Went to see a show called The Midwesterners at the UCB last night. One half of the team is a guy I know, Ollie, he's from Chicago. Gotta love watching two guys in wrinkled business attire dancing barefoot to the tune We Built This City on rock and roooooollll. And I was surprised that he spoke German so well, or at least could memorize enough fluent sounding German for a sketch comedy routine. It was highly enjoyable and I got my giggle rocks off. Unfortunately, I didn't get to talk to him after the show. He made it onto a Harold team, which he deserved, but my masochistic side wanted to hear tales of how wonderful performing with an established Harold team at the theater was so I could wallow further in the fact that I didn't make it.

Whatever. Will be performing once a week improv style. In a semi punk fashion hooking up with a group outside of the establishment "we'll make our own venue you lame cocksuckers". Now its my devious desire to become an uber comedic brilliance threat to the halls of the UCB. We will awash the stage with their entrails. Their hilarity kung-fu is superior for now......for now.

Trying to unjumble a team name. Seeing as the theater is a renovated squirt palace, some derivitave of porn is obvious and has the potential to put asses in the seats from its inuendo alone. Not a fan of smack you in the face tongue and cheek horse puckey. I thought The Fluffers would be good, somewhat obtuse. Thought of a name this morning as I wiped the wake up drool from my face. Yummy. I know I'd go to show called Yummy. And while it has somewhat of a sexual overtone it's not pummeling you in the skull with a double entendre trout. What should we go see tonight honey bunch......lookie here, Yummy, a funny rollercoaster theater experience, put the kids in their cage and throw on the war paint, we're headin out on the town!

So after the show last night I hooked up with the crew playing pool at Musical Box. Usual business of putting the billiard smack down, raising of the wrists, and sniffing out all the bombastic ghetto booty. A cue stick starts to take a tumble, and with catching reflexes well developed since childhood ( my mother used to throw random shit in my direction, yelling "catch!", and I was expected to snag it midair no matter what it was....alarm clock, vase, fork, picture frame, gerbil, etc. ) I kept the cue from hitting lumber. Unfortunately, in my path was a tall red votive candle. Hot wax covering my entire hand. After the searing pain stopped, it was pointed out that I had spilt dark red molten wax all down the front of one of my favorite shirts. After grumbling about it, and receiving instructions from a kind lady for removing such stains, I decided to wear the fucker all night anyway. It looked as if I had just sawed someone's head off. I wonder if that factored into me winning most of the games I played for the rest of the night.