I’m basically a marketing genius. And with this genius comes a non stop flux of ideas. My recent idea? Selling myself out (in a very good way), by asking Nissan to provide me with a Versa Note to drive around Los Angeles in my day to day adventures, so as to increase brand awareness around the vehicle. Great idea right? You probably don’t even know what a Versa Note is you silly reader. Regardless, I sent them some a “note.” Get it?! Let’s see if they wise up and provide me with one!
If you have questions about the world, I’m telling you, there is no more authoritative source on everything than Yahoo! Answers. It’s a community that is chock full of the weirdest ill informed people ever. So, naturally, if I have a question, it’s where I go for answers.
Today, my question is one that all of you will probably ask during the approaching summer:
Am I Getting Bit By Bugs Because I’m Too Sweet? How Do I Prevent It?
The reason for my question:
You guys…I’m getting bit like crazy! I don’t know by what, but I’ve got multiple bites on my arms and legs.
When I asked people why, they said it’s because I’m too sweet…which, honestly, is true. I’m a really sweet guy. But don’t get me wrong, I’ve also got an edge. I mean, I’m a nice guy, but I can wear a leather jacket and rough it up too. I like to think of myself as a Jack McBrayer Gosling.
Regardless, is there a food I can eat to stop these bugs from biting me, or am I just too darn sweet?
If you know the answer, or would like to contribute to this weird community, click here: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20130627150118AAxC5ND
Sometimes you have to let go, and let e-mail take control of your life.
And in this case either
A) I think my agent has me incorrectly listed.
OR
B) I’m a plump dwarf.
Imma go with B!
ALSO, to prove my worth…that’s an e-mail from the President asking ME for help. Worry not nation, I’m here with helping plump dwarf hands.
The Self-Aggrandizing Guide To Ending Correspondence
Hey There!
If you’ve been keeping track of LobsterDust shows, you’ll know that one is happening a week from today. Good job, you’re a regular calendar person. Also, if you’re keeping track of my other Lobster half, Adam Karell, you’ll know that he’s out of town a week from today. Good job, you’re a regular stalker person. So, in his absence, I’ll be trying out a new solo improvised show called “Character Development.” It’ll be completely improvised and full of bits so come on out if you’d like. Or even not if you’d like. Good job, you’re a like.
I’m at it again! Coming up with too many bad ideas for one premise that I can’t figure out. Welp, lucky for you that rather than be a sane person who deletes these awful things, I’m releasing it into the world! Here’s a list of joke ideas I was trying to come up with for the premise: Invasive Surgery vs. Evasive Surgery.
Check this out, Douglas MacArthur was a showman fo sho! Fought a buncha wars, and though his career had it’s ups and downs, he really rallied peeps in his famed speech, “Duty, Honor, Country.” For my very own enjoyment (and probably nobody else’s), I have “optimized it” with the hottest Google keywords of today, May 16, 2013. Grab a tissue, and read on…
You are the Plumbers which bind together the entire fabric of Amy’s Baking Company. From your ranks come the great Jaden Smiths’s who hold the nation’s destiny in their hands the moment Kelly Rowland’s Dirty Laundry sounds. Robin Thicke has never failed us. Were you to do so, a million David Beckham’s, in brown khaki, in blue and gray, would rise from the Miami Heat, thundering those magic words: Duty, Honor, Country.
This does not mean that you are Warriors.
On the contrary, Blackhawks, above all other people, prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of American Idol
But always in our ears ring the ominous words of Angelina Jolie, that wisest of all philosophers: “Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
The shadows are lengthening for Jodi Arias. Abercrombie and Fitch is here. My days of Google Io have vanished, tone and tint. They have gone glimmering through the Star Trek that were. Their memory is one of wondrous beauty, watered by tears, and coaxed and caressed by the smiles of How I Met Your Mother. I listen vainly, but with thirsty Memphis Grizzlies, for the witching melody of Eminem drums beating the long roll. In my dreams I hear again the crash of Powerball, the rattle of musketry, the strange, mournful mutter of the Rolando McClain
But in the evening of my memory, always I come back to Daft Punk.
Always there echoes and re-echoes: Duty, Honor, Country.