Today’s Fortune: Consider becoming bulletproof.
Evidently the China tariffs were still in place.
Crypto did even worse than real assets.
A bipartisan gun shrug is limping through Congress.
Serfs failed to celebrate seeing their favorite managers live.
Spawn celebrated thirty years of DARKNESS.
Washington Post employees enjoyed a quiet week.
I didn’t sleep today. But I did walk from bookstore to bookstore, signing copies of my book. This wasn’t a publisher directive. I just wanted to speak a little more loudly to the few people listening. Each signed copy has a bonus definition, so check your NYC bookstore of choice. I hit both indies and chains, so your odds are decent.
My father was the family boxing champion, and I haven’t written much about it. I’m perfectly willing to address the topic, but I mostly write and perform comedy. Very few people tune into SNL for a sketch about child protective services. Though I’ve heard worse ideas for a ratings stunt (like inviting a reactionary sex criminal to host mid-election).
I’ve got a science fiction short filtering some of my thinking on the matter sitting in my “to publish” stack. I’ve sent it to the obvious places, but no bites yet.
The scores below might not reflect it, but I got some nostalgia value out of the Netflix is a Joke mixtape/circlejerk specials. I watched a lot of comedy VHS collections coming up, and half of them were shows like this. Ten comedians pooling their notoriety for six minutes apiece. It’s a format with potential, you just need to be selective. Which isn’t a Netflix specialty.
I’ve abandoned all pretense of not roleplaying Guts in Elden Ring. RIP Miura. You made our dull planet better.
Take a look at Everything Abridged, the reason I’m on Earth.
I channeled some recurring frustration into a New Yorker riff on group projects.
You should be aware that there Is No CIA.
Embrace secondhand cringe. Bathe in it. Become one.
I still think more of you should read this.
Since Squid Game promo is everywhere, here’s my old riff on it.
I have a dice roll of a New Yorker piece coming. It may be a hit. It may lead to years of NYPD harassment. I suspect both.
I have another 1-900-HOTDOG slam dunk coming. This one’s a sure thing.
I was a guest on an excellent podcast. More on that later.
As you might have guessed, things are a little in the air with Weeaboo Hell. An episode’s been recorded, but there’s some interpersonal bits to sort.
One Sentence Reviews
Space Bastards (Vol 1): Darrick knows what I want. (3.5/5)
Every “Me and Four Friends” Netflix is a Joke Special: Together everyone bombs more. (2.5/5)
That’s My Time: Redeems the larger project, sort of. (4/5)
Beth Stelling – Girl Daddy: A seminar on pandering. (2.5/5)
Maria Bamford – Old Baby: Bringing fun back to breakdowns. (4/5)
How many inbred shih tzus do you think you could fight at once?
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