So, I was deeply brainwashed when I was a child.
Like, everything. There are starving kids in Africa, so I was 300lbs. in high school.
I’m not going to get into it, but it was so complete, that I deal with it, even today.
For example, my parents raised the five of us on this chant:
God is good: All the time,
All the time: God is good.
I was dedicated as a child, and I was discipled at 10. They had me ear marked to be a pastor’s wife. I went to seminary, the School of Ministry at Calvary of Albuquerque.
So, even now, when something in my life goes awry, my knees hit the floor, and I beg an invisible man in the sky for mercy. It’s ridiculous, and I fight against it, but it’s hard. It’s INGRANED. I’m deeply brainwashed.
So, I’m working on my own version of Stockholm syndrome. By witch, I mean, I have two kids.
Now, I’ve never felt good about endowing them with a faith that I’m completely unsure of, so they believe only in our abilities. We pretend that we have a little pirate ship, we call it the Poisoned Feather, and, our family chant goes like this:
I am Captian: We are crew,
I am Captain: We are crew!
And, that is how I get the bathroom cleaned, you guys.
I think I’m from the wrong era. I’m just really socially awkward, and I always have been.
My ideas about courting come largely from books and terrible movies. So, when I’m interested in a guy, I act in odd and unpredictable ways.
I like this guy, and we’re friends on Facebook. He’s not interested in me, but I always think I’m going to win people over with my hard work and dedication. So, whatever…
I see him post that he’s looking for a dog, for his kids, and I was like, “Oh, that’s so fucking sweet…” Now, I’m new, and I have no access to a dog, but I am an art major…
I think we can all see where I’m going with this.
Yeah, I googled ‘cartoon dogs.’ I used that for the basic construction, and I drew him this kinda’ punk-rock, scruffy looking dog that I thought complimented his personality.
I inked it.
I mounted it on cardboard.
I made a little kick stand flap.
I’m 35. I don’t know if I mentioned that.
I made him a paper doll dog.
I paper doll dog bombed a 40 year old man.
He was VERY kind about it, because he’s awesome, but you can tell I freaked him right out. Like ‘hopeless romantic’ is a nice idea, but ‘fucking idiot’ is a lot more accurate a phrase.
And, now, of course, he thinks I’m fucking crazy…
So, to ice that cake, I wrote this song:
It’s only a paper dog,
I’m probably not stalking you, but…
It would be really cool, if I could see you nude…
So, I’ve been trying improv lately, and I’ve discovered a couple of things about myself.
I use profanity in nearly all my sentence construction.
I am who I am on stage; basically, I’m a 35-year-old single comedian with an obsession with penis jokes.
This is fine. I love who I am, all my parts, even though my boobs are probably too big.
(Sidebar – I went in for a consultation, and; did you know that they want $8k to reduce them? I don’t know if they’re going by pound or what, but I feel as though they ought to be paying me. This is quality boob flesh, we’re talking about.)
But, what I’ve noticed about Improv is, mainly, that they’re a bunch of kids, 14-20 tops. Like a dozen high school-age kids, me, three older guys and Emma-the-standup-comic-I-actually-respect.
My first ever scene is about a baby shower, with a girl that has no baby daddy. And, I’m in a room of 14 children, and Emma-the-standup-comedian-I-actually-respect. So, I’m actively trying NOT to spew the filth that’s rapidly formulating in my brain. I think I may have given myself an aneurism, holding it all in.
I’d never seen so many dick jokes, so clearly. Like an idiot savant of genital one-liners. It looked like a pornographic warp-speed. It was beautiful.
I don’t know him or anything, but I think George Lucas would have been proud.
I imagine it’s what St. Paul felt when he was knocked off his horse and called by God. It was biblical.
So, I was in line at the dispensary this week. And, I realized I didn’t have enough cash on me. So, I stepped out of line to use the ATM. The line hadn’t moved, and the guy I had been in front of was on the phone, and gestured that I could just go back to my spot.
I was like, “Are you sure?”
He said, “Sure but now you owe me $5.”
So, because I think I’m funny, I said, “Can’t I just show you a boob?”
To which, his phone began screaming, “What?!? What?!?! Who IS that?!?! Where ARE you?!?!
And, that is how I ruined a perfectly nice guy’s day because I think I’m funny.
Is this a dark joke or a fat joke?
I wanted to hang myself yesterday, but none of the trees around my place will hold my weight.
I've been considering some kind of pulley and lever system. I'll just have to hoist myself up there, which is still cheaper than renting a winch.
Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot about past relationships. And, I think that claw-foot tubs are too nice to kill yourself in.
I know, because I went through a bad breakup with an awesome claw-foot tub.
It’s one of the reasons that I’m still alive today.
Jane Malone was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Meth capital of the USA. Her parents are roughly Machete and Goldie Hawn, making her half-Mexican with a preference for Laugh-In. Don’t worry, though. She won’t pick your fruit. That’s alllll you, Chief…
At different times in this life Jane’s been an artist, chef, doodler, website coder, graveyard maintenance worker, graphic designer, questionable mom, getaway driver, writer, and now, arguably, she’s a comedian.
She moved to Salem, Oregon in April of 2016, she’s probably not on the lam from some kind of Mexican cartel, but still quite possibly is, so...
Jane has a background in theater, and a whole lot of degrees and accouterments. She is new to the comedy scene, so she hasn’t slept with everyone here, yet. (Don’t worry. You’re on the list.) She’s quite possibly insane, but definitely well-meaning. Madly addicted to tacos, pot, and men, but not in that order, she’s arguably funny, but it’s a long debate, so please don’t start that up, again.
Sadly, Jane passed unexpectedly last week, when a Tyrannosaurus-Rex bit her in half. Do not worry. Her legs fell free, and were promptly incinerated and interred. She will be remembered for her exhaustive and enthusiastic work with male genitalia.
In lieu of flowers, the family is asking you get a personal STD screening, as it’s what Jane would have wanted.
I’ve been thinking about going celibate, but I just bought this stack of Ikea furniture that needs to be assembled, so it looks like I’m going to be dating for at least another month or so…
If any of you are aspiring carpenters… I’m single, and I have a lovely hutch to build in your downtime. Gotta’ have something to do during recovery, right?
I do Tinder, mainly. Because I believe the best relationships are over almost immediately after introduction.
I like Tinder because it’s like Russian roulette, but for your genitals. You never know what you’re going to get. :::gunshot noise:::
And, I like Tinder, because it lets me survey the entire playing field of men I’m probably not going to fuck. I’ll flirt with you, I’ll send you nudes, there’s a shot in hell I’ll even talk dirty with you over the phone. But… Lately, I’ve been harder to get into bed than a four-year-old at nap time.
The problem is: I’m sapiosexual, which means, I’m sexually attracted to intellect. You can see, how in today’s world I’d have a bit of trouble, and Tinder doesn’t exactly help you screen for things like that.
It’s gotten so bad that this is how I’m screening suitors on Tinder. It’s not ‘how tall are you?’ Or even, ‘Do you have any STD’s?’ It’s ‘Are you voting for Flamin’ Hot Hitler?’
Because I’m half-Mexican and they’ll kick me out of the club. We are not allowed to blow Trump supporters.
I gotta’ tell you, on behalf of brown people everywhere, we’re a bit pissed. America is a melting pot. We brought the jalapenos. You love the jalapenos. How dare you! You wouldn’t do this to the Italians! You need pizza for the game, but you can let the Nachos go?
How are you guys going to get drunk in early May? I’ve never met a white girl yet who didn’t love Cinco de Mayo. Putting on a sombrero and ordering Margaritas in style, “Uno mas tequila, por favor!” “Gracias, Senior!”
That’s what my mom sounds like. She’s a little white girl. Super sweet, tone deaf to languages.
I get that you want to build the wall, but… If the Mexicans are out, who is going to build this thing?
Because, I’ve seen white guys on construction sites before, and they’re the best pointers, I’ve ever seen. If we ever need to sell the wall, we’ll get one of you blondes in a slick blue suit. But, the wall is supposed to be made of rebar and concrete, so…
This is awkward…
So, I’m not typically a political comedian. I’m a sex and dick jokes comic, because that’s where my heart truly lies. But, I feel like I’ve got to say something…
WTF is going on with the Trump campaign? I get that it’s a farce, but… All he’s got left are the White Supremacists. And, that’s a dangerous place to be…
Because I think I have an idea to deal with this, I think I’ve unlocked this particular puzzle. It’s unsavory, but…
We’ve got to fight the hate with love.
So, I’m calling on all my Latin, Chicano, Hispanic, and otherwise brown brethren to do what we do best. Let’s love the hate out of those fuckers. Literally.
That’s what they’re afraid of, right? That we’re going to turn all their grandkids taupe?
We’re a charming people. I think we could get this done. In this generation.
I know it’s unsavory. But, you’re doing it for the betterment of the planet. It’s taking one for the team, on a global scale. And, I think we’re fit for the job.
So, if you guys could do me a solid, especially if you’re brown, and go ahead and seduce a white supremacist, I’d really appreciate it.
I'm Jane Malone.