1. Westeros will divide in half.
2. Daenerys will rule South Westeros.
3. Jon will rule North Westeros with a bowl haircut.
#got #gameofthrones #westeros #youhearditherefirst #markmywords #idrinkandiknowthings
1. Westeros will divide in half.
2. Daenerys will rule South Westeros.
3. Jon will rule North Westeros with a bowl haircut.
#got #gameofthrones #westeros #youhearditherefirst #markmywords #idrinkandiknowthings
Moms. Am I right? They made us! Like, I'm not talking in the figurative sense about how they shaped our weird, shitty personalities. I mean they actually made us! If you're a 6'4" 240 lb. dude out there, your mom created you inside her belly and pushed you out like a Toyota factory makes a Corolla. And now you're bigger than her. Wtf! That's like if the Corolla was now bigger than the Toyota factory. You know how weird that'd be for everyone who worked in that factory? But moms don't care. The bigger you grow, the happier they are so they can brag to their friends, "My child is the biggest Corolla out there. Now I don't have to struggle to reach the top shelf anymore."
But for 9 months, we all completely fucked up our moms' bodies and they didn't care! They threw up all the time, ate like a feral beagle, and their bodies turned into something from Aliens where their toes got pudgy and it made our fingers and eyeballs and then weird tubes started feeding us. The only other times I've ever seen this are in sci-fi horror movies. If dads had to go through that, they'd go hide in the woods under some leaves and die. And what'd we do in return? Us being the shitty fetuses (fetae?) that we were, we'd kick them from the inside. Just big, cheap Draymond Green kicks when they weren't expecting it. But did they get mad? Noooooo. They were happy and invited everyone to touch their bellies and immediately signed us up for a soccer team at the YMCA, which is why we all had to play soccer.
And after all that, they had to push us out! All of us. No, I don't mean collectively like the Persians in the movie 300 trying to pass through a narrow passageway, I mean our entire bodies had to come out of them. You ever try to suck watermelon through a straw? No, because that would be ridiculous. But moms did that! Well, some moms cheated, but I understand. I wouldn't want to wreck my straw either.
And now we're here today. Mother's Day. Paying back the ones who literally shaped and carried us with a cheap card from Walgreens, flowers that will die in a week and a shitty lunch at some casino buffet. But do moms care? Nope. They still love us. Because they're moms. #happymothersday
Ep. 1: Meredith Grey screws over her Asian doctor friend by taking the surgery she said the Asian doctor could have. In the end, somehow the Asian doctor is the one who goes to Grey to apologize for her behavior.
Ep. 2: Meredith Grey throws an Asian pediatric doctor under the bus by second-guessing her diagnosis and poaching her infant patient. In the end, the Asian pediatric doctor is the one who apologizes to Grey about her misdiagnosis.
Ep. 3: George says he ordered Chinese food. Meredith Grey angrily screams, "I hate Chinese food!" The Chinese food apologizes to Grey.
TOMORROW: Ep. 4 synopsis to come probably of how Grey the racist and the alt-right show writers clearly hate Asians.
I hit 3 open mics last night. The most I've done in one night was 5, but 3 was pretty good for a Monday. They were pleasant, fun rooms, too. Still, I hate doing mics so much.
They can be very judgy. You can doubt not only your jokes, but your whole existence. And the waiting around for your name to be called is unbearable. But in this world, there are no shortcuts or magic potions to make you good. You just have to do it. It's like getting abs. You just gotta do your sit-ups and crunches.
So I have to remind myself that this is my job now. These rooms are my office. The stages are my cubicle. The microphones are my keyboard. My mind is my boss who constantly wants to fire me and never gives me a raise. The few, if any, folks who aren't staring down at their phones and are paying attention are my clients. And my product I'm trying to sell them is a stupid pet rock I'm hoping will inexplicably be a hit someday. Why a pet rock? Because there isn't a more ridiculous epitome of the American dream, which is what this stand-up thing feels like most days.
The funny thing is, with every real job I've had in my life, I've shown up late to work almost every day (us people of color call that CP Time). But with this job, I've always shown up early. Sometimes way too early, like when white kids would anxiously wait for the new Harry Potter book to come out.
Guess I'm still excited to go to work and wait my turn.
1. Go to a wedding reception you weren't invited to.
2. Ask the DJ to stop the music while everyone is dancing so you can give a toast.
3. Give the best toast you've ever given.
4. Cue sweat on brow from way-too-hot spotlight.
5. Cue microphone feedback over silence.
6. Cue stone-faced stare down from bride's dad.
7. Wait for slow clap.
8. Wait for it.
9. Wait for it.
10. No slow clap.
11. Say, "That's my time. Thank you and goodnight, everyone."
12. Hear your footsteps echo throughout silent room as you walk off stage.
13. Music, dancing and good times resume.
14. Go straight to In-N-Out and order fries, animal style.
15. Take off clothes and rub animal style fries all over your body.
16. Go into forest and throw yourself to a pack of hungry wolves.
After watching ESPN 30 for 30's, "This Was The XFL," I saw a lot of similarities between Vince McMahon and Donald Trump:
In his campaign to sell the XFL to the public, Vince championed how he wanted to make football great again, like the old days. In doing so, he bashed the NFL the same way DT did to Hillary and the rest of Washington.
The way Vince accused the media of being against him is nearly identical to the President's antagonistic relationship with the press today.
The XFL had a player named, "He Hate Me." Right now, every country hates us.
And the way the league quickly became a shit show after one week...two weeks...three weeks...etc., bears a striking resemblance to what's going on with the current administration.
McMahon set out to change the game by inventing a new one, with his own rules. He tried to bring what worked for him in a somewhat scripted reality TV show to a game that happens only in real time and the ending is always unknown.
The XFL folded after one season. Oh shit. We're fucked.
Couldn't think of a better way to honor President Barack Obama on his last day than to see an incredible movie about other African-American pioneers who broke down systematic barriers to achieve greatness. Added bonus, it was written and directed by the gifted Ted Melfi, whom I've been lucky to work with in the past and still text with from time to time. Nice job, buddy.
When I was a kid, one of my teachers had the entire class say what they wanted to be when they grew up. When it was my turn, she said, "Go ahead, Tony. You can be anything you want." I said, "Anything?" "Anything," she replied. I proudly exclaimed, "I want to be President of the United States!" She quickly said, "Anything but that." All the kids in class laughed at me. My teacher, who was African-American, explained, "Tony, as a person of color in this country, that's darn near impossible. It would take a miracle. Pick something else." I changed my answer to "astronaut." "Oh, you're just shooting for the stars literally, aren't you, son?" she said before moving on to another kid who wanted to be a cat food chef. My teacher left her alone.
And now I'm just an ex-copywriter/struggling comedian. But today, I'm proud to say I got to witness the end of an 8-year miracle in my lifetime. And tonight, I got to see a movie about astronauts and the miraculous women who aimed for the stars and lifted them off the ground. I'm good with that. 🇺🇸🚀
#potus #hiddenfigures #goseethismovie
As a comedian, I should've woken up this morning happy for four years of new material. But I'm not. It still feels unreal. It will always be heartbreaking. Hillary would've been a great president. She's still a great leader. But now instead, the reality star is about to get a big dose of reality.
He had it good as a celebrity. And up until last night, it was all still a show for him. But now it's work. Real work. Hard work. I hope he steps up to the plate and respects everyone's beliefs and values. I keep hearing his supporters say they don't know what kind of president he'll be nor do they think he's perfect, they just wanted someone else in there who was different than Washington DC. Well, he's now a part of Washington DC, and if he fails this country, I hope they own up to it. But more than anything, I hope he surprises all of us who are shocked this morning and will be a great president.
Over the next few years, the right wing will talk about how we need to put down our differences and unite this country. While I've always agreed on that, don't let them use that to push those agendas that set our country way, way back. Remember how challenging and outright disrespectful they've been to Obama when he tried countlessly to reach across the aisle for compromise. Many acted like pouty babies. But now those same folks will try to make you feel guilty for "being difficult" when you disagree. Don't let them have this double standard. Don't stoop to their levels, but do be disruptive about it. Women, fight for your health rights that are about to be challenged. Immigrants and those underprivileged, stand up to the greater inequalities you're about to face. Families, fight for your children's future that is now in question. Be fair and open-minded about it. Be rationale and smart about it. Be peaceful and graceful about it. But be strong about it.
Hillary won the popular vote. She won my vote. Let's carry on her vision:
"And to all the little girls who are watching this, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams." - Hillary
P.S. Congrats to Alec Baldwin for four more years of job security.
That little stage back there is where every comedic legend you can think of has performed. They've all grabbed that very mic right there. And tonight, although it was just another forgetful open mic to everyone else, it was my turn. Lucky number 7.
I wish I could tell you that I felt the power of Pryor, Carlin, Seinfeld, Rock, Chappelle and Louis coming through my jokes, but I didn't. Nothing worked. I didn't even get a chuckle. I ate a big, fat turd. The kind of turd that construction workers leave in a port-a-potty at 2 in the afternoon on a hot summer day. I just gobbled it all up and licked my fingers when I was done.
But the problem with being a dumb comic is, I loved every minute (3, to be exact) of it. I was a little leaguer getting to strike out at Yankee Stadium. And goddammit, I can't wait to bat again.
1. No, they're not happy endings, you creep. There's nothing happy about these. They're painful, awkward, and you may end up crying when you're finished. Okay, maybe they're a little like getting a happy ending.
2. When possible, always go for the large, heavy masseuse. There will be petite, skinny ones that you think, "awwww, how adorable," but those little assholes think just because they're small, it's okay for them to walk all over your back and legs. I've had plenty of women walk all over me in my life, but when they do it physically, it's anything but enjoyable, no matter how tiny they are.
2a. Plus, these small son of a bitches have sharp, pointy elbows, knees, and heels. They will dig into your muscles and spine with them. You don't want that. You want meat around their bones. The fattier, the better. If she looks like that football player from the Blind Side, congratulations. That's who you want. It's the difference between getting hit by a baseball bat versus a padded pugil stick on American Gladiators.
3. You will know what it's like to be on the losing end of a UFC fight. Except there's no ref to stop it. No bell to save you. No tap out for submission. You will lose for an hour straight to the ultimate UFC fighter...a tiny Thai woman named, Fuk Oww Mee.
4. She will pop your fingers and toes. It will be oddly satisfying, both physically and audibly. It sounds like a cartoon balloon getting popped by a pin. You will think, "I didn't know my body could make these sounds. I should apply for a sound effects job at Loony Toons."
5. Each masseuse has her own technique, the same way each character has their own special move in Street Fighter. If you find one you like, stick with her. Tip her well for the horrific pain she just caused you. She will give you the most wonderful, thankful smile you've seen because the extra $1.50 you just gave her will feed her entire family for the day. And maybe next time, she'll have a little mercy on you.
6. You will pray for mercy. You will find God, even if you're not religious at all. She will pull the Lord out of your bones. I suspect that is why there are so many temples here.
7. You will go to bed that night wanting ice for your soreness. You will wake up the next morning wanting to do it again. And again. And again. And you can because it's only about $6 a massage here versus whatever massages cost back in the states.
A Thai massage is a paradox– the most painful feeling in the moment, yet the most refreshing, rejuvenating feeling afterward. In its own unique way, it is a happy ending.
The other day on my flight, there was a smug college-aged kid on the plane with a broken leg. Not only was he wearing a cast, but also a Trump, Make America Great Again cap. He looked just like how you're imagining right now.
As we were getting off the plane, he asked for a wheelchair to take him across the jet bridge. Our Mexican-American flight attendant politely obliged and wheeled him to end of the jet bridge, to the edge of the gate, where she abruptly stopped. He asked her if she could wheel him down to baggage claim. She said it was as far as she could go. In a spoiled, entitled, whiny voice, the young man shouted, "But why? This is bullshit! Just fucking bullshit!” She calmly replied with a smile, "Because some people don't want my people to cross certain borders."
She handed him his crutches, turned around and headed back to the plane. He got up and limped over to a service desk to find someone to furiously complain to. I quietly laughed to myself and made my own way to the baggage claim, thinking how for a brief second, I fell in love with that flight attendant.
As I got my bag after a long wait, I looked around to see if the guy ever made it down. I didn’t see him.
Millions of immigrants push this country forward every day. When you bite the hand that feeds you, don't expect to be thrown a bone. Don’t expect to move ahead. Expect to be stuck in one place on a bum leg, wearing your stupid, bum hat.
I've seen more people react to Kevin Durant going to the Warriors than a clear video of Alton Sterling getting murdered by cops. It's fair if you haven't seen the video. Or that you're just completely speechless like me. Hell, this is my first time expressing myself on it. But it's time for EVERYONE to not only join the conversation, but to shout out loud that all of this needs to stop.
I'm aware being an officer is not an easy job by any means. And it seems a big part of the job and how you handle things is based purely on gut instinct and split-second reactions. But if you're an authority figure with the given power to kill if needed, you must absolutely demonstrate more judgement and responsibility. Yes, sometimes you have to protect and serve not just the community, but also yourself, so that you can go back home to your family. But the badge doesn't give you the right to prevent another person from going back home to their family by pulling the trigger 5-6 times point blank into their chest just inches away while another officer pins them down. Yeah, he may have had a gun, but he didn't have it in his hands. And now there's blood on yours.
I truly believe there are more good cops out there than bad. I'm not even sure if these particular officers were "bad" and set out to kill another black man like the others you can name on that unnecessarily long list. But last night they did. They did it when they didn't have to. And now, we all need to do what we have to to make this stop. It's disgusting. It's sad. It can't happen again.
On another note, fuck KD and the Warriors.
**UPDATE: Mere hours after I wrote this, it happened again. Add Philando Castile to the list.
A poem I wrote 17 years ago when I was in an Asian militant group called the Yellow Panthers ✊ (it was just me). Still pretty much rings true today, Hollywood.
Dear Person Who Writes Open Letters To Whomever/Whatever Upset You This Week Because You Are Way Too Sensitive And Now Have To Get On A Passive Aggressive Soapbox Hoping To Get Likes For Your Bullshit Cause Versus Just Having A Direct Conversation With Whomever Or Just Giving The Middle Finger To Whatever And Moving On:
In the classic Richard Pryor movie, "Brewster's Millions," he has to spend $30 million in 30 days to inherit $300 million without telling anyone why. So he does outrageous stuff like buy a rare $1.5 million stamp and mails it on a postcard. Or pays his friend (the late, great, John Candy) $100k/day to be his assistant.
But one of the most ridiculous things he does is fund his own campaign to run for mayor, even though he doesn't want to be mayor. He just knows that it will burn up a lot of money so he can reach his goal. And to avoid winning, he starts saying ridiculous things. Things to make the public think he's a fool and not vote for him. He even makes fun of the other candidates just so people think he's extremely unprofessional and shouldn't be in office.
However, things don't go as planned. People start seeing him as a candidate who tells the truth, tells it how it is. And they like that. It's refreshing and a nice change from traditional political mumbo-jumbo. So he reluctantly starts winning. More and more people rally behind him. People are wearing shirts and carrying signs with his dumb slogan, "VOTE NONE OF THE ABOVE!" He begins leading the polls by a landslide.
But then, to his dismay, he's informed that when he wins he'll make an annual salary of $60k, which means that he's only adding to the money he's supposed to lose. So at the very last second, he pulls out of the race, leaving everyone confused.
But he knew it was best for the city. And it was best for him. He never wanted to be mayor. He just wanted his $300 million.
Back in 2007, I was living in Detroit where Chauncey Billups was a star player for the Pistons. On one cold, brisk evening, my good friend Ben Konstantin and I went out for dinner at a bar and grill near my house when we saw none other than Chauncey eating alone in a corner booth. Thrilled and a little starstruck, we had our waiter go ask him if we could buy him a drink. Our waiter came back and told us Chauncey politely declined because it was playoff time and he doesn't drink in the postseason. Jokingly, we replied to our waiter with, "Then ask him if he'd like a soup." We laughed and didn't think much more of it as our waiter smiled and walked away. But then seconds later he came back and said, "Chauncey wants to know if he can get the soup in a bread bowl." Ben and I looked at each other in disbelief and both quickly shouted, "Yes!" in unison. As the waiter brought out Chauncey's soup to him, we tried to be cool and not glare at him eat it. But in the corner of our eyes we could see him tearing that bread bowl apart and enjoying every last drop of the soup until there was nothing left but a morsel of crumbs. We turned away to give him a morsel of privacy, just as satisfied, feeling as we may have given the star guard some extra umphhh going into the postseason. If the Pistons would've won the championship that year, Motor City would've had us to thank. As we were finishing up our meals, we felt someone come up behind us. It was Chauncey. He said to us, "Thanks for the soup, fellas." And he then put on his stocking cap and walked out into the cold night.
Being a stand-up is exhausting. People think you just need to be funny, but that's only 20% of it. The other 80% is you having to be insane. Like, seriously, if you want to succeed, you have to be somewhat out of your mind.
Because on one hand, you have to see the world for the truth it is- that's what all the great comedians do. They call reality out for its nuances and on its bullshit. But on the other, you have to constantly lie to yourself about your own reality to keep yourself moving forward.
You have to believe it's perfectly fine to stand up in the corner of a bar at 1 am on a Tuesday night every single week sharing your thoughts and pouring your heart out to a bunch of strangers, if any, who are so wasted or tired they don't even know you're there.
You have to believe it's perfectly fine to drive 4 hours to a club you're trying to get into then drive 4 hours back home the same night just to do a 10 minute set for an owner or manager or booker who's so busy or wasted or tired they don't even know you're there.
You have to believe it's perfectly fine to be lied to or rejected over and over and over again to the point where your feelings are so calloused you don't even know anymore if they're there.
You have to believe in yourself - and that you're perfectly fine - when no one else will. When no one else is there.
And all that gets so tiring. It's not easy. It's not for the lazy. It's not for the normal people.
So cheers to the batshit crazy comedians out there who aren't normal. And kudos to the ones who have lasted and endured. And a big, Wayne's World-we're not worthy-bow to the ones who have made it to the top of the game.
And if you're just a normal person but you know a comedian, please go out and support them at 1 am on a Tuesday night, or at any time. Because while they may only be 20% funny, and they may definitely be 80% nuts, I promise they are giving 100% every last bit of their exhausted selves. And that's sure as hell worth appreciating.
When I first started doing comedy, I saw Colin Quinn perform at Caroline's in NYC. After the show, I went up to him and said I was a brand new comic, and he kindly told his agent and friends to wait for him upstairs while he chatted with me for a bit. They were annoyed but he didn't care. I couldn't believe it.
He then sat me down in a booth and talked comedy with me for 20 minutes. He told me there are 3 T's to comedy: Talent, Timing, and Tenacity. He said the first anyone can fake. The second can be taught. The third, you either have it or you don't. And the ones who make it in this business have it, because that's the one you need the most when you're getting rejected over and over and over again.
I remembered that advice and, for the next few years, hit the stages at the open mics, clubs, bars, coffee shops, restaurants, colleges, bowling alleys, elk's lodges, moose lodges, any other kind of animal lodges, etc. as hard as I could, getting rejected over and over and over again in between.
A few years later, he came through Kansas City and I was booked to open for him. I was really excited to talk to him again and show him how I've stuck with it. I didn't get a chance to see him before the show because he got there late, a little drunk. But after the show, I went back to the green room and said to him that I took his advice from years ago, and now, I'm definitely faking the Talent, I'm working on the Timing, but I think I have the Tenacity.
He looked up at me and said, "Who the fuck are you?", then took a swig from a bottle of Jameson.
A little tip for anyone going to see a comedy show at a club or anywhere: No one is impressed by you being a heckling smartass. Shut the f🙊ck up.
We are not on stage tossing out Facebook posts where you can just troll and throw out your shitty, hacky comment in return and hope others will "like" it. And you know how usually you only get 2-3 likes on that comment? Same goes for when you heckle at a comedy show. No one likes your fat mouth except the other 2-3 shitheads at your table. Trust me. Shut the f🙊ck up.
We work hard to get up on that stage and perform for the audience. PERFORM. Like musicians. Like actors. Like those weird Cirque de Soleil acrobats. Like any other live-action artist. Give us the same manners as you would them. And give the people around you the respect of zipping your mouth-breathing mouth so at least they can enjoy it. Yes, just shhhhhhhhhhhh.
-ut the f🙊ck up.
If you don't like us, feel free to get up and leave. We won't mind. We won't pick on you. We get that comedy is subjective and we may not be everyone's taste. But just go. Step out. Or jump out the window. We'd much rather you bail and have a good time elsewhere than sit there and think you can make the show better with your dumb, stupid "fast wit" that really isn't that funny. Not in our world. Because if you think you can, you're just an outright asshole. And if you're not like that but is with someone who is, tell them that they're just an outright asshole. If you're all outright assholes? I hope all your heads blow up on the drive home. So you can shut the f🙊ck up forever.
Okay? Got it? Good. Thanks for being a future awesome audience member. I'll shut the f🙊ck up now.
Oh, I lied. One more thing: Quit looking down at your goddamn phones and look up at life. Shut the ph☎️ne up.
Despite my Asian youthfulness, I'm old. And in my many years I've had to remove myself from situations that just didn't feel right to me. Or sometimes, I was unfortunately the one who was removed. Neither was easy, but I've learned a few things from all of it. This was some advice I've given to three people this week going through some sort of breakup. Each was told separately on their own to whomever I was talking with, but I think they actually work well together. I don't know- maybe these are stupid. Maybe these will help you in a moment you're having right now. Maybe I should've been a fortune cookie writer.
1. Go with your gut, not your guilt.
2. Just because you shared a past with someone doesn't mean you have to share a future.
3. Don't agonize over hindsight. Another gal ALWAYS comes along. And she's always better than the last.
4. LUCKY NUMBERS: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42