Two men of Jewish faith walk in to a bar; they see a drunken Irishman falling off his stool and talk to him about going into treatment. They’re truly helpful people, these 2 men, one a Stein and the other a Berg, but as it turns out they also have a slight agenda—they own the rehab facility. After much conversation, gesturing, and persuasion, the two Jewish men get Paddy O’Irish-something to check in for the full 28 days. The joke is… the poor bastard doesn’t have health insurance! Hilarious, right? This will ruin the Irishman’s credit for he cannot pay, and the 2 men will never get their money for they dare not sue. The ensuing debt cripples Paddy emotionally and within 3 months he relapses, gets falling-off-the-barstool drunk again, and needs to go back into treatment. The men, both named Joel, afraid of running into Irish, go into a different bar to have lunch and discuss business, all the while ignoring the obvious addiction issues around them—issues that could make them rich! Funny stuff. As of this writing, the drunken Irishman is shite-faced, teetering on that same bar stool, and reviewing his limited options. And the Jewish businessmen, tired of this country’s lack of universal healthcare and it’s myopic view on addiction, have decided to give up on rehab and are opening a sportsbar by the airport.
My next wife will be a gorgeous woman of inappropriate age, who’ll work full-time as a nurse and overtime as a part-time nurse. Her field of care will be treating the elderly and infirmed, specifically Alzheimer’s patients. She’ll want children someday; I’ll tell her to wait 30 years and I’ll be all the baby she’ll ever need. My next wife will be an orphan with large boobies and a tiny tummy who can afford her own maid and chef because she’s independently wealthy, due to a large financial settlement from her parents’ unfortunate accident—a week after we meet. Her hobbies will be listening to my music, going to my comedy shows, editing my essays, and quick romantic encounters. She’ll love the smell of cigars and encourage moderate drinking, while turning a blind eye to the heavy kind, and won’t mind when I spend weekdays fishing, drunk. My next wife, my new wife, the 2014 model, will be a soft-spoken gal with a big laugh, who can quote all 39 episodes of the original Honeymooners, will HATE The Honeymooners movie with Cedric the Entertainer and think Caddyshack’s hilarious even though I find it dated and corny… it’ll be our only argument. When she edits these essays I wrote of earlier, she’ll allow a little poetic license for run-on sentences, sexist humor, and endings that go nowhere. The end.
N: What is your favorite comedy song of all time?
P: “Honey” by Bobby Goldsboro
N: Who do you admire most?
P: The father, son and holy ghost
N: Do you have any tattoos, and if so what and where?
P: The last supper on my daddy parts
N: Would you rather lose an arm or a leg?
P: I just lost an arm and a leg
N: Favorite place to eat?
P: On the couch
N: What’s your favorite TV show?
N: Most embarrassing moment?
P: This interview
N: If you had to pick one car, which would it be?
P: The closest one
N: Why did the chicken cross the road?
P: To answer this question
N: What was your last thought?
P: The answer to the last question
N: Favorite fruit?
P: Elton John
N: Which is worse? A bad laugh or a bad cough?
P: A bad laugh that turns in to a bad cough
N: Are you a cat or a dog person?
P: Most folks think I’m a dog
N: Do you shower every single day?
P: 3 times a day… I can get very dirty
N: Walking past a beggar, spare change or ignore?
P: Don’t you mean walking past another beggar?
N: What is your favorite food?
N: Do you read Harry Potter books?
P: Do you? I’m sorry that was a little defensive… yes
N: What is your favorite place?
N: Have you had a beer in the last week?
P: Does my probation officer read this?
N: What do you do on Fridays?
P: Make drunks laugh
Instant song inspired by this Patton Oswalt tweet.
@PattonOswalt “Drink Myself To Sleep, Shit Myself Awake” — you’re welcome, country music songwriters. Have at it.
I’ve had at it…
Drink Myself To Sleep, Shit Myself Awake
Trying to numb the pain of another bad heartbreak
How many of these mornings, can I fucking take?
My stomach’s all in knots, I have the worst headache
‘Cause I drink myself to sleep, shit myself awake
I haven’t had a solid sit down, since she broke my heart
The alcohol and late night food rips my guts apart
I was dreaming of a better time, kissing by the lake
But now I drink myself to sleep, shit myself awake
This airport hotel has seen a lot these many years
Why’d I have Taco Bell after 27 beers
I’ll apologize to the maid, ‘cause that ain’t chocolate cake
Drink myself to sleep, shit myself awake