Papa D's Place
I Will.

I will play the game.

I will do the dance.

 I will kiss up and glad hand and move up the corporate ladder. 

I will wear a tie to the fundraiser. 

I will present my girlfriend, Sasha, to the company President, Stu Paulson, to show him that I like women and belong in the boys club. 

I will say, I plan to, when Stu says, that I better marry Sasha before she joins the circus. 

I will tell Sasha that I don’t think Stu meant anything by the circus thing full well knowing that the country club bastard sure as hell did mean something by it because he is a prick and Sasha is freakishly tall. People ask her if she plays in the WNBA all the time. At the store, at the bar, at the Motel 6 in Shreveport, everywhere. So what if she’s tall? She has a kind heart and lets me eat bread pudding with my shoes and socks off and that’s a triple treat. 

I will mingle with other guests as Stu’s comments slowly eat at me. 

I will listen to fishing and golfing stories as I track Stu’s movements waiting for all the booze he’s drinking to trigger his urethra to alert him that he must preform the ancient act of taking a whizz and that is when I will preform the ancient act of killing a man for saying something he probably shouldn’t have said.

I will tap him on the shoulder so he knows the identity of his killer before I leave him bleeding on the floor. 

I will listen to the speeches smiling at Sasha, my beauty, waiting for someone to find Stu.

I will pay for my crimes even though in the eyes of true ancient law my crimes are none. 

I will skip the fundraiser. 

I will tell Stu that I’m sorry I missed it, but I was sick and overflowing the toilet with vomit. 

I will tell Sasha that it isn’t working and it’s not because of her height it’s because uh, well, I’m a in need of a little time to find out, um, why I feel like I want to choke birds, ya, I just don’t think it’s right to be in a relationship with someone while I’m constantly fantasizing of choking birds. You remember that time in Shreveport? The whole time I was thinking of choking birds, never of you, don’t cry, I’m the sick one. You’ll find a man who wears pressed pants and never thinks of murdering those flying beauties via choke, I promise. Someday you’ll see me on the TV, maybe on a TV in Best Buy when you are buying DVDs out of a Bin. Bird Murder, the man will say and you’ll be happy I did this.

I will find a woman who will make Stu say, Better put a ring on her finger before I leave my wife for her! I mean, hubba, hubba, hubba, meow, woof, woof, woof, coyote howl, wolf howl, bear growl, what a knockout! I’d like her to take a ride in my Range Rover fully loaded with Bose speakers sometime!

I will make Stu pay for that.

8 Ways You’re Doing Spaghetti Wrong

I’ve had spaghetti made for me many times and often it’s horrible. We’ve all had a friend ask us over for pasta and once it’s in the mouth the only option is to spit it out, get up from the table, and leave because they’ve done spaghetti wrong. So for everyone’s sake I put together a list of 8 things people do to screw up spaghetti.

1. Using whole wheat pasta.

2. Not talking to mother about Brady while stirring the sauce.

3. Forgot to wear a hair net.

4. Used sauce bought at the store instead of using sauce stolen from that epic house party at Lisa’s where Kevin punched Brady for saying a rude thing to a minority.

5. Didn’t test the meatballs for human.

6. Thinking about the good times with Brady while forgiving Brady for the bad times while straining the noodles. Never forget/forgive Brady for Santa Fe.

7. Didn’t invite a priest with a discomforting love for Under the Tuscan Sun over.

8. Forgetting that onions gotta be sliced real thin.

What the Man Behind Me Thought Before He Extended His Arm and Gave Me A Tap

Finally, a guy I can talk to. Thank God, because I need to get this stuff of my chest…if I don’t say it now,  I’m going to punch a get well card…walking around this Target, man…seeing what I’ve been seeing… this shit is making my skin shout for a scratch. The itch is all over like the animals that crawl around this city…I’m going to scratch myself bloody if I don’t let it out.

I know he’s feeling the same way…he itched his behind his ear…his forearm…his nose…we’re brothers in this shit swap. First, I’ll start off with something like, “It’s like a zoo in here, bro, these people are animals” and then I’ll let him know how I feel about Latino mothers. I think the left shoulder looks the juiciest to tap. Here I go.

I’m Iron Like A Lion in Scion

He drove the Scion to the park. He drove the Scion to the top of the hill. He had trouble on his mind. He had to go some place he could think, so he put his keys in the ignition and drove the Scion to the arts park at the top of the hill where it was peaceful. 

He was pretty sure Melinda was going to dump him. She’d quit making him cupcakes a couple weeks ago, which was around the same time she started taking an adult pottery class at the arts park at the top of the hill. That’s how he found out about the park at the top of the hill.

You see, Melinda needed a ride after class, so he drove his Scion to the top of the hill to pick her up. He waited for her with his windows rolled down. He wore shades and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He looked pretty cool, like maybe a web designer with a rad record collection or maybe a young dad who watched zombie movies with his kid. 

When Melinda’s class let out, he observed the rest of the class. Many of them were twenty years her elder and at least two of them were handsome with great jawlines and the swagger of a person who had a sailboat waiting for them somewhere. Melinda said goodbye to them with a giggle. 

When Melinda entered the Scion he remarked that there sure were some handsome men in the class. She said she hadn’t noticed. 

He couldn’t believe that someone could sit in his Scion and lie to him like that. It seemed a cruel thing to do to a person you had told that you could see yourself loving someday, maybe. So maybe Melinda hadn’t told him that she loved him, she’d made him cupcakes everyday for a month. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that saying hey stick with me and this is what life will be like?

On the drive to park at the top of the hill he thought of many things in his Scion. He left the radio off because he didn’t want to be distracted by the beautiful sound that comes factory in every Scion.

He wasn’t distracted by the bumps in the road. The Scion ran smooth, much smoother than his old Honda. The Scion’s shock absorber’s made every road feel like it had just been paved.

He wasn’t distracted by the prices of gas at the stations he passed. The Scion got 36 mpg city. 37 highway. He could drive for weeks without filling his tank. 

The only distracting thing about the Scion was its smooth interior. Had it been his first day of driving this beautiful silver Scion iQ he would have been to distracted by its interior beauty to focus, but he’d been driving it for a while, so he just marveled at it for a few moments and went back to thinking.

If he hadn’t leased this Scion from Sam Smith Scion at such a reasonable rate, he wouldn’t have been able to focus on Melinda. 

He was sitting cross-legged in the park looking at the Heavens now. Surely, the creator and curator of all things big and small would be able to tell him what to do with this whole Melinda situation. He saw a bald eagle fly across the sun. 

He started thinking of bald eagles. He thought of a bald eagle crossing the Delaware. He thought of a bald eagle wearing wood teeth. Basically, he thought of a bald eagle doing all the things George Washington did and while that was fun and maybe a good idea for an animated series of web shorts it wasn’t what he came to the arts park at the top of the hill think about. 

He went back to the Scion. It was in the Scion that the solution to his Melinda problem came clear and he felt an inner peace he’d never felt in any of the Hondas, Chevys, Plymouths, Chryslers, Fords, BMWs, Mercedes, Volkswagens, Audis, Subarus, Volvos, Hyundais, Saturns, Dodges, Fiats, Studebakers, or Datsuns he’d driven. He looked to the sky through the fun sun-roof and thanked the Lord above for every person and all the events in human history that had led to the creation and manufacturing of the beautiful piece of machinery he was sitting in.

I Finally Met The One

I knew he was the one when he walked through the doors of the coffee shop. His clothes were smart but not fancy. His hair looked like he knew that a person doesn’t need to shampoo everyday. He carried a Nalgene water bottle. His frame was slight, his eyes were blue, and his goatee assured me that he knew what translators best brought Japanese poetry to life. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I watched his every move as he waited in line. I knew he would come to my register. He just had to. The overwhelming sense of destiny made me feel that I was floating. 

I took orders from the other customers in a daze. Every fiber of my being was focused on this man of fate. Finally, he came to me. 

What would you like? I asked. 

First, two things. Is your coffee really fair trade or is that just some sticker you place on your products to fool people? Secondly, where do you get your milk? It better not be from the Kraft Corporation, I swear to God. 

I was right. He was the one…the one prick that was going to push me over the edge. 

I spit in his face and was fired by my manager, Marci, with cause. 

So, I’m looking for work. Hit me up on DM if you know of any job openings! I’d appreciate it!

meganpicturetaker:

Dan and DavidPhotographed at Loud Village Comedy NightBest Fish TacoLos Feliz, Los Angeles, California

Pals

meganpicturetaker:

Dan and David
Photographed at Loud Village Comedy Night
Best Fish Taco
Los Feliz, Los Angeles, California

Pals

April 13th Lineup

powerviolencecomedy:

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By Evan Mays

untitledscreenplays:

Guest Submission #27!
This weeks guest submission comes to us from outstanding comedian and man amongst not quite men, Dan Gill! And it incorporates two of my favorite things. Try to guess which two!
(If you’d like to submit an Untitled Screenplay of your own, just email it to untscreenplays@gmail.com)

Cool.

untitledscreenplays:

Guest Submission #27!

This weeks guest submission comes to us from outstanding comedian and man amongst not quite men, Dan Gill! And it incorporates two of my favorite things. Try to guess which two!

(If you’d like to submit an Untitled Screenplay of your own, just email it to untscreenplays@gmail.com)

Cool.

I saw a friend on the street

I was moving my stroll sticks down the cement walk path. Feet comforters slamming cement. Lookers fixed on big blue. 

Hearers caught the sound of my identifiable Proper Noun projected from the noise hole of a son of Adam. 

I shifted my lookers from big blue to cement walk path. 

Noisemaker recognized and confirmed as Tenbrook, a person who I feel comfort with and warmth towards. 

Tenbrook fluttered his shaker. I fluttered my shaker and also opened my kiss slit to show my meat munchers. 

We waddled till saggy skin sacks nearly bumped. Pressed shakers. I put left shaker to Tenbrook’s left arm rotator. Tenbrook put his left shaker on my left arm rotator. 

It had been creator of all things to enteral flames too many rotations of the 3rd rock since near body bumps. 

Well ain’t you an image for weary lookers, I projected from my noise hole. 

Tenbrook’s kiss slit now showed his meat munchers as he revved up the old noise hole to audibly project, So you’re still doing that thing where you talk weird? 

I still refrain from using my noise hole to project sheep speak, I projected.

The boundaries of Tenbrook’s kiss slit shifted towards the crust of the 3rd rock from the fireball. Tenbrook with quiet projection projected, Well, I only really had time to say hi. Take care, Coleman.

Tenbrook 180ed and started moving his stroll sticks down the cement walk path away from my saggy skin sack. 

Take care, I said realizing that maybe people didn’t like me that much. I turned around and walked down the sidewalk towards my home. Inside, I poured myself a glass of ice tea. Right now, I’m sipping from the glass and looking out a window. A bird just landed on a roof. It is moving around, but not that much. Has life always been this boring? 

Motel Chronicle

The motel is nowhere, hard to tell if it’s in the middle or on the edge, but it’s nowhere. 

The only reason it exists is to give the sad souls that pass through parts such as this a place to hide. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To hide from my sins, to hide from those I’ve hurt, to hide from those who have hurt me?

They’ll all be staying with me here tonight, their memories floating around me like the illuminated dust made visible by the faint light of the sun creeping through the blinds. 

The bottle before me will be cracked and I’ll drink to all their memories, may the be damned…may I be damned.

The air in this place is stale and it smells like cigarettes lit from loneliness and not the satisfaction of being loved. 

Where will I be tomorrow? Here or some place like it, I suppose. No matter where I’m at, I’m in the same place, mired in the mud of regret. 

Why do we go on taking up air, water, and food when no one desires us to be alive?

I persist, but I know not why. I have no hope that things will get better. No, all I have is a curiosity for how bad things can get. 

Pile it on life, bury me until I can’t breath. I’ll be here tomorrow, away from my friends, family, and my goldfish, Bertram. All because I screwed things up. My life now is loneliness, sorrow and HBO! Wow, this dump has HBO? Sweet! I’m going to take my pants off and enjoy this! What a cool, unexpected treat!