Sam Clam and Larry Lobster

There's this joke I love that I heard recently on a public radio podcast, and I love to tell it, but no one ever thinks it's nearly as funny as I do.

I'm not a great teller of jokes. I tend to improvise too much, I take too long, I mess up the punchline. OK, not funny. But is my new favorite joke itself a stinker, or is it just my lousy telling that clears the room? You decide.

Larry Lobster and Sam Clam are best friends. They do everything together. And they love to dance. So one day they decide to go into business together. They are going to open an underwater disco.

They find the perfect location in a coral reef. They secure their funding, gather their supplies, hire a staff. They begin to advertise. All the fish and mollusks and crustaceans are thrilled that they'll finally have a place to dance. And Sam Clam and Larry Lobster begin to sense that they're going to make a killing.

Everything is going perfectly the day of their grand opening. And then Larry Lobster gets caught in a trap and killed.

So Larry Lobster goes to heaven. Saint Peter meets him at the gate.

"Welcome to heaven," says Saint Peter, gripping a clipboard. "Please step forward. Ok, here's your wings."

Wings appear on Larry's back. Saint Peter checks something off his list.

"Here's your halo," he continues.

Saint Peter fixes a halo to Larry's head and checks it off his list.

"And finally, here's your harp," he says.

He hands Larry Lobster a beautiful golden harp and checks it off.

"All standard issue," Saint Peter says, "but not bad, I think. You should find everything in working order. You now have all you need to enter heaven. Please come through. And welcome to eternity."

But Larry Lobster just sort of stands there with his shoulders slumped.

"Go ahead," says Saint Peter. "Come on in. You have made it. Eternal bliss. Your celestial reward for a virtuous life and all that. Heaven. Are you not pleased to be here?"

But Larry Lobster is heartbroken.

"To tell you the truth, sir," says Larry, "no. Please, sir. I was just about to open an underwater disco with by best friend Sam Clam. It was our dream. Everyone was so excited. We were just moments away from opening our doors, and then I go and die. What rotten luck! Please let me go back for just one night, so I can see this through, say good-bye to my friend, and know that he'll live on in success. And then ... I promise ... I'll come right back."

Saint Peter thinks about this for a moment and says, "I can see your heart is true. And you have not yet technically entered heaven. So I will allow it just this once. You may go back to the sea for one night only. But you must come back immediately when I call you. And — this is important, so pay attention — you must bring your wings, your halo and your harp back with you. Without these things you will not be allowed to enter heaven."

"Oh, that's great!" says Larry Lobster. "Yeah. Sure. Of course. Whatever you say. Oh, thank you so much!"

So Larry goes back to the sea. Sam Clam is amazed, and the two friends have a tearful reunion. They open the disco together, and Sam dedicates the night to Larry. It becomes a sort of send-off party, and everyone has a wonderful time. But before long, Larry gets his call from Saint Peter, and it's time for him to go.

So he goes back up to heaven and Saint Peter greets him again at the gate.

"Saint Peter, thank you so much!" exclaims Larry. "It was such a wonderful time. I am so grateful to you. And I'm ready to come back to heaven. I've got my wings right here."

Larry wiggles his wings.

"I've got my halo."

His halo shows a glint of light from the other side of the gate.

"And —" but then Larry gasps, and his heart sinks. "Oh no!"

"What is the trouble?" asks Saint Peter.

"I don't believe this," says Larry Lobster...

"I LEFT MY HARP IN SAM CLAM'S DISCO!"

Yeah, OK. So, is it the teller? Or is it the joke?

I Heart Betty White

We're down two Golden Girls, with two to go. Oh, it pains me to think of losing Rue McClanahan and Betty White. Yet it's hard to resist the speculation: Who will be the last Girl standing?

Meanwhile, this is hilarious! Betty White calls Ryan Reynolds an "ab-crunching jackass," and he tells her to suck a hot cock. And Sandra Bullock slaps Reynolds around for picking on poor Betty.

Sandra Bullock & Ryan Reynolds: Behind the Scenes of The Proposal from Betty White

I know I'm totally falling for this viral marketing, but I'll probably never see the movie its meant to promote. The worst part: I have an irrational dislike of Sandra Bullock, but this clip is actually making me like her.

Mommie Draggest

[source: Life & Style, 3/30/09, vol. 6, issue 13]

We Don't Need Another Hero

Those black woolen thigh-length coats with the big buttons are great in the winter. What are they called? Not a pea coat. Anyway, the problem with them is the way they shed buttons like autumn leaves. At any given time at least one button is hanging on by a whisper, and another one is missing altogether.

Until recently, following a drunken mishap my friend and I no longer remember very clearly, mine was missing one at the top, one at the bottom, and a smaller one at the cuff.

I stopped in at a cleaners/tailor shop to ask if I could buy some replacements. While he sorted through some Tupperware containers of random spare buttons, I noticed tacked to the wall a photo that I recognized in an uncomfortable way. It was identical to the profile photo of a stranger who once friend requested me on Facebook.

The reason I remember the picture is that the guy in it is dressed in a superhero costume of his own design: shiny blue and silver and black fabric, a black silver-edged mask. I thought little of it, assuming it was a Halloween picture, but a brief investigation into his profile revealed many, many more images of this guy in variously slick and slender and shiny costumes. Capes, masks, gloves -- the whole bit.

It wasn't the tailor, unless he had gained weight recently. He was probably just someone he knew. With tailoring skills. What if it was his younger brother. Or ... maybe his boyfriend! Maybe the tailor made the costume, and he was showing off the work, and not the person. Whatever it was, I resisted the temptation to ask who the masked man was. I just didn't want to get into it.

In his Facebook profile, he described his hobby of wearing superhero costumes. Just for fun. All year round. Like, to wear at parties and stuff.

There are pictures of me in a Green Lantern t-shirt on my profile, and I list comic books as an interest. I imagine that's why he found me, but it ends there for me.

I did not accept his friend request.

Better Left Unsaid

His shirt read: "Camp Howell Red Team." Must have been some sort of sleepaway camp souvenir. How many softball games and tugs-of-war must have sweated through that thing? My first thought, after noting the appreciably tight fit, was, "Huh... what a coincidence that the shirt is also red."

For a second or two too long, it did not occur to me that this was not a coincidence.

Oh, what good fortune that I was alone! Or I might have been tempted to point out my clever observation to someone. Funny how grateful one can be for not saying some things out loud. I've managed to pass myself off as a half-way intellgent person more times than I care to recall by simple virtue of keeping my mouth shut.

The Six Million Dollar Rabbit

A colleague just turned me on to Buns and Chou Chou, two rabbits with their own Web series called Rabbit Bites.

Like anything involving anthropomorphized animals, it sort of defies comprehension. See for yourself.



Despite the delightfully amateurish image and video manipulations, I find that their British accents lend them a sort of credibility.

It's no "Toonces the Driving Cat" ...



... but give them time.

U. S. of Ab Fab

Sweetie, darling! I mean ... like, dude. [www.guardian.co.uk]

Absolutely Fabulous is heading to the states! Again?

After Roseanne Barr's aborted attempt to make an American version a decade ago, apparently someone else is willing to take up the dangerous, possibly career-chilling mantle of developing for an American audience a hit British TV show that only enjoyed cult status in the States. (There are so many. Do you watch BBC America?) Fox has bought the pilot episode of a new Ab Fab series.

Translating English to English, er — British to American worked for a while with some game shows. It worked with Harry Potter. It's working with The Office, though it is a wholly different show from the UK original. But can it work for Ab Fab, a show that was so stuck in the moment and instantly dated that it failed to reinvent itself across five series even for its own adoring audience?

Apparently brassy boozers Eddie and Patsy will be living it up in Los Angeles this time — as ever under the disapproving eye of daughter Saffy. No word yet on casting, but we know Jennifer Saunders will be executive producer. Will the girls be American or British? Is this a new television show altogether? Or should we just think of it as Series 6?

I can't imagine the cast is the same. They were getting to be a bit past their sell-by date even in series 4 and 5, which I think saw a general erosion of the concept and was genuinely less funny.

I have loved Ab Fab from the beginning. My friend first told me about it in 1994, upon his return from a year in England. They hadn't even gotten through the original three series by then. I was a young-buck college freshman and hungry for gay, gay, gay — and here it was! I had the entire three-series set on VHS. Now, of course, I have all five seasons on DVD. Plus the specials. I adore it. It makes me all warm and gooey inside.

This clip goes all the way back to the first episode of the first series, but I think it is still my absolute favorite. You never want the party to end ... but I fear that the longer the show ran, the more diluted, the less funny, the more bizarre it got. This contains some of the best lines of the entire show.

I love Ab Fab like I love '80s music. It is classic, it appeals to my baser nature, it fills me with joy, and it is surrounded by a cultish enthusiasm. You had to have been there when it was new and relevant, when it was a phenomenon, in order to understand it and care about it. People just a few years younger than me, who have never seen a single episode, usually don't care to. The accent is hard to understand. They don't get the humor. And who are those celebrities they are making fun of, anyway?

(Sometimes even I have trouble with that one.)

But maybe those are precisely the folks who will go ga-ga for this new round. Who knows. For some reason, the idea of a couple of 40-something women, boozing it up in L.A., in complete denial of their age, their desperation and their destructiveness, doesn't necessarily sound funny to me. It just sounds accurate.

Good luck to you, Ms. Saunders! I will certainly be watching.

No Vegetables After Midnight

At a diner in center city Philadelphia, the Midtown III Diner and Cocktail Lounge, a friend of mine was recently seated for an after-hours snack. As he picked up the menu, the waitress told him gruffly, "No vegetables after midnight."

I wonder if that includes french fries and ketchup, or if he was forced to choke down a plate of bacon and liverwurst.

Better Than Haggis?

Because this is New York and you can get virtually every kind of food at virtually any time of day, I suppose my coworker's euphemistic reference to "Scottish food" lends a certain credibility to an otherwise nutritionally meritless McDonald's lunch.

Even funnier to me is his reluctance to eat any meat product from McDonald's, hence his characteristic cheeseburgers with no beef. They're like a soft, sugary grilled cheese sandwich with ketchup and onions.

With standards so peculiar, I imagine it takes a number of visits to a consistent McDonald's to get the counter staff to stop giving you that look.



To each his own.

Star Wars, or Whatever

Here's another cop-out embedded-video post. But it is hilarious.

It's a retelling of the original three Star Wars movies by someone who has never seen any of them in their entirety. This woman has only a very shady passing knowledge of story. She gets some details right on, but she is way off in some other areas.

These movies are part of the Fabric of American Identity, or whatever. Everybody knows something about Star Wars.



I want to go to the bar planet!

I often wonder what sort of empty lives are lived by people who never saw Star Wars. It must be like a form of torture. Someone ought to tell Eric Holder about it.

Cat Swimming

This is absolutely delightful. I don't know why, but hurling cats into a swimming pool to watch them swim is just gut-busting funny to me! Maybe it's because it lets one be just a little sadistic — while also being completely harmless.



Makes me wonder about our cat...

Best. Product. Review. Ever.

Ari Brouillette is my hero. Bear with this and read through to the end:

The Secret saved my life!

Seriously?

Yikes!

Where Are You Taking That Leak?

There is a sign posted above the row of urinals in the men's room at my office that encourages people to report leaks. Does anyone else think this is funny?

One Track Mind

The pet owner is bundled up against the winter elements. His dog, because this is New York City, is teeny-tiny and dressed in an outfit that costs as much as the man's. The dog scampers along in front, keeping pace, pretending there is no leash connecting them. And then he stops to inspect the base of a retaining wall. The owner passes him and pauses, giving the lead a gentle tug. Come on. Time to go in, boy. The man shifts on his feet and shivers.

The animal stands there with his ass in the air, clearly shivering. He's one of those little guys that shivers on a warm day. A bitter wind whistles under his tail and across his exposed belly. His single-mindedness and determination is almost inspirational. I'm coming, I'm coming. I just really have to smell this because it's so ... interesting, and I ... Oh, wait, what's this? Oh, now that... that smells awful. Isn't that awful?

I Heart Ms. Pac-Man

A Bad Case

Today's English lesson:

As painful as it may be, watch it to the end.

Wouldn't this song make an excellent mash-up with Deniece Williams' "Let's Hear It For the Boy"?

Feel the burn.

Bad Signs

	The thing is, these guys are probably from somewhere near the Mediterranean Sea.
	Ectetera, ectetera...
	Waithing for a copy editor.
	Walk. Wait, no. Don't walk!

It always makes me wonder why so many small business owners have permanent signs on their businesses with gross spelling and grammar errors.

I remember a place in Minneapolis called "Lee's Wig's." Apostrophe errors are among my biggest pet peeves, and they happen all the time. They're not a surprise, though. Sometimes it can be tricky. And sometimes I can forgive it. Sometimes, sure... if you don't know better, you might slip up and use an apostrophe in a pluralization. But when it's connected to your livelihood? When it's a direct representation of yourself in the world? There are no excuses.

Whoever made Lee's sign got the possession right. But the S in "wigs" doesn't set out to accomplish the same thing. So, then, if the one has an apostrophe, the other should not, right? One S or the other should have an apostrophe, but not both. I think I could accept "Lees Wig's" more easily than this. That at least would show some conviction, rather than this spineless covering of all bases by overpunctuating every S in the sign.

Poor Lee.

How do those signs and awnings get made. Do the shop owners screw up? If so, why don't the sign makers do them a favor and suggest corrections? Or maybe it's the sign maker's fault. And when it arrives, fresh, clean and smelling of plastic and paint, the shop owner thinks: Well... it's close. Why wait longer or shell out for a new sign or?

I had some fun recently spotting some bad signs in New York.

Little Miss Jocelyn

Besides the rugby jerseys I asked a friend of mine to pick up during a recent trip to London, he scored a little jewel of British comedy on DVD to share: Little Miss Jocelyn. We recently spun through Season 1 over a couple pitchers of guavaberry piña coladas and a plate full of Banbury cakes. (Mmmm... Butter! Sugar! Currants!)

It's a recurring-character sketch comedy show, written by and starring Jocelyn Jee Esien, that aired on the BBC in 2006. It's over a year old across the Atlantic but relatively unknown here in the States. Esein was one of the performers in a hidden-camera stunt show called 3 Non-Blondes. Here she is in some sketches. (That series also featured Tameka Empson, who played the Mama Cass-obsessed neighbor in the coming-out-story charmer Beautiful Thing.")

She's a little French and Saunders and a little Little Britain and a little Dave Chappelle. The show has the added distinction, I have also learned, of being the first of its kind in either the United States or the UK to be written by and to star a black female comedian.

My favorite characters:

• Madam President, the first Black female President of the United States, looking eerily like an austere Condoleezza Rice, who answers questions from the press with a string of quotations from reductive and vaguely exploitive African-American cultural references.
  
• Florence, the overweight weight-loss nurse who treats her patients with ridiculous voodoo cures, always telling them they are beyond hope and "this is your last appointment." She spits on their paperwork to punctuate some sort of hex and chases them out of her office, calling after them "Save yourself! Save yourself!"
  
• Fiona, the only black woman in a typical office setting where she does some sort of typical office job. She is convinced that no one knows she is black, and she goes to such lengths to keep her "secret" that she lashes out at all other black people she interacts with, bringing herself to the point of nausea, tossing out horrifically racist accusations, which she reduces to politically correct euphemisms when she thinks she might be overheard. This clip features hottie British actor O.T. Fagbenle.
  
• Helen, perhaps my favorite, who appears normal by all accounts until she suddenly drops to the floor or the sidewalk and begins dragging her butt along the ground. She looks up at her incredulous companions or astonished strangers and shrugs, "I've got worms."
  
• Sheson, a bus driver whose Nigerian-flavored Cockney accent betrays her attempts to learn English in a pub. She sings hymns while driving and berates riders for standing too close or asking for directions — or ringing the bell to request a stop. "I'm not an A to Zed!" she'll say. She berates a gay couple who boards the bus in one sketch for not saying thank you. "'Eh!" she calls. "Sodom and Gomorrah!"
  
• Lillian, the territorial hairdresser, whose salon is across the street from a bitter rival. One often visits the other to start a hairdo duel, which always ends in a spaghetti western style, revealing their customers' overwrought hairstyles as if they're drawing their weapons. Lillian always wins, causing her rival to choke back shock and curse her until they meet again.
  
• Jiffy, a Nigerian immigrant who works as an overzealous parking attendant so desperate to be seen as a loyal subject of Queen Elizabeth II that she constantly reminds the recipients of her many parking tickets that she works "for queen and country." She wears huge swaths of bright blue eye shadow and an oversized uniform, and her officer's cap sits jauntily to the side of her afro. She sometimes shows up in unexpected places, such as the screen of an ATM or the glove box of a parked car, to issue guerilla tickets.
  
• Julia, whose social awkwardness causes her to behave in wildly inappropriate ways in serious situations, totally ruining the moment — licking the face of her friend's mother at her husband's funeral or biting her brand-new boss on the nose.

Esien is of Nigerian heritage, and most of the sketches clearly seem to poke fun at Nigerian immigrants. I'm not sure many American comics could get away with the tricks she pulls. Diaspora comedy like hers treads a delicate border. The self deprecation is so obvious and obscene, she's as much making fun of the people who uncomfortably laugh at it (e.g., me) as she is the cultural establishment that led to the creation of the stereotypes she is lampooning. Laughing at myself rarely feels so good.

Madonna Gets It Right

Madonna is not much use to us as an actress in feature-length films, with some exceptions, but in short films, like this H&M commercial, she really shines as a comic performer. I don't watch enough TV to see commercials, so I completely missed this one.

Lady Lumps from Above the 49th Parallel

As someone who hasn't heard anything about Alanis Morissette since she covered "Crazy" by Seal a couple years ago, I think this is delightfully random and almost as fun to watch as a baby polar bear.

Today, ladies and gentleman, she rises above guilty pleasure. I'm embarrassed she had to spoof Fergie to get my attention.

I don't own a single recording of hers. I have heard a few tracks from her recent acoustic album, though, on Pandora. It's a strong vocal showcase. I recommend it.

God is Dead

Take thy beak from out my heart!

I have lost my faith in everything.

Shiny, Happy