Sometimes, I have weird day dreams. Random thoughts, really. Not so much full-on “here’s a scenario” dreams. Just weird “ha! that’d be funny if…..”
Today, I will present you with a list of some of them, cause I like to share my peculiarities with the world. It’s like giving you all an STD that tickles. Without all the genital itching. And.. okay, nothing at all like an STD. Now, on with the blog!
I’d like to hold a “Bob Convention”, where all the Bobs in the world could come together and share a common love of their 3-letter palindrome name. I’d even give out awards. Like “Bob of the year Award”. The Winner? Bob Smith. Then, a huge fight would break out on stage as 1,001 Bob Smiths vie to beat the living shit out of each other for a “Bobby” (see? it’s catchy!). The winner of that bloodbath would truly be THE Bob of the Year.
Just once, I’d like to say “oh, to hell with god” and get struck by lightning.
There’s a place here in Hollywood called “The Magic Castle”. The story goes that you can’t be allowed in there without being a magician. Beyond the question of “What about David Blaine who uses cheap, store-bought tricks that anyone can do?” (thereby making it possible for even ME to get in there) – I’ve always just wanted walk in and order a martini. When they say “well… are you a magician? can you do magic?”, I’ll say “yeah – gimme a martini and I’ll make it disappear!” (cue *zing!* noise)
Last night at the LARPY awards, I saw CC Deville. It took a lot of strength to resist the urge to say “Hey, CC! Pick up that guitar and a… TALKT’ME!” (ya know, with the Bret Michaels yelp and everything)
I bought a new personal digital voice recorder yesterday, to replace the one that’s being held prisoner in Phoenix. It’s helpful to take audio notes of comedy ideas. Anyway, it came with a nifty lapel mic add-on. One day, I’m gonna tape that fucker to my chest and when I’m walking down Hollywood Blvd and some crazy person says “heyman… got an extra cigarette?” I’m gonna say “I’m sorry – could you say that a LITTLE louder, and speak towards the center of my chest?”. That’ll make ‘em paranoid. And maybe they’ll think twice about bumming cigarettes.
Ever since falling in love with Gilliam’s screen adaptation of Fear And Loathin in Las Vegas, I’ve wanted to go to the zoo. To the monkey exhibit. Wait until the zookeeper starts in on the speech about these lovely primates and just cut him off with “Let’s get down to brass tacks – how much for the ape?”
Supposing Kurt Cobain was a Buddhist and his suicide was a political protest, like the self-immolating monks. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he reached Nirvana?
If I had it my way, I’d sell chocolate bunnies nailed to candy crosses on Easter.
I’m glad my cat, Bouschka, can’t talk. If he spoke like a deep-voiced man (as I usually imagine he would when I do Bouschka impersonations), I’d feel pretty fuckin’ geigh (and probably like a prison inmate) if he were to ask me to rub his belly or something. If he were a she, I’d feel like a sick perv if she said “yeah… pet me RIGHT there.. that feels GOOOOOOD”.
One day I’m gonna head to a payphone and dial a random local number. When the person picks up, I’ll say “I couldn’t hide it any longer.. I love you.” and just see how they respond. I considered making an entire documentary on how that might affect a person’s day.
When I get to that point in my life where random threesomes with hot, young, large-breasted women occur at some frequency, I’m gonna order a pizza while they’re showering together. Later, when the pizza boy shows up, I’m going to invite him and then turn to the girls and say “c’mon now…. which one of you ordered a pizza?” and then commence with the spankings until someone fesses up. The pizza dude’s gonna tell that story until he’s 130.
When people ask “Mitcz, how come you haven’t tried more actively to get threesomes?” I usually say “ehh.. I don’t really wanna have to apologize twice”
When I was a kid, one of my favorite shows was “Beyond 2000″. Now, we’re beyond 2000 and I haven’t seen flying cars, instant transportation, biomechanic eyeballs, or any of the other shit that was on B2K. I still watch the Discovery Channel religiously, but their updated version of the show is called “Beyond Tomorrow”. So I see a car that can drive off-road into water and then become like a skidoo. So I’m like “shit! when can I buy that?” – and they say “Tomorrow!”. The next day, I ask again and they say “Yeah, tomorrow!” cause “tomorrow” works forever. Goddamnit.
I think if you support Bush, you automatically hate gay people, non-whites, and secular logic.
I noticed at an elitist Hollywood “booty club” the other night that the more wristbands and special access privileges you had to be granted in order to get into a certain club or area of the club was directly proportional to how many young persian women you’d find once you got in. I’m now thinking that kissing some persian old-man-ass might be worth it for the fringe benefits alone.
Despite my initial hypothesis, being The Emperor at a geek awards show does not automatically get me laid.
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