Practical Advice…Learned In A Bathroom: Forest of Nightmares

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Being your average, ordinary everyday bad ass, I have used many a bathroom in my time. Be it for the intricacies of wash closet architecture or for secluded enclaves to woo buck toothed hookers, I’ve enjoyed them all, in one way or another. Though, mostly for pissing, shitting …and prostitutes.

Sometimes, I’ve even enjoyed the pleasantries of an outdoor commode experience and it’s life lessons. It’s a rare but, one that must be done and goes along with being a man of superior stock. One of overwhelming bad assedness, such as myself, must shirk the obligations of pleasuring beautiful women, being admired by common men and punching non-coolness in it’s dick from time to time, in order to maintain a high level of excellence. A short sabbatical into the wilderness is a great venue to flex both my daunting wit and brawn. Plus, women love the shit out of burly, sweaty guys chopping wood…stuff with tents around. It’s why lumberjacks get so much ass. Even the ugly ones.

It was during such an excursion that I learned something peculiar, about both nature and my fellow man—and what an unfeeling bastard he can be. [Read more...]

Danny’s Comedy Rants 2012 Shit List

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The holidays usually grind my teeth to a dull point for the usual reasons: long lines to buy crap I can’t afford, enduring the endless surgery stories from people who may or may not be my distant relatives, the fact that everyone around me appears happy and cheery at all times. The one bright spot of my holidays is that the long, insufferable year begins to finally draw its last breaths. It gives me a chance to say a long, loud goodbye to all the people, policies and protoplasm masquerading as people who made the world a less grander place.

- Rick Santorum
It was very hard to narrow down the douchiest from the roster of douchebags who vied for the chance to have their ass handed to them by President Barack Obama in 2012. They were a “Who’s Who?” of “Who Sucks?” in today’s all or nothing political climate. Santorum, however, was the frosty, white cream of the crap heap both figuratively and by the very definition of his name (apologies to those of you who are eating or engaging in gay sex while reading this). When his time came to be the frontrunner of the GOP primary’s quest to find the most plausible candidate who isn’t named Mitt Romney, he couldn’t have fired up the right wing base more if he took a flamethrower to them at an NRA rally. He used his God given talent to divide and permanently disgusted face to take down groups and issues that were getting too meddlesome like women, pro-choice people, homosexuals and health care that prevents people from dying from easily treatable conditions. Then when he ran out of things to hate, he alone made the use and coverage of contraception an issue, a debate settled so long ago that even the characters on “Mad Men” stopped discussing it. Even after his party’s massive losses, he continued to reach for the spotlight by speaking out against something that shouldn’t even be up for debate: the adoption of a UN treaty that calls for universal disability standards based on the Americans with Disabilities Act. The very idea that this walking bag of pomposity has an ounce of relevance left makes me wish there was a Mayan apocalypse so we wouldn’t have to witness the influence he’ll try to wield in 2013 to demand that fetuses pay their fair share of taxes and the elderly stop insisting that everyone else pay for the oxygen they breathe whether it comes out of a tank or the sky.

- Donald Trump
My goal was to limit this year-end diatribe to just one politician and thankfully Donald Trump isn’t one. That’s not just good for myself. It’s good for the nation, the world and the universe as a whole assuming there are alien life forces on the far reaches of the galaxy who are trying to get as far away from Earth as they can so the thing on Trump’s head doesn’t eat them. He may not have officially run for office but he tried like hell to be something much more powerful and dangerous: a lobbyist. And normally, people who lobby on behalf of the mentally deficient are actually doing good work unless the lobbying they are doing is to meet their crazy demands like proof that the President got good grades in college or has a valid American birth certificate. Every time this bloviated fat head opened his mouth, the media ate it up with a big wooden, cooking spoon. He injected us with more hype than an “Indiana Jones” sequel and released “bombshells” that could be less important if they included a step by step cure for shingles and in the end, it was all to promote some dumb reality show that lets celebrities have knife fights over what kind of pizza they should order for dinner. I’m not a religious man but if there is a Hell, there is a special place in it for Trump with a job as a janitor in one of his bankrupt casinos.

- Honey Boo Boo
This one was a real no-brainer. It was also an easy choice to make for the biggest douchebags of 2012. This egotistical toddler accomplished something that no one thought was possible: She helped TLC reach a new low. Her reality TV stardom made it OK for people to hate on children for the first time since “Webster” hit the airwaves. This wasn’t just a case of another annoying celebrity trying to wedge a meaningless catchphrase into the American lexicon by shoving it into our brains with a potato masher. It was a total mental breakdown of the nation’s collective conscience. A record number of people actually found entertainment in watching a family of carb-consuming monsters find happiness in letting the world revolve around their demanding, egotistical spotlight whore. Sometimes I wonder if Congress’ attempt to dismantle the “Head Start” program isn’t a power hungry grab to convert those funds into increasing abstinence education. It’s a way to prevent us from turning into the movie “Dumbocracy.”

 

Danny Gallagher is a freelance writer, humorist and reporter and a regular contributor to TruTV’s “Dumb as a Blog“, Playboy’s “The Smoking Jacket“, MTV’s Clutch and the Shadowbox Comedy Theater of Columbus. His humor and feature writing has also appeared in Aol’s TVSquad.com and Asylum.com, Spike.com, Esquire Magazine, Cracked.com, Mental Floss Magazine, The Christian Science Monitor, Chicago Tribune’s “Redeye,” The Austin American-Statesmen and The Center for the Easily Amused. He doesn’t shower much.

 

Stupidest Assholes of 2012, The List – by Elton Edgar

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Katt Williams, goes drugged up nuts at concerts and then slaps a K-Mart employee while running from the police.

Rupert Murdoch, phone tapping extraordinaire takes down a media institution with stupidity.

Jerry Sandusky, the Penn State asst. coach for molesting kids via a childrens charity.

Mel Gibson, loses his shit and screams at a writer, in front of a 15 year old kid.

Dish Network, for taking out its legal tantrums out on its own customers by cutting AMC from it’s line up.

2012 Olympic Judges, for robbing South Korean female fencer Shin Lam of a chance at a gold medal, because they don’t understand that clocks break.

The Mayans, ending their calendar in a year that has — not only the internet and television — but, is populated by psychics, psuedo-experts and mid-western apocalypse wackos, all of whom can type and make videos.

Disney, after they stripped a cartoon princess of her Latin heritage.

Todd Akin, kills the Republican party and gives the world one of its most absurd pop culture phrases to date with his “legitimate rape” comment.

Mitt Romney insults 47% of the American public…and still thought he’d win the election.

Chik-Fil-A, gives homophobes an official chicken sponsor.

Nakoula Basseley Nakoula, for making a film so bad it drove Muslims to murder.

Kenneth Krause, for fat-shaming a newscaster via email, then saying he didn’t when she calls him out on t.v.

 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

 

Paul Mooney Jr. (Victor Dean) Interview by Justin Morgan

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1.) The character Paul Mooney Jr. is done as an homage to comedy legend Paul Mooney. Mooney is known for writing and performing in both stand-up and sketch comedy. Was he your main inspiration to create and develop Black Bull Entertainment? Could you explain a bit of his influence?

 Paul Mooney & the PMJ (Paul Mooney Jr) brand wasn’t the initial inspiration to creating Black Bull Entertainment, though it became the catalyst for me in understanding the importance in doing so.  In 2005, I began to option my ideas within the Hollywood entertainment circuit to various studios, directors and production companies and quickly realized I had to protect and legitimize my work.  After developing, producing, writing and editing each PMJ show (and then seeing the response from my followers), it became clear that I needed to formalize the work I created.

But when it comes to my comedic writing –  yes, I’m certainly inspired by the quick witt, racial and political rants of the legend that is Mooney, and for me as an actor he was the inspiration to challenge me to increase my range.

 

2.) Mooney based much of his material around race issues around the world. Some audiences find this controversial. Is this something that you feel strongly about and want to express in your own material? Why or why not?

Oh yeah!  When creating “The Weekend Update with Paul” parody I wanted to address the up’s and down’s of Pop Cultural in the vain of a younger Mooney that grew up in the 80′s. But I’m no Mooney especially when it comes to his writing genius so I wanted the performance to fill in the gaps.

 

3.) Eddie Murphy, Richard Pryor and Redd Foxx all had stand up material either written, ghost written or contributed to by Mooney. He continues to make waves as a Stand-up in his own right. As an influence, have you ever been inspired to perform stand-up? If so, how does it suit you compared to sketch work?

I have to say that I’ve never had the urge to do stand-up.  I’m a born/trained actor not comedian and you have to be born a comedian.  That’s why the real comedians run in a small circle watching actors playing stand up. I respect the art too well to play stand-up.

 

4.) How did other sketch/online comedy influence you? Were there specific teams, companies, shows or organizations that you followed to help you develop your own specific comedic tastes? How did they shape your comedy palate? [Read more...]

Practical Advice…Learned In A Bathroom: Bathroom Bomber

Being your average, ordinary everyday bad ass, I have used many a bathroom in my time. Be it for the intricacies of wash closet architecture or for secluded enclaves to woo buck toothed hookers, I’ve enjoyed them all, in one way or another. Though, mostly for pissing, shitting …and prostitutes.

Be that as it may, situations occur that fall outside of the happiest of pissing, shit and sex working awesomeness. There are times of heroism and valor that scare the shit out of you and bring out the testosterone fueled Hercules that lies buried, dormant beneath the cool exterior of one’s handsome good looks. By that stuff…I mean…me and by times I mean, the day I pissed my way onto the super hero, anti-terrorism world stage!

It was during a banquet I was attending at the Swedish consulate in Washington D.C. I was invited to the banquet as a “thank you” for securing the latest “50 Shades of Grey “installment, six months before it’s release (don’t ask). I would have graciously declined, but, who am I to turn down free expensive booze and food in weird sauces?

The night was soaked in mixed drinks, nondescript old guys, ugly rich women and expensive pretty ones. I, of course, was fending them off the best I could. Having my fair share of champagne, I adjourned to the bathroom to “donate my liquid assets” (that’s code for “taking a whiz”).

I had finished and was washing my hands when, a man joined me at the sink. A nice suit, clean hair cut and a striking jaw line, he looked to be a late twenties to mid-thirties business type. I could have mistaken him for a model of some sort, but, you know…I wouldn’t know, ‘m not gay and stuff. I’m woman humping straight.

So, the hot guy washed his hands beside me. Then, addressing me in a confident, deep, manly super model tone he said, “Sorry about the funk in here, my man. I had to drop a bomb, know what I mean?”. “Uh, wha-what, I’m sorry, I was mesmerized by your exquisite jaw line and what looks to be an finely tailored suit stretched over your Adonis like biceps, could you repeat that?”, I heterosexually responded.

“Uh…I’m sorry about the bomb I left in the toilet.”, he said with a hint of embarrassment.

I blankly stared into his dazzling blue eyes for a moment, the alcohol dulling my usually lightning fast response time. “You left a bomb in the toilet?”

“Yeah, sorry about that, the smell–”

Using my cheetah like reflexes, I punched him in the face.

“OW! What the hell? You punched me?!”

I had little time to waste. I wrestled him to the floor. Spotting the bathroom attendant who, until now, was transparent…apparently. I yelled to him, “Get the police or Homeland Security guy! I’ll keep this terrorist distracted and disarm the bomb!”

“Terrorist?! Who’s a terrorist?” interjected the still conscious terrorist. “Shut your infidel hating face!”, I shouted and struck his nose repeatedly. “Sir!”, the attendant interjected, “Sir! Stop!”. With the would be bomber pinned, I turned to him, “Sir, that’s a senator from Maine!”.

I learned two things that night. One, apologizing profusely after beating a senator will never get you out of a tasing and two, senators do accept apologies, but, only after getting a turn at tasing you.

My advice: Always be sure the person you’re accusing of terrorism isn’t an elected official with the shits. You’ll likely end up with electrical burns on your nipples if you don’t.

 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

 

Practical Advice…Learned In A Bathroom: Ménage à trois of Confusion

 

Being your average, ordinary everyday bad ass, I have used many a bathroom in my time. Be it for the intricacies of wash closet architecture or for secluded enclaves to woo buck toothed hookers, I’ve enjoyed them all, in one way or another. Though, mostly for pissing, shitting …and prostitutes.

One such occasion was during a birthday celebration, for a Moroccan princess. It was a moving party that happened to end up in a garish nightclub. The kind with copious amounts of booze, easy women and brain numbing club music.

It was in this setting that my over indulgence of wine, women and diarrhea inducing Indian food, got the better of me. Excusing myself from the princess’s company, I quickly found my way to the nearest men’s room.

Entering in great haste, I scrambled to the nearest stall, slammed the door and…(ahem) “downloaded my software”. Soon after, I became aware of female voices. They had apparently entered after I did. What they were doing in the men’s room? I didn’t know. So, I listened to their conversation to find out.

Apparently, women discuss boring shit in bathrooms. It’s basically “tampon this” and “high heels that” or so I gather…I wasn’t really paying attention. Then, their conversation topic turned to “a hot guy” who was “drinking by the bar”. Intriguing indeed.

 Weighing the facts, I came to the most obvious, logical conclusion. These women had entered the men’s room to seduce me. Me being me of course…who could blame them? Naturally, situations like these being “old hat” to a sexual dynamo as myself, I discarded my pants and underwear and exited the stall proclaiming,  “Ladies, your man is here…”

I learned two things upon exiting that stall, one, his was not a men’s room and two, two women screaming can be heard above club music.

My advice to you: Pay attention to signs, because if you miss the wrong one, it could end with an “indecent exposure” charge.

 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

 

Dave Hill: The Comedyrants Interview by Danny Gallagher

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Dave Hill, a native of Cleveland, Ohio, originally worshipped at the altar of the rock gods and became a consummate guitar player. He made a name for himself in the New York, Los Angeles and British comedy club scenes and writes with the proficiency of a professional journalist for several newspapers and magazines that even the illiterate would recognize. His reporting and journalism work have earned him a regular contributing spot on the public radio powerhouse “This American Life.” He also has one of the funniest Twitter accounts on the web that will make you forget what a huge waste of time Twitter can be in the hands of the average, humorless bastard. 

Dave Hill would like you to know that he knows Dick Cavett and Malcolm Gladwell, both of whom provided quotes for his new book “Tasteful Nudes…and Other Misguided Attempts at Personal Growth and Validation” due out May 22nd from St. Martin’s Press.

Hill spoke to Comedyrants about how he combined his talents for comedy and rock to become an awesome physical force of enlightenment and entertainment, the dress code of the “Dave Hill style” and how he developed a rabid obsession for Norwegian Black Metal.

Where do you find your wardrobe?

Where do I find my wardrobe?  Ideally on the floor of a sexy, sexy lady’s apartment.  Ha- that is a joke I just made up in my spare time.  Anyway, I buy a lot of my clothes in London when I’m over there doing shows.  People just dress better over there in general, so it’s easier to find good stuff.  I like stuff from Paul Smith, Vivienne Westwood, and Merc the best.  I can’t tell if I sound like a total penis so far in this interview.  I think it’s hard to not sound like a penis when talking about clothes if you’re a dude.  But I will continue anyway.  Another thing with shopping for clothes is that I almost never pay more than 50% of retail.  I try to wait for sales.  I usually only pay full price for stuff like underwear (I wear the cheap kind because I figure by the time anyone sees it, it’s too late for them to turn back).  Occasionally I’ll buy a nice pair of shoes or jeans because, if they are well made, they will last a long time and be totally worth it, by which I mean it will lead to tons and tons of sex and the occasional free drink or brunch invite.

How would you describe the Dave Hill style and is there a better name for it than “the Dave Hill style”?

I would describe the Dave Hill style as “slightly too tight and preferably velvet” or “a guy from Cleveland just trying to dress well enough to distract from his face.”  I like my clothes but I usually think they would look much better on someone else.  I have heard people say I’m a bit of dandy but I don’t think I’m nearly dainty enough for that.  You can’t be from Cleveland and truly be a dandy.  It’s just not possible.  I get a polar fleece for Christmas pretty much every year, which keeps me grounded.  Sometimes I’ll put it on and walk around the neighborhood so I can feel what it’s like to be a normal person.

How does someone become so connected into the alternative NYC comedy scene as you have?

I can’t tell if I’m all that well connected or not.  I do have Todd Barry’s phone number, so I feel pretty good about that.  Generally speaking, though, I think the comedy world is a lot like high school- you run into everyone at some point or another and hopefully no one will end up stuffing you into a locker, pushing you down a flight of stairs, or throwing something at your head.  Most comedians are really nice, so a lot of times I will go and get a soup or salad with them.

What would you say is the highlight of your career besides this interview?

This interview is definitely up there, but I’d say any time I get to do stuff with Dick Cavett, one of my absolute heroes, is always a highlight.  I’ve had him on my Dave Hill Explosion show a few times, he’s done my podcast, and we just shot a video together.  I even went to his house once, which almost caused a seizure (in me, I mean.  He seemed totally fine).  I can’t believe I know him.  Every time I talk to him I’m thinking “Holy shit- Dick Cavett!” and just trying to hold it together the whole time.

Another highlight was performing at Sing Sing prison for 300 inmates.  They were all maximum security violent felons – murderers, rapists, stuff like that.  I guess it was kind of like a comedy version of Outward Bound or something.  I was terrified going into but I ended up having a really nice time in the end.  I can’t wait to go back.  Prison is so underrated.

What would you say is the low point of your career besides this interview?

As for low points of my career, depending on my mood or how much I’ve had to drink or whatever, almost any day could seem like a low point depending on how you look at it.  Show business is a cruel mistress.  I feel lucky to be able to do what I do for a living, but I am usually in a mild panic about everything.  About 10% of the time though, I am operating from a place of extreme, largely unwarranted confidence and that’s when I manage to get stuff done.  The rest of the time I just run errands and stuff.  Also, I’ve been told I have slightly larger than normal external male genitalia.  I realize you didn’t ask that question, but I wasn’t sure where else in this interview I should mention that.

How insecure do you consider yourself to be and if so, why live in New York, aka the second most shallow city in the history of the universe?

I think everyone in comedy is pretty insecure or they wouldn’t have gone into comedy in the first place.  As for my own mental state, I am wildly insecure sometimes and confident-bordering-on-delusional other times.  As I’ve learned in therapy, however, the key is to recognize both of those things as something you should probably blame on your parents.  New York is a great place to live though, because no matter what your mental state, you can always find someone who will make you feel totally not alone.

Did you always aspire to combine your music with your comedy or at what point did you decide to combine the two? What makes it work?

No.  I actually kept them pretty separate for a while.  I started as a musician and am a huge rock fan, so I was never really into “musical comedy” because I felt like it compromised the majesty of rock.  Or something like that.  But gradually, I started combining the two.  I’m not as much into writing silly songs as I just like talking and shredding on the guitar.  Also, the guitar is a nice kind of security blanket on stage that allows me to go back to being an introvert for a few seconds whenever I feel like it.  The guitar conveniently covers the nuts, too, so that’s another bonus.

What do you know about Norwegian Black Metal that the rest of America hasn’t caught on to yet?

As a lover of both Satan and heavy metal, Norwegian Black Metal has been a favorite of mine for a long time now.  It’s crossed over into pop culture in the last few years, mostly because of all the crazy Norwegian Black Metal band photos, but most Americans are totally missing out on all that borderline unlistenable music that goes along with it.  That said, there are some great Norwegian Black Metal bands.  I like Darkthrone, Mayhem, Satyricon, and Emperor a lot.  I love Bathory, too, but they’re Swedish, so I’m not sure if that counts.  They had the best band photos though if you ask me.  Also, a lot of Norwegian Black Metal musicians live out in the woods, which is also cool.

You have some impressive quips on your book. Malcolm Gladwell called you his “idol.” Is that difficult to live up to? Who would your dream book quote be from and what would he/she say?

No.  I see Malcolm a lot because we live in the same neighborhood.  I am happy to be a positive role model for him.  As far as dream quotes, I can’t believe it but I actually got most of the ones I wanted.  The back of my book has nice quotes from Dick Cavett, Malcolm Gladwell, Chris Elliott, Ira Glass, John Hodgman, Janeane Garofalo, Sandra Bernhard, and Andy Richter- all people I admire a shitload.  I really wanted to get one from Salman Rushdie but I couldn’t make it happen.  Fuckin‘ Rushdie.  I guess him or Stephen Hawking would have really rounded things out nicely.  They could say whatever they want as long as they promised to throw in a little profanity.  A quote from Morrissey would be great too- maybe just some of his lyrics.  I guess I could just go ahead and do that, couldn’t I?

Here’s an obvious question for you: what do women want and how can men give it to them?

I know women were into mojitos for a while, but now I’m not really sure.  I think it’s important to be kind and respectful to women at all times.  Also, don’t forget to work the nipples.

 

Danny Gallagher is a freelance writer, humorist and reporter and a regular contributor to TruTV’s “Dumb as a Blog“, Playboy’s “The Smoking Jacket“, MTV’s Clutch and the Shadowbox Comedy Theater of Columbus. His humor and feature writing has also appeared in Aol’s TVSquad.com and Asylum.com, Spike.com, Esquire Magazine, Cracked.com, Mental Floss Magazine, The Christian Science Monitor, Chicago Tribune’s “Redeye,” The Austin American-Statesmen and The Center for the Easily Amused. He doesn’t shower much.

 

Practical Advice Learned in The Bathroom – Number Two

Practical Advice Learned in The Bathroom

There are a scant few places on Earth that reveal more about a person, than the the places they piss and shit. Only a handful come to mind: bars, churches and opium dens. Still the bathroom and our activities in them, tells so much more.

Take for instance the time I had brunch with a South Indo-chinese war lord to haggle the price of “appropriated” human organs (it’s a bear market). Our exchanges grew heated, so, I excused myself to the restroom. It’s a classic negotiation tactic…and I had to take a dump.

Mid-crap, my mind drifted, away from the low ball offer I was given for kidneys, to the walls of my stall. There on the wall paper among the ugly rubber ducky wall paper, there was shit. Someone had written on the wall…with shit.

What trauma in life brings a man to write with his own dookie? A broken home? Desperation? A lack of shit colored pens? My mind reeled. The implications were enormous. Then, the paranoia set in. What else had this mad shit writer doodled on? I scanned the stall in a frenzy. Shit? Shit? Nothing. Just the wall.

I finished, washed my hands and pondered. Who was this shit scribbling freak? A chill ran through me. He could be anyone. He could be anywhere at anytime. In fact, he might have there with me. Possibly, lurking in the trash can. A round house kick to it’s side proved it empty.

Panicked, I opened the door and ran screaming from the restaurant. I’m sure my war lord friend was curious as to why. He never did settle on a kidney price. Such is life, I suppose, when walls are written with shit.

What did I learn from all of this? A good many things, let me tell you. One, no one understands the words “Poop, shit wall writing!” when you scream it. Two, there is a man named Poupschitz Walrighting who frequents the same restaurants as Indochinese war lords and three, I will be meeting his lawyers next week.

My advice is this: The world is a weird place, so, to be safe assume everyone has shit on their hands.

 
 

EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

Practical Advice Learned in The Bathroom – Number One

Being your average, ordinary everyday bad ass, I have used many a bathroom in my time. Be it for the enjoyment of wash closet architecture and tiling or for their secluded enclaves to woo buck-toothed hookers, I’ve enjoyed them all, in one way or another. Though, mostly for pissing, shitting …and prostitutes.

Those same wash rooms have taught me a lot too. Things that, when learned and applied, have greatly enhanced my life. Like, never, ever trust a priest taking confession in port-a-potty, or that “glory holes” are not for recyclables or for glory and it’s impossible to speak to a stranger about your mother while urinating.

While those nuggets of wisdom could warrant a Reader’s Digest novella of scatological life lessons themselves, there are far more to be had. After scouring the world’s bathrooms on the tail end of hangovers, cocaine binges and burrito laden emergencies, I’ve amassed, a literal ass load of practical guidance…just for you. You don’t have to thank me. It’s been my pleasure in more ways than one. The trials and tribulations…the horrific sting ring. Okay, maybe not the sting ring.

Oh, the learned shit, the shits have wrought. There’s so much they’ve taught me. Like the time I was in the Memphis International Airport. I had recently arrived from Paris on a red flight, after selling pirated copies of “The Passion of The Christ” to nuns (don’t ask). On that flight, I had sex with a strange overweight school teacher. She fell in love. When the plane landed I ran. She’d come looking for me, of course, so, I “B” lined for the first bathroom I made eye contact with.

I hid in one of the bathroom’s stalls. A good deal of non-fat girl intrusion time passed and I noticed that no one else had entered the restroom. Weird. I chocked it up to my “manly awesomeness” repelling non-awesome men.

Suddenly, the bathroom door slammed open, then, my stall door was kicked in. It was a group of men in black S.W.A.T. uniforms and gear. I was exposed in all my cowered, whimpering glory. A man pulled me from my chubby girl-less, safe haven.

Believing I was about to be violated sexually, prepared myself. I worked at my belt buckle, but, to my surprise I merely incensed the men. They instead searched my person and the carry on bag full of condoms, miniature booze bottles and dental floss. “Is this it?”, the sex army leader sternly questioned. “The floss, yes. I’m happy to share. Please don’t rape me.”, I replied…vanquished. He looked me over in a puzzled and angry way, then, I was roughly escorted from the bathroom and taken to a security office.

After being questioned for hours, having my luggage searched twice (once by dogs) and receiving 3 body cavity searches (not by dogs), I learned what had happened. A sexually satisfied fat girl saw me run into the bathroom. Unable to breach the sacred barrier of the “Men’s Room” to cash in on a supposed “marriage proposal”, she sought other ways to have me extracted. She told them I was a terrorist. She has since been jailed due to being crazy. I was let go on the grounds of my awesomeness.

I learned a couple of words of advice from this situation. Some involving dogs, others involving fat lovers in confined spaces, still others involving fear pissing. The biggest lesson I learned, however, is that a bathroom is no safe haven when it comes to strange fat jilted mile-high club lovers. My advice…never bang a fat chick that needs a marriage proposal to get it on, because, in the end, there’s going to be a S.W.A.T. Team involved.


EltonElton, a steamy sexual dynamo, is a comedy writing loser from Pennsylvania. He’s the author of several failed attempts at books, cartoons and occasionally writes articles at Funnyordie for Will Ferrell to ignore. You can check out more of his pants shittingly funny mumbling at Elton Says Things (his super tits blog!) What that means…he doesn’t even know.

Rick Santorum: Privacy Parts – Gallagher On Topic

Gallagher: On Topic
Privacy Parts

There are a few buzzwords and phrases that automatically send a message to my brain to shut down any listening functions and proceed with a series of head nods every seven seconds. The first one on the list is the phrase, “Back in my day…”.

Someone who pines for the “good ol’ days” manages to break the fourth wall of double denial. Not only are they going out of their way to completely ignore the negative and ignorant thinking of their time from their psyche, but they are also making themselves believe that time travel is possible.

That pining for the days when the world only had black and white television, movies and public bathrooms has reared its ugly head once again, now that Rick Santorum is looking more and more like the man on top in the Republican presidential race. It’s an appropriate place for the man to be, based on the Internet’s definition of his last name (don’t Google it if you’re enjoying a tasty bowl of chocolate pudding or lube right now).

He has reignited an issue that I thought had been long been settled: contraception. Apparently, he’s not just against forcing religious organizations to provide it for their insured employees, but he has also called it “not okay” and “dangerous” The only time contraception should be considered “dangerous” is if they have to come in a bulletproof coating.

Would you sleep with this man out of wedlock? Neither would he if he had his way.

Santorum can believe whatever the hell he wants as long as he doesn’t try to interfere with people’s private lives and get in their bedrooms to stop them from having sex that his faith won’t allow him to enjoy. He can still think that Galileo “had it coming” and it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest as long as he’s not in power and chances are that telling people not to do it for fun will make sure that never happens. Besides, his faith is really more of the crux of the issue i.e. “My God won’t let me get freaky with two women, a step ladder, a belt sander and zero consequences so you shouldn’t have the right to either.”

The issue would have gone away but it managed to reach full-on silly when his billionaire campaign donor Foster Friess, a name and job title that sound like the true identity of a Batman villain, told MSNBC’s Andrea Mitchell that, “Back in my days…”. I couldn’t remember the rest because I blacked out so I had to look it up.

He said that women used to use “Bayer aspirin for contraceptives”. Man, that stuff is more powerful than I thought. It can not only stop headaches and prevent heart attacks, but it can also build a cement wall around a woman’s uterus.

Foster Friess, uterus rancher

He continued, “The gals put it between their knees and it wasn’t that costly”.That moment was followed by a long period of silence, either because Mitchell had a hard time processing what Friess had said or the shock of his candidness made all the blood rush out of my head so it could provide extra protection to my reproductive organs, just in case I had a uterus it didn’t know about.

The “culture war” has always been a useless issue that never made any sense to me whether it was about sex, music, movies, video games or anything that’s just goddamn fun anymore. Worrying about the morality of condoms, birth control and even abortion should be way, way down on our list of priorities, especially when they come from candidates who constantly say they want to get government out of our lives. That’s like being in favor of irrigation but against clouds.

It’s all just an easy way to get easy votes from simple minded simpletons without having to do the hard work of actually talking about issues that matter and coming up with real solutions to fix bigger problems like…anything else. Giving fetuses the right to vote would be a step up at this point.

 

Danny Gallagher is a freelance writer, humorist and reporter and a regular contributor to TruTV’s “Dumb as a Blog“, Playboy’s “The Smoking Jacket“, MTV’s Clutch and the Shadowbox Comedy Theater of Columbus. His humor and feature writing has also appeared in Aol’s TVSquad.com and Asylum.comSpike.com, Esquire Magazine, Cracked.com, Mental Floss Magazine, The Christian Science Monitor, Chicago Tribune’s “Redeye,” The Austin American-Statesmen and The Center for the Easily Amused. He doesn’t have a uterus the last time he checked.