All I Want for Christmas...

is this. Maybe Santa will surprise me and bring me two tasers, then two people can be cops when the neighbors and I play "Cops and Protesters." Maybe even my friends will give me tasers so we can all play "Riot Police." If you've never played, here's how-- Gather a group of your cronies, give each of them a taser and a Anti-Riot Shield, if you don't have a taser, any non-lethal weapon will do, head to a crowded place, like a mall, and just start shooting innocent bystanders. It's a blast!! Why do you think cops like doing it so much?

Hilarity can be found anywhere, even in the Tora Bora that is brutality. (if you didn't get that, keep fishin')

I'm out like balls in a speedo... nice visual, I know.

...and you're welcome, carpe comedy

I Call This One "Evidence"

As I rolled out of bed this morning, I thought to myself, “What a beautiful day!! Today’s a great day to get fucked!!” so I went to buy gas. I offer a caveat: If you end up doing the same, don’t forget your lube like I did. I’m still walking funny.

I’d like to think that everyone that visits this site picks up on the humor right away, but I know this isn’t the case, so for you dullards, I’ll cater once more. When I mention getting “fucked,” I’m alluding to something I like to call, “Anal Corporation Penetration.” More specifically, I’m referring to the gas prices here in North America, so I guess I should dub it, “North American Anal Corporation Penetration,” or NAACP. I know what you’re thinking, “Christopher, doesn’t NAACP stand for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People?” Yes, it does. However, just as the white man shared land with the red man, land he stole fair and square from said red man, so can the black man share the moniker NAACP with yours truly.

Side note-- How much time will elapse before higher powers ask me to remove my comment about the NAACP? If enough folks show interest, I’ll start a pool through Pay Pal. It will be $5 to join the pool. You’ll bet on one of three answers to the aforementioned question concerning the NAACP comment. The answers are as follows:

A) 1 day, the NAACP protects their name like Metallica protects their shitty music.

B) A week or more, the NAACP will be disturbed by your equating their organization with anal penetration, however, they will not take action immediately because they’ll probably be too busy scolding Cedric the Entertainer for his Rosa Parks’ joke in Barber Shop.

C) Chris, you ass, you are highly overstating the importance of your site. Even with hit words and terms such as “NAACP, getting fucked, anal, and gas prices,” your website will still never show up in a Google search, nor will it experience any more traffic than normal. Which is what; a whopping three hits a year? And that’s just from you logging in, posting, and visiting once to make sure your one, ill-humored, yearly post reads as poorly as it came to you.

I’d go with “C.”

… So basically, if “C” is as true as it reads, I’m speaking to myself and the pot will only be $5… Furthermore, even with the phrase “the pot will only be $5,” Carpe Comedy will never show up in a Google search.

I was kidding. Carpe Comedy, surprisingly enough, actually does show up when Googled. It just doesn’t show up oodles of times. Yeah, enough with the “oo” words, I know.

I guess that does it for me. So C’mon back to Carpe Comedy where the pot is just $5.

I’m out like a hit to be carried out on me as per Jesse Jackson’s orders. Interestingly enough, I’m also out like a warrant for my arrest for inadvertently advertising $5 pot.

Seize that which is funny.

One more photo Chief Justice, please repose so I can take your picture again...

Yesterday, I flicked on my TV, which was tuned into C-SPAN for some unknown reason, and saw a coffin with an American Flag draped over it. The burnished, brown body box was sitting in the center of some seemingly important room with big Corinthian columns, marble floors, and a velvet rope. I thought, "Sweet, Paris Hilton died and they've got her coffin inside the foyer of Club Paris! Who wants to celebrate her demise at her establishment?" But I was mistaken... I realized this when I read the caption in the bottom, left-hand corner of the screen. The caption read, "Chief Justice Rehnquist Lying in Repose." At this point of my story, if you're asking yourself, "Who is Chief Justice Rehnquist and what tribe was he Chief of?" please do the gifted people of the world a favor-- slather your shoes with margarine, or any extremely slick substance, and go jog on an edge atop any skyscraper... please. Some of us are not fit for this world, and you're one of them.

...Anyway, the coffin was surrounded by this velvet rope and guarded by two burly agents, probably to prevent someone like me from cracking open the casket like a Coors and drawing a phallus on the Chief Justice's forehead with a Sharpie. Fair enough. The layout was such that people could walk along the other side of the velvet rope and either stare at one of the guards' asses or the coffin. Sadly enough, this program lasted a few hours. Even more sadly, I watched for a good half hour. I had a feeling that something funny would happen because the silence was deafening in the 'Repose Romper Room.' Such a mood begets hilarity. However, nothing happened. No one cried. No one coughed and let one slip. No Indians performed the Chief's burial rite by setting the casket ablaze. Ciara didn't perform and split her slacks. Kanye West didn't yell, "Rehnquist didn't care about black people," because that's already understood. And much to my dismay, Carrot Top didn't burst through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man; breach the velvet rope; and bench press the coffin. :(
It was just the run of the mill C-SPAN bullshit.

I'm out like Ciara's fuzzy lil' secret.

It's been a while...
It's been a while since I last posted on this once revered comedy site. It's good to be back. Instead of explaining the reasons for my absence, I'll just drop a comedic gem in your velvet satchel.

I've been hearing more and more about suicide bombings and decided I'd share my thoughts. For humorous purposes only, I'll type my thoughts in an extremely gay color.

Suicide Bombings:
Why be a suicide bomber when you can be a genocide bomber? If I resided in a war-ridden Middle Eastern country and I really wanted to make a point, I'd strap bombs to others. Each day, I'd comb the city, find some innebriated bum, strap a bomb to him, and tell him it's a jet pack. Next, I'd tell him to go to the market and show everyone his new contraption... then "Kabum!"

... to hell with that self-sacrifice principle, it ain't my bag.

I'm aware that that is very ribald, but such thoughts keep you coming back. Anyway, I'm out like Brigitte Nielsen's wrinkled bosom on The Surreal Life III.

... or not

On the first episode of The Surreal Life III, Brigitte Nielsen said that she's "big in Switzerland." I know what she meant. She meant "big" as in "famous." But I can think of at least two other ways that "big" can be applied to the she-beast, Brigitte Nielsen. C'mon, "big in Switzerland?" She's 9'3 ft tall! She's big everywhere except for the Serengeti Plains of Africa, where her height is a shade under average for Giraffes. She's only truly dwarfed by the Umbrella Thorn Acacia, a mountain or two, and clouds.

Now, what else about this Danish Amazon is strikingly big? Oh yeah, her doughnut holder!!! Doughnut holder you say? Yeah, she's gotta penis!!! She's hung like a water buffalo!!! That's why VH1 has to blur out her body from her waist to her knees when she prances around naked. Censors don't want Ol' One Eye to pop out and steal her spotlight.

On that note, I'm out... like Ol' One Eye in a sword fight.

Seize that comedy stuff.

I Think I'm Going to Hell: Entry I
I hope the Passions of the Christ DVD has outtakes. How funny would that shit be? The savior is on the cross and all of the sudden a nail pops loose, his crown of thorns falls off, and he starts laughing hysterically while dangling from one nail. He'd probably go so far as to mutter a "Holy shit" as he fell. There are so many possibilities. One of the Romans forgets his lines and yells "Son of a bitch!! Not you Jesus, I was just upset that I forgot my lines." Let's just keep our fingers crossed and pray that the DVD will have an outtakes feature. God answers prayers. Look at the Hilton sisters. Before they begged God for fame, they were just rich, ugly, paper-thin whores who wore way too much make-up. Now they're famous, rich, ugly, paper-thin whores who wear too much make-up.

See kids, Christianity can be funny too.

... that post only took five minutes. I even had time to apply heavenly blue font to the title.

I'm off like my name from the list of those gaining entrance to heaven.

-Carpe Comedy

I Guess Anna Nicole Smith Finally Discovered Crack, I Mean, Trim-Spa

I know, I know… I update so much you can hardly keep up. Had I posted thrice more over the past two months, the site could have boasted bi-monthly updates. Bi-monthly updates on a blog, a concept so impressive it’s sick. I really don’t know what to say… my bad… mea culpa… sorry shawty. The bottom-line is that I’m sorry for not posting, at all. You know, it’s not everyday your entire Girl Scout troop wins a three-month, all expenses paid trip to New Guinea as a reward for selling over 247,000 boxes of scrumptious, artery-clogging tarts that most dub “cookies.” Troop #33 had no choice but to vacation in the shite-stain of a country (province?). It was simply the opportunity of a lifetime. I can only think of one other place I’d rather go than New Guinea, and that’s Bosnia. Come to think of it, I heard that the corpse pyramids aren’t quite what they used to be, so I’m kinda glad we got stuck with New Guinea.

It was a fantastic trip, but the flight over was somewhat rough. The flight wasn’t bumpy or anything, but I just didn’t feel comfortable in a 16-passenger Cessna with an Aaliyah disc on repeat. Our Bohemian pilot couldn’t stop laughing. I’m glad he got a kick out of it…ass… I’m sure he’ll consider it funny that we put Kool-Aid in his gas tank and tampered with his landing gear.

Anyway, I’m now owned, in a manner of speaking, by Corporate America. I haven’t posted much, but that will change, when I get fired. Nah, I’ll post more. It is my solemn promise. Seriously though, enjoy it—I’m back bitch!

Quick Thought: The success of this William Hung fellow—Personally, I’m just tickled that one of Flutie’s Kids made it big… and he’s Asian. The man’s tale has Made-for-TV Movie written all over it. I can see it now, William Hung, A touching story of autism and a man’s drive to entertain. Playing the role of William Hung will be the lively Brandon Lee, ew wait… I bet that one went over with a BANG. Okay, so Jet Li will play William Hung and Jackie Chan will do the voice-overs. Screw the TV plans, I can take this project to the silver screen, esp. with heavy hitters like Chan and Li.

If anyone hears from Flashdance let me know… I fear he’s been captured yet again by Aborigine pariahs. And if you didn’t get any of the humor in this post, I suggest you do a duet with a fellow tard in William Hung. I’m out like a gerbil in a San Francisco pet shop.

Chortle?

-Carpe Comedy

Women love me. Fish fear me.

There I stood, fishing rod in one hand, some Tropical Skittles in the other, wearing nothing but a tattered, tan trench coat and a sage Stetson… It was go time! I never don knickers when in battle.

The time is 3:41 pm, Skyway Fishing Pier the location. Winds are gusting from the North at kilt-flapping speeds and the temperature is a “feels like fuckin’ A.” It’s so cold that I had to feel out my abdomen to locate my gems. The pier is nigh empty and the thought of catching game fish for sport is causing my heart to race like a fat kid’s does in the presence of an abundance of candy.

I throw the first cast masterfully. It hits the water as softly as an angel’s teardrop. Well… Actually, the splash it created resembled the splash made by the lifeless body of Greg “Heinous Gayness” Louganis that one time he hit his head on the diving board mid-dive. Insert “Ticket to Hell-earning” gay joke here—That dive essentially served as good practice for Greg because he spent the rest of his career getting his head knocked against headboards. Ju like? I know your question, but not the answer. I just typed it.

Anyway, I figured I’d start off with a pointless fishing trip narrative and end on a gay joke. So Winter Break is upon us and I now have time to write again. Word.

You know that funny shit? Seize it.