how to look like a serial killer

My room used to be all white with totally white walls, all white furniture, and white bed sheets. And I just recently realized that that is not normal.

So I called up my friend on the phone who is a photographer and I said, “Hey, why don’t you send me a picture so that I can put it up on my wall.”

So he sends me the picture, and I open it up and see that what he sent me is this giant print of…what looks like an empty, white room.

The only thing creepier than having a totally white room with all white walls and white furniture is having a totally white room with all white walls and white furniture, where the only thing on the wall is a picture of an empty white room.

Trying to seem less serial-killer-y, I decided to pin up my comedy notecards on the wall, too. Not that weird, right? After organizing them, I realized that all of the notecards are white as well. And they have the names of all my jokes on them. And the more you look, the weirder they sound, especially because you’d have no way of knowing why I wrote the phrases on these notecards without asking me.

“Make someone care about you?”

“Shower Ritual”

“Bill Cosby Cover”

“I think State Farm is there”

Normal people do not write these things on their wall.

I also acquired a new mattress. Not knowing what to do with my old one, I shoved it against the inner wall of my closet, thinking “Oh wow, I bet this would totally sound-proof the closet.”

Stop! Stop being a serial killer! How does being boring make me so creepy?! An all white room, one artsy photo, joke notecards, and a mattress are just boring things!

Maybe I should just embrace my inner serial killer and buy some tarps and an axe in preparation for my American Psycho-esque meltdown. The only problem is that I have no idea where they would sell axes in New York City.

You know, it really doesn’t make sense how having a really white room makes you seem crazy. It would just be way harder to clean when you do axe-murder someone. Just saying.

 

Greenwich Village Comedy club is in the heart of the West Village on Macdougal Street, just down the street from the Comedy Cellar. It’s where I’ve had my worst set: a grueling five minutes of complete silence. So it holds a special place in my heart. That’s what the featured image is about. If you liked this post, please like and share below! You can also follow the blog through Twitter, Facebook, or by joining my mailing list.

Christmas trees

Do you think Christmas trees know that they’re Christmas trees or one day a lumberjack just walks up to them and goes, “You’re going to die. For Jesus.”

And the tree is like, “What? But I had no previous religious affiliation heretofore!”

And the lumberjack is like, “Well, henceforth you do. Also, it’s the sixteenth century. That’s why we’re talking like this.”

It would suck to be a Christmas tree. You just live your whole life in Wisconsin with all your friends and then you die. All of you. At the same time.

And then you end up in someone’s living room and you’re like “What’s going on? I can’t feel my legs! How am I standing up right now?”

And then someone is just like, “Shhhhhhhhh…I’m gonna put Christmas lights on you. Trust me, it makes sense.”

And then you’re like, “But it’s the sixteenth century…Christmas lights haven’t been invented yet.”

The featured image shows the Empire State Building from I forget where. If you liked this post, please like and share below! You can also follow the blog through Twitter, Facebook, or by joining my mailing list.

my name is all over Long Island City

All over my neighborhood there are these graffiti tags that say “Stu.” Which on one hand makes me wanna be like,”Woah – I did not do that, officer!”

But on the other hand it makes me feel like I own Long Island City, which is pretty cool. I don’t mind owning all of the buildings and streets and cars that go by – I relish the power. People walk down the streets because I allow them to, not because they chose to do so. I let them take the train because I’m a good guy. I own that shit, but I’m humble about it. People bow down to me, but I’m cool about it. One time a man in a raggedy coat knelt down in the trash outside my apartment and I was like, “Oh no it’s totally fine, don’t worry about it.”

But a few weeks ago I noticed a new tag that as put up right next to one of mine. One that says “Randy.” And all of a sudden, more and more “Randy’s” are showing up all over Long Island City. Which makes me feel like I should be watching out for a guy named Randy. Who also lives in Long Island City. Because I feel like one day well just run into each other on the street and I’ll be like, “ARE YOU RANDY?!”

And he’ll be like, “YEAH!! ARE YOU STU?!”

And I’ll be like, “YEAH!!”

And then he’ll be like, “I’m a comic and my graffiti joke is better than yours! You didn’t even consider it from my perspective. Think of how much better the joke would be if you knew that we were both comics. You could say things like, ‘Mannnn, a comic will do anything for some free publicity!’ or ‘We should have been writing our jokes and twitter handles on the wall.'”

And I’ll be like, “Shit. You’re right. I am a pretender to this throne. Long Island City is yours.”

And he’ll be like “Nah dude, whatever.” Cuz we’re just regular dudes, neither of whom actually put up those tags.

I wish I also had a picture of a Randy tag.

 

The featured image was taken literally right outside my apartment. If you liked this post, please like and share below! You can also follow the blog through Twitter, Facebook, or by joining my mailing list.