He euery body! Didd your hear about te new iPhone app? Now ou can updarte your blog from your6 phon!

Awesome!

I. cant’ telll u how mamy times im bored waiting 4 the doctor, onn the subway, or in a conv2ersation wit someone wen i just needa update my blog! now i can do it with tis app! ,

OOO wait, my frend adam is her and i wanna show him my litezabber app. hold on.

75394

k. he thout it was dumb.

Butt now i can com on her and say wuts on mymind wenever i want. 63. hangon.adam is trying to tak it. hangon.

521 l .

hangon.

253246

ok i got it bak.

2day i went to the lib to study chem (<ug!) an then got bord so i bought the new rollingstone. i red a lot uf it.

3q4.

stup adam. stup, trying to tak my iPhone. I am making a post on myblog. yeh. you can update your blog frum yer iPhone now. i no it coo.

234623-

stup.

521111111k15

stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.

3.

7235Dd

i amm gonna sho him my drinking beer app so he gos away.

2342

r;

adam is cool.

235261

i didnt rite that. adam did. adam is stupid. well i hop i update mor so i dont gett bord evr again!! 1

pease.

Sent from my iPhone.

‘Twas the night before a non denominational winter holiday, when all through Comic Wonder, spiked eggnog was flowing and the laughter crashed like thunder.

A stocking full of joke submissions was being reviewed with care, in hopes that a weekly winner would be found in there. Many contained references about the man dressed in red, some about Jesus and his visitors who were now dead. No one was in a ‘kerchief or even a cap, our intern had too much nog and threw up in his lap. (His shoes had barf on them too.)

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, we rushed to the window and tried not to slip on the interns stomach batter.

The room was buzzing with our holiday bash, then the intern puked on the shutters and slurred “I had too much corn beef hash!”

We saw the moon on the breast of the new fallen-snow, the intern stumbled in the to yard and…well…you know. When what to our wondrous eyes should appear? An angry-looking police man confiscating the grain beer.

With a little old tazer, a gun and night stick, I knew in a moment he’d witness the intern get sick. We decided to put the intern to bed, “Papas fritas are french fries” was the last thing he said.

The Cops asked us to keep the noise down or we would go to jail. “Also, put than intern on his side and by his head, put a pail.”

Back to the party and the drinking of booze, the office gift was revealed to be a ball game called “foose.” We cheered the night away, celebrating a great year, and knowing that our Comic Wonder of the Week announcement was near.

All had a favorite, many had 3. The intern picked one but he was now passed out covered in pee. The punch was all gone and the cookies were now soggy, but one last toast was made and was directed at “Foggy.” His joke “Poor foggy at Christmas” was a big hit, when the whole party chuckled at the punchline we knew “that’s it!”

Congratulations to this weeks winner and to all of you, please excuse our intern and the repeated references of spew.

We truly do wish all of our Comic Wonder friends the very best this holiday, and if you have an intern at your office party keep the the beer away.

Merry non denominational winter holiday!

Posted by:

Chuck Upin

Comic Wonder Holiday Party Co-Chair & Author of “Calligraphy: urine writing in the snow edition”

By Overly Self-Conscious Guy Who Is Also Prone To Extremes

Possibility A

My new short hair makes me look young and glamorous, and my peers are now intimidated when in my presence. All feel inferior when in my vicinity, and as a result, find themselves speechless when searching for the words to express the respect and fear my haircut inspires. All have also decided that I now look like Russell Crowe in the Gladiator movie – a somewhat heavier, pale version of that guy yes, but everyone recognizes that in the days of old, extra pounds and a wan complexion signified wealth and power. My gladiator haircut has indeed accentuated my aristocratic superiority to the point that I am now entirely unapproachable to the common man.

Possibility B

My peers are so disgusted by my pathetic attempt to be accepted in society with this shitty ten dollar Great Clips cut that they would almost certainly vomit were they to even consider ever talking to me again. My hair is symbolic of the failure that is my existence – a total disaster with no redeeming qualities; not normal, but not endearing either. Rather than wonder why no one has commented on my haircut, I should just be grateful that no one killed me for being such a loser.

Possibility C

Wore hat most of the day.

To: Employee List
Subject: Here comes the PARTY MAN!!!!!

Let’s all stop pretending what happened last year didn’t happen. It was a party, stuff happens, and stuff definitely happened. With the second annual Morris Management Holiday Bash coming up in barely a week… we need to get ourselves properly prepared. That means recognizing that we made some mistakes, and that we are going to gladly make them again. Now, I know a few of us have been “committed” to AA, per the terms of our disciplinary actions, but nobody is riding this horse sober on Saturday. Not Myself, not Bill, not weak livered Tina. We are all going hard.

The rumor is, beer and wine only, but we all went to college… so I’m going to need each of you to bring at least a flask worth (hell, I got mine on me now) of something above 80 proof. I’ll take it from there. I’ll make sure that wine is full of whisky, if you know what I mean.

I will also once again be administering and supervising the “Opium Den” in the supply closet, out from under the watchful eye of management. As a note though, no Opium this year, keep the stuff green and plentiful. I don’t want anyone going into shock or seizures or whatever bullshit Tina lets her body get away with. (I still love you Tina) This car will just be burning coal, ya hear?

Finally, I need someone to step up and offer their pad for the after party. I unfortunately do not have a home currently. I was forced to vacate my apartment last Monday due to a skirmish I had with the land lady over the recycling policy, and therefore I am sleeping on couch in my little brother’s dorm. Batman’s Bat cave is full of Bats, you know? So someone take the cake.

The Party Man is ready to Party and he hopes you are to.

Sincerely,
PARTY MAN (John, from Accounting)

Corruption [kuh-ruhp-shuh n]:  The act of corrupting or state of being corrupt. See also:

Like carbon dioxide, this ever-present danger will poison and kill you before you can even detect a problem. Here are five warning signs to help sniff out a crooked co-worker:

1. Your co-worker collects posters of the Russian oligarchs.

2. Your co-worker finds a way to work embezzlement into every sentence.  “Are you going to finish those pretzels or can I embezzle some?”, “How were drinks last night with Nancy? Did you take her home and embezzle her?” or “Oh what am I working on right now? This and that … you know, not embezzlement (NERVOUS LAUGHTER).”

3. Your co-worker has Chicago roots and a Polish name that sounds like the phonetic spelling of a sneeze.

4. Your co-worker lapses into fits of paranoia, often accusing you of being “more wired than O’Hare International Airport on a moonless night.”

5. Your co-worker keeps trying to sell you.

Heeeeyyy! Every want to make a porno? A real porno, with hot babes willing to do anything to you! Sounds Good?

Ultimate pleasures (LLC) is looking for up and cumming porn stars to act in our new series of online videos. The hours are great and you will be paid in cash and sex!

Male: (45 Yrs++)

We’re looking someone preferably overweight and with spotted balding. You should have a below average size penis and the ability to get a maximum of 60% stiffness.

• Glasses and a mustache are a must
• Minimum of 2 inches of pubic hair
• Old faded tribal tattoos
• Oddly colored semen or skin condition -a plus

No experience required! Our girls will keep going no matter how bad you are! You will be having sex with the prettiest girl we could cast, so it’s imperative that you are repulsive enough to cause our viewers to fast-forward or maybe purchase one of our lesbian videos.

Please email a Resume, Cover Letter and Dick-Shot with “Grey Nut Hair” in the subject.

• Compensation: Cash and Sex
• Principals only. Recruiters, please don’t contact this job poster.
• Please, no phone calls about this job!
• Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.

Whoa, Whoa, Whoa… accusations have been flying ever since Rudy’s Bar & Grill burned down, and I think it is totally unfair to put ALL of the blame on my shoulders.  Sure, a couple drunken college students may have seen me strike the match, but that’s blurry at best, and also, there is a lot more to fire than a spark.

As Billy Joel sang, ironically as stage caught on fire Thursday night, “We didn’t start the fire, it was always burning since the world’s been turning” it wasn’t one person’s fault, you know? Now I’ll admit I did start the fire, the physical fire per say, but Rudy made a lot of enemies when he revoked the unlimited wings night. I mean, that was a tradition for all of us hard working “Joes” and “Janes” but no, one little bump in the road for the economy and he goes back to the ridiculous price of 39 cents per wing. More than one person had blood on their minds.

And who put gasoline all over the floor, hmm? Who? I mean, the fire would never have spread so far if it wasn’t for all that gas. Maybe Rudy did it himself, ever think of that? And I’ve heard the assertions that someone saw my brother Tim spreading “some clear liquid” on the floor during the karaoke portion of night, but that’s simply hearsay.

Sure, Timmy works at the Mobil Station on 3^rd Avenue, but that doesn’t add up to anything. And even if the police can conger up some witness who saw him take a gas can out of the trunk of his Camry, that doesn’t equal a fire. There’s more to fire than gas and matches.

Oh, and Bud Light pitchers go from 10 dollars to 12 dollars, YEAH OK… why not cut my arm off and ask me to chop down a Christmas tree. Rudy knew I had just lost my job, and he comes up to me and the boys like it’s no big deal.

Also, what happened to the sprinkler system? Ever think about that? The whole mess could have been cleared up if Rudy hadn’t skipped out on much needed maintenance. How’d your penny pinching work out on that one Rudy? You cheap bastard. And don’t even dare bring up the fact that I used to install sprinkler systems, I just lost that job remember? I barely remember how those things work… the nerve of you people.

By Meatloaf

This is to all the women out there that have listened to my song “Bat Out of Hell” and now think of me differently.  I just want to say to all of you that I’m the same guy.  Same guy here, okay.  In my song I make myself out to be this crazy wild guy that just wants sex and stuff.  I’m not really like that.  I’m not.  I’m a good guy.  Really.  I’m the same guy that “would do anything for love.” Remember that?  That was me.

I used something called an artistic license.  It’s poetry.  I exaggerate certain things to make them more appealing and sound better and more badass and stuff.  I’ve never “hit the highway like a battering ram.”  Never. Oh and on a “silver black phantom bike” for that matter.  Come on.  Nobody has a silver black phantom bike, but it sounds fuckin’ sweet right?

Look, last time I tried talking to a woman you know what she said?  She called me a, “Sinner before the gates of heaven” and then ran away screaming, “Bat out of hell! Bat out of hell!”  I mean Jesus, come on!  Cut me some slack here.  Everybody was like, looking at me and stuff.  It was really embarrassing.

I’m a big teddy bear.  Just look at me.  It’s me.  Meat.  Everyone’s favorite Loaf.  And I need affection too.   I need someone to take the words right out of my mouth.  Take them.  They’re yours.  I’ve giving them to you.  Okay?  So we’re good?  Everything cool?  Look I just really want to have sex.  Please?

Have you heard the joke about the airline?  OF COURSE YOU HAVE!  They are endless.  It’s not a new concept that flying has become an incredibly convenient way to travel…in complete agony.  It is a new concept, however, that we are no longer divided in to 2 classes.  Introducing:  First Class, Second Class, and Classless.  Whether it’s disguised as “business class” or “Executive” or perhaps “Regal,”  the divide between leg room and little room has grown.

 

   I was flying with my wife and 18 month daughter to a tropical vacation recently and like most men I left the booking arrangements to my better half.  It wasn’t until walking through the cramped cabin that I realized I didn’t know where we were sitting.  My wife stopped at row 12 with excitement.  “I forgot to tell you, we got bumped to Economy PLUS!”  We had already passed through the upper crust section where the big spenders sit so I was confused.  “Economy Plus?” I asked.  She explained that there is now another seat option with this airline and we were in the better of the 2 lesser seating sections.  A moral victory perhaps but I was confused by excitement over our consistently cramped seats.  My baby daughter had plenty of leg room but I was still doing a sitting “Cannon ball” pose, which is a term I learned you cannot say on an airline anymore due to heightened security measures.  I won’t bother mentioning what airline this was but I can tell you that my knees were UNITED with  my chin.  Apparently the added inch or so of leg room is cause for celebration and surcharge.  I spent the 5 hour flight pondering how this new seating section could possibly be worth the added ticket price.  About half way in to the flight my wife was shifting around complaining that her seat was a bit “lumpy.”  After further inspection she found that an extra seat belt appeared to be stuck into the folds of her seat.  I realized that it was one of those rare seat belt extenders that are offered to…uh…Belly Plus passengers.  Perhaps this whole “Plus” moniker was in reference to passenger size, not seat size.  Very slick marketing…airline that shall remain nameless!  I spent the remainder of the flight with my knees UNITED with my chest wondering what the romantic old economy seats were like. 

   Vacation was amazing.  The flight home came far too soon and it was the shocking realization that I was no longer an Economy Plus passenger that hit the hardest.  We missed that section by about 2 rows and with the cost of several hundred bucks to upgrade to the middle class we decided to tough it out.  A costly mistake.  Now my knees were UNITED with my forehead.  Everything in economy seemed smaller.  The pretzels came as “pretzel bites” and my soda came with “ice chips.”  The recline position on the seats was 89 degrees.  Talk about the lap of luxury.  Then again, what did I expect?  I wasn’t even in middle class anymore.  I felt like those poor folks who were in the bowels of the Titanic, separated from the Floatation Plus people.  An announcement came over the loud speaker: “Ladies and gentlemen we are going to turn off the seat belt sign now and we ask that you do return to your assigned seat after stretching you legs.  We do have plenty of upgrade room available in Economy Plus and we encourage you to do so when you book your next flight.” 

    ROWS of empty seats were apparently off limits for us bottom feeders.  There was no curtain separating the economy plus from economy so it was really an unmarked boundary we were all subject to respecting.  God forbid they actually let passengers circulate their blood while flying.  My wife and I wondered if we could even make eye contact with Economy Plus passengers?  We began to reminisce about the “old days” when we were Economy Plus passengers.  “Remember how spread out we were?”  I asked my wife.  “I guess you just don’t know a good thing until it’s gone” my wife replied with a tear in her eye.  In fairness that tear was caused from the lack of oxygen in economy class.   It seems like the current model for airline seat arrangements is a borrowed concept from Sardine packers. 

   The real issue I have with this new class of passengers is that it’s counter intuitive to the rest of our society.  In America we have consistently increased the size of just about everything.  Bigger houses, cars and portions of food.  I asked for a large soda at the movies (a 8oo seater) and they gave me a garbage can on wheels with a straw.    Even fast food offers, medium size, large size, giganto size, humongo size and ridiculous size combo options.   Obesity is at an all time high and we have no signs this trend declining.  The airlines might want to take note of this issue or the seat belt extender manufacturers will become the new oil billionaires.    

Hi Karen,

This is Tim Bloom, the new guy. Calling because I won’t be able to make it into the office today. I know today was supposed to be my first day, and I don’t want to make a bad first impression, but I’m pretty under the weather and I think I should probably just sleep this one off.

I’d say this is some kind of viral thing I’ve got. My head feels weird, and I’m also having trouble seeing, but maybe that’s because of all the crying. Also I’ve been crying on and off almost all weekend… I think that must be part of this virus I have. Have you heard of this? I just hope it’s not going around the office!

It’s funny, and I think you’ll appreciate this; I was feeling fine until Friday night - that’s when I had this dream about that lady in the cubicle next to yours, Christine if memory serves. In the dream, she and I decided to adopt a Chinese baby together – random right? Then at some point you were there too, except you were my dog Jesse that was run over by a truck when I was six, but you were also a prostitute – it made sense in the dream. So we had this epic threesome, and when we finished we went and adopted the Chinese baby. Wait, no it was Korean!

Here’s where this starts to get interesting. After this dream, I wake up in my car with some baby that I’ve apparently kidnapped in my sleep. At first I panicked, but then it occurred to me – maybe this is the dream, and that other part with the threesome was real, you know? And now I just need to wake up, but I can’t and maybe that’s what the crying is about. Plus this baby is starting to smell.

So, long story short, I’m just trying to sort out what’s reality and what’s not - that kinda stuff. Again, I’m thinking this is definitely a virus I caught. Maybe it’s SARS? In any case, sorry for the long voicemail! Hopefully I’ll be feeling better soon and can make it in later today.