Until We Meet Again

I'm off to Minneapolis for the audition. Wish me luck and try to cope with my internet silence for a few days. It will be difficult, I know.

I don't know why you say goodbye. I say hello.

Today is my final day at work, my last day of helping people get their cars repo'd. That is, unless I end up doing that in Los Angeles. It's not what I hope to be doing, though. No, no. I'm looking to have a breakthrough career in softcore porn. That's why I posted those sexy pictures of myself. I'm trying to get used to people ogling my hot body. Ogle away, you deviants!

Dan has already accused me of shaving my chest. This is not true! I do not shave my chest hair! ...I trim it with clippers. Look, I get hairy. Ok? And I deal with it. Shaving is abrasive. Nair is worse. It's true. I once tried Nair-ing my chest. It says on the bottle that it will make your skin sensitive...it also says to rub the hair off with a towel. Well, I didn't pay much attention to the first part, but I attacked the towel-rubbing session with vigor. Once I finished, my chest was hairless, and it also looked like a baboon's ass. I almost lost a nipple.


I Heart U

I have no place to live in Los Angeles as of yet, but I do have places I can stay. I'll most likely be crashing at my friend David's apartment which is located in the armpit of Hollywood and Highland. It smells like an armpit, as well. But beggars can't be choosers, and I do appreciate the generosity. I will have to be careful, though. As my deformed friend Jade told me, there's a high probability that I could contract some diseases. Top of that list? Feline aids.

Anyone dare me to do a Knock Knock Joke at my Last Comic Standing audition? I'm seriously considering it. Part of my demented brain believes it might actually work. They all said I was insane! They all said it would never work!! Bwahahahaha!!!


Boo who?

Actually, if I do the Knock Knock Joke, it's highly likely I'd make the television broadcast as "The Idiot That Tried A Knock Knock Joke". I can live with that.

I'm offended by "fat chicks". The term, not the fat chicks...err women of large build.

One week remains until the Last Comic Standing auditions in Minneapolis, and last night I gave my final open mic performance in preparation for my attempt in front of a crowd consisting of four teenage dudes smoking Marlboros and seven other comedians. Optimum conditions for comedy. I had a few new jokes I gave a whirl and the teen smoke patrol liked one of them. Here it is:

I rarely have a girlfriend because when it comes to relationships, I'm very picky. Please notice that I said relationships and not relations. When it comes to relations my motto is Carpe Diem...which translates to "Seize the Fat Chick."

Note to all girls I've ever been intimate with: that is just a joke. Each one of you is special.

I was a little distracted during my act because one of the kids up front kept reminding me of someone, but I couldn't figure out who it was. It was his hair that did it. It was really weird. Then I finally figured out who it was:

Now an option at SuperCuts

I got some advice from a friend who already auditioned for Last Comic Standing in Los Angeles. She wrote that I have to hit it hard and fast and that I'll be lucky to get more than one minute onstage. Well, that's good news since I only have four total minutes of material...and three of those are fat chick jokes. She also told me that the producers are looking for certain "types" of people. This is perfect for me. I'm hoping to fill the obese Vietnamese angry Black woman type...or possibly the soft edgy guy with the hard heart of gold. America will love me.

There was a high percentage of smokers in the crowd last night. Did you ever notice that whenever cigarettes are mentioned to a smoker that they immediately light up? You can talk about a monkey you saw at the fair that smoked through his asshole, and they will light up a cigarette. You can tell them about a gruesome Public Service Announcement on television about smoking and the thousands and millions of people that die horrible, painful deaths each year due to lung cancer, and they will go for their pack with a quickness. You can talk about an orphanage that burnt to the ground killing scores of innocent children all because of an evil spinster that managed the orphanage fell asleep while smoking in bed, and they will light three cigarettes at once, one for the mouth and one for each nostril. Did you know that Pavlov's dogs had a pack-a-day habit?

Every smoker that read the last paragraph just lit up a cigarette.

I was surprised at how many people in Chicago didn't smoke. It must be all the kickboxing. I should start an anti-smoking/kickboxing campaign. Kickbox the Habit! Man, I have good ideas.

Things I learned from St. Patrick's Day in Chicago

1. Brady Quinn's stepbrother doesn't have faith in his upcoming NFL career...and he's not afraid to have a conversation at a urinal.

2. All air mattresses are not created equal. "I am so tired. I think I'll go lay back down on that air mattress and wake myself up."

3. If I ever join a gym again, I'm going to the kickboxing class as much as possible. I was the only guy in there, and these girls looked great. I mean, they kickbox.

4. The "kick" in kickboxing refers to your ass the next morning.

5. If a girl catches you doing pushups in her kitchen late at night, she will make fun of you.

6. Do as many pushups as you can as often as you can. Chicks dig beach bodies.

7. Beautiful Girls is a good movie. I think. I watched it twice, but saw very little of it.

8. You only need to eat one meal in the morning if you drink Guinness the rest of the day.

9. Chicago is loud, crowded, and cold...and I dug it.

10. If you're handicapped and live in Chicago, you might as well move. Stairs everywhere.

11. You can fit 6 people in a taxi.

12. The toll road leading into Chicago is a rip off. They should pay you to wait in that line.

13. The "kick" in kickboxing refers to your ass two days later.

Holy Holy Kleenex

I sneeze a lot. Maybe more than most, I'm not sure. I know I sneeze daily. When I do sneeze, I usually rip off at least three in a row, too. I go whole hog when I sneeze. I don't hold it in, because I don't want my eyeballs to pop out nor do I want a brain aneurysm. It's true. That could happen. Look it up. Personally, I believe that people who hold their sneezes in have psychological issues that they should investigate. Somewhere in their upbringing they received negative reinforcement for sneezing. They were embarrassed by classmates or their parents scolded them for sneezing loudly in church, and that is a shame. Sneezing is natural, necessary, and totally enjoyable when done with vigor.

Now that we have established that everyone sneezes and it's a normal and possibly daily occurence, can we please dispense with all unnecessary superstition and outdated tradition that follows a sneeze? I'm referring to saying, "Bless you!" after everytime someone sneezes. I don't say, "Bless you!" when others sneeze, and I have had people tell me that this makes me rude. Rude? Do you really believe that a sneeze is an indicator of demonic possession? I don't. Do not waste your blessings on imaginary sneeze demons. And the next time someone says I'm rude for not blessing their sneezes I will chastise them for not holding the door for my imaginary friends.

Furthermore, I don't need you to acknowledge my sneezes at all! When I sneeze, we all know what happened. Anyone in a two-mile radius knows what happened. We can just move on without any formalities. The other day at work I had a minor sneezing fit. I rattled off about four or five (nowhere near my record eleven), and the girl across from me looks over and says in all seriousness, "Are you all right?" So I responded, "No! I'm definitely not all right! I think something is seriously wrong with me! It might be cancer! Please get help, immediately!" Pause for silence. "Why are you all just sitting there? Didn't you just hear me sneezing?! Someone call a doctor!"

Of course, this girl is one of those people that hold back their sneezes. That is a personality flaw. So is asking someone who just sneezed if they're all right. If you do this, please stop or face my ridicule.

I'm a Huge Fan

In lieu of the recent popularity of my site thanks to AOL and Google image searches, I have officially declared Single File Eyes the unofficial fansite of Jamie Foxx. Some of you may be thinking, "Noel, I don't come here to read about Jamie Foxx! I come here for your comedic observations and abdominal muscle updates!" Well, you are outnumbered. If you want to discuss abs, then I suggest you check out Mr. Foxx's midsection in the pictures in the post below this one. I mean, they're the real reason my site is taking off! You and me, Jamie. Together we will take the internet by storm!


Sex Symbol

Face it. Jamie Foxx is an international superstar who has successfully crossed genres from comedy to seriousity to sexosity back to comedy with a little bit of singerosity mixed in. This cannot be denied, and I will not ignore his fame anymore! Jamie Foxx, you are a god among men. Hallowed be thy sweaty abs.

I put in a little stage time last night and had a pretty good set. I seem to be alternating between bombing and doing well lately. Same material. Same energy. It's gotta be the audiences...or the shoes. I wore hightops last night, and a couple of my jokes achieved a tad more hangtime than expected. (rim shot) I don't have much time before the Last Comic Standing audition, so I'm really pushing to write more material. I'm also working on a good story to help me win over the hearts of America. I'm considering getting a tattoo of my baby who died.

The cartoon is in a holding pattern lately, because Ivan took a much needed vacation to Miami. Seriously, this guy works too hard, and I'm glad he finally took some time off. Can you imagine putting in three-hour shifts, day in and day out and day out, occasionally having to actually go into the office?? Incredible, this man's fortitude.


Ivan goes body surfing.

I lied. Let's talk about my abs some more. Ivan has not been bringing it. He's soft. Doughy. Marriage has sucked his will to get a beach body. Not me, though. I'm still motivated and have an ab update for you. I have earned a crease! That's right, a crease has formed down the upper middle of my stomach. I'm very excited about my new crease, and I can't stop touching it. I've been running my fingers down my crease all day. I have to do this secretly, though. I don't want any of my co-workers to see me fondling my crease. If they did catch me, I'd probably have to end up showing them my crease, and then they'll want to touch my crease...and I'm pretty sure we have a company policy against sticking your fingers in another employee's crease.

Flashback

The number one keyword people are using to find my site is "Jamie Foxx" because of a post I made last year. Well, if this is what the peoples wants, then the peoples is gonna gets whats they wants.

Introducing a new fragrance by Jamie Foxx.

Original idea by Ronan Duncan.

I write the poop the whole world flings.

Untapped 07





Untapped 08



It's a two-fer!

Strategory

My time assisting others in getting their cars repossessed is coming to an end. Turning in my two week notice, which I did yesterday, was a difficult decision for me. I enjoy helping people. I'm a giver. It's what I do. And giving people's cars, trucks, and occasionally their campers back to the financial institutions that provided the loans was a rewarding job. The joy I heard in the voices of customers when I told them how to contact certain repo agents to retrieve their babyseats which had been taken in the middle of the night along with their only means of transportation was more fulfilling than you might imagine. Though they might have said, "But I don't have a car to get to the agent's office!" I heard, "Thank you, kind sir. You have been an angel of mercy to me in this world of darkness and despair!" Well, you are welcome, gentle debtors of America. I will miss you, courageous credit challenged ghetto dwellers. Be well, sudden illness caused you to lose your job and your ex-spouse isn't making payments on the car you cosigned and your 65-year-old father used identity theft of your 3-year-old daughter to get a loan and you're in jail or Iraq or jail in Iraq or on an Indian reservation where no one has an address except for "3 miles south of the Jiffy Lube" beautiful people. You are the life blood of this great nation, and I salute you.

But alas, it is time for me to move on.

Soon after I arrived here in Indiana I heard Claude Stuart on the Bob and Tom Show. I know Claude from doing comedy in Los Angeles, and you can read all about this in a previous entry. Well, yesterday I read a bulletin from Mr. Stuart on Myspace that announced he is back in Indianapolis and performing at Crackers downtown. I don't know all the places that Claude performs, but wherever else he may go, he's done all that and is back in town again. The circle of comedy has once again been completed, and thus, it is time for me to also begin to spin. And no, I'm not going to his show.


I'm cereal about comedy!

And so my journey towards career redemption begins. First stop, Minneapolis for the Last Comic Standing auditions on March 27. I get to perform my best two minutes in front of two producers. As to what those two minutes are, I still have no idea. Maybe I'll write something new. Something fresh. Something original. Something about airline food. Maybe I'll do a Seinfeld impression. Years ago I wrote an original Seindeldian joke that probably only I think is funny.

{Seinfeld voice}
I've been hearing people say that they are down lately. "I'm down with this." or "I'm down with that." How did these people become so down? If they are down now, did they used to be up? And if they were up, did they not like it? I-I-I-I-I prefer to be up!

Just remember. If I tell a joke and you don't laugh, you don't get it, and should be ashamed of yourself.

I am assuming that I will be going up against a lot of comics that have a ton more experience than me, so I'm going to need to find an edge. I have decided on the Antonella Barba strategy. I won't be as funny or refined as the other comedians, however I will be publishing racy pictures of myself on the internet. America loves a good slut, and I'm going to give them one.

Coughing Up a Hairball

It's the Year of the Pig. This year brings luck to...someone...maybe only those born in the Year of the Pig. Not everyone can be lucky at the same time. In fact, I believe that if one person is receiving a certain amount of luck then that means that someone else is being given an equal helping of bad luck. This is from Newton's Third Law of the Pig. I suppose actual pigs are supposed to be getting some luck right now at least. My parents did just accidentally buy turkey bacon the other day. Hey, turkeys received an equal amount of bad luck! Theory proven!

From what I've seen so far, this definitely isn't the Year of the Cat. I've seen more cat roadkill in the past few weeks than I can every remember. There's one crushed kitty that I have passed on the way to work for the past two weeks now. It's been run over so many times that it's almost become part of the road, like the road is carpeted in one spot. I'm not sure if roadkill patrol actually exists around here or if the city just lets nature and machinery work itself out. It's almost pothole season, so maybe city officials are waiting for those to open up so they can dump the highway kill into them.

I bombed on stage again last night, and it doesn't faze me one bit. I just don't really do penis jokes like the crowd seemed to want, and I'm not going to do a routine about the first time I went down on a girl like an 18-year-old rookie did last night. Some poor girl out there doesn't know it (she probably soon will, though) but her unkempt, sweet sixteen nether regions are now being openly discussed on stage in Carmel Indiana. I'm referring to her age as being "sweet", not her nether regions. According to the kid onstage, there was nothing sweet about them. Ladies, if you are considering getting intimate with someone who has a penchant for performing comedy, I would think twice. There's a good chance that your privates may be compared to a briar patch in front of a bunch of people. I realize that I'm shooting myself in the briar patch here, but I am an exception to this possibility. I will never go there onstage...and girls will never stop liking comedians, so all of this is pointless anyway. What a tangled web we weave...and hopefully groom.

I'm irregular............my heart is, I mean.

Ahhhh! There's nothing like that first cup of coffee in the morning. Not that I need it. I'm wide awake. I have been eating fruit for breakfast and the sugars in these here grapes have really got me going. However, I decided to grab a cup of java anyways. Coffee is good for you. I heard that it's good for your heart and possibly your spleen and maybe your inner ear. But even though I am on a health conscious kick, this isn't why I'm gulping down a pint of hot and black sweetness. Nope. It's because I'm a tweaker.

TWEAK!!

I have a legal recreational drug habit. Some people like to say that they have an addictive personality. Well, that may be true with me, but mainly I just like a good caffeine high. I've cut my drinking way down and I no longer smoke, but I am still caffeine's bitch. Maybe this is why I'm so thin...and vibrate constantly. My legs are in constant motion under my desk. There are now advertisements for medication for Restless Leg Syndrome, and I recently overheard a conversation where a guy admitted to having this Syndrome...like he was proud of it. Does this even exist, or are people simply in denial about their caffeine addiction and a drug company has found a way to make money off this? Is it easier to take a pill to stop your legs from shaking than to admit to yourself that you have a weakness to the uncontrollable urge to amp your heartbeats up to 200/minute?

I may go get another cup. Work is dead today.

I've been in communication with the girl that ripped my heart out, put it through a strainer, and made tea with it. She's found Jesus now, which is good. Apparently, she felt like her life was spinning out of control and religion can be a soft landing pad. However, I'm still boned on ever winning her. When we first met, I was too good and nice for her...and now I'm too evil. Besides, she only likes guys that she has to work hard for, and I'm a softball lob of love. I suppose I could call her, ask her how she's doing, and then tell her to go fuck herself. That actually might work. What's the worst that could happen? That I might really, really, really, really, really never win her over? After I tell her to go fuck herself, do I hang up immediately or stay on the line to hear her response? What's the correct play? It's a delicate thing...telling someone you love to go fuck themself.

Chica: (ring, ring) Hello?

Noel: Hey, it's Noel. How's it going?

Chica: Oh, hi Noel! Pretty good. I found Jesus!

Noel: That's great! I found Waldo! Just kidding. I'm really happy for you!

Chica: Thank you! I'm really starting to feel that my life has meaning.

Noel: I know what you mean. Oh hey, I wanted to tell you something.

Chica: What's that?

Noel: Go fuck yourself.

(long pause)

Chica: What?

Noel: Go fuck yourself.

(long pause)

Chica: I love you.