A Little Story

I wrote this a year or so ago. Thought I'd share it here:

NOTHING DRIES IN A BASEMENT

Day 37
I am still waiting for my laundry to dry. The clothes I washed two weeks ago are still hanging limp and lifeless in the bathroom desperately trying to shake off the last dregs of moisture. Even the towel I removed from the dryer two days ago, the one that was so dry it had become like a black hole for moisture - all dampness within its vicinity sucked into it and none able to escape - has succumbed to the creeping wetness. I have decided to limit myself to no more than two showers a week lest I start to grow mold.

I can hear the wind through the treetops outside, gentle breezes tickling the fat green leaves of the chestnut trees. I know there is sunshine as well as I can see tiny slivers of its golden majesty creeping around the base of the high windows.

There is no chance for me to explore the outside world as the spiders have barricaded the front door. I no longer sleep for longer than 10 minutes at a time for fear that I be wrapped in their gossamer threads, paralyzed by terror and silk.

The other day I held one of the woolen sweaters that my mother made for me so many years ago. I cried a little, remembering the cold arctic winds of my youth that would dry your skin clean off your bones if you weren't properly attired. I dream of the sterilizing winters that would blanket the world in nocturnal bliss and the roaring fires that would burn away whatever pests and pestering thoughts managed to crack through the hard shell of winter.

Day 56
I did battle with the spiders today. It was a hard fought battle and while the war is not won, I have most definitely taken a large chunk out of their numbers and their morale.

For the first time I have used my biggest enemy to my advantage. While taking my bi-weekly shower I noticed a group of spiders in the upper right hand corner of the stall. I could see them looking at me, moving furtively around, planning their next attack. I stole from the shower and dipped into the kitchen all the while leaving the shower running. I returned to the bathroom with a medium sized bowl. While standing outside the shower, I filled the bowl with water and flung the contents upward into the nest of arachnids. I could almost hear their screams of surprise and before they had chance to understand what was happening I mercilessly attacked over and over and over again, not giving them a moment to gain footing or shoot webbing to save themselves or their offspring. With the drain cover removed there was no other option but for them to be flushed down into the bowels of the sewer system.

I can see the spiders in the corners of the bathroom that are furthest from the shower creeping further back, knowing that venturing to the stall for life sustaining water will surely end in death.

I hear rumour of an apartment in the west end, fifth floor and south facing windows. I want to believe but I fear, like so many other stories of above ground, well-lit apartments before them, this one too is pure fiction.

Pray for me.

Joke

I like practical jokes.
The way I see it, in these tough economic times a person needs a joke they can rely on, not one of those luxury jokes that will fall apart in a month.

Grammar

I find lately that I'm abbreviating my writing style, throwing together contractions where there were no contractions before.
What will becomes what'll, why have becomes why've and who are becomes who're. I only use the last one if someone else has paid for dinner.

Real Comics Don't Need Underwear Pics

I'm a comic. That means I stand up on stage in front of strangers and try to make them laugh. The requirements for this job aren't much. You need a microphone, a stage, a stool, and an ability to say something funny. But in recent years another tool has become an integral part of a comic's life (and an actor's, and a model's, and a musicians) it's Myspace. I get the benefits to Myspace when it comes to marketing and advertising for people like myself in the entertainment field. It sure as hell beats stapling posters to lamposts everytime you have a show. However this awesome tool has also created something that makes me a little sick. Like that did the dog just kiss me after he licked his ass? kinda sick.

Because Myspace has compelled smart, funny and talented people to forgo the professional headshots and post pictures of themselves in ..... well, not much. I recently "friended" April Macie. April is a comic who was seen on Last Comic Standing a few seasons ago. If you look at April Macie's gallery of photos, she has several where she appears in what can - at best - be described as the underwear of a 5 year old girl. And you can tell it belongs to a 5 year old girl not just because it's frilly and pink but because it apparently doesn't fit April at all. She's even tugging at it (I can only assume in order to prevent it from cutting off her circulation or crushing a kidney) in one of the photos. Pulling on it so hard and pushing it down so low that you can almost see her va-jay-jay. Poor thing.

Not only do I not see the point to wearing a 5 year old's underwear, but I don't see the point to wearing it, getting your picture taken in it and posting it under your comedy profile.

If you are a porn star, a hooker or a stripper and you're trying to get people to; buy your lastest Gang Bang flick, come to your corner for a hand job or come to your club where you can wow them with your amazing lapdance skills, then fine, post that type of picture. It will bring you the type of attention that your career needs. If you're a female comic with underwear shots plastered across your myspace comedy profile, I'm willing to bet people don't look at that and think "Wow, she must be really funny. We should check out her act." Unless of course you have a third nipple clearly visible or better yet a third breast or a penis hanging out of your thong - then you might be considered funny on the merrits of your underwear shots.

And by "funny" I mean "funny-peculiar", not "funny-ha-ha".

I guess some women think that the fact that they are young, thin and hot should somehow help them in comedy,but unfortunately it doesn't. What helps is spending your time writing funny jokes and working your butt off to get stage time. If some of these female comics spent more time doing that instead of shopping in the children's section of Target, maybe they'd have 12,000 people coming to their shows instead of 12,0000 myspace friends and a crushed kidney.