The Drink
by Jessica Delfino

The little girl turned her sweet potato-shaped face upward at her father. Her eyes shone blue like the water which he'd held her under, in respect for the wishes of his, nay, their christ. She shivered, her eyelashes clumped together like a gathering of wet hair mopped up from the kitchen floor. The corners of her mouth flitted, quickly escalating into a tiny smile, the rows of baby teeth shimmering like jewels, but worth much less.

"Daddy, what will I be when I grow up?" Her father beamed down at her like the way Mr. Sun shines on our planet. "You will be whatever the lord tells you to be." She let out a giggle as if she were choking on water, hiccuped in the air and the breeze, and squirmed with the happiness that came along with being in her father's arms. In that moment, she understood that she had the ability to please or disappoint her father, whenever she wanted, for the rest of her life. "God willing, papa, I will be a good daughter." Her father was warm all over, like an oven baking a pot roast inside. "Yes," he said. He was going to say something else, but then he felt the whisper of God in his ear and all over his heart, telling him that he had said enough.

Father took a small flask of whiskey from his pocket and turned it upward towards the lord in heaven. He took in the bitter fluid and breathed out harshly. Daughter smelled his potent mouthwind, winced, and then relaxed, familiar with the hot rush of the air escaping from his throat. It was the source of daddy's good moods. "Daddy, can I taste?" Father looked at his precious arm bundle and then at the glass rectangle of liquid. It caught the light and spilled squares of color onto the ground below. "Yes," he said. He was going to say something else, "No" perhaps, but the lord had moved into him at that moment and shared with him that to teach your children the ways of the world is a parent's only responsibility. Father held his hand below her delicate, twig-like neck and helped her to steady the bottle to her lips. When she began to taste the dark poison, he held the bottle fast, so she had no choice but to swallow.

"I must teach her to be aware now, while she is young, so when she is older, she will not follow satan to the evil manor, where the floor is bathed in velvet carpets and strobe lights dance alongside the writhing bodies." He exclaimed out loud, "I will not have it!" So thunderous was the passion behind his words that birds flew from a tree above his head and his voice echoed out across the lake. He smiled, as he knew that an echo was God's voice, broadcast from the heavens to be transformed to the tone of that of a mortal man.

He helped the liquor gone astray from his daughter's mouth with the back of his hand and stood her up. She was affected by the swig and swayed just so slightly. Daddy took her tiny pinecone sized hand into his giant meathook and tugged her lightly. "Let's go home, porcupine. God's work here is done."

Fun With Tastelessness
by Jessica Delfino

FAMILY TIME PRESENTS: GOOD, CLEAN RAPE JOKES
*An "I can't read without my glasses or an adult helping me sound out the words" publication. (Ages 4-84)
*Approved by Good Housewrecking Magazine
*4 out of 5 Dentists agree, "They're clean, alright!"
*Winner of the Boogle Search "Rape Topic" Award
*Declared GYNO-licious by the AMA
*Fun for at least half the family, not necessarily guaranteed!
*"Oprah's Reading Party" (TM) certified perusing material
*In association with the Apex Tech "Learning Can Be Dark and Make You Uneasy" program

Q: Why did the drunken crew of frat boys attend the sorrority pot luck supper?
A: They wanted to try the broccoli rape.

Q: Why did the battered wife still find attractive about her husband?
A: His rapiers wit.

Q: What do you call a hungry call girl?
A: Call her whatever, just don't call her rape for dinner.

Q: Speaking of dinner, when said call girl has accompanied her date to a restaurant, what does she do with the food she can't finish?
A: She has it raped up for later.

Debunking A Bullshit Cliche
by Jessica Delfino

Today I will cover two important topics. For starters, I will discuss how my rich relatives don't give me any money. Second, I will address how I'm not rich, even though I have lots of rich friends and relatives, you know, like the expression says I should be. Let's do this.

Someone just told me that if you drink soda, it deteriorates your bones, and then you just pee out bits of your bones. I don't know if this is true or not but why did she have to tell me that? Now I can't even take a pee without crying because I'm sad that I'm peeing my innerframe away, not to mention all the imaginary pain I'm in. Supposedly when you get old, that's when it's the worst. So, one day I'll just be a mushy fleshwalker and I'll fall apart, leaving a floppy mountain of skin on the ground. Then I'll die. Great.

The fact that I'm going to get old and deteriorate is only one of the millions of reasons that I have to get rich really soon.

My friend is going to be a millionaire in a few weeks. I am very excited because he's going to be rich and he's my friend, my very good friend, probably one of my favorite people, and did I mention really sweet and kind and caring and just a perfect example of a human man? But he won't be my first millionaire friend. Another millionaire I know is this guy from Europe who came here with $7 and a dream or whatever, washed dishes for a few years and then had a few good ideas that materialized themselves into big houses and BMW's and Mercedes and snookers tables and fancy watches. Now he's living elevated upon the dog and no more dish washing, not by hand, anyway!

I could go on and on listing all my millionaire friends of which I have a million, but that's not what I feel like doing right now. Instead, I'm going to take a break from that and list a few wealthy relatives.

My step-dad is a wealthy man, both in dollars and pubic hair. He started a lobster wholesale business amongst the rocky coast of Maine and it fared him well. My grandfather is a millionaire a few times over. He made his fortune in the stock market. He has tennis courts for his tennis courts.

But look, you - don't covet my relatives, neither one of them give me money or support my endeavors. I might as well have a poor dad and a poor grandfather, they'd probably be more generous. I haven't asked for help that many times, but the few times that I have, I've heard the same old hokey pokey. "If I give you money, then you won't respect yourself because you didn't earn it yourself." Noted. Consequenes accepted. Can I have some money now, fellas?

You might be thinking, "Hey, why should your step dad give you any money? And I answer by writing: Now listen here, you. He's not just some guy who married my mom, moved in, humped her for a few years and then took off. First of all, they bought a house together. Second, he humped her for ten years. Third, she left him. It's very important that you understand those details. I got spanked by him, I mowed the lawn, I shoveled snow, I was his intensive little softball project, he pushed me off a boat when I was 8 and chipped one of my adult front teeth disfiguring my smile until I worked at Banana Republic when I was 22 and got dental insurance to pay for it to get fixed, (pure porcelain, baby!) he made me eat seafood for dinner every night, and then when he and my mom got divorced he kicked me out, so listen up! It was no bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios being the only step daughter, what with my step sister constantly reminding me that she was daddy's favorite because she was his real daughter, and my step dad standing behind her saying, yeah! OK, this is getting a little bit off topic and too close to what was the only home I knew.

The bottom line is, fuck you. I deserve money. I'm not asking for a lot, just a few bucks here and there, maybe a computer or a car, or both. Seriously, I don't even care that my dad and grandfather haven't given me any money. Even though my grandfather's a dick for saying it, I'll say it, my grandfather's a dick, he was right about me feeling better about myself if I made my own money. Still, he could have tossed me a few fivers now and again.

The bottom line is this: Why does the expression about how you should hang out with rich people and you'll be rich too not apply to me?

Cause you know what? I hang out with rich people, god dammit.

And I'm not rich.

Wil Wheaton loves ME now!
by Jessica Delfino

When I was young, I used to have a poster of Wil Wheaton on my wall that I'd removed from the center fold of a Teen Beat magazine. Before I'd ever kissed a boy, I kissed the shit out of the lips on the Wil Wheaton poster. I kissed them until there was nothing but faded, worn paper where his pink lips (sigh) had once been. Once I got bored of kissing Wil Wheaton, I'd move in on Julian Lennon, also hanging on my wall. I always felt bad kissing Julian in front of Wil, and Wil in front of Julian, but that didn't keep me from ruining the faces of both posters.

Now, it's MY turn to bask in HIS love. Check it out -
http://www.wilwheaton.net/mt/archives/001379.php#001379

You guys did some weird shit when you were young. Most of you are still doing weird shit.
So f off.

Wil Wheaton has written a few books, is married and still acts, so don't ever go up to him in a restaurant and say, "Hey, didn't you used to be an actor?" Cause that's not cool.

Hey, while you're reading this, make a note to come to UCB this Sunday and see me do improv. It should be - something.

Level 1 Class Show!!!
Upright Citizen's Brigade Theater
307 W. 26th St. (@ 8th Ave)
NY, NY
5:30 PM
212-366-9176
www.ucbtheater.com

The show starts at 5:30. Don't be a dick and show up at 9.

Lullabuy
by Jessica Delfino

This is the lullabuy my mother used to sing to me when I
was a little girl.

Slow tempo in C

You should go to sleep right now
You should go to sleep right now
Close your eyes and rest your head
I'll tuck your body into bed
Be glad that you are young right now
because It just gets worse from here

You will encounter disappointments at every stage
in your life, I promise you
And most of your dreams will not come true
though people try to say they do

I promise that life will be full of awkward confrontations
you'll get stuck in ten thousand awful conversations
you'll be late to an important meeting
someday you will get bullied and end up bleeding

someone you love will not love you back
and you'll never, never win the lottery
you will feel emotions such as anger, pain, shame and sadness
over and over, listen to me

you will get into at least one car accident
and you will make foes
you will lose close friends and relatives to cancer
and other horrible unpredictable scenarios

and then you will die, cause everybody dies
life is but a fleeting string of sorrows
but don't think about that right now
just close your eyes and think of angels and rainbows

you should go to sleep right now
you should go to sleep right now

and remember.......
Mommy loves you

List of Things To-Do
by Jessica Delfino

EXAMPLE 1. - Actual "To-Do List" dated July 19, 2003.

1. Lose Weight
2. Get Computer
3. File Tax Returns for 2003
4. Apply for Job at the Art Institute
5. Talk to Mark about the Temp Agency
6. E-mail story to Details
7. Talk to William Morris lawyer
8. Read a book
9. Buy comfortable shoes
10. Take clothes to good will
11. Write in my journal
12. Try to figure out the psychology behind F.H.
13. Laundry
14. Make a lot of money
15. Quit this crazy scene
16. Write a good song
17. Talk to Wayne about the show
18. Call Conan - Find Alyssa
19. Sell palm pilot on e-bay
20. Update blog

Number of things I did since July 19, 2003: 3
Guess which ones they were?

(pretend this is upside down) Answer: 1, 18, 20

I have been keeping to do lists ever since I was old enough to do. I remember I started them as a recommendation from an english teacher or guidance counselor. I can't help but think that if either of them had just done what they had written on their to do lists, none of this would even be happening right now.

I usually try to write things on my to do lists that I actually intend on doing. It hurts me too much when I write things down on the list and then I find a list crumpled up between a book and a shoe on the floor, and I read the list and I realize I wrote the list a year ago to the day and the only things that got done were done through inertia and the inevitability of life happening. (Refer to items 1, 9, 11, 13, 20.)

It's not really that great to write to do items that are going to happen whether you mean for them to or not, there's no achievement in that. Sometimes I write, do the dishes, and then a few months later, I do them, but it is somehow unfulfilling. On the list, it's a good idea to write goals that you would like to accomplish or things that you have been putting off. For example: Get through a phone call to mom without feeling irritated, or, Call mom.

Some people might think of to do lists as something that a business person or type A personality or organized douche-bag type would do. Not so. Though I am probably a little bit of all three of those
examples, I had a friend who was none of those who used to keep awesome to do lists. My friend was affectionately referred to by last name only. Masten was one of those kids that you knew would go no where in life, and that's exactly what he did, and he did it with such ferocious vigor, you can't help but love him even more. We shared an apartment in Augusta, Maine, back when I was 18 and he was just your basic run-of-the-mill loser. I was in college at University of Maine, and he decided he wanted to get his shit together, so he sat down to write a to do list one day. It looked like this:

1. wake up
2. get pills
3. buy weed
4. take nap

I think he even spelled it "by" weed. When my roommates and I found that list, we laughed so hard that he became our favorite person. It was too perfect.

If you're thinking about starting a to do list, now might be the perfect time. It's easy. All you need are the following materials:
Paper
Pen
TIP: A pencil or marker will do

Directions:
1.Write down the things you want to do in the order which you want to do them in.
2.Do those things
OR
2.Don't do those things*

*but now instead of mentally knowing you had things to do and feeling bad about not doing them, you have a written note to yourself as a reminder to continue being aloof.

Congratulations, you're one step closer to being less (or more) aloof. Carry the list in a place that you will remember to look at it, like your pocket or purse, or on the fridge. Try not to lose it. If you lose it, on your next list, be sure to write down not to lose the list. It's also fun sometimes to write as an item, do the things on this list.

If you can write a to do list and then do all the things on that list in that day or the next day, you are a better person than anyone in the world. Please go and pat yourself on the back. If you can't, don't feel bad, neither can I.

UPCOMING SHOWS

SEPTEMBER 2003

Friday, September 5th

Boston Comedy Club - Back To School Show
82 W. 3rd St. (bt. Thompson and Sullivan)
8:30 PM
NOTE: Free with school ID

Tuesday, September 16th

Meow Mix
"Smells Like Comedy"
269 East Houston St. @ Suffolk
212-254-0688
8 PM

Saturday, September 20th

Deep Dish Cabaret
675 Hudson Street, #3N
10 PM
NOTE: Really Fun Show

Sunday, September 21st

Upright Citizen's Brigade
Level 1 Class Show
307 W. 26th St. (bt 8th & 9th Sts.)
212-366-9176
5:30 PM
NOTE: This is an improv show.

Saturday, September 27th

10:17 Comedy Show
Gershwin Hotel
7 E. 27th Street (between 5th and Madison)
***IMPORTANT - It starts at 9 PM.***
Don't be a weiner and show up at 10:17.

(Pretend) Book Segment and (Made-Up) Author Comment
by Jessica Delfino

A segment from Harvey Coggin's latest book, "I Was A Child," Miscellaneous Shack Press, NY, NY.

"I raised the mirror up to my face and looked into it. And I saw myself, looking back at myself, about to do a line of the powder so white, it transcended the lightness of the whitest beard of the oldest man. It made me feel like a child who was getting to take a snow day from school. I thought about hte great enjoyment that would come from the line, the buzz, the slap in the nose like a dog who'd been bad, the shock to my brain! Utter joy. I moved my nostril near, nearer still, nearest yet, until my nose and the dusty controlled substance were united as one, joined together in unholy matrimony, and I sniffed, deep, full, with entirety, like I'd never sniffed before, and when I had finished sniffing, the powder was gone. But it was not forgotten, nay. And it was technically not even gone. It had been relocated to my cerebral cortex, as if tranported in a shitty rented van, where it was now pitching a tent for what, unbeknownst to me, would be the last time."

A word from Harvey Coggin, author, "I Was A Child."

Hello, friends. Thank you for reading this segment from my latest book, "I Was A Child," Miscellaneous Shack Press, NY, NY. As my fans will attest, this book is very dear to me because, as my fans know, I was a sincere drug addict with a severe addiction for many fun-filled years - so haphazard and carefree this time was that I often refer to it as, "the best years of my life." During the best years of my life, every morning I would wake up, inhale cocaine, then really wake up, make myself breakfast very very quickly, throw it away as I wasn't in the mood to eat, and then do other things about the house. I know that this, the story, brings you, the reader, many questions. Was I living a lie? Perhaps. Was I a drug addict? Some might say. Did I sleep? Not oft. All great questions. I am so happy to be here to write this. I am clean and sober now for seven years and I still think about the cocaine. I do. Every day, all day, in fact, but thanks to my fans and god's love, that life is behind me now, like a jail sentence that has been completed. I have been paroled, thank the lord, from the prison which was made of the best years of my life. I hope to never return to that place, unless I someday accidently happen by on my way to heaven.

Thank you.

Shows For You To See This Weekend

Friday, August 22

Crabby Hour @ Cha Cha's
154 1/2 Suffolk Street (bt. Stanton & Houston)
F to 2nd Ave
212-843-9131
6:30 PM
I don't know much about this show, I've never done it but I'll be playing guitar there.
It's a hat shop that has a party on Friday nights. They sell hats and then also,
there's entertainment. Sounds cool to me.

Comedy Kabob @ Level X
Williamsburg (L to Bedford -
right on N. 6th, 1.5 blocks from Bedford St.)
Showtime - 9 PM
featuring - comics, comics and more comics
brought to you by Pat and Tim

AND, later, nearby -

Galapagos Vaudeville Show
(same directions as above, but
two blocks further down)
featuring: music acts, craziness, vaudeville
Showtime - 10 PM

SATURDAY, August 23rd

AAA Comedy
@ Joyous Life Energy Center
119 W. 23rd St., Ste. 700
(hint: the F train goes right there)
Showtime - 8 PM
BRING YOUR OWN BEER!!!! (there's a deli downstairs where you can buy tallboys - awesome)

featuring the comedy of:
Travis Poston
Ahna Tessler
Chelsea Peretti
www.chelseaperetti.com
(acoustic) dirty folk rock by Jessica Delfino
www.mp3.com/Jess_Delfino_
and sketch comedy by Sketch - 22

For detailed information:
http://www.joyouslifeenergycenter.com/jlec.html
212-352-9910

We're gonna give it to you good.
You know you want it, so..., you know.
Come and get it.

I Read Bridget Jones Diary
by Jessica Delfino

I read Bridget Jones Diary. I like all the neat words that they use in England for normal objects that somehow make them seem fancy. Like "Milk Tray" for box of chocolate, and "fag" for cigarette, which never ceases to be funny to me, and will live on forever in the list of things that will eternally make me laugh, along with someone farting and really well thought out rape jokes. (the ones with the clever twists at the end)

I don't think I'm Bridget Jones, like the back of the book told me I would think. She's much different from me. First of all, she's probably got a cockney accent. Second, she never stops counting calories. Though I admit, I've counted calories many times, I get bored after a while. She never loses her motivation. She also smokes a damn lot.

Some of you might be wondering why I am reading Bridget Jones Diary now, when every one else read it on the beach in the Hamptons three summers ago. I am always late in reading books that everyone else has read on the beach in the Hamptons three summers ago. But most of the books I read I find in the garbage while cleaning rich people's houses. So, that solves that.

In closing, to the three or so other people who haven't yet gotten to read Bridget Jones Diary, it's pretty good. I read it in a few days (while taking breaks from cleaning rich people's houses) and found it to be an easy, satisfying read. Read it while you're lounging in Central Park, sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself, or
waiting for the Jitney.

Blogger Lies For Me

I love how blogger always lies for me and says I posted my writing at a reasonable hour, like 10:30 pm or something, like I'm a regular O.Henry, sitting in the home, putting my ideas to paper all night long, when it's actually 3 am and I'm more like Hunter S. Thompson, fresh in from a night of rabblerousing, but without all the great credits and miscellaneous broken bones and wounds that he achieved from being successful and talented and unique and fearless.

Thank you, blogger, for saving my ego one shred of dignity.

The Citywide Blackout of '03
OR Electricity, Money Problems and My Landlord's A Dick

by Jessica Delfino

We lost electricity a little after 4 pm, just around the time the youth of America is about to take a hit for the clock's sake. We live in a tiny studio apartment on the upper east side; my fiance and I. A tiny studio apartment is just what it is, no description necessary. Things haven't been so easy for us since we decided to live with wild abandon at the same time in the same field in the same apartment. Work isn't as readily available as we'd like it to be, but it pops up amazingly, right when we need it most. As one friend put it, "You guys have the amazing talent of finding money right when you need to." However, the hiding places are thinning out, and when money runs low, the importance of paying the utilities takes the rear to more necessary things, like food and entertainment. This past month, the electric bill was not high on our list of priorities.

I turned and looked at my fiance with fear and anger in my eyes. "Did you call the electric company?" I asked. "Um...." he said. He didn't have to finish. "They left a message for you on the answering machine," he said. We argued for a few seconds about how it shouldn't ever be either of our responsibilities to have to listen to messages, when we heard one of our neighbors just start howling. I opened the apartment door and realized the lights were also off in the hallway. Relieved, I picked up my cellphone to call my landlord and give her a grade A bitching out.

Our apartment, besides being small, is a piece a shit. We don't get our mail in our mailbox because the boxes don't lock and the post office refuses to leave it there because it's constitutes some kind of federal violation like mail fraud or something. The landlord refuses to fix it because it will cost $800 and she won't spend that kind of money on the rights and regulations of her tenants, who she likens to gentile trash. So we all have to walk seven blocks every day or so to pick up our mail at the big post office, or else it gets returned to sender. What a bunch of bullshit. Add that to an unreachable superintendent, 5-foot ceilings, pet-sized bugs, heat when there should be a/c and double heat when there should just be heat, and you've got a partial understanding of how we live.

I dialed my landlord's number, which I have on speed dial, three or four times before I realized my cellphone couldn't connect. I started to get a bit nervous. No electricity, no service on my cellphone - then I heard the sirens. There are always sirens but living in New York, you develop a sense - like a mother being able to recognize the difference between a child's whining cry and a child's broken limb cry, I heard a real emergency in those sirens.

"Let's go downstairs," I said. "I think something is going on." I always think something is going on. I am Italian and I grew up in a big family where some shit was always going on. People were always getting locked into laundry mats, we had that one fucked up uncle who always showed up on a motorcycle with a makeshift weapon, the cops knew more than 2/3 of my family members on a first name basis - I guess all of those things combined or any one of them was enough to help me develop an ultra-sensitive intuition to the possibility of something going on.

Sure enough, just as my magic Italian nut family senses had told me, there was something going on, alright. It was like a scene in End Of Days or something. Everyone was standing out on the street, looking around like a meteor was coming. It was like we were having a block party except we were on the upper east side, and there was no music I didn't recognize or chicken-beef hotdogs or second-hand shirts for sale on hangers. My fiance and I walked down the road, twin smoking like Marge's sisters, listening to snipets of stranger's conversation and radio broadcasts. "Fire downtown - no electricity in all of Manhattan, in major cities all over the east coast, children stuck in an elevator, terrorism?" I started farting nervously and we made our way to our closest neighbor's house to co-miserate.

Upon realizing he wasn't home, we walked up to the Comic Strip. Air conditioning, cold beer, fallout shelter in the basement - it was the logical place to try to survive, if survival was possible. Within an hour, every comic and waitress who had ever set foot in the Comic Strip wandered in, confused, misdirected, desparate for that warm, empty, comfort-like feeling that being in a place of comedy gives us all.

We gathered our bearings and decided to just start cracking open some beers. We drank to eachother, to air conditioning, to fear of death, to not working, to the sorrow related to not working, to no lights, to hope for the return of lights and to the next beer.

Together, all of us - some of whom loved eachother and some of who didn't, chain-smoked, ate comfort food, gathered around the radio like it was 1956, heckled passers-by and tried to claim dibs on pieces of conversation that might or might not become bits at some point in the near future.

Around 11 pm, after a solid 6 hours of drinking, we all found ourselves drunk and bored. My fiance and I grabbed a couple of candles and made our way back to our 4-story walk-up apartment. At that point, even the safety lights had gone off and our stairwell was completely dark. Though it was darkety dark dark outside, one thing it wasn't was quiet. The streets were littered with beer bottles and candle wax and used-up batteries, but mostly lots of drunk buffoons, screaming up at the 3/4 moon like a bunch of banshees. People carried babies, flashlights, six packs, back packs as they walked up, up, uptown to their dark abodes.

My fiance and I made it through the mess and safely into our little cave. I found a huge candle that I got for Christmas - one of those numbers that comes in a huge jar and is named after some flavor I've never tasted, like Burgleberry or something. I did it with my fiance with the lights off for once, by candle light, which was not nearly as romantic as they make it seem in porn. Immediately after, I fell asleep to the sounds of smashing bottles and a guy playing the bag pipes. Every so often a group of nomads would howl and I would wake, thinking, the power must be on. But it wasn't, they were just howling because they could, for no other reason than because they wanted to.

I woke at 9:15 am and I wasn't sure which made me more disappointed - the power not yet being turned on, or the bag pipes guy having gone home. I thought about crying, then decided against it. I thought about going back to sleep, then realized I couldn't. I thought about making some coffee, then again, realized I couldn't. Just at that moment, the whir and fizz and rumble of all the electrical appliances I'd left on filled the room and all our possessions charged back to life, ready to serve us.

I got up and took a shower with the lights on, and it was like I'd never taken a shower before. I'm not going to end this story by saying something like, I never realized how dependent we all are on power in this day and age, or how cool it was that there was no looting, or how New Yorkers really came together and high fived eachother all night. I guess I will end it with my true feelings on the whole ordeal - I wish I'd seen the bolt of lightning that made that mess, and fuck PSE & G anyway, whether it was their fault or not.

JOB SEARCH SELF-SABOTAGE
by Jessica Delfino

Reply to: cuntflap@xxxyyy.com
Date: 2003-08-13, 11:07PM

need 1 bartendress, 2 waitresses, and bus person

this will be for sunday night (aug 31), labor day weekend at a private home in easthampton, ny. hours will be 6:00PM to 3:00AM. crowd will be high end, trendy, 20's to 40's, professional and trust fund group. i will be able to provide transportation sunday afternoon to easthampton but will not be able to provide return transportation. however, there is a guest cabin dorm style set up located on the estate grounds that you can stay in sunday night and enjoy the hamptons on monday. computation of pay will include two hour commute from manhattan and one hour depart. so that would be 4:00PM to 4:00AM (12 hours) and i expect most of the work will be between 8:30PM and 1:00AM. the rest of the time will be spent just milling around or doing minor errands like moving chairs, fixing glasses, etc..I will pay $30/hr for waitresses and if i am happy with the results, i will jack that up to $45/hr. I will pay $40/hr for the bartendress and if happy will jack it up to $55. bus person will assist an inhouse staff with cleaning and overall errands - pay is $20 an hour. pay is on the spot, no waiting for a check here. references will be checked and so i will need these. attire will be supplied (pink checkered mini skirt, white blouse, and pink bow/ribbon) for the waitresses and bartendress but you will have to bring your own shoes (preferably 2 inch or more heels - keep in mind that you will be standing on these for many hours). pls send a photo - because of the importance of "image" with this crowd i will give priority to attractiveness, sorry - its a shallow crowd.

Hey There

I just wanted to write to you and tell you what a load of horse shit you craigs list ad is. Though you're offering to pay a lot for the job, this is what I have to say about it:

1) First of all, this job is going to suck for whoever gets it. Standing in heels for hours while too cool for school jack asses who are oblivious to the fact that their idiots suck eachothers' dongs and tell eachother how great they think they are when they all actually suck and having to clean up after a group of people who have been cleaned up after their whole lives so they make an extra mess on purpose because they have no respect for anyone and extra little respect for hired help, well, refer again to the first line of article "1." You can guise this job as a bunch of fun for a ton of dough, but you couldn't pay enough money for this job to be fun.

2) High End? Trendy? Trust Fund? These words do not go together. As a matter of fact, they equate to weiner, if you ask anyone except another weiner.

3) If you're happy you'll jack it up? You can already tell, you won't be happy. You've probably never been happy in your life. You won't even be able to have fun at your own party, because you're going to be running around, worrying about the hired help and telling them to do dumb errands that aren't included in the job description, like load the dishwasher or run to your car and grab a book out that you want to show someone.

4) Pay better be on the spot - you talk a big game. I've never seen someone jerk themselves off so hard in my life.

5) References checked? For a job slinging drinks and running errands? You are the biggest tool I've never met. Who are you, Donald Trump? You probably are some shitty celebrity.

6) Pink checkered mini skirt, white blouse, pink bow/ribbon? I bet you either hired a gay dude to pick that outfit out or you decided to try your hand at throwing together a little haute couture because your mom or aunt was a model or whatever and you always had a creative flair to you. Face it, you're gay. BTW, I know for a fact, you're either a closet gay dude or an awful rich chic with the personality of a tranny. There's no way you're as cool as an actual drag queen.

7) Image - Importance of: You are an enormous piece of shit. You give priority to attractiveness based on the crowd being shallow? Let me rewrite that line for you:

"I am a huge tool. In an unrelated sentence, I am only hiring really pretty girls because I might want to try to either bang one of you or a dick faced friend of mine might. Either way, I'm renting you for the night, like a hooker, so you might as well be hot, like a hooker, like a hot hooker, that is. By the way, I am shallow and I am using the group of friends I hang out with as a facade for why I have to hire someone pretty. In addition, my friends are shallow assholes also, but I'm the biggest loser of them all."

That about sums it up, ass for face. So, thanks for your time, pretzel dick. I hope I get the job. I charge $100 per hour, door to door limo service, and none of this cabin shit, I want my own room. And no photo, you get me as is. But for the record, I'm super hot.

Sincerely,
Fuck Off

SOME SHOWS TO SEE FOR YOU THIS WEEK ON FRIDAY

BOTH SHOWS ARE ON THIS COMING FRIDAY - FRIDAY
THIS FRIDAY

Comedy Kabob
@ Level X
N. 6th and Berry - Williamsburg
(L to Bedford)
9 PM - FRIDAY

The Something Something Vaudeville Show
@ Galapagos
N. 6th and Wythe - also Williamsburg
(L to Bedford)
10 PM - FRIDAY

So, yeah, um, check it out, and uh, dirr, tell me I sent ya!

NAKED APARTMENT - The Sitcom
by Jessica Delfino

SONG - Come on over, we don't care - if you're in your underwear!
The gangs all here - at Naked Apartment! (background singers - Beachboys Style - oooh oooh oooh oooh~)

JIM enters. He's naked. The crowd goes crazy. Bill and Chris are playing cards, naked.

JIM
Hey guys, whatcha doing?

BILL
Just playing a game of cards.

CHRIS
Yeah, the winner gets a blowjob from Michelle!

MICHELLE (off camera)
I heard that!

Canned Laughter.

CHRIS
Wanna play?

JIM
No thanks, I'm not in the mood for oral sex I didn't pay for.
Hey, anyone want some tea?

BILL
Yeah, I'll have some.

JIM
Where are the tea bags?

BILL
Oh I think there's some in the snack box.

Jim goes over to a box on the counter. It says nut hut.

JIM
MMMmmm, almonds. Anyone want some nuts?

CHRIS
No thanks, I already have some.

Chris holds up a bowl of almonds.

JIM
That's cool. What did you guys do today?

BILL
What we do every day - think of new and clever
ways to try to get Michelle into the sack!

MICHELLE (from off screen)
I heard that!

Michelle walks out into the living room. She is naked.
She sniffs the air.

MICHELLE
OK, who's nuts smell?

CHRIS
You got me!

Everyone claps and laughs and Chris, Bill, Michelle
and Jim dance around.

THE END

ENTRY # 34 from the
DARK, CONFUSING JOKE BOOK FOR KIDS
by Jessica Delfino

Knock Knock -

Who's There?

Boo.

Boo hoo?

Shut up before I really give you something to cry about.

Happy 23rd birthday to my dear sister Abby. May all of your dreams come true, and not dominate your life.

I love you Scrapple.

I AM NOT A PHAN
by Jessica Delfino

So, Dat Phan won. I fucking knew he was going to win all along. That fucking guy. Yesterday was a sad day in our country, one where asians can win prizes that surely belong to blacks, americans, jews or gays.

I think that I speak for all of America when I say, Tuesday, August 5th will ring in our minds as the next September 11th. Everyone will remember where they were and what they were doing when Dat Phan won "Last Comic Standing."

I was drinking a shot of tequila to the stillbirth of morals in the entertainment business. ("Here's to something shitty which I am involved up to my knees in," I said. "May it someday be less shitty.")

Where were you?

Jay Mohr is contemptible. If a blind person were to touch his face, the various lumps and blemishes on his skin would translate, in something similar to braille, to: "I was young and opinionated once, but now I'm a cog in the comedy dung factory."

He has the same existence, more or less, as a mexican laborer, he just gets paid more to do less work, and lives without fear of getting sent back to Mexico, where, coincidentally, stealing jokes is as legal as stealing a child's virginity.

OPUNIONS
by Jessica Delfino

I think that war is "just okay."

The Boston Comedy Club is so shitty, it should call itself the Boston Commode-y Club.

Liberals? More like liber-get some balls. (you bunch of pussies!)

Reasons Why This Summer Sucks
by Jessica Delfino

LAST SUMMER	THIS SUMMER
hamptons house	cramped in walk-up
ice cold a/c	ice cold shower followed by "two-fan" cooling system
pedicures, manicures	cured meats
beach-bumming	change-bumming
SUV loaded with options	subway loaded with Mexicans
fancy dinners	chance-y diners
jogging in the park	blogging in the dark
an all around better summer	better luck next summer