Thursday, May 31, 2007


...about how being unsigned is awesome. And it references me.
It's called, "Music Is More Fun Without Record Labels."
I tend to agree. The only thing is, I'm signed now...

However, I had big qualms about signing. As it says in the article, many
bands make about a buck a CD when they sign, but independent bands
make more than that. Right now, I make about $4 per CD. Signing means
I will lose control of things like, how much I make per CD.
And also, that I have to adhere to schedules and shit.

And I don't really like schedules.

Monday, May 28, 2007


My "I Wanna Be Famous" video is listed on the front page under featured videos at

Hmmmm. Wow. I would like to thank the good people at youtube for all the views.
Glad to be able to help fatten your pocket book for you!!

By the way, I'm working on a new song called,
"I Changed My Mind, I Don't Want To Be Famous Anymore."

Saturday, May 26, 2007


It's been a while, but now, that while is complete.

A new entry is UP!

If you would like to be a better boyfriend or know someone
who could be a better boyfriend, or just like to read comedic,
non-sensical rantings, please check this link out:

Have a nice time bettering yourselves...

Wednesday, May 23, 2007


It's not the first time that this has been written about - / Gridskipper travel site also wrote a blurb about it awhile back. But if you know anyone who needs a cheap place to stay while in Manhattan...



Filthy, Funny & Totally Offensive - THE BOOK

edited by Jeffrey Gurian
someone else

is composed of hundreds of jokes by tons of comedians you know, love and hate, including me. I did not get paid to submit jokes and did not get a free copy of the book. But my vanity insists I still tell the world about the book, or mostly, I guess, that a handful of
my jokes are now officially immortalized in print. Huzzah!

I attended the book party the other night at The Friar's Club and partied it up with my free seltzer waters along-side such comedy critters as Jeffrey Ross, Patrice O'Neal, Mandy Stadtmiller, The Stone Twins, and a bunch of old guys who kept telling me that they are legends.

I believe them, I just don't know any of them.

Wednesday, May 16, 2007


From a friend / fan in Tuscon, AZ:
Arkansas Woman Killed in Mistaken Rapture -- by Elroy Willis

HOAX ALERT: Damn! I was told that this is a hoax. I so wish it were true. I actually thought the press release read like it was written by an amateur...but it is a good story!


A Little Rock woman was killed yesterday after leaping through her moving car's sunroof during an incident best described as a "mistaken rapture" by dozens of eye-witnesses. Thirteen other people were injured after a twenty-car pile-up resulted from people trying to avoid hitting the woman, who was apparently convinced the rapture was occurring when she saw twelve people floating up into the air, and then passed a man on the side of the road who she believed was Jesus. "She started screaming `He´s back! He´s back!´ and climbed out through the sunroof and jumped off the roof of the car," said Everet Williams, husband of 28-year-old Georgann Williams who was pronounced dead at the scene. "I was slowing down but she wouldn´t wait till I stopped," Williams said. She thought the rapture was happening and was convinced that Jesus was gonna lift her up into the sky," he went on to say.

"This is the strangest thing I've seen since I've been on the force," said Paul Madison, first officer on the scene. Madison questioned the man who looked like Jesus and discovered that he was on his way to a toga costume party, when the tarp covering the bed of his pickup truck came loose and released twelve blow-up sex dolls filled with helium, which then floated up into the sky. Ernie Jenkins, 32, of Fort Smith , who's been told by several of his friends that he looks
like Jesus, pulled over and lifted his arms into the air in frustration and said "Come back," just as the Williams' car passed him, and Mrs. Williams was sure that it was Jesus lifting people up
into heaven as they drove by him.

"I think my wife loved Jesus more than she loved me," the widower said when asked why his wife would do such a thing. When asked for comments about the twelve sex dolls, Jenkins replied, "This is all just too weird for me. I never expected anything like this to happen.

From an email by Melissa of regarding her show Blackhole:

Seriously, you will not get shot at BlackHole. Comedian Donnell Rawlings from The Chappelle Show was shot at after doing a set at Jordan's Fish and SteakHouse in Jersey City. YOU WILL NOT GET SHOT AT BLACKHOLE. I wasn't lying when I said, "BlackHole is the only comedy show in Jersey City you won't get shot at." The next BlackHole is on May 30th. Check my blog, Fear and Dread, Guilt and Shame for things.

Jessica Delfino & Rosie Rebel

~11 PM~

at Mo Pitkins
34 Ave A, bet. 2nd and 3rd
upstairs $5 NYC

Rosie and I met David on our recent trip to Ireland's Galway Comedy Festival. We became fast friends when we witnessed and related to his sassy, bold comedy stylings. Watching him do his act just in the street is amazing. He is able to attract hundreds of strangers around him with a flick of his lips and then get them to stay and listen to him while he insults them politely, then get them to pay him grandly for it. He's one of a kind. See him perform tonight on his first US comedy stint. He's one of my favorite comedians. Well-known and beloved in Ireland, he should be a world-wide star by this time next year.

More info about the show here:

Here is a review I found regarding David McSavage's handiwork:

Maybe a bearded stranger accosted you with a guitar while on a casual saunter through Temple Bar, or maybe you caught his manic act in the Ha'penny Bridge or maybe you saw him ribbing Pat Kenny on TV, but you will probably have encountered David McSavage sometime in the past year.

David McSavage is a popular street performer in Dublin and the man behind the Ha'penny Laughs comedy night. He plays guitar and sings satirical ditties about audience members and his onstage rants and acts come from an active comic imagination.

David McSavage is a regular favourite on The Late Late Show, where he has even done his very fine impersonation of Pat Kenny. He recently returned for a triumphant run at the Edinburgh Fringe and sold out two nights in Vicar Street in the not too distant past.

Expect to hear funny songs, witty repartee, a little bit of satire and maybe a sing-a-long or two...

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Delfino in Red photo by


So, I'm walking through Times Square today with my very funny Irish comedian friend David McSavage when I look up and I see a piece of advertisement "art"
that was inspired by ME, ME, ME.

Did they think, maybe, I wouldn't notice a gigantic


in the middle of


with my signature red suit on it?

I will ask Target directly and see what they have to say about this!
Though, I'm sure they'll deny it.

But then, can they deny...THIS?

I mean, it was only seen a few hundred thousand people around the world.
But probably not even one single person who works in advertising for Target
noticed the red suit in the video.

Hey Mr. & Mrs. Target...does this look at all familiar to you?? What do you have to say for yourselves? By the way, I've got a Target for ya, right here!

(I point at my crotch)

I will always be poor, and people like Mr. & Mrs. Target
will always be rich, because there are so many ideas to steal
from struggling artists for free, free, free.

I guess I could be blowing this out of proportion. I mean,
really, we probably both stole the look fair and square.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Dear Jen at Gothamist

...aka So You Think I'm Ugly...

Almost three years ago, I did a dumb -- well, I don't know if dumb is the right word, but I did a -- maybe thoughtless? -- thing. (I've done dumb things since then, too.) In July of 2004, I was interviewed on And I sent in a self-taken photo. It was, perhaps, the most horrendous photo that has ever been taken of me. I look like a very tired, defeated man.

At the time, I didn't have any professional photos of myself. I barely had any un-professional photos of myself. I didn't really have anything at all. I was flat-broke and struggling really hard. I was working part-time temp at Christie's. (Note the bleak midtown buildings in the background of this god-forsaken photo). I'd just broken up with my boyfriend of six years. I was about a month away from getting evicted from my miniscule 12-story walk-up apartment. You can literally see the complete and utter disappointment at life on my face. I borrowed a friend's camera and took a photo of myself outside of my job, specifically to send to Gothamist for that interview, which, by the way, was done by Nichelle Stevens. I took about thirty photos, actually. But it was no use. Every single one looked just like that one -- the one you see above.

Fuck it, I thought. No one is going to even read this interview. I'm not famous, and I never will be. I should just go jump off a bridge, or at least write a song about dying.

I was so happy when that interview ran. Finally! Something resembling appreciation for me and my vagina songs. Sometimes I'd bring up the interview on the test computers at Best Buy and leave it up, so passers by would see it. As the days went on, life got in the way, and eventually, I all but forgot about the little interview - my first one that I considered "real".

Sometimes, I google my name, just to see what comes up, you know, for market research purposes and stuff. Who is linking to my blog, or my magic vagina video?, I'll wonder, typing my name's 14 letters feverishly into the Google search bar - J - E - S - S - I - C - A...I can practically do it without even thinking about it or looking. I found I had small pockets of fans in Germany, Tennessee, and other far away lands. Three or four pages in, I'd see the Gothamist interview and be thankful that it was hidden so far away in the search.

But just today, why, I found myself typing those old familiar letters into the old familiar Google search bar. And to my horror, the Gothamist article came up third. THIRD!!!

I've decided the time for change is now.

I wrote a letter to Jen at Gothamist, begging her to take that photo down.

"PLEASE!! For the love of all that is good and decent in this world!", I begged in the email I wrote to her. "Every time I [see] it, I want to punch myself." I add humbly, "I was a dumb jerk when I sent Gothamist that picture! I apologize! Please help."

I asked her to replace it with this photo of how I really look (by Doug Jaeger):

Or this one:



IN THE WORLD of me that she could possibly find.

Almost nothing could be worse than the other one...

I will also accept complete deletion of the interview from
Gothamist's server, as I hate the photo THAT much.

This may seem like a vain request, and perhaps it is, but with the flat-out barrage of "you're ugly" e-mail and comments I've been getting over the magic vagina video, to be quite frank, I've felt better about my looks than I do these days. And I don't begrudge the people who have commented and said things to that effect. I look like a putrid hag in the magic vagina video. And I know why. I have a magic face, in addition to a magic vagina. My face "changes" from day to day. One day, I look like Scarlet Johannsen, and the next day I look like Scaglet Blowmanson. It's that weird "olive" italian skin I have. It reflects the light in strange ways, sometimes rendering me un-look-at-able. And at the time I did that video, my boyfriend had just gone to jail for a year. And I was sick with some kind of mystery illness which still pops up from time to time. So don't blame me for being ugly, blame my boyfriend, my illness, and my heritage.

And you don't have to send me, "They're wrong, you're pretty" emails, either.

Just leave me alone. Or buy my CD. Or take me out to dinner.

I know what I am.

So, let us see if Gothamist Jen can and will honor my request... be continued...

Friday, May 4, 2007


Don't let your friends from Jersey talk you into going to that dumb club you were planning on going to with your friends from Jersey. They don't know any better.

But you do.

Don't stay home and catch up on sleep. That is for old people.

You are not old.

Don't go to some other show. It won't be as good.

I believe in me. And my friends.

THIS FRIDAY (as in tonight) at La Quinta Hotel
17 West 32nd Street
New York, NY 10001
Phone: (212)736-1600
From 9 PM - 11:30, it's a night of wonder and joy...DJ, projections, 
Jessica Delfino (that's me), Master Lee, Steph Sabelli With Sax Noir
by Julian, Luckey, Shakespeare, Stacey Nightmare, and of course, the
sonic whiz himself, ZEROBOY!!

Then, come on down to Mo Pitkins at MIDNIGHT for Radical Vaudeville -
Brutally brilliant comedy done dirt cheap. Featuring sketch comedy by Mo's Hos,
(Steph Sabelli, Jessica Delfino, The O'Debra Twins and Rosie Rebel)
and a line up that will kick your face onto your ass. $5. Damn!!
34 Ave A (downstairs stage)

Wednesday, May 2, 2007


Delfino signs her life away with Evan, left and Terrence, right, of Loudmouth Records.


I've been signed to an indy label appropriately called "Loudmouth Records" and am working on my first real, live album. I'm very excited about this, and would like to thank Evan and Terrence for having faith in me and my vagina songs.

Look for an album out later this year, perhaps around fall, and a tour to follow.

For more info:

...and in other news...

I'm working on my own line of perfume. More info to come!

Back into time...back into time...back into time...

Friday, September 26, 2003
The Ride
by Jessica Delfino

I got into the cab at Thompson Street. The cabbie looked me over through the rear view mirror like a sandwich being made to order behind the glass at Subway. He didn't say anything, but his eyes asked me a hundred questions. "Um, hi." I said. I'm always so polite, especially to people who don't give a fuck whether I'm polite or not. "I'm going to 55th and Broadway?" I said. I always talk like I'm asking a question, my words curling up at the end like one of those flat plastic fortune fish you can maybe still find in Chinatown. I don't know why I do that, but I might say it has something to do with my being afraid of everything. "55th and Broadway?" he actually did ask. "Uh, yeah," I ascertained. I always start out my sentences with Uh or Um, which some psychiatrists might attest to me feeling insecure. I don't feel insecure, I swear I don't, but I must be, because I'm always saying uh or um, and my statements come out like questions.

He pressed the meter button and pulled out into traffic like a fighter jet. Michael Buffer yelled at me to make sure I get ready to rumble for safety, and reminded me to please buckle my seatbelt. My friend and I had been talking about that just earlier. What kind of person can have a job like that - one where they hear or see or do the same thing over and over all day long. We agreed it takes a very special kind of person, who, every time he clicks the meter button hears Michael Buffer's voice, or every time he punches the card sees his life fleeting by in a series of beeps or boops or ca-chings!

We flew up 6th avenue like we were on a runway. I checked the clock on my cellphone - it said 12:07 am. If I die, I thought to myself, I made it into another day. I am always constantly thinking like this. Death rides me piggy back style every day, every where I go. And I just let it. My mother would insist this has something to do with the fact that my father left when I was young, but I think it has more to do with him being gay.

"I'm an outlaw!" he screamed at my boyfriend once during a phone conversation.

But it could be something else all together. It could have something to do with 9/11, or
being cuddled too much as a child, or eating too many dairy products, or having a mental disorder of the undiagnosed kind. My friend and I were talking and he said that 50% of the population has an undiagnosed mental disorder. I don't know if I believe that statistic or not, but I bet you a pair of shoes that everybody thinks they're sane, whether they're crazy or not. Even the people who swear they're crazy think they're a hybrid sane-crazy, and probably really mean goofy or just overextended.

The driver and I begin talking. He's studying to be a nurse. He drives his taxi 6 days a week. He used to study chess, every day for 6 hours a day. I've never met so many people who play chess in my life as I have in New York. I play chess, but only as a game. When they say 'play' chess here, it means something different. It means tutors and expectations, tournaments and Yahoo! games accounts, clocks and books and knowledge of masters and autographs, $1 an hour and coffee and chainsmoking and side bets and pieces having monetary worth and your name on the line. The driver insists, "No, it's for fun!" But if it were so much fun, then why did he quit following his dream of being a master to take up nursing? Is it because nursing is more fun than chess? In the games he played, I bet so.

The driver missed 55th and went up to 57th. Cars flew by us, along side us, horns screamed over our conversation, street lights winked knowingly. I looked out the cab windows and saw buildings all around me like sleepy giants, hungry for the morning when the people would come in and fill their empty stomachs. At the corner of Broadway and 57th, a bus pulled out in front of us. I breathed in the fumes and imagined them hardening like nail polish on my lungs. A doctor might say that I'm a hypochondriac, but I think I'm probably just bored and a little bit stupid.

Another taxi, one of those fancy all black ones who think they're better than the yellow ones because they have leather seats and charge a million dollars an hour, blazed past us. The driver yelled "Fuck You!" out the window. I watched his face, twisted up and crinkled, like christmas wrapping or steak and eggs. I bet he did that kind of shit all the time. He probably broke stuff out of anger on regular occasions.

Finally, the cars let up and we turned down Broadway. The taxi glided back downtown like one of those satin tampons. I saw my destination hovering in the near distance, like a chaperone. The driver pulled alongside the curb on Broadway and I panicked for a second, imagining a car careening out of control and smashing me into the telephone booth as I daintily stepped out of the taxi. I paid the driver and thanked him graciously, as I always do to people who don't care if I'm gracious or not. "Thank you so much?" I said in my soft-scrub scratchy voice. My boyfriend would say that I speak that way because I'm sweet. I would say, too many cigarettes on top of fear of death. He would say, "Why do you have shit to say when I'm trying to compliment you?" Then I'd feel bad.

I think about it for a second as I get out of the taxi without incident, then I forget about it. I'm safe, thank god. No smashing phone booths or bus crashes tonight. A cool breeze littered with the sweet smell of garbage and relief hesitates around me, then passes. I made it here alive. These are the things I celebrate in life. Making it to my destinations, not dying at this or that moment in a flame ball. As I'm walking up the sidewalk into the building, I realize I'm very tired. I push the up button on the elevator and start to wonder. Can these things still fall?

Tuesday, May 1, 2007


This is a documentary I am in, focusing on the life and times of and starring local art star / performance poet / nudist / nude house cleaner Tommy D. Nutsack and his enormous Nutsack! It is really huge. So, so big, in fact, it deserves to be treated like a proper noun, like a city or the name of a celebrity.

Check out the trailer, featuring lots of Delfino, Rosie Rebel, Steph Sabelli, Kayla, Touching You, Angry Bob and more...

More about Tommy D. Nutsack: