Sunday, October 15, 2006
It was nostalgia night at the Dr. Mystery/Spacebeer Household. I busted out the cassettes. First, Steve Martin's "Let's Get Small," dubbed off my uncle's vinyl copy in junior high. Second, a comedy tape my friends and I made when we were 14, intentionally funny at the time, unintentionally funny now. Our only topical target, Saddam Hussein. Other targets: George Bush I, Dan Quayle, Madonna, New Kids on the Block, Colin Powell (whom I refer to as Colin Wilson for some reason), Milli Vanilli, Vanilla Ice, Andrew Dice Clay, the reanimated corpse of the freshly dead Sam Kinison, Clarence Thomas, and virginity. Third, a tape my mother sent me of me at age 4 and 6, and my brother at age 1 and 3. We had some pretty kickass jokes at those tender ages.
My brother's favorite joke at age three: "I'm going to tell you something real you like (fart noise). I'm going to tell you something real I like (fart noise)."
My favorite jokes at age 4, (the last one was invented by me):
"What crawls and goes ding-dong? A wounded Avon lady.
Where do sheep get their hair cut? At the baa-baa shop.
Why did the rabbit go to the baa-baa shop? Because he couldn't find a rabbit cut-hair place."
It's all been downhill from there.