I haven't watched porn for two weeks *(2)*. 14 days, zero porn *(0)*. That's not a joke. 14 days really is two weeks.

I saw a lady jump out of her car today all heated. It was parked. I haven't seen anyone jump from a moving vehicle in a long time. > Better have a good reason for filming me!!! I wasn't filming her. Her or anyone else. I was taking a picture of the front of her car. A picture I did not get, by the way. Had no idea she was inside the thing. I never would've pointed my phone at it if I knew someone was in it. Sun glaring off the windshield, can't see inside, bright reflection. I got distracted by a timely photo-op and didn't think to meander around the vehicle in search of an occupant. *I'm sorry. I was just gonna take a picture of your license plate, sorry about that.* > Owe owe-Kay! Well gawn head then darlin' take'yer pitcher. *(Virtual southern accent impression)* She had one of those aftermarket plastic license plate things they put in lieu of a real license plate on the front of the car. Quite often, they're sports teams logos. Hers was an artsy blend of an American flag and an Israeli flag. Someone is sitting in the car never crossed my mind. *Never mind, I didn't know you were in there. I'm probably the only one who thinks it's funny.* Because I think everything's funny. We all got issues, so what. I'm telling you that, not her. > **WHATSOFUNNYBOUTIT?!?** She said in a very non-Southern-Belle-like voice with a hint of hostility I understood clear as fuck. Calm her down, I insist to me. Everyone carries around here. No doubt as I aimed my phone toward her car she reached in her purse or wherever she keeps her firearm and got cozy with the trigger. Strange dude, tattoos, pointing a phone at her. Probably looked intimidating. I'm no threat—harmless. I'll defuse the situation... *No. Not that. Cuz it's on a Chinese car.* She drives one of those Polestar's. I thought it was funny—Stars and Stripes and Star of David on a Chinese car. That plate's probably made in China, too. How was I supposed to know she's got a Xi sense of humor? Silence was so awkward they wrote a song about it. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Poor lady. I got in the car. Mine, not hers, and vanished like a Puff Daddy associate.

Fuck cleaning products that only clean 99.98% bacteria! And then they boast of their landmark achievement. Put it on blast all front and center of the bottle in the same bubble font as the logo but smaller and brighter, louder, backed by a fiery exploding graphic design like they meant to come up 0.02% short.

Target—massive department store slash grocery market slash jewelry dealer slash nursery slash appliance warehouse slash electronic superstore for anyone tuned in who's never been stateside. There. So, I'm there the other day and dude rings up my Coke Zero, protein bar and a water. I don't remember what it cost. > [such-n-such dollars]. You wanna keep any of this? ..'?'... Search engine—stat! Of course I wanna keep it. I paid for it. I want to keep all three. How do you answer that? *I have no idea how to answer that.* He started shaking like he's having a convulsion. I knew it wasn't real—pretending what a human might do if a human short circuited. He's convulsing and repeating 'eye' over and over like he's got turrets, "eye - eye - eye - eye - eye - eye..." He stopped. He explained how usually if he's ringing up someone's items and there's a single protein bar or something like that in the mix, he'll ask if they want to keep it rather than bag it and then continue ringing up the other items. Those were my only items. Tansaction complete. "Wanna keep any of this?" is a habit. I shook and convulsed back. *Doe - doe - doe - don't make fun of me!* He laughed. Then he went back into his shaking routine so I did too. Now both of us got our hands out like we're caught between doing the robot and dancing like an Egyptian in one of the most frequented department stores in USA. Good times. What it looks like when the record skips.

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**_{Like this stuff? Heart this stuff, whatever. Say what you think! I'm this close to doing some open mics. Did it a couple times way _way back in the day—back when I drank.}** **_{I wanna go again, fuck it! You're outta your skull. With the internet and all the live stream capabilities at our fingertips, why not?? No way. Because I don't drink! Success is a click away. We'll all be dead in less than 50 years anyway—voices.}** **_{Anything like that, though, performing in front of a room full of strangers, I'm a nervous wreck. I'm a nervous wreck when I get to the post button on these things.}** **_{Terrifying—real life audience and they're all zeroed in on you like small font and they don't know each other and they don't know you and you don't know them but one thing's understood—they came to see a performance.}** **_{I'm limited here—keyboard / monitor. Given use of hand gestures, body language, facial expressions, *et cetera* that accompany these stories you'd be all: so that's why a 10 married him!}** **_{For a little minute there, comedians had a tough time. The wokes or whatever they call theirselves threw a big ol shit fit about words. O0oooh, 'words'. Even physically assaulting professional entertainers on stage, during a performance, in a crowded public place. A word or phrase or sentence or whatever it was crushed someone's pride so deep beyond the depths of repair they actually convinced their self physical violence is a justified response. Crazy. Words... People are fucking crazy.}** **_{I really enjoy the crowd-work aspect of stand-ups. Roast sessions or battle roasts where they talk shit on each other and, the more insulting, the funnier—love that stuff. Like an m/c rap battle where they pass the mic back and forth and belittle the hell out of each other and make fun of each others attire or hair or lack of hair or face that looks like Halloween year-round or teeth from Mad Magazine. Like that minus the rhymes. I need to practice my crowd work. Go up against someone like Andrew Schulz or Mark Normand, they'll eat you up like April 20th.}**

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Know how I know a woman invented sports betting? You gotta put up everything you got before anything happens, let it ride means all or nothing, losers are suckers, and winning means beat the spread. *(Act that one out....)*

An Irish friend of mine who lives in England and will reiterate he's Irish, not English, every time you get together with him embraced my hardly antagonistic satire right out the gate and I wasn't even trying.

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Dang it - It's in the dictionary. Over the years, 48 to be exact, I've developed plenty of my own slang like knardly—when a chicks got so little ass you knardly see it, anyhoo. Between me and my phone, dang it, is a conjunction: Danget. Depending who I'm messaging or especially people I just met like Chris, my Irish buddy who's not English but equally P/C, I'll censor my curse words until appropriate. After hanging out with him and his family and friends that first time, we messaged each other for a couple weeks until we all got together again. Those messages are where he'd see me say *danget* like *ah, danget, more rain* or *danget, it's raining again* or something completely off subject like *it's still raining, danget* and then continue messaging. A couple weeks later, they picked us up from our stay in Ilkley. Took us to Liverpool that day, great day! Liverpool is the closest Los Angeles vibe in England. Pura and I enjoyed Liverpool so much we stayed an extra month. So, we're on our way to Liverpool when Chris, in his formal English accent, goes.. > Is it commonplace for Americans to refer onto one another's mates as 'moron?' # W - What?! *(Record skip)* *Moron?!* Where in the hell'd he get that idea?! Fun fact: we played several board games with them, great people really and, every time they responded incorrectly to a question, they'd argue: "IT'S AN AMERICAN GAME!" *No, of course not! Why in the world would you think we call each other morons?* "Oh, gosh!" You know it's British when it starts with "oh, gosh" and ends in question. > Oh, gosh! Per our texts, I'm addressed as a Danget and Lisa and I could only find the urban definition, yea?

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# L o L ! I had no idea danget made its way to ***any*** dictionary whether urban or future or anything else. Funny. Never before that ride with Chris had I been made aware there's a recorded definition for Danget. Knardly contain myself. With the exception of the postal worker who said 'Possle Fawz' about 10 times and I repeated it back to her; *Possle Fawz?* and then she'd say it again: 'Possle Fawz,' that definition is the funniest thing I saw in England. *Possle Fawz?* > Possle Fawz. *Possle.... Fawz.......?* > Possle Fawz. *Would you spell it for me, please?* > P - Eh - Awe - C - Eh - Elle. *Oh, Parcel!! 'Parcel' Fawz?* She laaaaauuughed *(long one)*. Her colleague came out from the back and they both laughed out loud, 'ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.' I have no idea what's so funny but I'm American so I put on one of those creepy fake smiles Americans do when we're uncertain. = } She took a breather from laughing, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote it: `Parcel Force.` I laughed more than both of them combined. #

L L L o-0-o L L L ! ! ! ! !

Parcel Force with two "R's"—Pa**R**cel Fo**R**ce and she let me repeat Possle Fawz back to her however many times until finally drawing a picture.

When I go to the grocery store, it's a grocery store. When I go to the grocery store with my wife, it's a library.

I'm at the dermatologist the other day because I'm white and I'm from Los Angeles where not only *"unhoused"* society and corrupt police steal the spotlight but so does vitamin D—I supplement vitamin D said no Californian ever. 40 something years later, however, I'm in the dermatologist regularly so, anyway, a young *(to me)* kid steps to the counter. "Do you have an appointment?" He does. Says he has a 10 o'clock. Receptionist asks what his phone number is. He tells her his number and she asks his birthday. "Date of birth?" He paused.

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:long pause:

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_{*(Longer than that)*} > I can't for the life of me seem to recall my birthday. "Well, was it this year? Have you celebrated it yet?" > I did. "Ok, was it January, February...." He stopped her. > January! "January 2nd. 1-2-3," he said. Europeans: 1-2-3 means January 2nd, 2003, over here. This moron turned 21 six months ago and can't remember his birthday and it's in numerical order—1 - 2 - 3. Stupid Tide-Pod eating bastards. Because of you I can't open a bag of laundry detergent anymore without tearing the whole thing open! Ok, one more but it's kind of a joke / observation hybrid.

There's a lot more non-binary chicks than non-binary dudes. A lot more transgender dudes than transgender chicks, too. *Guess everyone wants to be a dick.* = }

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