Cut the Virgin Bit [standup comedy]

Ladies and Gentleman without further ado: I give you: “OZENOZ!”

Hi there. Hi. Hey! Hi there. Yes, hello again. How? Hola? Ce paso compandres? Je ne sais pas. Howdy doody! Well howdy, pilgrim!

I am a VERY mentally ill man.

(big spiraling swirls narrowing to tight spiral with forefinger against head)

I mean like my brain is BAD.

(Michael Jackson finger point and spin)

Like loving all you crazy little kids, white sequined glove grabbing my crotch, BAD.

(Grab crotch and thrust twice)

And if you want know the really insider trading, yes I’ve got a strange Doctor with lots of meds too.

(tap on inside of arm on the vein to inject)

And yes, I’m  gonna die if he gives me just one more shot.

(say it staggering and throaty voice and then slowly droop head into a nod)

I’m Ozenoz as in as an is and is and was cuz oz is isn’t an as in as as in he’s just your cuz cause he ain’t a was cuz, it’s a wiz wizzin wicked way way over the top to the land of ozenoz its not

Ozenoz and Eminem and after all, we’re only ordinary men.

(stand at attention and grab on your crotch a lot, thrusting your finger up and down)

You only get one shot, he gets ten… billion.

(deliver strand up with dramatic pause in the ellipsis)

The alcohol of shame finalizes my deal once again.

(Do the inflection of Eminem in Rap God, emphasize finalizes and deal cards out for the end of the line)

Sorry, just scratchin my nuts.

(scratch your nuts for a good five seconds, cock your right arm at a forty five degree angle and then switch to your left hand, staring at the ceiling and make a grunt in to the microphone, and then stop and stare wide eyed with your hand on your nuts and deliver)

He’s the only one I can fuck without a condom on.

(Deliver rapping strut and then do a thrice hip thrust with grunts, then laugh)

Yes, I finally went and did it, I got the shrink wrap.

(tap head several times at first fast and then dramatically further from it and slower, emphasize SHRINK WRAP)

My shrink doesn’t like my rap.

(deadpan)

Neither do I.

(deadpan)

So one year after hiring him, to celebrate I did something you are all going to think is fucking crazy.

(emphasize fucking crazy and elevate pitch of voice and then rapidly nod head)

I quit meth.

(Pause between each word, slowly annunciate, and drop to a deeper voice on the final word)

Fucking crazy.

(sing Guns and Roses song)

Just to let you know, today is that anniversary.

(tap imaginary watch and nod head, try to convince them sincerely)

Ladies and Gentleman, this is your pilot speaking.

(tap the microphone hard and then breath a couple of times into it, and then in a deep official tone, sounding very casual (overly) deliver)

We are making our final approach and will be coming in for a landing soon.  

(Very Captain like)

I’m sorry, very sorry, but if you could please return to your seats and put on your seatbelts.

(Continuing in the Captain voice)

I’ll be careful, but this may get a bit rough, just to let you know.

(pause after careful, and breath hard into the microphone, laugh at rough and  deepen voice as you get slower on KNOW)

But like I said, don’t worry about yourselves, your safe, I got all my shots this month.

(Raspy voice)

Psyche…meds are awesome.

(Be like a ditzy blonde, very overly enthusiastic and excited. pause on psyche blunt and long, and then dramatic surfer who is impressed rest of the phrase)

Especially on crystal meth.

(breathily and deep and close into the mic)  

Do you trust me?

(scream it and throw your hands up, then pause frozen with your hands out to them)

Good, cause you shouldn’t.

(tap fingers together and deliver in a shady, greedy voice like Mr. Burns)

Shit happens.

(scream it)

I won’t, but shit happens.

(say it slower, reassuring and very calm)

I haven’t gotten the whole pilot thing down yet, you know like Seinfeld, but I’ll keep working on it with all of my years of effort.

(imitate Seinfeld)

Damned shame.

(Get heavy on the mic and put your hand up next to your ear like your getting a secret and tell them the secret)

It’s called Telemarketers, and you too could be at a telephone zoo with the monkeys.

(Deliver drunk)

Playing “with or without you.” (sing) 

“With or without you”.

Tail off into the next line with an extended groan

Bananas.

(say in loud Hispanic voice annunciating each syllable)

Just bananas and Bono and some red assed babbling baboons.

(gay voice, throw hands up on hips)

I know, know not EVERYTHING’s funny…but that’s cause I am coming down.

(deadpan, and then lowering voice heavy into the mic with COMING DOWN)

A very interesting fact. Statistically speaking, the most dangerous part of flying they say is the takeoff and the landing.

(Very official tone, make a plane taking off with your hand, then a plane coming in for landing)

But I am not gonna die, so don’t think your gonna get off that easy with a refund for your entry and shit.

(very matter of factly tugging at tshirt hard like it’s hot or something)

Like my t-shirt?

(Pause, stretch it out, so they can read it)

Good cause I’m not asking anymore.

(deadpan)

If y’all motherfuckers can’t read, then get out of here!  

(scream it)

I’m gonna cuff y’all

(hold hands out to be cuffed and then imaginary smack somebody up side the head)

I swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me out motherfuckers!

(one hand on the Bible, and then freak out in a high winy voice)

I say, son, you got some talents son I say son, you got some talents and some sheckles. Biblical the dough your gonna make. Talents and sheckles. You got the sheckles around your ankles. Quit dropping the dineros son!

I am the original narc freak. Yeah, I know what you’re telling me. I’m telling you. I am telling!

(Speak way too fast and excited shaking head and hair jerkily walking around  in quick steps)

But enough of that.

(Disgusted and loud)

Definitely. (pause for a very long time, very long time)

What are you looking at?

(Scream at them)

Alright I’m done folks.

(Act like you are ending the bit)

Thanks for your ears, your eyes, your fucking noses, and your free drugs.

It’s been fun!

Woah, I’m not done yet?

(point to the back of the room, tap your watch and look like you are getting a message from somebody, emphasize NOT and get flustered on done yet, pause for a real long time, a real long time)

Yes, I am on Medicare, so you are paying out the ass for all this shit I get injected with all the fucking time.

(matter of factly)

I love my Doctor.

(matter of factly)

Cute nurse too.

(shape out an hourglass body with your hands)

Psychiatrists are some of the funniest ass sons of bitches you could ever meet.

(say it and get a laugh out of something)

They all want to know if you feel like killing somebody before they even pissed you off.

(point at head, threaten yourself with a two fingered gun point to the temple, extend it to the audience and shoot it off)

I mean they won’t give it up.

(emphatically and annunciated very well)

I made the mistake of telling mine yes to that particular question.

(mumble, do you feel like killing anyone? Then mumble um well yes…. Close into the mic)

I got out of the psyche ward two weeks later with a fucking headache and a bill that y’all are paying.

(disgusted)

Ha ha!

(like the Simpsons bully)

Like I said, thanks for the free drugs, people.

(Really thank them, and pound chest hard)

All I had to do is tell him that I was going to kill The Duck Dynasty, and presto I’m a happy bearded fucked up beyond belief hunter of the shortest skirts in the R.N. family for a solid two weeks on the inside.

Inbred talent.

(emphasize the first word)

R.N.’s in mini’s and coping with my own fuck dynasty, I mean fuck fantasies, I mean Duck Dynasty Final Fantasy Freedom for Fuck Faces against Faggits at the Fillmore East the following Thursday didn’t help my case.

(do the hip thrust on the first two, then shoot it off fast and hard and do the blow job tongue in cheek motion FAST after fuck faces against faggits and yell out the end of the line)

Couldn’t let me go.

(calmly)

And all they had to play for video games was an old Nintendo, and you guessed it, Duck Hunt.

(Tell it to them in a high, whiny, nasally voice, drop your voice on Duck Hunt)

Two to the head, bitches.

(gun point with fingers to temple again)

Two to the motherfucking head.

(shake your gun pointing finger at them and annunciate and get excited)

Cute ones.  I’ll take two hotties to the head, if you please. And I want fries with that.

(matter of factly)

Sex in a institutional hospital facility bathroom is a lot less fun when they want to play dominatrix.

They have all the fucking torture essentials.

(Emphasize ALL and slow down the last three words)

And sex in a straight jacket I do believe is exactly what got Houdini and his beautiful assistants into them.

And out.

Old magicians have bigger child support bills.

Yes, the older they get, the less money they get to keep.

Fucking straight jackets.

(scream it)

Life’s a bitch, and then you die.

So pay your taxes on the sly and always super size the fries.

(fast but clear)

(sing) I believe I can fry.

I believe I can touch the sky.  

Call my dealer every night and day.

Take my shit and fly away.

That’s ok, you don’t have to laugh at that. Suck my dick bitches! I am the man from Nantucket. I ain’t asking. I got it covered.

(Get excited on the first line and approach the audience, even get into it, then scream the next line. Tell them emphatically about the man… next line ends on a question, last line is loud, deep and slow)

And I am a liar. A big fat liar. Not just a liar, a pathological liar.

I lie to everyone, everywhere, every day, in every way, whatever the pay, because I can’t say that truth will get me play and stay touché and by the bay gay ra…dar flying under the limbo bar fly by night kind of lifestyle I live.

So don’t believe anything I say, and you’ll always be half right.

My life is like a fifty/ fifty, fifty percent dog day dazed and confused, and fifty percent cats in the cradle with no silver spoon. But different strokes for different folks, I get no money when my Daddy croaks.

Translation: half the time I lie like a dog. I bury my bone wherever I roam and dig in more trash than I can hone. The other half of the time I’m sparing for change and I’m talking the strange cause I always get framed for the kid who has the trust left to bust on any just gust of the thrust and presto! Brush my teeth with Cresto! I come from the big litter of colorful cats, who’d rather neuter themselves than turn to rats. Spay some change? Spay some change? Spay some change?

Catholic Jewish background, I get more guilt trips than Timothy Leary took acid trips. Bad trips are us. Can you tell?

I have one goal in life, to die a fat happy man with every Happy Meal toy since 1984.

(hold up a number one and shake it around broadly the whole way through)

But they won’t let me super size the fries.

Fuckers.

Depriving the little spuds of their mouthfuls of grub.

(shaking a naughty finger now at the audience, returning to the stage)

Don’t they know that a kid with toys and no fries spreads the ketchup like my slutty nurses thighs?

(bounce your hand like your playing with a toy, then do the flapper dance criss crossing your knees, rubbing your thighs together)

Wet and red everywhere like they got their period, or like me.

(pause after “period” for awhile)

I mean like my daughter in the car seat runs out of fries and suddenly Michaelangelo of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is in a very realistic looking blood sport fight to the death with the white upholstery. Uh huh! You know what I mean right?!

(Act like your driving the car, have the steering wheel, turning around and making faces, double taking on your daughter while telling it- after upholstery pick out someone in the audience, point to them, approach and ask the question nodding your head in the affirmative dramatically)

And sure enough, unexpectedly with the bright idea of wearing a G- string today, my wife unexpectedly starts HER period in the passenger side.

(Adjust your underwear all the way around while saying G-string)

The passenger side, the passenger side, the passenger side… problems because I had no baby wipes left and I couldn’t convince her that a napkin wrapped around a straw would make a good emergency tampon.

(wrap an imaginary napkin around a straw and pretend to stuff it up her coochie next to you)

We got a bleeder here!

(Scream it!)

This may be hard to believe, but this is your pilot speaking.

(Make a white noise sound into the mic, then tap it, then drop to deep, official Captain voice)

If you could all please stop ignoring me and take your seats again please, I may be able to take us in for a landing.

(make the plane coming down gesture with your hand again, and then have it crash and make a crash noise, crack up)

Seriously folks, you need to take me seriously.

(clap and then deliver)

Laugh all you want.

(say it in that high whiny Seinfeld voice)

I know you think I’m good, but not that good.

When the shit is good, the shit is good, know what I’m saying? (sing)

(scratch your nuts and start to sing)

Sometimes you feel like a nut!

Sometimes they hurt!

Sorry, just scratching my nuts.

How do you spell pain?

H-E-R-P-E-S.

(with accent) Herpes. (hum the tune)

Come on people, that was a joke.

You know I once worked as a telemarketer selling monogrammed condoms to businesses?

That’s one I am writing into my scripts for Telemarketers of the future.

How to sell a condom to someone.

If you’re close is off like a prom dress,you are more likely to have luck.

My own particular script was this:

(imitate speed dialing and ringing of phone in mic)

“Hello?” (in a feminine voice)

Hey there, babe! I have got a condom with your name on it! I am not letting you go without breaking out the condoms with me, so forget about hanging it up. You’re too sweet, and with your name all over them, how can we ever get fucked on getting in business?

At which point, they are either laughing, frustrated  by your schtick, wondering if you are their last bad date gone wild, or wanting more of your schtick to help ease their day into a better lay… of the cards. And if you hold out as if you are the cards, all of them, you just might close off another clothes off advertisement for them and their clients.

Believe you me, these condoms are just what the doctor ordered. They say your business on them and they have your number, and it’s just what you want your clients to be seeing as they get ready to have safe sex. You can tell them when their leaving to get fucked, and mean it, and not offend. Isn’t that what we all we to tell the biggest dick of the day? “Hey buddy, get fucked…” And then hand them a condom. We’ve got lubed, unlubed, ribbed, unribbed, one rib of adam and two for the jib, your too twisted, take my jit seed and shove it, flavored, unflavored, savory wedding night tips, thrust alone from the hips, if you do that I’ll lose my shit, you have a nice ass and atleast one tit, Hoover Dam Reservoir tipped, versions for the smaller dick, different colors, different virus killing kinds for paranoid mothers,  pleasure building, and we promise you just that…buildings of pleasure. And if they’re not sure what kind, we’ve got a chart, for their dick to measure. So whatt’ya say?

But anyway. Buy today and you’ll get free keychain lube packets, good for a quickie and to fire up a hickie! So buy em long, hard, and quick before you lose another dick to a bitch all day who’s not needing to get knocked up!

The most surprising sale I got was to my mother’s Catholic Parrish. But then again, she does get around. Nun of this, nun of that, nun of the above, nun below, nun besides, and nun to go, nun for you and nun for me, and nun for a father to make him happy. Mommy makes me wear a glove before I go bankrupt from all of my kids. That’s an illegitimate accusation, really.

You know some guy asked me the other day what Jesus true age is?

So I say like two thousand and thirty six, thirty seven. I don’t know, I’m bad  with numbers, but that son of a…(uh…)God is real motherfucking old!

He is definitely eligible for Social Security.

(sing) Jesus left Chicago, and he headed down to New Orleans. Jesus left Chicago, and he headed down to New Orleans…

In New Orleans, he ran outta money, had to wait a month til payday.

Tried to make money as a bootlegger, all that water to wine shit got ugly back in the day.

Did you know I was a nationally award winning collegiate actor in High School for my comedy?

No matter what, I’m taking the spot.

I haven’t changed my spots.

When I’m on the spot, I break out in spots.

I’m all lit up, and spotty is in the passenger side asking for my fries on the side.

(Make the steering wheel sitting and driving the car motion)

Spotty, this is your Captain speaking. 

Beam me up, spotty.

(tap your chest and make the high pitched warbling beeping noise of the communicator from Star Trek, deliver)

Eat your bloody fries.

Apparently they DO make good tampons.

And the grease makes for good lubricant too!

(make the fucking from behind, one hand on the ass, one hand smacking motion while delivering the line, continue on in silence for a couple of seconds afterward)

My wife and I recently, having to sleep in the same room as our daughter, experienced the age old question.

When should we stop having sex with her in the room?

(make the fucking motion again for a few seconds, get wide eyed and scream the baby’s waah! Wah! While your doing it)

We’ve tried everything from blindfolds and earmuffs to putting her in the old moving boxes with a laptop running Sponge Bob reruns full blast, but my sexual frustration still has me sneaking Penthouse moments in private office bathrooms while seeking my pilot landing everywhere.

(just tell them)

This is your Captain speaking.

(make the mic crackle, and deliver in deep pilot voice again)

Fucking sit down!

(Scream it!)

Jerk offs!

(Make the jerk off motion with your hand and get REALLY FRUSTRATED, screaming)

I need sex.

(brief pause, then very calmly and matter of factly with head in hands nodding no)

Lots of sex.

More sex than most, because not only do I have an affinity for a good nut, I am a good nut.

Zen and the art of cleaning the cum off the playpen before your daughter gets her mouth on it.

“Get your mouth off of that, missy! Nasty old cum wad!”

(box out the shape of the playpen and rub  her imaginary head, shake a finger at her, then dramatically and hard and quickly rub off the imaginary goo, then make a crazed look at your hand, sniff it into the microphone, then scratch your head and lick it, make an awful face and spit it out hard, go back and smile and giggle and say yes and rub her imaginary head)

There really is no proper etiquette to that whole affair.

Oh, especially if it’s from an affair.

Never know what them bitches got.

(scratch your nuts)

Sorry, just scratching my nuts.

(groan long and loud into the mic after the line)

I know how to spell pain, but what I wanna know is how do you spell relief?

(scratch your nuts and groan again)

Sorry, still scratching my nuts.

Comics are an itchy nut group, forgive me.

If you wanna know what we all do backstage, it’s stand around and scratch our nuts and exchange std clinic information while copying and pasting the best easy lays in our little black books to the green room guest list.  

Did. Did too. Did too. Did too.

(go back and forth from the imaginary book in your hand and writing in the guest list and making big broad check  marks in the air)

Mean what you say, and say what you mean.

I didn’t get any visits today back there.

Itchy nuts or not, two to the head bitches!

(scream it)

Two to the motherfucking head.

(slow, pissed and deliberate)

Immediately. I mean want head now.

From two of y’all.

At one time. (slurping noises)

I know what y’all are saying. Alright man from Nantucket, quit talking to you yourself.

Speaking of sex and etiquette, let me tell you about my most recent screenplay I am experimenting with.

That’s what I call writing, experimenting.

Two to the head bitches.

(half yell)

Laugh or not, I’m fucking through with y’all.

(Wave at the audience dramatically, give them the middle finger, get ready to leave the stage)

You are the rudest sons of bitches around, all sitting down there watching me scratch my pussy scabs without offering me a hand.

This is your Captain speaking.

All hands on dick!

(Yell it)

We’ve got a Moby.

(head in hands shaking head no)

Whale of a bad joke. Dicks. Dicks. 

Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks.

(Say it like the teacher from Ferris Bueller)

Passed  by a shopping center in New Jersey once that was going up, years ago. It had three stores in it.

Dick’s, BJ’s and Seimens.

Be a sport, buy wholesale and get into a bunch of new beds. Dick’s, BJ’s and Seimens.

Hard blow and cum. Dick’s, BJ’s, and Seimens. Dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks.

(deliver like the teacher from Ferris Bueller)

(Sing) Dick, dick, dick, da dick, dick, dick! Dickalodeon!

Ok enough about dicks, let’s talk about pussies.

Standing in line at the std clinic earlier I spotted a good pussy next to me when the skirt flew off the handle trying to answer an incoming text.

(dramatic pause before next line)

Apparently his boss was firing him.

(matter of factly)

California is wild. How many times a day do I have to ask myself, he , she or it?

Wait a minute as usual my fucking mind has taken over my rational one.

I was about to tell you about my new screenplay.

I may be a pussy as a writer,  but you gotta admit, everybody loves a good pussy.

It gets out of line and lets you go straight to the front just because it’s trying to be a good pussy.

I used to think that shit was effortless, then I met my wife.

You can sum our current sex life up in about thirty seconds, and I can wrap it about about that fast too.

Gotta do it quietly though.

Caught my daughter saying ”have sex” instead of me casa while watching Dora the explorer the other day.

(skip and flop head around stage… do a high pitched “say, me casa!”, duck down like the kid watching t.v., yell in a high pitched voice “have sex!”)

Dora wasn’t impressed, and went on to teach her how to say things like rubber and chicken and meat stick in like fucking Spanish and shit.  

“...El Pollo Loco!”

(Do high pitched Dora voice)

Now I hear her talking about me from across the room during my thirty seconds of sex when she wakes up.

Observing the “chicken meat stick rubber” in spanish from the depths of a Uhaul box in the corner.

“El Pollo Loco!”

 “Pollo!”

(Yell it in your daughter’s voice.)

Oh yeah the script.

Get this, Looper Well.

My answer to Caddy Shack.

I was a professional golf caddy for over a decade, you know?

Golf is a very funny and particular language.

It takes some getting used to when you’re caddying and a golfer comes over to ask you to clean his balls and give him a wood.

(nod your head a lot in the first part, then place the one scenario over “here” broadly with your hand, and the other broadly over “here” with your hand)

That’s why they don’t allow gangbangers to Caddy.

They’d be getting it on with him at the halfway house.

Two to the head bitches.

(sarcasticly)

Two to the motherfucking head.

(calmly and drifting off)

Speaking of two to the head, met this guy awhile back who really did give himself two to the head.

This motherfucker, at a party, drunk, shows me a scar he has under his chin and at the top of his fucking skull. Stuck a shotgun to his head and missed his brain. At least the important part, according to old fashioned shrinks.

Partial frontal lobotomy. They didn’t even have to fucking institutionalize him when he went to the hospital. He did it for himself.

And how, by the way, how the HELL? DO YOU? TRY AND SHOOT YOURSELF? IN THE HEAD? AND MISS?

Yo, buddy, I hate to tell you this, but that’s the worst aim I have ever heard of. You need to hit the practice range, bro.

(Stop dead in your tracks after, and make loud sniffing noises into the microphone like you have post nasal drip or something for like six or seven seconds)  

What the hell is that?!

(yell it!)

Either I just had a severe brain fart or one of you motherfuckers in the front just cut loose a wet one!

(tap your head with a finger several times, then do the crazy circular motion, then wave hand around in front of face dramatically trying to stave off the smell)

Can we get a fan in here?

(look offstage)

Cheap fart humor, I know, I know.

(admit it and apologize)

Leaves a bad taste in my mouth when their as cute the one I think who did it too.
(Make clacking sounds with tongue and teeth opening and closing mouth as if you taste something, hang tongue out wide eyed)

Speaking of ass to mouth, no.

(loud)

Just no.

(louder)

Not maybe, not later, not backstage, in the backseat, in the back row, or  by the back hoe, not here, not there, not anywhere, not EVER after that one.

(Loudest and imitating Ralph Cramden from The Honeymooners)

Ok, maybe a rain check.

(crack up, and then ask)

I will excuse you if you need to go wipe now.

(point out a female member of the front audience)

Yeah, you.

(hold nose and continue to point her out)

It’s ok, we all smell it and know it up here, you can leave.

Don’t be embarrassed, shit happens.

(reassuring, approaching her, walking slowly closer and closer)

Even in the front row.

(reach her, and put your hand on her shoulder)

Trust me I have seen a lot of front row shit in my day, lady.

Go ahead and leave now. Go on! I know you want to.

(return to the stage)

Unless your one of them fart sniffer bitches.

The kind that shove your head under the sheets during sex when you cut loose. Ok, rip off.

(deliver fast, and then admit it)

Spare more than a square for this bitch please if you can hear me in the women’s room?

(Yell it out)

No really, I’m kidding.

(Start to approach the audience member again)

I’m just fucking with you. You actually smell all Chanel and shit.

Two to the head and shit.

(Say it like it’s final)

Damn. I thought I had balls.

(Nodding head and grabbing  at nuts for a second)

All front row and shit.

I thought I had balls. Now I’m feeling bad about it.

Could just be post -op depression about my wife making me get a vasectomy.

Where did my balls go?

(Exasperated)

(singing and making scissors snipping motion with hands) Oh where oh where did my little balls go? Oh where oh where can they be?

Where the lost balls all go, way out of bounds.

(cut yourself off with the line and throw hand out to symbolize)

Speaking of gross anatomy, I have had it with my gay friends putting me into bad and embarassing situations. For instance, awhile back a friend invited me to a seminar at the local Gay Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Center. That’s a fender bender waiting to happen. People got their shit packed and came. He said it was going to be a gourmet buffet that would be so killer and got my weakness by the balls, free food!

I said, yes and went. Why the hell not?

So I get there, and all is well, no flaming mo’s hitting on me so far, I’v e got a seat right up front, and a full plate and a half of some really good grub. Chicken wings, green bean casserole, loaded mashed, even the salad had the bomb balsamic dressing to go with it.

Just as I pick up my fork and get ready to stuff a my face, the lights go down and the overhead projector at the front of the room fires up, and I hear from our speaker “Welcome to the anal health seminar”

“What an asshole!”(yell it)

Picture these assholes with pictures of asshole after asshole filling you in on everything from hemorrhoids to anal douching. Yes, anal douching.

What an informative asshole buffet.

(Point out the lady who needed to go to the bathroom earlier)

You taking notes? Yes, that’s right anal douching, babe!

From your ass to my mouth. My mouth to your ass. Promise?

(singing) Sometimes you feel like a nut!

Sometimes they itch.

Sorry, hitting the scratching post, cats.

I feel I been tied to the whipping post by the skankiest Herpes infected slut I  had all the luck to stumble on like a week back.

This Herpes shit is no joke.

You know that like seventy five percent of Americans have it?

Majority rules. Majority rules.

Spread the word, it won’t make a difference.

Talk shit all you like, I will still get laid.

I promise.  Seventy five percent good with everybody here.

You won’t hurt me or the pussies I’m tight with.

I mean tight. Tighter than tight.

Like lock box open to cocks, and I’m not talking about the cable company.

Speaking of which, who the hell names a company Cox?

(emphasize COMPANY and spell it out with your hands on a giant imaginary billboard, then point to your crotch, start doing the fucking hip thrust motion again)

There is just something fundamentally wrong with that.

Watching commercials with these Partridge Family type wholesome groups in the clip, saying “we love our Cox”.

Yeah I bet you do.

Call and get Cox today! Cox on demand! Get your COX in a bundle! San Diegans. We love our COX.

But enough about Cox. Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox.

I’m starting to get kind of homophobic.

No offense to those cockedy cock cock Cox has the Fox round the clocks for all that sucks in your socks out of the docs, sipping wine in a box with the locks and the rocks and just say no talks when she knocks out your jocks watching like hawks cause it’s all on your Fox for watching your CAX motherfuckers.

Actually, for all I care they can all get two to the head, for reals.

Working for Cox.

Isn’t that the truth.

Aren’t we all accustomed to having that experience in life at some point though?

Working for cocks!

Hey you there, a couple rows back, quit looking at me like that.

I swear I am not gay.

(Say it in a very fag voice, putting hands on hips)

Am not. Am not.

(flighty, and schwerving head)

I’ve been as straight for as long and hard as you can imagine.

(Say it choppy and enthusiastically like a ditzy blonde)

That came out wrong.

(overdo WRONG!)

I mean it man, quit staring.

(warn him seriously and getting pissed off)

You keep hearing me say two to the head, I’ll show what it means in a minute.

(approach the audience and yell!)

Don’t make me get my gun.

(Reach into your back)  

I know I’m all funny in the head and shit, but I ain’t laughing.

(shake your head no after, and pause for effect)

Not that you are either.

(deadpan)

That goes for all of you silent motherfuckers.

(Stretch arm over whole audience, emphasize ALL)

Fresh comedy kills are the best.

Killer. Killer. Killer. (sing quick “there’s a killer on the road”) Comedy.

No, I’m just fucking with you man.

(Make sure and point out the guy in the audience overenthusiastically and let him know)

I won’t shoot first and ask questions later.

Cause you won’t be able to answer.

You’ll be dead.

I mean it motherfucker, I see them eyes.

Three to the head for you.

(hold up three fingers and half yell)

You got one of them melon heads, take more bullets.

(make out the shape of his head with your hands, then hold it up to your own)

It may even take four.

(Hold the fake head back away from you where you can see it, then get wide eyed and deliver, hold up FOUR fingers to emphasize)

Shit after shooting you, I may end up working for the department of redundancy department.

The Department of Redundancy Department. Get it? Again? Again? Again?

Over kill. That’s over kill.

Just like my cheating ass having to run around fucking around on my woman when she’s one of them sex addict fiends to begin with. (scratch nuts)

The irony of it is, I am the only one she’s fucking and she still doesn’t get laid enough.

Yeah, I’m a good lay. Damn good lay.

And my number is six one oh three nine two three thousand, in case your interested.

(blast off the numbers incredibly quick, go IMMEDIATELY NO HESITATION INTO NEXT LINE)

You need a pen?

Ok, just checking.

Thought you might.  

Just thought you might. Are you sure?

Cause I have one you can keep.

Actually it’s kind of like one of those business card pens.

It says Joel Brooks, Jew and general anarchist.

I take cheap shots all day long when I can get them.

Get it? Jew and general anarchist? 

Cheap shots? You get it? Never mind.

Top shelves are way too overpriced unless you go to one of those joints where they refill the bottles in the back you know what I mean?

But still the chick your buying drinks for thinks she’s getting top shelf.

Gotta love cheating the already suffering alcoholics out of having good taste in any sort of way.

They think they have good taste, and if they do, they are stupid.

Or maybe just drunk. I’ve been too drunk to drive, too drunk to walk, too drunk to stand, too drunk to sit, too drunk to talk, believe it or not, but too drunk to fuck?

Never.

I will fuck under any circumstances, whether I can get it up or not.

(make a finger erection with a rising 
“whoop!” SOUND EFFECT and then a slumping motion with a downward “whoop!” sound effect.)

We can still stuff that shit in there, believe me.

And if you are telling me you don’t enjoy that kind of thing ladies, your lying.

Fuck, that sucked. Really happened to me.

She stuffed and stuffed and I just couldn’t convince her to give me five minutes.

(Do the finger raise and lower with the “whoops!” again)

Five fucking minutes bitch.

Picked her up in the sex addicts anonymous meeting car pool I work for my wife.

Easy pickings.  

Freak of nature.

I need to lay off the top shelf.

(make the motions as if you are hitting a joint, with the air noises that go with it)

Pot is great shit! Isn’t it?  

(Holding breath from hit, unable to fully talk)

Hunger, vision, compliments the senses, opens up my mind. Smoke the sky.

But stay away from that meth shit.

It will fuck your whole night up.

Fuck you then. Fuck you.

(High, wicked witch of the west voice)

And your little dog too.

(turn and make an evil face and slyly grin and cackle it!)

You know I read some shit the other day about that movie, you know, The Wizard of Oz, in The Writers Market.

It summed it up like this: A teenage girl runs away from home, kills the first person she meets, and then teams up with several others to kill again. 

The Wizard of Oz.

(pause afterwards)

Wow. Badass!

(Be severely impressed)

Dorothy is my kind of chick.

(annunciate and slow down each word for emphasis)

Think she hung out in biker bars afterwards?

(Excited about it!)

Dorothy and Toto and some hog riding Hell’s Angels at a back woods Kansas biker bar playing dirty pool, listening to hard rock and doing fat rails and rounds of shots with guns in tow in case it’s not that cool by y’all doing it long and hard and fast and wild, short and quick in the men’s room loads all night til the cows come home.

(fast, then pause)

Yeah bitches.

(slow and drawn out try and give a high five to someone in the crowd)

Ever been to Kansas?

The thing about Kansas is, you can’t hide the fact that your coming or going anywhere.

I mean Jesus Christ, you can see for like ten thousand light years down the road.

Your parents knew you were going to be ten minutes late for curfew in High School in Kansas, and they could see your ass coming already in the family car, trying to hide your joints and make sure the beer cans are cleaned out.

I’ve been everywhere in this fucking country.

Well, almost. But I squatted in Topeka for about a month a few years back.

Beautiful town.

Only fifty percent of Topekans have Herpes, so leave your gloves behind and your boxers too.

Playing twister is real serious out there. No joke.

Went twister hunting once, and found out at a real unfortunate time that I probably really shouldn’t have done that.

I finally found the mother load.

Five of them combined and made a big black burly beast of absence of the need to behead, bereave, bequeath me with a load of shit in my shorts as it came straight the fuck at me.

I even saw the wicked witch of the west riding around in that fucker.

And that’s when I became Ozenoz.

It’s emitted, admitted, taken back ward, refitted, admitted the shame you acquitted me sane to release the remitted, like an idea, this crime, give me six up! Tao, the line, spinning faded and hated, delegated, degraded, the tainted love you created, infiltrated, and made it easy to be what I made it, and shit I paid it the time, shoulda been you killer fine, but you turn water to wine, so with this mic may I find!

Yeah bitches. Ozenoz I is and is a wiz for show and in the biz an as for an as and and eye for a booth, so show me where the fucking studio’s at for truce! Truth. And the American way. 

Ozenoz is barely living today.

Fuck Eminem! Don’t tell him I said that, he’ll probably take it WAY TOO FUCKING SERIOUSLY! That guy?

No, really folks, true story. No, not that one.  Not the one where I saw Eminem at the Hilton San Fran during String Cheese Incidents 2002 Time Travelers Ball with a pregnant bitch claiming he raped her. That would just piss him off further. Especially since he buried them in that fucking video.

Recovery? Yeah good recovery.

Poor rape artist. Poor rape artist. Rape artists git a bad name.  

(southern twang on it so it almost sounds like rap)

Back to other kinds of twister.

Pushed the car from five to fifty five in neutral, and then took care of about a third of the local Klu Klux Klan there in Tennessee when it ripped up seventy five of their houses.

And the nigger lovers win again. Ding ding ding!

Sorry about that.

Ozenoz and Eminem, and after all we’re only ordinary men.

I got shot at once for saying the N word.

But I tell you the wonderful thing about niggers, a niggers a wonderful thing. Their tops are made of the rubbers, their bottoms are made of the springs. Their bouncy, flouncy, trouncy, flouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun! I tell you the truly wonderful thing about niggers is I’m the only one! I’m the only one! Whoo hoo hoo hoo!(Tigger from Winnie the Pooh)

No, really America, I know I’m  white. Eminem reminds me every day, and I spend lunch with the can’t jump crowd when I could be balling, but three points don’t count when your street shot calling. Watch the bird! I think I’m gonna come in painted black face to the game one these noons. (singing) Guess who’s black, guess who’s black, guess who’s black, guess who’s black?

Atleast that I’ll ever accuse of it ever again.  

The only nigger I know worth talking to is me.

I talk to myself all the time.

What the hell, I’m black and proud and coming in loud.

Watch the bird!

Apparently I am talking to myself.

But the answer is just two to the head  bitches. What did I just call me?

Am I fucking crazy?

Do I want to get shot?

I will shoot me again. 

Been working on my AIM...

God damn it!

Back when I was caddying, for one full season for some reason the guys at the caddy shack found it to their satisfaction to permanently nickname me “cracker”.

It got to the point the golfers were calling me cracker.

You can imagine how uncomfortable it was to introduce myself to the only black member.

“Hi I’m cracker I’ll be your caddy for the day.”

Never thought an ebony man could turn so red.

But I cleaned his balls and gave him a wood, and he was cool about it.

Yeah, you again. I see you looking.

(Point out the guy in the audience, start bouncing to come after him)

Same shit different punch line. Melon head.

Bank robbers who use their fingers and pretend they are guns. How the hell does that WORK?! Anyway!

Quick conversation between two wannabe bank robbers:

“One finger or two?”

“Asshole, I’m not your bitch! You can’t stand there and ask me one finger or two before you take the money and run!”

“Come on, ma man! One  FINGER OR TWO?!”

“You’re just like every other fucking pig in this hood! All about poking around inside the shirt and asking me about finger jobs for money! Rob your own goddamn bank!”

Five minutes later, after finding a replacement:

“One finger or two when I go up there, to the asshole?”

“Shit, bro, get as many as you can cram up there. This asshole is loose! Just hurry up and do it, before I back door like your last partner!”

   

Alright I’m running overtime, under prime and overweight.

Not to hate, but I’m gonna go clean my plate.

I’m all done.

Thanks a lot!

Just to cover all my bases, thank you, fuck you, and two to the fucking head bitches!

Thanks a lot!

Got a comment? Write me at:

Thegratefulliving@mail.com