funnyordie:

Conception

Fertility starts in the mind.

My directorial debut, co-written with and starring some of the best comic talent at Princeton University.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am sick, and I am tired. I’m sick of the banks riding high on bail-outs. I’m tired of Wall Street treating the country like a Monopoly board. I’m sick of late nights watching pundits lob softballs for huckster politicians, and I’m tired of spending all day feeling nauseous as I watch American values dragged through the mud. I’m sick of losing my train of thought mid-sentence, and I’m tired. Good lord, am I tired.

Do you know what burns me up the most, folks? Do you know what really gets me feverish? It’s knowing that while I’m this sick and this tired, my opponents are sleeping soundly on silk sheets knowing that they have on the best healthcare money can buy. While I’m getting up before the crack of dawn to break my back to put this country back on track, my opponents are sleeping in ‘til noon and turning a profit off of your labor. While I’m coughing up gobs of cloudy phlegm, they are, in all likelihood, not doing that. And I’ll be damned if thinking about that doesn’t throw my internal homeostasis out of whack.

I’ve been traveling this country for months, coast to coast and back again, talking with people like you folks, with good common sense and decent values, who know what it is to work for a living and earn what you own. And yet every morning I’m waking up more sick and tired than the day before. Why? Because I spend all night in a bunk in the back of our campaign bus worrying about what the next four years will look like for those good people, and if sleep is not restful, it does nothing to combat fatigue. Without rest, the immune system is severely depressed, leaving the body wide open to infection.

I keep asking my staff to feel my glands, but none of them have any idea how big they’re supposed to be. It’s a little campaign trail joke we have.

Folks, I’m standing before you today so sick I can barely speak, and so tired I can barely stand up. But somebody needs to speak for the people, and somebody needs to stand up to Washington. And god knows I’d rather that person be someone, anyone other than me, so that I could go home and catch a Sunday afternoon nap with my dog and drink hot soup with my beautiful wife. I have vivid, vivid fever dreams about just that, when I do dream at all.

There are colored dots swimming before my eyes, and those dots are colored red, white, and blue. Thank you, and good fucking god what did I just hack up.

This is maybe my favorite joke I’ve ever written.

Never been kissed, like in that movie? Stop fretting, you fucking baby. It’s easy. Millions of people, including myself, do it every day; others, less frequently. Follow these basic guidelines so that when it comes time to lock lips, your partner doesn’t find you utterly inept and contemptible:

1.) Lock eyes, and keep them open. This is how you demonstrate commitment. With eye contact, you are saying to your partner, “Yes, I consent, tongue me good.”

2.) Lean in, bending at the waist. Relax your jaw and let it hang slack. Do not close your eyes. There is no turning back now; this phase is commonly known as the “Lover’s Eschaton.” (The form of a vase should be visible in the negative space between your silhouettes.)

3.) Align your lips with your partners’ and press. Do not yield. Intense pressure must be applied by both parties or the kiss will collapse.

4.) Keep your eyes open.

5.) Together, open your mouths. This accomplishes two things: first, it gives both tongues a wide berth for “loveplay,” and second, it allows each partner to more easily suck the breath from the other, one of the sweetest delicacies of human erotics.

6.) Rub the tips of your tongues together until both parties orgasm.

7.) Break the kiss, straightening at the waist. Maintain eye contact.

8.) Say “I love you.”

THE GAME: Set a timer for 10 minutes and come up with as many genital euphemisms as possible.  Then, do it again for the other sex.  Share with the world.

LADY
Chinese Finger Trap
Blood Gulch
The Great Pit of Carkoon
Poonterest
The Fertile Crescent
Bleeding Kansas
Country Road, Take Me Home
Vulpix
The Pink Slip ‘n’ Slide
Front-Anus
Charybdis
The Skirt Pocket
The Money Pit
Extra Ball Slot
That Sweet, Sweet Already-Chewed Chewing Gum
MacGuffin’s Muffin
Vagina Pie
Fister’s Choice
The Downstairs Raw Bar
Gunk, Germs, and Squeal
The Clitoral ‘Hood
Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter
The Hymen Memorial
The Pit of Despair

DUDE
Batchelor’s Baton
The Leading Cause of Unwanted Pregnancy
Dousing Rod
The Midnight Meat Train
Nature’s Sundial
Fuck Mountain
Throbsausage
Guy Chode
A Brief Interview with a Hideous Man
The Nautilus
Tube Furnace
The Devil’s Super Soaker
Short Round
The Professor’s Grading Pen
Phallicorice
The Pinkberry Soft Serve Dispenser
You’re So Veiny You Probably Think This Dong Is About You

Throwing an event? Put out a condom bowl, or put condoms in gift bags! Put condoms in the food and drinks. Place a hex on your guests so condoms spill out of their mouths.

Open a dialogue with teens about healthy sex practices. Flag them down outside known teen hang-outs (funky diners, etc.) and yell sex tips you thought of on the drive over. Teens will listen.

Sex is a partner activity (remember: there’s no “me” in “mutual masturbation”) so respect your partner. Bow before beginning, close their eyes by drawing your hands over their face at the end. Always use the proper honorifics.

Sex shouldn’t be silent, sex should be joyous! Hoot and holler during sex, the whole time.

Ask if your doctor is “sex positive.” Demand to see the test results. “How can a doctor treat me for sex when that doctor is sex positive?” you scream, as the receptionist tries to explain no, that’s not how that works.

Take your own needs as seriously as the needs of your partner. Weigh how much you need to pee mid-act against how much your partner would prefer you to not pee mid-act.

Be willing to introduce marital aids, or “toys,” into the bedroom. Give them names like “Ol’ Wobbly” and “The Gooch.” Construct elaborate narratives and relationships between them. Kill them off, one by one. Who’s the killer? It was The Gooch all along.

Try being honest and open about your masturbation habits. Raise a red flag from your roof when you’re masturbating. A potluck is a great way to get the word out.

Cyber sex, or “cybering,” is a great way to get comfortable with sexual vocabulary. Be sure, though, to administer periodic Turing tests to your partner. When robots can breed with us, it’s all over.

Yes, feminist porn is out there, if you know how to find it! Light a candle and say “Gender Trouble” three times into a mirror. It is regular porn but with no bras.

See sex as much as you feel it! Do it with the lights on. Observe from a safe emotional distance.

Take sex seriously. Do not tell jokes. Do not perform sleight-of-hand and three-card monte (or, “Find The Lady”). It is just rude.

Don’t just take love, make love. If you have to, fake love.

Try gay stuff. Don’t be a pussy.

Humbly submitted to the management of the Cerritos Plaza Olive Garden, as – if you will – an olive branch.

Pros:

• I’ll eat at your restaurant daily for lunch and dinner, and Tuscan Brunch on weekends, and I will tip extravagantly at every meal.

• My phonetic reading of every menu item is a constant delight for the other patrons.

• Children go absolutely nuts when I fling unlimited salad and breadsticks and declare myself the scion of Bacchus and a risen man-god of fury and plenty.

• I will be able to show off my Olive Garden tattoos without it being “weird” or “at a wake.”

• I won’t sleep outside the restaurant.

• My presence keeps business down to manageable levels for the servers.

• I’ve learned my lesson: I definitely won’t coldcock the day shift manager again.

Cons:

• I will absolutely coldcock the day shift manager again.

• I’m still unable to pay for my food with anything but my famous ‘Sock O’ Nickels’ or a lusty song-and-dance number (unless a barter system has been instituted in my absence, per my repeated requests).

• I will sleep inside the restaurant.

• In the months since I was banned, you’ve probably hired new wait staff, with no knowledge of my individual rhythms (e.g. my screaming hatred of gnocchi, my need to have my personal space invaded, my sex glare, etc.).

• My grunting has gotten louder than ever, and I sweat almost twice as much as I used to. They don’t call me The Troll for nothing!

• They call me The Troll because of the severe and persistent case of shingles covering most of my body that most folks find totally horrifying.

• Also the grunting.

• And the sweating.

• I will steal everything.

Man vs. Man

Man vs. Wild

Man vs. Food

Man vs. Machine

Man vs. Machete

Man vs. Manfred Mann

Man vs. Mannheim Steamroller

Man vs. Sub-Zero

Man vs. Chorus vs. Chorus Bridge Chorus

Man vs. Religion (i.e., Man vs. Verses)

Man vs. Sub-Zero, Round 2