I actually think it’s cool that indie musicians can’t get vinyl pressed in a reasonable timeframe because one billionaire wants to produce ten thousand variants of her ten thousandth victim pop album
I assume everyone who's called me a liar and a cunt for the past three years will be sending me an Edible Arrangement the second the Louis C.K. NYT story breaks.
A fun thing to do after having sex with someone: firmly shake their hand and, while maintaining direct eye contact, solemnly state "Thank you for supporting live comedy."
I’ve never seen an episode of Ted Lasso but its fans have big “childless adult whose entire personality is predicated on their love of Disneyland” energy
Sure, the only presidential candidate who gave a fuck if you lived or died just dropped out, but on the bright side now the playing field is truly equal—which rapist with dementia will YOU vote for?
Why do I, a WOMAN, do comedy? Because club chuds don’t WANT me to. I’ll do a tight fifty about sexual violence in the gutter OUTSIDE the Store, I don’t give a fuck
Ladies, let spite flow thru your veins like the human growth hormone that flows thru Rogan’s
Never retire
A comedian's job is to be born into a life of privilege which gives them the ability to be perpetually unemployed yet still feel as though they, by performing twice weekly at Union Hall, contribute something to society
STATUS UPDATE: Can't stop thinking about the dude in the audience of "Bros" last night who, right before the Nicole Kidman AMC ad came on, stage whispered "Here she comes"
I often think of a Moby interview I once saw wherein he smugly attempted to pose as untouchably cool for having watched Twin Peaks in the '90s. Bitch, my MOM, DEBBIE, watched Twin Peaks in HOLLISTER, CALIFORNIA because EVERYONE watched Twin Peaks in the FUCKING '90s
Ah,
#WhyIDidntReport
. Another hashtag that puts the onus on victims to trot out their trauma in the hopes THEIR story is deemed worthy of empathy to a demographic wholly incapable of feeling empathy. I love online!
There should be something like the Make a Wish Foundation that allows women who came forward with their tales of sexual assault to meet their matriarchal idols. "Oh, you finally felt comfortable telling your story after years of heartbreaking, forced silence? Here's Kate Bush."
Oh, you mean the paper that’s valued at over a billion dollars but insists on paying freelancers $100 per piece doesn’t endorse the candidate who gives a shit about the working poor? Huh
Delightfully, if you opt-out of the reproductive industrial complex entirely and choose to be sterilized the powers that be make obtaining sterility incredibly difficult, even if you've told a doctor you want it so you never have to get an abortion again. Great country, no notes
$6 for a latte? Sounds reasonable. Why not make it $8? Hell, why not $80? How about this—I give you my life in exchange for warmed, milked water. Existence is a liability, not an asset. Being is profitless
Haven’t drank for 1 year today. Didn’t think I’d make it a week, let alone a year. Not my first rodeo, either—alcoholism is a chronic illness, baby. If you’re struggling with the sauce, don’t give up, if only to spite the lobbyists who keep this shit legal in spite of mass death
Grandmother’s birthday party update: It has come to my attention that grandmother’s friend Grace is so fucking old she played fucking saxophone at the opening of the Golden Gate fucking Bridge
A wunderbar piece, and this line fucking rips:
"I emailed Markoe, a friend, and asked her why she thinks she may have slipped Letterman’s mind. She wrote back, 'Because we were having sex, maybe he remembers me as an intern.'"
READ IT
Ricky Gervais sits, alone, in the corner of the Holiday Inn Easter brunch buffet. Seething, he directs his attention to a young girl standing at the waffle bar. "You know all this is shite, right?" he shouts, bits of ham flying from his mouth
For years, studios have focused on big budget, IP-driven franchises appealing to the dweebazoid demographic
They've just made SAG strike a week before Comic-Con
In a strike, SAG members can't make promotional appearances
Some dude is gonna show up at Zaslav's house with a katana
Why the FUCK am I the only woman bralessly walking alone in the disquietingly dark Los Feliz hills right now listening to the new Fiona Apple record what are the rest of you even DOING
I think Aparna Nancherla is one of the funniest comedians on this diseased, festering sore of a planet. Not that, y'know, anyone gives one iota of a fuck what I think
"So...you still living in L.A.?" asks my cousin, a 20-something homeowner with a goatee. "Yes," I sigh. "You still doing the comedy thing?" his girlfriend asks. "Yes," I sigh, joylessly taking a sip of sparking apple cider
I did not—and I can't state this enough—know who this dude was when I started talking to him. Alls I knew was that we had just caught him shooting video of Lil' Mama eating a hot dog on his caseless iPhone
Brie-ly Getting My Ass Kicked Studying MCAT Potato
I actually think it’s cool that all the articles I got paid a sub-minimum wage to write for VICE when the brand was valued in the billions will now be unceremoniously deleted by a private-equity firm
STATUS UPDATE: Squandering my last livable years on Earth watching two people I do not respect argue about something I could give less than a fuck about on a platform that exists solely to mine and sell my data
SOME CAREER NEWS: Delighted to announce I wrote on a worthless, un-asked for television program you have zero interest in watching in exchange for a sum of money exponentially larger than you’ll ever make
Please “like” this tweet to feed my inexplicably still insatiable ego
A Woman's Guide to Proper Emailing:
Finish every sentence w/! lest you look bitchy
Always use proper grammar lest you look unqualified
A Woman's Guide to Proper Texting:
Never finish sentences w/punctuation lest you look bitchy
Never use proper grammar lest you look pretentious
Went to the desert to be alone for two days. It is not yet midnight and I have been texted about Chris D’Elia no less than ten times. I am in a prison of my own making
The “wokeness is killing comedy” argument conveniently ignores the fact that 99% of clubs are safe places for intolerance. Roast Battle is a hate crime. Wanna make a Caitlyn Jenner joke...in 2019? You’ll be paid for doing so at the Laugh Factory, you hack fuck
Today's my birthday. Last year I had an abortion on my birthday. My only birthday wish this year is to not have an abortion on my birthday.
So far, so good (but it's early yet)
My favorite kind of comedy is that which has been made by children of inherited wealth
My favorite time to watch said comedy is while eating expired yogurt from Grocery Outlet
Gentle reminder that Kim Deal installing her sister Kelley as lead guitarist in the Breeders when Kelley had never once played guitar is the punkest thing that happened in the past 30 years
I wrote something for this, issue
#1
of the NEW Mad. It's about Spiro Agnew. Just kidding, it's about gentrification. If someone told me when I was a kid that one day I'd write about gentrification for MAD MAGAZINE, I'd say, "What's gentrification?"
Imagine a world in which people cared about female comedians' comedy as much as they cared about female comedians' "hot takes" on the sex crimes of male comedians
Hey, SNOWFLAKES, was your 2017 TRIGGERING?
As a LIB, did you feel OWNED?
Maybe your New Year's Resolution should be to NUT UP, CUCK and
ABANDON your CAPACITY for
HUMAN EMPATHY
A middle aged white man I do not know saddles up next to me at the Grocery Outlet. "Good deals," he unsolicitedly declares, "but you know you need to check the expiration dates, right?" I sigh. "This ain't my first rodeo, padre" I reply while making direct and severe eye contact
Lana Del Rey is nothing more than background noise designed to be played on the Crosley suitcase turntable you bought at Urban Outfitters while laying on the linen duvet you bought at Anthropologie and pretending to read a copy of “The White Album” you bought at Barnes and Noble
Trust funders, redistribute all yr inherited wealth—fuck $50
Send yr unopened facial serums back to Sephora & get a few hundo
Tell yr dad yr rescue dog ruined yr CB2 couch, have him send you a couple grand of blood money, & donate it to bail orgs/minority-owned business relief
Sadly, the rumors are true—I DID once have sex on a futon in Lakewood, Ohio with a noise musician who called himself Steve Dracula while listening to Blonde Redhead’s “Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons” in the early aughts