This weekend was another weekend on the road, which of course meant bus rides, many hours reading and watching TV shows in solitary confinement, solid laughs and disappointing merch sales. However, this weekend was a unique one because it involved working a casino and also going to see my nephew in a soccer tournament. So lets’get into it:
Friday – Empty Seats to Hear JLC Speak
Friday morning I made my way to Port Authority Bus Terminal to catch Transbridge Buses (the RC Cola to Greyhound’s Coca-Cola and Peter Pan’s Pepsi in the competitive world of bus/human trafficking transportation). The ride took just over 3 hours to get to Wilkes-Barre, PA, which was late, but not too late. Unfortunately I missed the local bus that goes to Mohegan Sun (the next one would have required a 3 hour wait in the Wilkes-Barre bus depot, which makes Port Authority look like a Saudi Prince’s palace) so I got a Lyft to the casino. When I arrived at my hotel room I was greeted by a TV that could not spell my name correctly (3rd time in 5 visits), but it was still a nice try. I then ate a feast at Timbers Buffet (comedians get 2 comped tickets to the buffet and since dinner is the most expensive meal it makes #ComedyMogul sense to use them for dinner), limiting myself to only 3 desserts with my meal (#PilotSeasonApproaching) and headed to the show.
It was Labor Day weekend so I expected lighter crowds, but when I arrived at the club there were 2 people (normal shows are over 200 people easy – they almost always pack the room). By Friday showtime the crowd had swelled to an almost unmanageable 33. I did have a very good set and sold a few CDs so I had post-show milkshake money at the Food Court Ben and Jerry’s. Shout out to the husky white kid who made the milkshake – maximum thickness, while still drinkable. Just like the plump, tongue-studded waitresses at the casino Johnny Rockets’ presumably have their skill set advertised, it made sense that this kid had milkshake making talent (Jon Gruden “arm talent” voice). The only downside to the night was that a new bit I am working on as a Dog Profiler (figuring out based on fears and reactions what happened to my dog Cookie, in her past – answer: she was molested by a black UPS driver in Kentucky) went well, but was not perfect enough to make a YouTube clip for you 34 blog readers).
Saturday – Power & Reading
Having recently gotten into the guilty pleasure Power on Starz (the 1st two seasons I watched on Hulu) I had only 2 days left in my week long free trial on Amazon Prime Starz Channel. I had watched season 3 after returning from Ohio and now had 5 episodes left, plus Sunday’s season finale. For those that don’t watch let me explain Power. It is a bad, but entertaining show about a drug dealer trying to go legit as a club owner. I have compared it to Skittles. I like Skittles, but I wouldn’t claim them as a good meal. The sex scenes are absurd (romance novel erotic or steroid-fueled, prison-style hate fu*ks, but not much in between), the violence even more absurd and the way 50 Cent, who has executive produced the show, has clearly influenced plot and character development to keep his character alive for 2 seasons too long all point to a terrible show, but I have enjoyed it nonetheless. And as a bonus, the blessed wife of Carmelo Anthony is on the show in all her La La Land glory, raising the important question: How does a double chin, no finals appearing adulterer keep a woman like that when her options are pretty much limitless? Even funnier is to hear her character in earlier seasons, pre-Melo stripper pregnancy, counseling her friend to leave her cheating husband. So I woke up Saturday, had a cup of black Power coffee and watched 5 episodes bringing me up to date. To balance that out and because I am a man of diversity and versatility I then spent 3 hours reading the Pulitzer Prize winning novel The Goldfinch in the casino food court as obesity scooters motored about. So after consuming the artistic equivalents of Nerds candy and kale salad I showered up and went to the club.
The Saturday show was a nice large crowd (relatively to Friday’s) and I sold some more CDs and then did my traditional “run through the casino as fast as possible to my hotel room because I don’t want to be tempted to gamble my cash pay for the weekend” walk to end the comedy portion of the weekend. Normally this is where the recap would end, but this was no ordinary weekend (sung like Sade). Sunday, by a scheduling coincidence, would take me to my nephew’s soccer tournament in Allentown (sung like Billy Joel), PA, just an hour away from Wilkes Barre.
Sunday – I’m Gonna Get You Soccer
Knowing that I would need to get to my nephew’s games in Allentown I looked up buses from Wilkes Barre to Allentown, two small, but significant cities in eastern PA. None exist. I would have had to take a bus back to NYC and then get on a different bus line to go to Allentown. Insane. So, because I would be representing the entire Cauvin family at the tournament on Sunday, my brother got me a Lyft from the hotel to the soccer tournament. I got picked up in a Nissan Juke, which is a car that would not be big enough to act as a casket for me, but I still made due. My driver was on time, the ride was smooth and without delay and the conversation pleasant. So my brother tipped him a Lin Manuel Miranda via the app… but only gave him 4 stars. My brother is one of those guys who I think treats ride app ratings like movie or restaurant ratings. In reality 5 stars is the grade for no complaints (versus a movie where it means instant classic/perfection). When I told him he was a tough grader he said “If he had gotten you booked on Comedy Central I would have given him 5 stars.” So let it be known that 5 stars on Lyft is an impossible grade for any human being to get, let alone a driver, from my brother. Maybe John Wick could make it happen, but other than him, no one.
When I made it to the tournament I saw the different teams and parents. It always feels like there is one parent on every soccer team in America who looks like he is a high ranking member of Blackwater – like during the weekends he is a quiet parent who does cross fit and wears shades and hair gel, even for cloudy youth soccer games, but during the week is ordering black ops for profit in third world countries. But most parents just look like regular folks. My nephew’s team is a diverse mix of black kids, a few white kids, a Latin kid and then two long haired blonde kids (both very good) who looked like a tribute band to Nelson (and the games did in fact take place during AND After The Rain). Their first game, which would get them in the tournament finals if they won was against a team that was physical and 99% white (their best and dirtiest player was a bi-racial kid – he looked like a miniature Aaron Judge, including mohawk, so I felt a begrudging pride). Their defense and goalie tandem consisted of a Spencer, a Remy and a Brooks, so I assume when these kids are not defending the goal they are defending white culture and heritage. Well, thanks to an assist from my nephew, my nephew’s team won a tense 1-0 game (MATCH) to make it to the finals against a team from Maryland called Pipeline. And to quote the philosopher JR Smith, my nephew’s team would indeed get the pipe.
I erroneously/racistly thought a mostly Latino team had made it to the finals. Instead, the Latin team was actually beaten by Pipeline, a mostly white team (multiple kids with highlights in their hair, which is deluxe white, especially in a tournament for 10 year olds). This team, as it turns out would give up their 1st and only goal in 4 tournament games in the last 10 minutes of the finals. They whooped my nephew’s team 6-1. I think with better coaching strategy they could have lost 3-1, but a win was never in the cards. My nephew’s team is coached by a tall, good-looking British man, who probably wooed the parents with his tea and crumpets, but the Pipeline team was coached by two guys who looked furious that their town had cancelled the pee wee football league. The head coach, who gave a very nice speech at the end of the tournament to his team and to my nephew’s team was an insane person on the sideline. And his assistant coach was about 6’3″, 340lbs – you know, that ideal soccer body. My nephew’s team was smaller, more timid and less skilled than this team ( I genuinely think half of the kids would be playing youth football if their town had a team). But at this point I think America should have to call youth sports “Before Black Kids Hit Puberty” Leagues, because these burly white ten year olds that worked over my nephew’s team ain’t all turning into JJ Watt and Rob Gronkowski. But still they were tougher, better coached and stronger, which is basically 95% of winning at youth sports.
So that was the weekend. Meanwhile, back in NYC, my girlfriend gave Cookie a bath and a new toy:
This week I was in Liberty Township, Ohio (a suburb near Cincinnati made for the wealthy people of southern Ohio who love Trump, but don’t like sharing a zip code with the people from The Hills Have Eyes in southern Ohio that also like Trump) to perform at the Liberty Funny Bone (as part of my upcoming tour I will also be performing in Freedom, Illinois; These Colors Don’t Run, Missouri; and Colin Kaepernick is an Ungrateful Nigra, Alabama in September). The trip was one that did not involve Amtrak or Greyhound. Instead I used points on Southwest (which is the phrase you use when you want a woman’s vagina to dry up and collapse on itself like a black hole) to get to Cincinnati (the closest airport to the Township). The trip involved multiple Cheesecake Factory meals, a futuristic and stylish hotel, several killer sets and the usual absence of sidewalks for walking around in fat America. So without further adieu here is the recap:
Thursday – Inauspicious Start
When I got to LaGuardia Airport on Thursday I made my way to the Southwest area to check my suitcase. As I was winding through the roping (there was not much of a line) I saw some balding bro douche just duck under the rope and walk in front of me. I am still at a loss for what to do in these situations. I don’t have a calm, middle ground. I chose to stare at him like I wanted to beat him to death because I felt like my only other option was to actually beat him to death. I genuinely believe that murderers don’t do as much damage to society as people like this douche bag. Murder is an outlier in society. But people who show a lack of courtesy or respect are legion and they eat away at your spirit like termites in the walls of a house. He clearly saw me winding through the ropes and made the calculation that he could cut with no repercussion. And then, restraining myself from calling him a piece of fu*king sh*t and putting him in a choke hold, I start to feel the anger reinforcing itself because my restraint is become a self-fulfilling prophecy for him to get away consequence free. In other words I was ready to make the people of Ohio laugh!
But first was a stop in Chicago. Southwest Airlines basically requires every flight going west to stop in Midway for 4 hours… even if your stop is halfway back in the direction you just came from. So I read for a couple of hours in Midway Airport, but was very disappointed to see that both Potbelly and Ben and Jerry’s had both closed. In their places were a terrible pizza place and a Dunkin Donuts. So I got a Chocolate Long John from DD, which made me realize my 4 favorite donuts from Dunkin Donuts all have overtly homoerotic names:
- Chocolate Long John
- Boston Creme
- Glazed Stick
- Jizz Filled Phallus Surprise
When I landed in Cincinnati just before 4 pm I was picked up by Chris, an employee of the club. We had a pleasant 90 minute drive to the club (horrible traffic). I checked into my hotel, which was super stylish, meaning it looked nice, but had several features that were useless (see my Instagram video from Sunday to see a list).
The 1st show of the week was a good one, though it would end up being the least receptive crowd of the week for me. After selling 1 CD (cheesecake money!) I went back to the hotel to watch the Elian Gonzalez documentary on CNN. I had the volume on my TV at 13 out of a possible 100 and it was 10 pm. Then, at 1025 pm I heard a knock at the door. My mind first went “was that my door?” and with a second knock a minute later I wondered “is there a Liberty Town Whore at my room?” so I got up, put some pants and a shirt (I was in boxer briefs because I was settling in for sleep) and went to the door. I was greeted by a short Latino man wearing hotel gear who informed me that he had received noise complaints about how loud my television was. He then immediately said he would inform the people that they were wrong because he could not even hear my TV from the hallway when my door was closed. When he left I just turned off the TV. With the Gestapo atmosphere I was not longer inspired to watch a documentary about a 6 year old boy’s quest for freedom. If I cannot be free in a place called Liberty, is anyone really free?
Friday and Saturday – Cheesecake, Comedy and Sidewalks to Nowhere
On Friday I tried to walk to an LA Fitness 1.9 miles from the hotel. On Saturday I tried to walk to a Catholic Church (St Maximilian “Catholic Mamba” Kolbe Church to be exact). Both missions to better myself physically and spiritually failed. Why? Because America is a series of fat, car-addicted, sidewalk-less places. Making it to either place would have involved risking my life along highways and roads so I opted to live, though perhaps being a martyr would have been interesting:
Saint Jean-Louis Cauvin, died battling America’s obesity when he was hit by a Ford truck on an Ohio highway. His two miracles are turning a profit on a feature gig in Detroit that paid $300 for 5 shows, with no hotel provided and for taking an Amtrak for 30 hours without contracting any foot-borne illnesses.
I also made trips to the Cheesecake Factory on both days (they are donating 25 cents of every piece of cheesecake sold to charity this month, so call me the American Red Velvet Cross). On the second day my waitress was a pleasant young lady with an ample bosom and derriere. To me this felt like overkill by The Cheesecake Factory. You had me at “Cheesecake and 835 page menu.” There is no need to complicate this and turn it into a soft core porn where I cannot decide what I want more, the Hazelnut cheesecake or the waitress. I am thinking of making a Cheesecake Factory-themed porn where it starts with a busty woman delivering food, but then she leaves and I end up moaning in delight as I eat cheesecake and unbutton my pants, but only to make room for my expanding stomach, filled with cheesecake. #CheesecakeBae
The 4 shows were great between Friday and Saturday. Made some sales, made a few fans, blah blah blah. Here’s a highlight reel of various jokes and interactions with the crowds from the Saturday shows:
Sunday – Noneday
Nothing much to report (mainly because I am writing this at lunch in a Starbucks and all I plan on doing to day is sketch writing and making one more trip to the brothel known as The Cheesecake Factory.
This weekend I headed back to Clifton Park, NY for a private party show. Last year a comedian buddy from Albany invited me up to do the party and it turned out to be a great show (here is last year’s recap), so when asked to do it again this year I said yes without hesitation. There were several similarities to last year (though I did a new 35 minutes out of 40 minutes from last year) so I will try to focus on the different from last year. I took Amtrak up to Albany which was pleasant and then waited around the station for Frank (the other comedian) to pick me up. And that is where our story begins.
A Storm Gathers
When Frank pulled up he had his 12 year old daughter with him who was going to a different party. So we were on good verbal behavior (only discussions of soft core pornography). After he dropped her off we went to Starbucks to map out our sets. I had a black coffee and Frank had a citrus mint tea, which I thought could get you beat to death in upstate NY. Obviously there has been some real progress made on social issues (#MAGA). While we were in Starbucks the Heavens opened up and a ferocious storm was unleashed. We became concerned for the party. Not that we wouldn’t get paid, but that the tent they have for the party would not withstand the storm or that there would a downhill flood (the house and tent area is at the bottom of a decline on the property). Well, that was the first and last time I underestimated Wayne Manor.
When we arrived at the house the rain had almost fully stopped. And we had underestimated the size of the property. There is a long downward slope to the front lawn and driveway, but it is so big that there is a nice 30 yards of flat land at the end of the front law so even if there was runoff there was enough of a buffer before the area where the tent was. And not a drop of water inside the large tent. Well done Dave! (Dave is the owner of the home and Clifton Park’s Bruce Wayne). So we dragged all the equipment down to the tent and while Frank set it all up I would look up from my plate of food (delicious chicken!) and ask, with little intention of doing anything, “need help?” Then it was showtime.
Laughs, Tyattoos and Dessert!
Frank started the show off and did well, despite the DJ ambushing him into starting the show before he was ready (maybe that is karma payback for every time a comedian has started a bar show without people realizing there would be a show where they are drinking). He did well and then I got on. I did a lot of new material, but my new bit (which needs work) on women with tattoos was a real highlight. Here is a rough approximation of the bit and exchange:
Me: As a mixed race person I am still looking for that type of woman who I can date as a fetish, but also discriminate against by not taking her seriously. I am thinking tatted up women are that group. Like just so inked up that it excites me and feels dangerous, but to a level where she definitely cannot have my kids or meet my parents.
Teacher: Iye hyave lots of tyats (trying to replicate the Vermont accent)
Teacher: Well Iye yam a teacher so Iye cyant hyave visible tyats but my entire sayde is tyattted up!
Me: But I cannot see them so that means you still respect your job and having a normal life. I am talking about a woman with sleeves and neck tattoos – a level of ink that says “fu*k my future.” That’s the level of fetish I am talking about.
*She then showed her substantial thigh tattoo*
Me: Well, give me a second. I am just going to text my girlfriend that we need to see other people.
I ended my set with Trump and then ate 4 mini cannolis and a couple of cookies. With that Frank and I got paid and he drove me to… the Greyhound station.
I got to the Albany bus station at 1030pm for the 11 pm bus. The bus didn’t arrive until 1130pm. I sat down next to a man on the full bus who smelled like the 2 worst smelling African cab drivers formed a super group with the 2 worst smelling Indian cab drivers (NStink?), did a 90 minute Bikram yoga workout and then rented out space in this guy’s seat. Not an exaggeration – my eyes teared up and I had one quasi-gag. Sadly, the driver was super slow and we arrived in NYC at 215am. The only thing I am ashamed of is that when I got home and my girlfriend was sleeping peacefully I got into bed without showering despite carrying at least 4 diseases from the Greyhound ride. But we are still together so unless I run into a woman with sleeves and neck tattoos, nothing can stop us!
This weekend I was (technically still am as I have begun this in a Starbucks 90 minutes before the final Sunday show) in Richmond, Virginia, capital of the Confederacy and home to two Amtrak train stations (more on this shortly). More specifically I was in Short Pump Town- arguably the worst town name in history where there is a mall containing the Richmond Funny Bone and other stores. I was staying in the comedy condo across the quasi-highway from the Mall. I was opening for Guy Torre, who I have opened for before. And like any trip down South the people of America fell into three groups – those that look like porn stars, those that look like they have Type 9 Diabetes and immigrants, who appeared to be the only people with average body types. The weather has been very hot (at one point I asked my balls if they were cutting weight for a boxing or wrestling match) and the comedy was very good. So with that brief road map, let’s dive in to another comedy trip:
Thursday – Why Does Richmond Have 2 Train Stations?
When I booked my trip to Richmond I selected “Main Street” as the station I would go to. As it turns out that station is less popular, has less frequent train stops and is a longer ride to the club than the earlier Richmond Station stop of “Staples Mill Road.” Maybe it is a Greenland/Iceland situation where they tell outsiders that there is a Main Street station to draw them away from all the wonders of Staples Mill Road. But I learned in time to get off at SMR.
When I arrived on Thursday I was greeted by Jason, the manager of the club and, as it turns out, my roommate for the weekend. He splits his apartment with the club. Admittedly when I saw my bed I was less than thrilled. It looked like something that Child Services or Special Victims Unit would want to take photos of before letting me move my stuff in. But the apartment was comfortable and one across-the-highway-sprint away from all that Short Pump, Virginia has to offer.
Thursday’s show went really well. The laughter was loud. The jokes killed. And the CD sales after the show were zero. But making up for it was getting to know the staff of the club. The sound guy (Buz) is a dead ringer for Rex Tillerson and that made me laugh. Also, one of the employees of the club, Sho, won me over when, during an in depth discussion of In Living Color, he called David Alan Grier and Tommy Davidson the “Klay and Draymond” of the show (the implication being that Steph and Durant were the Jim Carrey and Damon Wayans of the show). Now, if you know me you know I love In Living Color, Basketball and analogies. Basically at that moment I knew that if I were gay I might have met my soul mate. (Fast forward to next week when I am yelling at my girlfriend – “WHY CAN’T YOU BE MORE LIKE SHO?!!”
Friday – Girls’ Trip and Cheesecake Factory Bloat
On Friday I decided to take it easy so I went to see Girls’ Trip (I give it 3.5 Yassss Queens out of 5) and had an early dinner at The Cheesecake Factory (salmon, broccoli and then a very reasonable 1400 calorie piece of chocolate cheesecake). Apparently all that caloric intake had a positive effect because I crushed both sets that night. And as a bonus, my brand new manager showed up with his wife to the second show. It was their 11th wedding anniversary so either this dude is going to be the Jerry Maguire to my Rod Tidwell, or my comedy career is going to begin having negative impacts on personal lives besides my own.
But the highlight of the night was my exchange with a woman after the first show (which as it stands now was the best set of the weekend).
Terrible Fan Lady: You was pretty good. You’ll get better.
Me: Ah thanks
TFL: You was pretty good. You’ll get better.
Me: I am actually pretty happy where I’m at right now.
TFL: You’ll get better. And you need to get you a real girlfriend.
Me: Wow – 15 seconds to shit on the two of the most important things in my life. That’s impressive.
TFL: You was pretty good.
Fade to black.
Saturday – Get Swoll and Get CDs Sold
Saturday I ventured over to the amazing gym that comedians are allowed free access to during the week. It’s about a 15 minute walk from the condo and it is magnificent. In New York City, a gym as large and comprehensive as this one would probably run around $8500.00 per month. Of course in Richmond it only costs 3 eggs and a loaf of bread. Had a great workout and then had two more great shows. On the second show it was announced that Doug Williams, Super Bowl winning quarterback of the Washington Redskins was in attendance. I did not get to see him, but hopefully he enjoyed my set and will be telling all his friends. I also sold $90 worth of CDs, which would not be good normally, but since they were selling like laser discs the previous two nights I went to sleep happy (after asking a gas station attendant to turn the money into 90 $1 bills so I could Indecent Proposal myself to sleep.
Sunday – Detroit, Joke Bombs and Game of Thrones
(resuming writing Monday morning at Starbucks)
On Sunday I went to see Detroit, which was the story of a young Carrot Top who becomes a cop to terrorize black people in a hotel in 1967. It was a flawed movie, but very intense once it moved past its clunky first 40 minutes. I would give it a B+. Of course during the movie, the headliner for the weekend Guy Torre, asked me if I wanted to attend Washington Redskins training camp with him, so I missed that. But on the plus side, former comedian and Richmond-area resident Mike Way saw me in the theater and we had a pleasant conversation/movie-date. It was like the poorest man’s version possible of a Bill Murray-esque story for Mike.
For Sunday’s show I decided to try a few new jokes. Two went well, one was a shit show (hint – the one that involves sex with kids did not go over well).
- “Why does everyone in the South either look like they do porn or like they have Type 9 diabetes. My trip to the gym nearby was full of jacked tattooed dudes, women with big fake tits and people oozing over their scooters. You need some normal people here.”
- “Why are Southern women so flirty? Every conversation they need to make physical contact and they sound too interested and seductive – a woman at the movie theater asked me if the book I was reading was good in a way that felt more like the beginning of a porn.”
- “A guy once told me I looked like Jared Fogle. And that was before we knew he raped kids. I was offended then. Some things you just shouldn’t say. I don’t care if I am banging a 10 year old, holding a pair of giant khakis with my free hand while being fed a 6 inch veggie sub – you don’t tell me I look like Jared Fogle.”
After the show I went back to the condo to watch Game of Thrones and it was glorious. It was like the fantasy genre version of finally getting Eminem’s rap battle at the end of 8 Mile.
So thank you Richmond, Short Pump, the beautiful people and the obese people who all make up the capital of the confederacy. See you in 2018. Time to get home.
This weekend continued by July of No Bookings Tour (#JNBT), so it was time to make my way to Martha’s Vineyard for my sister-in-law’s 50th birthday party that my brother put together. Given the peak season, I was still pretty happy to secure a solid rate of sodomy from hotels.com for a bed & breakfast for two nights. I also booked the Seastreak Ferry for my girlfriend and me, which conveniently leaves midtown Manhattan and arrives in Martha’s Vineyard 5 The Perfect Storm hours later. The cost was $240 round trip per person, which is reasonable except for the word “ferry.” The word ferry makes me think $22.50 round trip and kids travel free – not Amtrak Accela to Boston prices. And on an ironic note, there is no better symbol for my comedy career that there was a comedy festival a short ride away from Martha’s Vineyard in Nantucket, where many comics were being paid to perform while I was spending a small fortune to feel like I was an unwitting guest on a hidden camera show. And with that intro, here we go!
The Perfect Ferry Storm
When my girlfriend and I boarded the Ferry it was cloudy with on-again, off-again rain. We got two seats together on the lower deck with books, podcasts and sandwiches ready for our ocean adventure. The Ferry was full of men in pastel colored pants and shorts and women and men trying to hog 4 seat tables to themselves. The boat left on time and despite the heavy clouds and moderate rain the ride was nice and smooth for about two hours. And then at the halfway point we entered the Atlantic. Here is an accurate photograph of how my girlfriend and I felt for the next two hours:
As someone who is almost never on boats and hates flying I was still surprised at how anxious the up and downs made me. I never wanted to puke but the physical and mental tension I had as a constant for 2 hours made me very tired. But we arrived in Martha’s Vineyard safely just after 9pm and made our way to the 1720 House, the bed & breakfast I had booked.
Indiana J-L and the Temple of Bugs
The door was open when we arrived (I believe this is a vacation town’s self fulfilling prophecy – if we leave everything open then we cannot have crime!) and our key to the “Yellow Room” was sitting there waiting for us. Interesting fact: the place is called the 1720 House because it was built in 1720 when it was illegal to make a house for people taller than 5’10”. I have dealt with short doorways and stairwells my whole life, but the additional Fear Factor addition here was that from every low hanging lamp from the entrance to the stairwell to the hallways to our room has spiders and bugs hanging so I quickly had to turn into Rocky Balboa bobbing and weaving to avoid spider/bug essence in my mouth. When we entered my room I assumed the rooms would be bug free, but I proceeded to kill a spider in the room and in our bathroom. I actually almost asked some of the bugs to chip in to offset some of the costs of the financial gang bang hotels.com perpetrated on me.
Sidebar – if you are one of those “I don’t kill spiders because they actually kill the other bugs” stop it. Congrats, you would leave Saddam Hussein in power to suppress the good and bad elements, but I believe in the unfettered freedom to live without Daddy Long Legs walking over my face for $300 a night! I will allow the next Yellow Room (named for the quantity of urine you emit when seeing the bugs) administration to handle the Mosquito ISIS that emerges in the absence of strongmen spiders.
To date my most popular Instagram photos are now the photos of me in the tiny house so if you don’t follow me on Instagram (@jlcomedy) then here is a glimpse of me and various spots in and around the house.
My brother rented a (very nice) house in Martha’s Vineyard for his wife for 2 weeks. She is working on a new book so the house gives her 2 kid-free weeks to relax, sleep and work unencumbered. When I walked in the house I immediately offered money to be able to sleep on the floor for the night. And I could be mistaken but I think as I was wiping away the remaining Tarantula anal leakage on my forehead from the 1720 House I could see a look in my girlfriend’s eye that asked “Why did I get the Eric Roberts of the family?”
The party was really nice, the food delicious and I then got an ice cream sundae from a local shoppppppe afterwards (Martha’s Vineyard has 44,076 ice cream shopppppppes) so it was a nice night. I was in such a good mood I actually high-fived two of the spiders when I arrived back at the 1720 House.
The ferry ride back was a little better than the ride out and we got back to my place where my dog Cookie went nuts when she saw my girlfriend and gave me a head nod when she saw me (#Family #Respect #Blessed). We then watched Game of Thrones as I scanned my bags and clothing for any trace of stowaways from the 1720 House. None. This house is clear.
It cannot be argued that Donald Trump is intellectually, morally, emotionally and mentally unequipped to be president. He doesn’t read (he prefers briefings with “killer graphics” according to a member of his cabinet) and he seems to have no greater than a 7th grader’s knowledge of our institutions. He has no moral compass beyond “is it good for me” and as a parent he seems to have only passed on a name and equally shitty character. Now of course, you can make an argument for this man as a human being or as president, but in either case you are wrong. In baseball when a player has all the necessary skills to succeed he is referred to as a “5 tool player.” In Trump’s case he is the exact opposite – as a president he is a “5 failure tool” (sorry if this feels like I am pulling a Tom Friedman – trying to coin my own phrase). Emotionally unstable, morally bankrupt, selfish, stupid and arrogant – literally a Voltron of the 5 traits you would want least in a leader – and he has all 5 in abundance. But this is not about stating the facts. They are not in dispute among anyone not brainwashed or brain dead. This is about the people who don’t hate Trump and don’t support him, but for those faux intellectual warriors on social media I call the “One Dollar Bet” people.
On The Price is Right when contestants bid on the price of items to be selected to come to stage the last person will often bet $1. The reason for this is any bid that goes over the price of the item is disqualified. Therefore, if you bid $1 all you are saying is “I think everyone went over so even if I am the farthest away from the price of the item, I win by default.” That is sometimes a good strategy on the game show, but when discussing issues of the day these people act like their $1 “objectivity” lends them some sort of intellectual heft. In fact they look just as stupid as the wrong side, but without the passionate support to at least provide justification for their stupidity.
These are the people that used to say “I am not a scientist” when it comes to climate change. WOW – how brave. By saying you aren’t a scientist ($1 bet) you now have absolved yourself from listening to or believing scientists? Maybe the creationist CEO of the oil company is right that climate change is a hoax! Maybe Trump is right that it is a Chinese hoax – I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE I AM NOT A SCIENTIST.
Now these folks have evolved into the “I don’t like Trump. Heck I didn’t vote for him, but both sides are bad! Hillary was bad too!” Oh shut up you One Dollar Betting Bitch! First off a vote for Gary Johnson or Jill Stein is not even a $1 bet. It is more like when Drew Carey or Bob Barker called your name to come on down and instead of coming down you went outside the studio and burned your name tag. But now these morons have evolved from the types that question scientists’ on climate change (AND PLEASE DO NOT RESPOND THAT YOU BELIEVE IN CLIMATE CHANGE IF YOU ARE ONE OF THESE PEOPLE – CLIMATE CHANGE IS AN EXAMPLE, NOT AN EXHAUSTIVE LIST OF HOW YOU ARE INTELLECTUALLY DISHONEST) to now demanding rigorous evidence from every commenter on social media:
- There seems to be collusion with Russia – WHAT IS YOUR EVIDENCE? – Ummm, common sense
- (a few months later) There have been contacts with Russian – SAYS WHO – Ummmm Donald Trump Jr.
- (a few days later) The emails say they intended to collect dirt on Hillary thinking it was Russian government intel – SAYS WHO – DO YOU HAVE DNA EVIDENCE AND VIDEO TAPE PROOF? WHERE IS IT? YOU ARE REALLY REACHING HERE!
This kind of shit just keeps happening. The $1 bet people keep puffing out their chests like they are Copernicus challenging whether the Sun revolves around the Earth, but they are really just Frank Drebin in The Naked Gun insisting there is nothing to see while the store behind him explodes. You can have your vote and your opinions – but stop pretending that ignoring facts and being a simpleton makes you an intellectual heavyweight. It just makes you complicit in an administration that should have an approval rating of a terror attack instead of in the high 30s.
And this goes for a lot of independents as well (the Kings and Queens of the $1 bet in many cases). Standing outside the parties may win you moral points and (for left leaning indies) make you feel a strong kinship with Bernie (who still insists on using as much of the Democratic establishment he can while not joining so he can just bitch about it, keeping up his brand). So keep complaining about the system, remaining an independent (I would be curious how many independents actually show wide variance in the parties they support from election to election) and be sure to complain about the parties not letting you vote in primaries as you insist on not joining the parties. I am not saying some people are not truly independent and do not have valid concerns, but I genuinely believe a lot of independents care more about feeling independent than actually maintaining some sort of political independence.
But at the end of the day yes, it is all Hillary’s fault. Because “any decent candidate would have crushed Trump.” But if that is true, then why after watching President Sleeper Cell destroy America’s credibility from within and put millions of people’s health care and safety at risk every time he has a thought, are his ratings still around 40%? Maybe the country, full of hate and morons has its own issues and the cure may not be “Hillary was bad too.” But keep making your $1 bets if it makes you feel good. I am sure you will get some nice parting gifts.
Normally my road recaps are about weeks or weekends performing comedy somewhere in America. However, this recap, because of its greatness and volume of information and humor will be my first road recap (that I can remember) that is simply a review of a non-comedy trip. I went to my girlfriend’s 20th high school reunion this weekend in Arlington, Virginia. Before you are done reading you will read about slavery, pornography and something far more depraved – a lying scumbag on Amtrak. You will also learn about a legitimate comedy milestone for me as well as chaperoning my Mom to a Bill Maher stand up comedy performance (well, that will be on this week’s podcast). So get ready to learn, laugh and hate!
The Preamble: The Train, The Porn Star and Mean Girls?
As usual, any trip via Amtrak for me will involved the “future glimpse at a dystopian future” known as Penn Station. My girlfriend and I saw the red caps bringing bags to gate 12 East so we, along with a dozen or so other geniuses, lined up there to beat the eventual crush of thousands. Then, the worst thing happened: the gate was announced as 12 West, which meant we were at the back of the line we thought we were starting. As Jesus and Amtrak said, “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” Of course there was a guy I remember cutting about 120 people and I wanted to throw him down the escalator, but then I remembered this is not a Trump rally, just Penn Station.
When we got to DC we headed to the Hyatt in Rosslyn, VA which was 2 blocks from the site of the reunion. We then ate at a nearby place called District Taco, which was incredibly delicious (including the rare Boylan soda fountain), so expect a big bump in sales after this endorsement DT. After that it was time to meet up with my girlfriend’s two best friends from high school and their significant others. Here is where things start to get interesting.
There are three main facts learned at the dinner:
- One of their classmates is now a porn star!
- That class mate is a man 🙁
- My girlfriend and her friends may have been the mean girls in high school.
We will cover the first two in the “Boogie Night” section, but the third was interesting because when I asked my girlfriend about being the mean girls in high school, she did not deny it. Instead, she said “I think I was the nicest one!” which is a denial worthy of a Sean Spicer press conference. When I asked one of the two friends later in the weekend, there was not a flat denial, but rather a series of explanations, which confirmed they were the mean girls. So I wondered if I, along with the two other significant others were being set up as human shields for some 20th Reunion school revenge shooting. The rest of the night I just paced around the hotel like Marion Barry yelling “Bitch set me up!”
Too Much Black History!
The next morning, my girlfriend and I went to the National African American Museum of Lit History and Fire Emjoi Culture. The place is stunning, though it requires a full day. We spent four hours there and only got through half of the museum (the lower three levels are the hard core history from slavery through President Obama and it involves a lot of reading, which keeps things to a fairly slow pace, especially when considering how densely packed the large area is with information, displays and artifacts. The top 3 floors cover more culture, sports, etc. and I figured we could see that on our next trip to DC. But at one point, my girlfriend and I were feeling so overwhelmed by the sheet depth and quantity of information that I just yelled out “THERE ARE TOO MANY BLACK… PIECES OF HISTORY!” at which point I got a lot of stares. I quickly pulled out a copy of my Sprint Cell Phone bill to prove my half blackness and everything was forgiven.
And as if there was not enough black history going on, while in the museum I got a message that my album Fireside Craps would be the first of my albums to make it on to the Billboard Comedy Charts (so look for annoying photos on social media from me when that happens this week).
Among my chief complaints about the museum (after they should have gotten twice the amount of space – though if they were limited to this square footage it is a marvel of design fitting everything in in the manner in which they did) is that there was no display dedicated to angry white guys yelling “But my parents didn’t own slaves!” nor was there anything dedicated to white women running amok with black twitter vernacular. But they did a strong job nonetheless. Though sadly, I expected to see a display of Amber Rose next to either Sojourner Truth or Rosa Parks, but I guess sex positive heroes have not found their place in the museum yet! Here is a photo journal of highlights from my first trip:
Now it was time for the reunion, which was located in a beautiful top floor space overlooking the Potomac River and basically every landmark in DC. However, because of the cost of renting that space the reunion was left with beer, wine, an appetizer station and someone’s iPod playing hits of the 90s over the PA system. It felt like someone buying a Park Avenue penthouse, but only being able to afford to furnish it with an air mattress.
So as I said hi to a few people (and was mistaken as someone else, but then had to have a 5 minute conversation wit the guy to ease his embarrassment) and then I spotted someone that might be the porn star. I worked for the DA’s office in the Bronx for 3.5 years so maybe it is unfair of me to use my skills like this, but I have a keen eye for clues:
- Dirty handsome. Tan, lean jacked, hair product – like Zac Efron if he had been abandoned as a child.
- Poor eye contact, but very friendly.
- Sort of a child-like voice
- accompanied by a woman under 23 covered in tattoos, with a shapely bum and friendly, but exhausted eyes
- said when speaking to my girlfriend “I work out of Vegas, LA, and San Francisco” (something I coined as the BermudAIDS Triangle” later that night)
When I later spoke to my girlfriend’s friend’s husband he said “that’s him, right?” and I said “he had me at Vegas, LA and San Fran.” I am sure that somewhere in Vegas there is a blog being written by the porn star about how he knew who the comedian was in the party:
- Too many jokes
- The frame of a guy who used to workout, but now has the cream filling of a cupcake
- Works in NYC, even though “works” really means has a day job
- Dating some Tina Fey-ish chick because that is as close as he will get to SNL
Church and the Devil
On Sunday morning I woke up to head to Mass before catching the train (I upgrade my girlfriend to the Accela so we could take the train home together #ReunionMogul). I had originally needed to leave earlier than her because I was taking my Mom to see Bill Maher in Newark Sunday night as her birthday present (I stored up just enough African-American Museum Wokeness credits to attend the show – that show and experience will be recapped on this week’s Righteous Prick Podcast Tuesday morning). I went to St Michael’s Cathedral near the DC Improv – the Church that Pope Francis And I attend while in Washington. DC. However, Mass was at 830am and as I found out the hard way, the DC Metro does not open until 800am – what kind of major city does not open their local train until 8am?! And then it was a 20 minute wait for the train once it opened (they should start a couple of trains in the middle of the route, but what do I know). So I was late to Mass, but I was sure to pray for the DC Metro system (“love your enemies/haters” – Jesus Chris and Katt Williams).
I then met my girlfriend at Union Station and we got on the Accela to NYC. Once we hit Philadelphia the train started to get crowded. A few people asked the man sitting in front of us if they could sit with him. He said that the bag next to him belonged to someone who had gone to the Cafe car. When we got to Newark (ten minutes from NYC) and the train was even more crowded and he told a woman “This guy has been gone for like an hour so you can probably sit here,” but she declined. Well, as we pulled into NYC this piece of shit stands up and picks up the bag. It was his bag. I almost said something to a conductor when he claimed it had been left there (hey, what if it is a bomb), but I didn’t. I wanted to say something to the guy as we were leaving, but all I really wanted to do was set his bag on fire, so that would not have been constructive. From his affected mannerisms I think he may have been in town to celebrate PRIDE Day/Week/Ethnic Female Guts Spilling Out of Crop Tops Day in NYC, but he should have been… ASHAMED! *drops mic*
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In Ace Ventura’s voice: “Trump is Jackson… Jackson is Trump… Jackson is a cuck!”
The two biggest news makers on my timeline (besides me and my brand new comedy album Fireside Craps – only $4.99 on iTunes) this week have been “President” Donald Trump and Knicks “President” Phil Jackson. Trump is the worst president in American History by Secretariat margins and Phil Jackson is the most inept president of a basketball team since my last NBA 2K season on Play Station. I thought a quick comparison would be interesting and it sure was.
Donald Trump entered the presidential race based on an unearned, but highly public reputation as a business genius because he turned his father’s empire and money into a bigger empire and several bankruptcies. Phil Jackson took over the Knicks with an unearned reputation as a basketball genius (whose signature offense was designed by a former assistant coach) built on the backs of 4 of the top 20 players of the last 30 years in the NBA, including 3 of the top 10.
Both have their roots in 1970s New York City – Trump as a young real estate douche bag. Phil Jackson as a player for the Knicks who threw a lot of elbows like a douche bag.
Trump took his job with no experience, but lots of unearned arrogance. He clearly did not want to live in the city of the job and believed his charisma and confidence would somehow make the job easy. Jackson had no experience in management, wanted to do the job remotely from Montana, and believed that his reputation would lure players to NYC.
Trump has been a colossal failure, unless your only reason for support is “I am a spiteful bigot so Trump is crushing it right now.” Similarly, Jackson has been a colossal failure unless your only hope for the Knicks is “Maybe they will be so bad the NBA forces James Dolan to sell the team.” Both fan bases probably hope for Trump and Jackson to say racist things on tape, but for very different reasons.
Trump has alienated allies, shown zero knowledge of politics, government or the world and has made horrible personnel decisions. Jackson has alienated fans, shown no knowledge (in fact has been dismissive) of the modern NBA and has made horrible personnel decisions (the Joachim Noah trade is his Michael Flynn, and suggesting he would trade Porzingis is basically his version of putting Jared Kushner in charge of everything).
But here is the main difference between Trump and Jackson. Trump told America all the stupid things he believed and would do. And America still elected him. But if Phil Jackson had said “I will give Joachim Noah $72 million, berate our star player and lower his trade value and then threaten to trade our best player in 2 generations” no Knick fan would have supported his hiring. So take heart Knick fans and even James Dolan; it could be worse. You could be as dumb as Trump voters. I guarantee 35% of Knicks fans are not sitting at home wearing Donald Sterling jerseys claiming that “trading Porzingis would Make the Knicks Great Again.”
I learned after writing this that Observer.com had written an article in April comparing Trump and Jackson, but mine was written without this knowledge (and is funnier).
This week the autobiographical film about Tupac Shakur, All Eyez on Me, arrives in theaters. Named after his 1996 double album, the film is no doubt an attempt to capitalize on the success of Straight Outta Compton, an outstanding musical biopic that I put right with Walk The Line and the criminally under-viewed Love & Mercy (about the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson) as my favorite musical biopics of all time (FYI Amadeus, my all time favorite movie, is far above any sub-genre categorizing, just as The Dark Knight is above any discussion of “best comic book movies.”). When they announced Eyez I had my suspicions and those suspicions arose from another rap biopic: Notorious.
Notorious, to put it simply, is a pile of shit. Notorious BIG is my favorite rapper of all time (sorry Gerardo) and the movie drew me to the theater like a hip hop pied piper. “Hey I love Hypnotize! I will see this movie that looks like a few wealthy NYU film students with 1.9 GPAs made it!” It was awful. The performances sucked. The dialogue was corny (“We can’t change the world unless we change ourselves” is still one of the 5 worst pieces of dialogue I have ever heard in any film, porn included) and everything but the soundtrack sucked. In the lead role was a new actor named Jamal Woolard and he was now associated with a movie that would go down as the worst thing to ever happen to Biggie. When I saw Straight Outta Compton my main concern was that it would be another Notorious-esque experience. Fortunately it was not.
So thanks to Straight Outta Compton, I became cautiously optimistic for All Eyez On Me. And then several months ago, I learned a bombshell – Jamal Woolard would be playing Biggie in All Eyez On Me. At that point I realized AEOM was likely to be dogshit. If you think I am jumping to conclusions allow me two pieces of evidence.
Item 1: The Trailer for All Eyez On Me (DON’T BE LURED IN BY CALIFORNIA LOVE!)
Item 2: The film has not been screened for critics less than 48 hours before opening day. This is basically a signed confession that your movie is trash.
So although this is not his starring film, Jamal Woolard will be playing significant roles in two movies that are going to stand for a while as the film legacies for two hip hop icons. My advice to Jay Z, Nas (Eminem already did his film and had the guy from Ballers), LL Cool J and Kendrick Lamar – if you have had fat black men play significant roles in your lives, put something in your wills that Jamal Woolard cannot be allowed to play them.
This is not to say that Jamal Woolard is necessarily a bad actor, but he may be something worse: he may be the black Jai Courtney AKA “The Franchise Killer.”
The Franchise Killer
Jai Courtney is an actor who has surpassed Taylor Kitsch and Sam Worthington as the white actor who gets the most chances in Hollywood to lead films or get major roles in franchises, despite no exceptional abundance of talent or track record of success. Courtney has been (as far as I have seen) a main player in Die Hard 5, Terminator 5, Suicide Squad and the Divergent series (wannabe Hunger Games, whose final installment had to go straight to On Demand or Seeso or something). This would be like being the Secret Service agent in charge of Lincoln, Kennedy, and Reagan and then being handed another detail with the next president.
But the danger of Woolard becoming the black Jai Courtney is that he is doing historical damage. Courtney is destroying beloved film franchises, but if Woolard is carrying the Jai Courtney Syndrome (JCS) then he may be destroying legacies of black icons. What might be next for Woolard? A 15% Rotten Tomatoes score for an MLK Jr biopic? Losing weight and winning a Razzie for playing Barack Obama? A starring role in Tyler Perry’s Oprah biopic? Do you see my concern now?
The bottom line is All Eyez On Me looks awful and the black community does not need a black Jai Courtney. It already has Jai Courtney. Jai Coutney is not a white problem or a black problem – he is a human problem and film fans can only handle one.
All Eyez On Me is actually an excellent song, except for the guest verse by “Big Syke”.” In the history of rap I don’t know if I have ever heard a rapper do less with more – the middle verse on a great song on a #1 double album from an iconic rapper and he turned in a stinker. Maybe that is why the film was named for that song – the idea sounds good but it’s hiding a big turd.
Get J-L’s new stand up albums KEEP MY ENEMIES CLOSER & ISRAELI TORTOISE on iTunes, Amazon & Google.
This Friday, Wonder Woman, the latest DC comics attempt at a film, opens up nationwide. The film has recently generated (or manufactured) some headlines in anticipation of its release with Alamo Drafthouse receiving angry criticism from men at their “Women Only” screenings of Wonder Woman. Now, I do not know if that means 11 emails, or 11,000, but I am guessing it is a lot closer to the former. This was savvy strategy. After all making an all ladies Ghostbusters worked the same angle. The movie was terrible and unfunny, but by making the marketing a quasi political quest to show how funny women are, critics largely gave it praise and liberals and feminists heaped praise on a movie before they even saw it. Thankfully for good taste, lady Ghostbusters did not make enough money to warrant a sequel, but the same tactics will probably prove much more successful for Wonder Woman. The main reason is that Wonder Woman is a comic book movie, which as DC has proven repeatedly, is critic-proof. They have yet to make a good one not involving Christopher Nolan, but they have all been massive hits. Add on top of that a sort of Trump-America guilt (after all what is more American than not voting in the eminently qualified Hillary Clinton for the comic book villain Donald Trump, but then flexing our collective progressive muscle by supporting a comic book hero in bigger numbers than a real woman who could provide real things) and savvy social media posts about “men losing their minds” over all female screenings and you have a recipe for a major hit. But there are several issues with this. Quite simply, they are, in order, DC films, Gal Gadot (the star of Wonder Woman) and Wonder Woman in general.
DC – A Tradition of Crap
Ever since Christopher Nolan set the bar with The Dark Knight trilogy, DC has done their best to erase the memory. It’s as if Christopher Nolan was The Cosby Show and every film DC has made since has been a rape allegation. Man of Steel – mediocre, Batman vs Superman – a mess, Suicide Squad – atrocious (with a good soundtrack to distract you from the pain). And yet, despite all evidence pointing to a rushed and incompetent franchise, now everyone is going out of their way to claim that Wonder Woman will be different. Fool me once – shame on you; fool me twice – shame on me; fool me 4 times and I am a comic book loving moron. Nope. DC – you are terrible and unless you pay Chris Nolan or David Fincher to rescue your garbage factory I will keep my money.
While I like the idea of a girl named Gal playing a Woman, praise on her has been absurd. She has benefited from the Tony Campbell rule (a mediocre pro basketball player with a 6 points-per-game average, Campbell averaged over 22 ppg the year he was picked by the expansion Minnesota Timberwolves because someone had to score points). People have said Godot was the best part of Batman vs Superman. That’s like saying the bathroom air freshener is the best part of violent diarrhea – sure it is true, but how much of that is mere downward social comparison? Lets look at Godot’s last 4 films:
- Triple 9 – 53% on Rotten Tomatoes (rotten)
- Keeping Up With The Jonses – 19% on Rotten Tomatoes (rotten)
- Criminal – 30% on Rotten Tomatoes (rotten)
- Batman v Superman – 20% on Rotten Tomatoes (rotten)
Basically the only way to have a worse movie track record than Godot is if your name is Tyler Sandler. But she is very attractive and married to a real estate mogul so if Ivanka Trump can have a moment in 2017 then why can’t a lady named Gal? But I am not ready to sign on to the emergence of a star just yet. Though, if Ryan Reynolds got 17 chances at being a leading man before he finally had his hit with Deadpool, it stands to reason that we should extend Godot 13 chances to do the same (that’s 77 cents on the dollar of chances a white leading man gets).
Why Does Wonder Woman Have To Be a Hot Woman?
Then we get to the casting, once we have gotten through the phony marketing politics and the failed track record of a dame named Gal. I am just surprised women have not yet railed against the choice of a tall, thin, attractive white former model. So instead of getting caught up in this bullsh*t toxic masculinity, male privilege, patriarchal micro-aggressive casting choice I would like to offer some other choices that might actually move us forward, instead of backwards (if the movie doesn’t suck):
Ariel Winter – If there is anyone fighting the real struggles of modern women with style and grace it is the middle child from Modern Family. Will Wonder Woman ever face the level of scrutiny that Winter has faced for dressing like a porn star to attend an elementary school picnic? Has Wonder Woman ever had to “clap back” at Internet trolls for pointing out that her ass cheeks need not be exposed to order a sandwich from Subway? In other words, once Winter’s ample chest and Miley Cyrus booty have dealt with the issues of today, channeling the strength to play Wonder Woman would be no problem – and also a little more relatable to today’s millennial ladies.
Michael Jordan – He never lost in the Finals, basically making him and LaVar Ball the only two people qualified to be superheroes (SORRY LEBRON). And why can’t Wonder Woman be a man? This path only seems to go one way. Maybe it is finally time for a man (a BLACK MAN to boot) to play Wonder Woman… OR DO WHITE GENDER NORMATIVE THINGS ONLY APPLY TO WHITE WOMEN TAKING OVER TRADITIONALLY WHITE MALE ROLES????? (thinking face emoji)
Caitlyn Jenner – If we are going to restrict casting to only physically stunning women then why not Caitlyn Jenner? Olympic Athlete, around since WWI, media savvy, banging body – I mean maybe we should just re-name Wonder Woman “Caitlyn Jenner.”
Ivanka Trump – as mentioned above, if we must cast a “hot woman,” married to a real estate mogul who is having a moment in 2016-17 then why not the First Daughter-Wife-Thot? Gal Godot is basically the Israeli Ivanka, which is probably what Jared Kushner would have preferred (sadly Gal was not attached to several billion dollars).
So, to summarize I won’t be seeing Wonder Woman and if you are someone who likes good movies, women from Dove commercials or embraces true liberal politics and not just surface level hashtags, then I know you won’t be seeing it either.
Get J-L’s new stand up albums KEEP MY ENEMIES CLOSER & ISRAELI TORTOISE on iTunes, Amazon & Google.