MANDELISM # 12 Fuck Pit Bulls

Pit
Sorry about back to back dog posts, but I gotta write this…Fuck Pit Bulls. Seriously, I’m sick of seeing these rabid monsters walking around my neighborhood like it’s okay and not terrifying to everybody. Walking around with a Pit Bull is like carrying a shotgun and just telling everyone to relax because it’s not loaded. And yeah, I know people say it’s all how you raise them, well, most people are fucking morons, this doesn’t make me feel any safer. Most people can’t raise their kids and keep them under 300 pounds so what’re the odds they’re gonna be able to raise a wild animal and keep it from following it’s every natural instinct of killing everything that it sees. It’s not just an issue of it being all how you raise them, it’s also an issue of what they’re capable of if you fuck it up. No matter how badly I raise my poodle he’s not gonna tear out your throat for a light breakfast snack. I could raise him by ritualistically beating him with the stuffed carcass of his dead mother while screaming that he’ll never amount to nothing and the most he’d do is nip my ankle and maybe pee on a sock. You know how dangerous Pit Bulls are? They’re illegal in Australia! Australia! The land of Shark diving and Crocodile fucking! Australia is an ex-prison colony! Australians got kicked out of Europe for being the Pit Bulls of white people and even they’re like, “Pit Bulls are too dangerous mate, let’s go invent Bungee Jumping.” Owning a Pit Bull is like driving a Hummer, it makes you feel tough and cool but it’s also annoying to everyone around you and triples your chances of accidentally contributing to the death of a small animal. If you are pro-Pit Bull, fine but you better also be pro-Hand Gun too, because the concept is the same, it’s dangerous unless the person using it is responsible. I guess what I’m trying to say is, let’s take a close look at the people around us, do you really think these zombies know what’s best and right and have good judgment and a sense of civic responsibility? Judging by the average comedy club audience that I’ve come in contact with, I answer a strong resounding, “No,” so let’s keep it cuddly America. The less chances we have to kill each other the better.

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MANDELISM #11 – HAVING A DOG IS LIKE HAVING A KID. YES IT IS.

photo-17I’m getting pretty damn sick and tired of friends of mine who have kids getting mad at me for talking about my dog when they talk about their kids and saying shit like, “Having a dog is not like having a kid. It’s not even at all the same!” Look, I’m not saying it’s the same, but if you’re talking about wiping your kid’s ass, it’s natural that I’m going to bring up the time I had to wipe shit off my dog before bringing it into the house. I’m not saying it’s the same, but it still makes sense to bring it up after what you said. You brought feces into the conversation, I’m just offering up what I have on the subject. You’re lucky I didn’t say what I really wanted to say which was, “No one gives a fuck about your stupid kid or whatever mess comes out of it’s stupid worthless Nazi asshole.” That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t, I played within the confines of the conversation that you started and used what little resources I had to contribute. And also, bullshit! Having a dog is kinda similar to having a kid. It is, its not the same, but it’s about as close to the same as you can get without kidnapping someone else’s kid. Dogs and Kids, let’s compare them: Don’t talk, shit all the time, you love them more than they deserve, despite having zero skills and the brain of a zombie they somehow seem to make your life a little better, everyday it’s a miracle they don’t die. If you brought up a great steak you had and then I mentioned that I liked Chipotle, would that be out of line? No, because we’re talking about meals, meals that we enjoyed. Parents like to pretend that having a kid is beyond anything else and makes them part of some special club. And maybe it does, but as far as I can tell it’s a club based around being really tired, really poor, and really talkative about the club around people who aren’t in the club and who really don’t care about the club at all in the first place. “The first rule of baby club, talk about baby club to whoever will listen regardless of whether or not they give a shit which they certainly don’t.” Personally, I don’t want to join any club that would have me as a member if the membership requires I become really self-righteous and think of myself as a martyr for doing something that cavemen were doing a billion years ago, without talking about it. Sure, they’d incessantly paint pictures of their kids on the walls of the cave and throw rocks at anyone who drew a picture of their pet Mammoth beside it, but…ah, fuck it, you get the point. MM

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MANDELISM #10 – Strip Club Blues

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There’s a strip club right near my house. I managed to live next it for two years without going inside. I don’t know, maybe it’s because I have a girlfriend, maybe it’s because I’m in my thirties, maybe it’s because it’s called, “The Seventh Veil,” and having not been to Veils One through Six I was worried that I might be lost. “Wait, why is she swinging her titties like that?” But a few months back I went, and quickly I realized that I hadn’t been missing out on much. It was easily the worst strip club that I’ve ever been to; half the girls looked like they’d been stripped of their youth and then clubbed…With at least a couple of kids. Oddly enough, I ended up talking to the bouncer for a while. It turned out that we’d both gone to the same college, which isn’t a great endorsement for the college, to be having a mini reunion happening inside a horrible strip club on a Monday night, but we talked for a bit, he turned out to be a nice guy, and then I left. The problem is, it turned out that he was too nice of a guy. Now every time I walked by the place he’d be out front waving, yelling, “Hey Mo! How are ya!” I went to the place one time, and yet to my neighbors, who could clearly overhear him, it must have seemed like The Seventh Veil was Cheers, and me it’s dirty degenerative Norm. I’m on a first name basis with the entire staff, never miss a night, they even got me my own stool. I’d walk by and immediately hear, “Hey Mo! How’s the comedy going?!” He’s asking about comedy now?! How many times do you gotta go to a place before the bouncer finds out about your hopes and dreams? It was humiliating. So, finally, after this went on for awhile, last week I went up to the guy and asked him to stop saying hello to me when I walked by there, and of course, he was totally offended. He didn’t understand it at all and was like, “But, we went to the same college.” And I was like, “Yeah, no, we did, I mean, I have my doubts about whether or not you graduated, but it’s just that I’m a little embarrassed about you saying hello to me in front of here.” He was like, “Why be embarrassed? We met here.” I was like, “Yeah, well, if I jerked off in the bathroom here, I wouldn’t carve my name in the stall!” So it got awkward and then I walked off. I thought that was the end of it. But now it’s worse! Now when I walk by he doesn’t say shit, he just silently glares at me like I’m some kind of predator that he’s been asked to keep an eye on, like I’m the guy stalking the girls in the parking lot, asking to smell their feet, and the staff has had enough. What I’m trying to say is I need to move. Anyone feel like subleasing an apartment? If it helps you can see the blinking strip club lights from my bedroom window, flashing “Seventh Veil,” in the night like some sort of mirage, guiding you through the deserts of your late night masturbations. If you’re interested, just go to the Seventh Veil and ask for Andy. He should still have my number.

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MANDELISM #9 – A TOUCHING ACT OF CRUELTY

SUCK
I recently got the greatest compliment that I’ve ever received, and it was in the form of an insult. Let me explain. On a recent weekend in Sacramento, I had the club eject 20 people from the Friday late show. If you’re not familiar with how comedy club audiences tend to act during the Friday late show, just imagine how the people who planned 911 must have thought Americans acted, and then make it ten times worse. People try to go straight from their jobs to a restaurant to a bar, and then finally to the comedy club, and their minds eventually just give out, usually when you’re in the middle of your best joke. They’re generally a little sluggish, judgmental, and occasionally a bit too drunk to grasp that the comedian is not actually engaging them in a two-way conversation. There might be some over the top cheering or booing if one of the jokes happens to reference a town that they once lived in at some point during their miserable lives, but for the most part things remain somewhat okay. But this Friday they were not okay. Not even a little. A group of twenty rowdy kids in their twenties had planted themselves smack dab in the center of the room, and seemed to think that they were on some sort of reality show and thus obligated to play it up for the camera. Spinning their phones on the table, beat boxing, telling jokes of their own, I don’t know if they were on drugs, but if they were, I suddenly like them a hell of a lot more. From the minute I got on stage they just carried on a conversation with one another as though I’d stood up in the middle of their party and decided to try out some zingers. “I don’t know anyone at this party, no girls seem to be giving me any attention, perhaps standing on the table and telling some dick jokes will do the trick!” I finally stopped the show and told them to please shut the fuck up for what seemed like the thousandth time and in response, one of them got up from his chair and did a little Gangnam style dance routine for the benefit of his droogs, all of whom I can only hope have since died from some rare form of canine Hepatitis. They all roared at this dance performance as it built and got more ridiculous, the laughter going on and getting louder and louder, but for me, everything had suddenly gone quiet. Eerily quiet. The room went pitch black, save for a small glimmer of light given off by the floating head of Danny Glover that had now begun to appear before me. I became mesmerized by this mystical apparition, and felt the wisdom of the ages wash over me as Danny whispered over and over, “You’re too old for this shit. You’re are too old for this shit. You are TOO OLD FOR THIS. SHIT.” Danny then started telling me about some of the charity work he’d been doing in Africa, but I told him to fuck off because I already knew what I had to do. His message had reached me. I returned my focus to these subhuman locusts in the crowd, summed up my courage, and told them…Well, I don’t really remember what I told them but it involved a lot of swearing and cursing and mean spirited high level Mandelisms and ultimately they all were escorted out to the crowd’s applause and my own personal sense of supreme victory. Then the show went great! I was doing my act and the crowd was loving it! They were eating it up! I mean, sure, towards the end a fat woman tried to fight another fat woman, but hey, it’s Sacramento, that just kinda comes with the territory. Then the next day I woke up and saw that I a tweet from @scdestiny0282. The subject of the tweet was that I “Sucked last night!” The tweets continued, one after another, explaining in bite sized 140 word increments how bad of a comedian I am, and explaining that if I hadn’t kicked this person out of the show last night than she and her friends would have all walked out anyway because I “WAS NOT FUNNY!” Out of some morbid curiosity I decided to click on her profile and to my amazement I discovered that she had…….Wait for it……..ZERO FOLLOWERS. 0!!!!! Z.E.R.O!!!!!!! Less than even 1!!!!! That means that this girl was so moved by my performance, albeit in a negative way, that she signed up for a twitter account for the sole purpose of telling me how much she hated me. Me!!!! Little old this guy! I had that much of an effect on her! She could have done anything in the waiting room of that abortion clinic while cashing in her “Third Time this Month” coupon, but she pulled out her phone and signed up for twitter and tweeted at me. Me!!! Sixteen times! Of course, the question is, why has there never been anyone who started a twitter account with the purpose of telling me that I’m awesome? I’ve made thousands of people laugh, surely someone must have thought that I was incredible and yet I’ll never get a complimentary tweet from someone with no followers because no one is ever going to be motivated enough by kindness to do it. Telling someone that they made you laugh is not nearly as exciting an urge as telling someone that they didn’t. And the reason for this is because human beings are simply giant pieces of shit.

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MANDELISM #8 – THE COMIC’S GUIDE TO JOY

The other day someone asked me what I do for fun and I said, “I do stand up comedy,” and he said, “No, but like, when you’re not working, what do you do for fun?” I had nothing. I pretty much have fun when I write jokes and tell jokes and then the rest of the time I just kinda lie around feeling bored and somewhat guilty about the fact that I’m not writing or telling jokes. Like, I don’t have any hobbies. I’m not a card collecting or getting up early to do some lake rowing. And I don’t really know any comedians who do have any hobbies. I mean, there’s like some weird new class of comedians out there now who are into doing MMA type training and shit but that’s not so much a hobby as a way of dealing with the fact that they still feel like the pussies they probably were in high school. Can something be a hobby and an issue that you discuss with your therapist? I think comedians generally don’t have as many hobbies as other people because for the most part we spend a lot of time watching other people doing activities, that’s how we come up with all the funny shit to say about the way they do them. Like really, how are you going to come up with funny observations about the world if your face is buried deep in a pair of binoculars while doing some genuine bird watching. I notice too that people who really hate their jobs have tons of hobbies. It’s like if you work in an office and want to blow your boss’ brains out half the time, perhaps you’ll take up fishing as a way to channel that rage in more constructive manner. Each fish you gut you bestow with the name of one of your co-workers and that’s that. Maybe comics just enjoy their jobs too much to need to search for something else to make their lives worth living. Or maybe they don’t feel like life is really worth living at all and thus they are content to watch it being lived by others so long as they can get up on stage and make fun of them. I don’t know. Either way, I’ve enjoyed writing this inside my apartment on a sunny day, while you’ve probably been out jogging or watering flowers that will soon die, and so if you’ll excuse me, I’m long over due for my second nap. Gotta rest up for my show tonight.

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MY CAT FROM HELL

Cat
I just discovered a crazy ass show on Animal Planet called, “My Cat From Hell.” It’s a reality show about a guy who goes to people’s houses helping them get along better with their cats. First of all, how many things have to go wrong in your life before you choose that as an occupation? You’re sitting alone in your studio apartment surrounded by cats, “Huh, maybe I’m good at this. Maybe I can train people to keep their cats from not having sex with them, I mean from attacking them.” He goes into people’s houses and he’s like, “Your cat is really on edge right now,” yeah, maybe cause there’s some stranger in the house poking it with a fucking cat stick that he bought at a star wars convention. Maybe the cats thinking what we’re all thinking, “This guy is out of his fucking mind!” And he never solves any of the cat’s problems. He just annoys it until it’s exhausted and curled up on the ground, “Make it stop, please, someone let in a dog so it can kill me.” and the guys like, “This cat is cured!” Then he goes and rapes the woman who let him into the house…I’m guessing. But, it is a crazy ass show, because it turns out that some people do have these cats that attack them and I’m just trying to imagine myself in that situation, “Should I call a cat specialist, or just stop feeding you? Yeah, I think I’m gonna go with option B. Malnutrition outta calm your furry ass down.” I notice too that a lot of lonely people have cats and I think it’s cause cat’s don’t give you a lot attention, it makes the lonely people feel at home. “Oh, you’re ignoring me too? Okay, all is right with the world. At least you don’t ignore me and judge me for eating ice cream.” Alright, that’s my cat rant live from Washington DC, go fuck yourself San Diego.
MO “Melt Your Heart” Mandel

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MANDELISM #7 – Tattle Tale

tattling

The other day I did something that I hadn’t done in a very long time, I tattle taled on someone. I did. We were taking off in a plane and they told us to turn off our cell phones and the guy next to me didn’t do it, because he was texting. And we started taking off and he was still texting, and after awhile I was like, “Yo, dude, turn that off.” And he was like, “What do you care?” And I was like “I care, because I’m on the plane with you. If we crash it will kind of effect my plans.” He was “Like do you even know what a cell phone does to a plane?” And I was like, “No, but I do know that it probably doesn’t help it. They’re not running the GPS through that thing, so turn it off. It’s bad enough I gotta go to Houston, I don’t wanna die on the way there because you’re asking your roommate to Tivo Dexter.” And he didn’t do it, so finally I just raised my hand and was like, “Excuse me, he’s not turning off his phone. I asked him to and he won’t do it. I heard the announcement and they said to turn off our phones and so I turned off mine but he won’t turn off his…” And the guy looked at me like I was a bitch. And what bothered me was other people also gave me dirty looks and I was like, “What? I’m a hero. I just stopped a low level terrorist attack!” But, sure enough, the stewardess came over and made the guy turn off his phone, so fuck it, I won. I did, I won, and for the next three hours and forty-five minutes I sat next to this guy in absolute silence like we’d just gotten in a fight and were serving detention. And the whole time, all I could think was, “Tattling is awesome! I gotta do this more often!” Seriously, next time someone cuts to the front of the line in Starbucks to have their friend order for them I’m gonna be like, “Excuse me, Barista, they’re cheating. That’s not his latte. I should be able to get my beverage before he gets his beverage.” Why not?! I’m not in the Mafia, I’m not living in the streets, I can be a rat if I want with absolutely zero repercussions. “Snitches get stiches?” Fine, I have insurance. On the playground if you tattle taled people would judge you and you’d get a reputation and it would effect your life, but that was only because you had to go to the same playground day after day, year after year. But when you’re an adult, traveling through the world, you’re not going to see any of these fucking people ever again, so you can tattle tale on all of them! What are they going to do, not pick you to be on their dodge ball team? Good, I didn’t want to play anyway. I’d rather use the elliptical. My main purpose when I go out into the world is to not die, and to avoid interacting with people whenever possible, thus tattling taling on them when they’re doing something wrong is one of the greatest weapons I have. Next I wanna try tapping people on the back and counting to ten when they’re taking too long at the condiment counter. I feel like that one has been missing from my life for far too long.

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MANDELISM # 6: A Nice Family?

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Last week I did something that I hadn’t done in a very long time, I hung around a family that actually treats each other with dignity and respect. My girlfriend is from Maine and her family is as wholesome as the state itself. Everyone says “Please,” and “Thank you.” No one farts in front of you and blames it on their spouse as though that converts it from disgusting to hilarious. “No dad, it’s still fucking disgusting! Cut it out or leave the room!” I hung out at my girlfriend’s parent’s house up in that glorious state for a full week and the amount of compliments given was unbelievable. “Dad makes the best coffee…” I was like, “Jesus, is this breakfast or the Special Olympics?! Everybody gets a pat on the back for everything?!” I was getting “Good jobs,” on the bagels that I brought over to the table. It was great! I’ve never felt so genuinely appreciated in my entire life. In the house that I grew up in you get insulted constantly, no matter what. If I eat too fast my mom will say, “Maybe this is why you always feel irritable, because you don’t know how to relax.” “Yeah, maybe I don’t know how to relax because you’re always looking over at me and concocting some sort of judgment so why don’t you shut the fuck up and let me choke down my toast like it’s one of the Antidepressants that we’re both gonna be taking later!?” Don’t get me wrong, I love the family I grew up in, but if you’re not talking shit about someone or complaining about the way they do something, it’s like you don’t even know they exist. Conversation around the table at my girlfriend’s family’s house was all about what trees are blooming, or who’s daughter married the nicest person. At my house it’s all about why my dad refuses to buy a larger TV or which relative is dying of cancer. Maybe my mom will try to discuss the Travon Martin case and come off as both ultra liberal and inadvertently racist all at the same time. Positivity just doesn’t make for good family time in my family. As soon as it gets positive, like maybe you accidentally compliment someone’s haircut, one of us will immediately jump in to switch the subject to who didn’t clean the dishes or why my brother can’t ever be satisfied and like the girls who actually like him. It’s like we’re not even a family, so much as a support group that all survived the same trauma, but the trauma that we survived is simply being around each other for years and years at a time. Which family is better? I don’t know, but I do know that if you want to go off on a vacation for a week and actually get in some restorative relaxation, and come home feeling rested and healed both physically and emotionally, don’t pack too many Jews.

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MANDELISM #5 : I’m Not a Racist!!!!!!

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I used to think that I was kinda racist because if I was hanging out with a black person I might ask him about hip hop or if I was kicking it with a Mexican guy I might innocently inquire about where the best spot is for a quick neck tattoo, but then today I was hanging out with a fat guy and I started asking him about restaurants and I realized that I’m not racist, I’m just an asshole! Whew, what a relief. It turns out I’m just a super lazy conversationalist who grasps at the seemingly most obvious cues for what someone might want to talk about. And I know I’m not the only one. People ask me all the time about the Israel Palestinian situation. I’m not political, but I am Jewish, so they just assume that I have an opinion. I do. CNN is boring, ask me about something else. Maybe that’s where stereotypes come from…Laziness. It’s not that we intrinsically think these things about each other are necessarily true, we just decide that they must be, because if they’re not then we might actually have to get to know one another as human beings and that’s just too fucking exhausting. If I didn’t ask this fat guy about which restaurants are in the area I might have had to actually find out if he has a sister, or a fiancé, or even a last name. What am I Superman?! Ugh, I’d rather just discuss The Olive Garden and call it a day. Also, the best spot for a neck tattoo is “Art and Soul,” 2600 S Roberston, LA, CA, 90038. Ask for Octavio.

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MANDELISM #4: Acting is Dumb

Miller Times
Since moving to LA, I’ve auditioned for hundreds of commercials and only ever managed to book one, and here is the true story of how I booked it. It was an audition for Miller Lite. I was asked to pantomime setting up a campsite with two other actors. The director and producers were all in the room and the director told us to just improvise a conversation as we were doing the scene. He said, “In the actual commercial, there will be an announcer doing voice over, so we won’t actually hear anything you guys are saying, so you can just say anything.” Now, an hour before the audition I had gotten off a plane after killing at some random comedy club and felt like I was way better than this commercial crap so I literally improvised the scene like this. While pretending to set up a tent, I looked at the other very serious actors and said, “Man, I hope we fuck some bitches out here in the woods. I brought a ton of coke, I wanna do some lines and run naked after a grizzly bear.” And the other actors were stunned. They looked at each other and were like, “Um…I don’t know if that’s legal to do in a public park.” To which I gleefully responded, “Fuck that shit, I just got out of jail, I’ll do what I want!” The director started laughing, we all walked out of the room, and I knew right then that I had booked it, because that director knew literally ANYONE could play this non-speaking part, so why not hire a guy who will at least be entertaining on set? And I did book it and made over ten grand for one days work. Many other commercial auditions I have tried very hard to book and worked on the parts for hours at home before doing my hair just right and going in, and never gotten shit. The moral is, acting is one of the dumbest occupations on the planet. Instead of being a cool as fuck director and laughing at my cussing campsite rant he could have called my agent and I would have been dropped immediately, instead, I got it, and bought the very same Honda that I still drive to this day. My only regret is that I didn’t get to see the looks on those other actor’s faces when they saw me on that commercial. They must have really despised their career choice at that moment and rued the lack of justice in this ridiculous world.

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