.

I go into my script that I had prepared last time; the craziness of the lines; how I’m always at the bank withdrawing money, hemorrhaging cash, I wish you didn’t see me like this, I don’t get dressed up for errands, etc. It’s going well. I’m killing.

I talk about comedy. “So if you want to see me in a better light, check me out at a show. Do you like stand up?” “I went once, it was better than I thought it would be. Where do you perform?” “All over (gotta get booked more), here’s my card maybe you can come out, my guest.” “That would be great”, she says, and I leave on my final smile. I feel godly.

So far the universe seems to be on my side. I double checked my bedside companion, Zen and the Art of Picking up Chicks. I seem to be okay. As long as she doesn’t read this, I have a chance. Updates to follow.

Stay tuned for part 3 where I ask the dreaded question: "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I saw the coolest show on Broadway last night, the hysterically funny and moving "Bridge and Tunnel", a one person show starring the extraordinary talents of Sara Jones.

It's an excellent show indeed, as she deftly bobs and weaves in and out of characters; from a shy 11 year old to a Chinese mother with a gay daughter, a hip hop wanna be, a Williamsburg hipster and many more, within seconds. Mrs. Jones embodies not only the physical characteristics of each, but also their mental being, and you are truly drawn in to their worlds.

The humanness in these characters is amazing; these people do exist, and none of them are stereotypical! The “host” of the show, a Pakistani full of cheap one liners and hack jokes who believes everyone is a poet, is done with a genuine Pakistani accent; as a comedian, it was wonderful to hear her do that, rather than the overdone and somewhat racist sounding Indian accent so many cheap comics use. For that reason alone, I loved the show.

The show takes place at a poetry open mic for immigrants set up by the host, where the participants tell their stories of their experiences coming to and living in America, and Sara Jones alternated between funny and poignant stories. The sad and more dramatic stories really made feel the pain of the characters situations, while some the funnier moments reminded me of every horrible open mic I’ve ever been to, including the interpretive dance moment, and a girl raging on about her ex-boyfriend, using symbolism that tries too hard.

The show is obviously liberal leaning, with a "we’re all immigrants" stance, but is neither cheap nor preaching. Even if you don’t fully agree with her views on the immigration issue, it wouldn’t matter, because you’ll be having so much fun; a couple (literally two) Bush jokes, so what? They were good jokes anyways. Just sit back and watch the mastery in her craft.

Touching, endearing, sad, and hilarious, all within an hour and a half, no intermission. It’s been extended through July, for good reason. Go catch it!

Now I know what rappers are talking about. In their records, they are always rapping about how people hate them, and now they're on top and such, I always wondered if it was in their heads, some kind of proverbial "enemy", some kind of amalgam of being poor, unsigned, whatever. Nope, these people exist, I encountered a couple.

I'm at this club on Long Island, and the guy who books the show always has me on to host. Why not, it's like an hour from my house, easy drive, easy gig, easy money. Here's the problem: he saw me a couple years ago, when I wasn't as good as I am now. Meaning I sucked. I was terrible. So now it's in his head that I'm not a good comic, and he never lets me feature.

I feature. On the road I do half hours, I've done a bunch of them. I do Universities, where the crowds and the money are better than anything his little club could ever give me. Yet when I do his room, I feel like I just started now matter how well I do, and he treats me like a second class citizen. What is that phenomenon, where you just regress like that? Where's Eminem when you need him, I need him to spit some evil verse about this guy.

Then I do another show, a bar gig in the city. The comics are cool. I'm digging the lineup. Then I see this person that again, saw me when I was awful. She used to try to get me to do bringer shows, that's how long ago it was. And she gave me that look, that "what the fuck are you doing here" kind of look, as if I crashed some exclusive party. And I felt that regression again.

The audience was kind of mild for all the comics; they were a small bunch, no one killed and no one bombed; they were very "joke to joke", and I did on average with the other performers. But I still see it. That look.

The point is, who the fuck are you!? It aint Jerry Seinfeld giving me that look, it's from some lady who has no career herself. It really bugged me for the night, luckily, I ran into a comic I haven't seen in a while, and we respect each other, she and I talked about the business and I felt better.

And this person has no reason to hate me, I'm nobody, but now I despise you. You're on the way down, but you were never really up. I'm on the way up, so you can hate all you want. I pray to God that if my career does not go as well as planned, that I will never be an asshole like you. I am now going to buy a rhyming dictionary, cause my rhymes stink.

Let's see, had a drunk heckler the othr day which ended up getting me some Swedish fans. I wished that she die in a fire, and that I would'nt fuck her with Hitler's dick. She deserved it.

Everything mechanical broke down in my life at once, my phone, my car. Ate it a couple of times onstage, and lost notes for new jokes. Got a bunch of new ideas, my apartment is a fucking mess.
Do you ever feel you'll never catch up?

Things are coming back around; had a couple good sets last night, and someone wants to "hang" with me. Let's see how that goes, right now I'm just happy to blog.