A Case For Alt. Comedy

When I first moved to the city and started to do comedy, I was urged by many to go what is known as the alternative route. Apparently because I was a woman and was different, it would be the perfect home for me. So I decided to check it out. As opposed to the clubs who want you to bring to death and have no interest in passing you, especially if you are a woman, the alt rooms didn't require me to bring. That's what I decided to check it out.

There were things I liked and that I didn't like.

I liked the fact that they were more welcoming to women comedians and their performers thought out of the box. Sometimes, because the vibe could be more experimental from time to time I felt more like I belonged. And also, I had several supporters in the alt world who opened their doors to me, and also recommended me for other shows and auditions.

On the flipside there were things I didn't like. They were too politically correct for me. Not to mention they were comedy snobs, always picking apart every joke. Offstage they were stoic and treated comedy as serious business and actually couldn't take a joke. Not to mention that they were all from schools like Wesleyan, Sarah Lawrence, Oberlin, Bowdoin, and Barnard and you name it. As a result they tried being different for the sake of being different making them all the same and annoying. They wanted the challenge the audience and forgot their job was to make the audience laugh. Not to mention they were uptight about being politically correct. Comedy isn't about being politically correct.

Oh and then they all bragged about living in Williamsburg or Bushwick-posh hang outs-forgetting two blocks away they could easily get robbed by the Latin Kings.

For the most part I was hit or miss in Alt Rooms. Sometimes if I went on towards the end when the hipsters were drunk they loved me. However if they were more uptight this was not going to work. Eventually I wandered away from the Alt scene. In part because their definition of ground breaking had nothing to do with groundbreaking but just being weird looking with no substance. Not to mention they were too cliquish for me. And the bookings didn't come my way. I ended up doing a bunch of club shows, hitting the shows, and in between was affiliated with a circle of comedy that was seemingly the antithesis of alternative comedy.

However this past summer I changed my mind. I was invited to do Ed Sullivan on Acid. Pat O'Shea was hosting in Park Slope. I had known Pat for years and admired him as a comedian, but had never been asked to do the show. Finally one night after chilling with Sean Lynch we were all hanging and Pat invited me. I remember getting there and being nervous because it was an Alt show. I had always been shut out of the ECNY Awards and seemed to be the thing many an Alt person detested.

I spoke to some of the comedians before the show and I felt at home. Each were serious students of the art of comedy. It was refreshing to see.

The show started and the house was packed. One by one, each and every comedian that performed  was funny. Not only were they gifted in the ha ha department, but also they were exceptional writers. Their material was smart, challenged the audience, and still got the laugh. Alternative Comedy didn't just get my respect that evening, but it made me want to do more alt rooms as a matter of fact.

I went up and I did well. Sure, I was out of the box but I couldn't help feel that I didn't match up as far as my writing went. Actually, I know I didn't. Afterwards, the comedians were very complimentary towards me. We talked at length about comedy, our favorite and least favorite and about what made things funny. At that moment I didn't want to slum for laughs anymore. I wanted to make my audience not only laugh but think.

Some of the funniest comedians are alt and that is not an accident. So many times I have seen club comedians go to the lowest common denominator for a laugh and treat their audience like they are stupid. Alt comedians treat their audience like they have a brain, what's wrong with that? Not to mention club comedians are so busy telling the latest dick joke that they rely on stage presence-something I have been guilty of in the past. However in the alternative world it is all about the writing because in the end the joke writing is all you have.

That being said, I have seen excellent club comedians too that do care about their joke writing. And also I have seen bad alt comedians who believe they are too cool to make the audience laugh.

On the same token, when an Alt comedian is excellent, they are beyond the pale.

Bottom line, there is too much division and fighting in comedy. Instead of calling each other names maybe we should all be learning from each other. The alternative comedians taught me I was doing the right thing by being me and that I need to step up my writing game. They taught me not to hide my brain.

Why should you choose to be stupid.

Seriously.

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
www.buybooksontheweb.com
877-Buy-Book
Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon
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10 Things Every Comedian Should Know

10. Comedians are cliquish. There are the club folks, the alt folks, the Jersey folks, the folks who want to be like other folks. Some of them will like you, some of them wont. Its more a reflection on them and their lack of talent than it is on you.

9. For the Women: Men have the upper hand. Get used to it. You will have to fight harder and bookers and club owners will feel it is okay to try to feel you up and pressure you for sex. While it’s up to you, don’t be surprised when it happens. And don’t complain. This is not like other jobs where you can sue for sexual harassment.

8. Everyone has a drinking or drug problem or is in recovery from a drinking or drug problem. Everyone has had a rough childhood or has a chip on their shoulder. When someone gives you an unusual response, remember that this is after all the broken toy store. Perhaps they didn’t get their usual AA meeting.

7. When they say they want someone different, out of the box, and original, they are lying to you especially if you are a woman. Club owners want someone safe. Being boring gets you passed faster. However, those people will only do the same shitty club whereas the original thinker will eventually become the superstar.

6. I was fired from one club after getting them a shitload of air time. I was basically black balled from another for cussing them out. Bottom line, don’t be afraid to burn bridges. Don’t be afraid to make enemies. The people who are supposed to help you will, but the people who aren’t in your court will never be in your court.

5. It’s okay to be a fame whore. Fame whores make it. The purists never do more than the Walmart of Comedy. Plus they sit around all day arguing over what makes a joke and what doesn’t. If an opportunity arises to get on TV, do it. As Billy Gardell said, when he defended me on the radio, “You need to take your breaks where you can-end of story.”

4. Your friends will turn on your when you start to make it. Yes, if you make it or get any success the people you once went to mics with will bad mouth you any chance they get on the internet. They feel your success is not justified. Meanwhile if it was them it will be perfectly justified. Just remember comedians are not a community. They are just a bunch of dreamers who think big and there are very few doers.

3. Making it has very little to do with being funny. Sometimes it is being at the right place at the right time. Sometimes it is being the right ethnicity during a right time. Whatever. But much of it has to be with being hard working, being persistent, showing up, and most importantly not being afraid of rejection. Oh, and write a thank you note and return a phone call.

2. Every dog has their day. Some people get passed at clubs without a problem. Some people get on TV and it is easy to get jealous. Here’s the thing. Everyone’s journey is different. Some people end up as just standups, others branch into acting, then there are those who become writers, and many even go the talent/club management/production route. Bottom line, it is a marathon not a sprint. Keep your eye on your own game and don’t focus on others. The beautiful part is, if you stay in the race you someday end up working together on projects with others who have run the race as well.

1. Don’t be afraid to do your own thing. Others all want you to follow in their footsteps, and comedians are all followers. So don’t be afraid to make your own videos. Don’t be afraid to start your own podcast. Don’t be afraid to write your book. Don’t be afraid to pitch your project. Don’t be afraid to have another creative outlet aside from the shows where everyone is fighting to perform in front of three people. It won’t distract you from the dying art of standup, but rather will make it richer when you perform in front of  a packed house. 

Husband, Babies, and a Fireplace

I am a career woman. To someone like myself Hillary Clinton is a hero. While she is in the Oval Office and I am trying to break into entertainment, we both basically put our professional lives first and personal-what is that? Husband, well hers was fooling around and she was too busy running the country to notice. And then she probably stood by her man because she was too busy to leave. Where was she going to go? Divorce takes time and she had a health care system to clean up. I digress.

Anyway, I haven’t had a guy in sometime. Between writing and publishing a book, promoting that book, recording the audio version of that book and writing the musical version of the book I really haven’t given a guy a second thought. That is, until I was interviewed by a local magazine in my hometown where the guy asked, “Do you want a husband or kids in the future?”

The question threw me for a loop. The answer is I really don’t know.

Honest to God I didn’t know. In middle school I wasn’t allowed to date. My parents emphasized academics, goals, and achievement. My father was the first to get not only a college degree but an MBA and a law degree in a working class family, and both my mom’s parents were educated. My dad was a professor and my mom was a teacher. Television was not allowed until Friday so boys were out of the question completely. As a matter of fact some folks even thought I was gay because the story that April couldn’t date boys turned into April couldn’t talk to boys. But I had my puppets and my tablet with my thoughts. Better than any of the zit faced guys in my junior high class. Sure I had crushes, who didn’t. Still, they were a world away.

High school was more chasing my goals. When I wasn’t busting my behind in school I was taping shows at the cable access station, performing ventriloquism somewhere, writing a column for the local paper, going to a play practice, attending an acting or voice class, and then to support it all I bagged groceries at the local supermarket on the weekends. My dream schools were Smith College, Mount Holyoke, Brown University, New York University, Emerson College, and Carnegie Mellon University and perhaps Julliard. There was no time for a guy in my star chasing.  There was no time for anything that wasn’t getting me ahead. And the three guys I did like in high school all made it clear they didn’t return the favor. But the help with analyzing the Emily Dickinson, oh they gladly took that.

College was an adventure. My first year I was a miss all around. One guy invited me to his room to watch TV. The next thing I know he was all over me. Apparently watch television is code for lets have sex. I so didn’t know that. We didn’t have sex and he felt bad I was in the dark. Later we became good friends and joked about the incident. Still, that wasn’t a high point in my life.

The few guys I liked seriously rejected me in a pretty low way. One in particular was a favorite at an NYU extension and famous acting studio I was later asked to leave. This young lad was tall, dark, and handsome and slated to have quite the career. I, on the other hand, was being told that I wouldn’t. Well tall, dark, and handsome found out about my puppets and we connected. He assured me he had the same struggles and came out swinging. All the girls liked him. Well he used to seek me out to speak to me and even invited me to some theatre party but I was busy or something. Well one day I was taking a stress walk after writing a paper and saw him when it started to drizzle. I was wondering aimlessly, he was walking home. I ended up walking with him in my meandering. Once we got to his dorm he suddenly turned acting as if I was the unwanted overweight companion-I was in those days-rather than the pleasant surprise in the hood. After crying on the way home, risking pneumonia, and then showering I wrote him off and gave him the cold shoulder everytime I saw him.

The fucker capitalized on his short time with me by twisting the story on Gawker-not bad for someone slated to not have a career- about how I followed him home once and it was the most terrifying thing ever. Sir, you wish I were stalking you. Because unfortunately the bitter teachers who were jealous I had a shot and they didn't were wrong. You never had that acting career and never will. Trashing me on Gawker is the closest you will ever get to that career. Now tell me, how does it feel to know you peaked at twenty?

Sophomore year I had my heart broken by a few guys who were just shallow. But I was in a new studio extension and finding success there. Plus I found standup comedy and that took up most of my nights. There could be no man. There could only be Lee Strasberg. I simply had crushes on set up, premise, and punchline. May Wilson got all the action.

Junior year I found myself engaged to a much older man who was intimidated by the fact I was smarter than him and going places. His friends-stupider than he was-said things. First he told me what I could and couldn’t wear. Then he told me how I could and couldn’t dress. Next it was him or the puppets. I gave up my children for six months. The worst mistake of my life. Next he wanted to kill his mother so he could get the insurance money to be with me.

They left that part of the story out on TV.

 Same with the stalking and threatening. My mom hates when I talk about it, but I need to so women in the same situation can know that it will be fine. Plus I was lucky. He only talked about killing me. Yeardley Love probably wishes she could take my place. She probably wishes a separate mailing address was the least of her problems. This Sir Lancelot pops up to “make amends” everytime things go well in my life. Meanwhile he and whatever piece of trash with low self esteem he is stringing on goes on some message board to talk trash. Who would have known with all of his sleazing and sleeping with his stripper ex for money, I would be the ex his new girlfriends would all be jealous of? My ex also took credit for writing my act and my jokes. Watch him take credit for my book next, assweed. 

After that I dated a string of forgettables, one being a lawyer who couldn’t stop lying. Many being ex-cons who could at least tell the truth about the crimes they were committing. Some were nice, but my love of my career and my busy schedule always made things fizzle out. All were fun runs in the sun but nothing more.

Then my friend Chacho passed and I wanted to do everything I could do to make my life and career complete. I thought of all the things Chacho would want for me. Chacho wouldn’t want me to date losers, he had done that and it is what put him in an early grave. He would want me to pour that energy into being a superstar and hanging out with the most fancy people in the world. Chacho would want me to put that energy into nice clothes. Chacho would want me to live big. Well I did. I cut men out entirely, especially when the television time started rolling in. Needless to say, after a bunch of events the schedule became very full. I had no time for a man but ironically had a lot of male admirers. Male admirers who loved me and my puppet children. Maybe a guy could like me for being me.

And there was one who did. Yes, he did. I have blogged about him and gave him a fake name to protect him because I know he was in trouble somewhere. The truth is, he liked me for being me. No guy ever did. Unfortunately he was sick-bipolar he was not taking his meds for and abusing drugs instead. I had to let him go. Not because I wanted to, I had to. He didn’t want to take his meds and he didn’t want to get help. Sometimes I think that if he were to show up at my door clean, sober, and appropriately medicated I would take him back. But that probably won’t happen. Maybe that says a lot about the God I believe in. But unfortunately it’s reality.

I dated a former reality star and washed up comedian who I thought liked me but was just using my visibility to revive his dead career.

There is a part of me that knows I am damaged. I know I am scarred and have a hard time trusting guys. Actually, most of the time they are guilty in April’s Court ruled by the iron fist of Roman Law. I always assume they are cheating and sleazing around-in my mind. Not to mention I never tell them about my career because I am scared they will make me give it up and have their children. I am scared I will have to give up my whole life I worked for. And wait until they see some of the photos I take and the letters male fans write me. Then I know it’s over. Not to mention I am a lousy cook and clean as frequently as the Jets win because I am so busy with my career.

Translated, my relationships end badly for a reason. I could never make a guy happy, and a lot of it is my fault. At least I know that though, right? Apparently men don’t like it when you try to make them puppets.

On the flipside someday it might be nice to have someone to spend forever with. A special someone to have that big wedding with. A special someone to honeymoon with on some tropical island. A special someone to have children and grow old with. A special someone who watches football, snores, rakes leaves, and shovels snow. A special someone who even when I want to kill him makes me laugh a second later and I forget about my grudge. A special someone who lets me know the world isn’t a big, bad, dark, hole waiting to gobble me up.

It might be nice to have kids someday. Kids who are babies that I can dress in adorable outfits. Kids who don’t color in the lines and finger paint to the point that it gets on them. Kids who play Pee Wee football, Pee Wee soccer, Pee Wee dance and whatever other Pee Wee thing there might be to do aside from going to that perve’s playhouse. Kids that do spelling words, even if I have to force them before school. Kids who make me laugh with their explanations and schemes of why they did something. Kids who sparkle and make me smile. Kids who know they have puppet brothers and sisters and as a result can put up with anyone’s differences.

But both the husband and kids are fictional. They don’t speak in these dreams. Plus if they were real they would have to compete with my closet of costumes and room full of eleven puppets. My schedule is busy so they would be fending for themselves in the kitchen and doing all the laundry. And something tells me they would not understand being stashed under the bed when space was tight.

Oops, they aren’t puppets.

I guess for now it is my apartment that looks like a war zone, my puppets, my comedy, my video making, my book writing, my singing telegrams and my music that occasionally gets on the radio.

This week a guy took my number and he has been lukewarm basically letting me know he isn’t that into me. Sigh, just like high school. Now off to my guy free life of a bubble bath and trash romance novel. The guys in those books are what women want. Those fictional men can be into me if I make them into puppets. I better stop while I am ahead. I sound crazy. I can picture one of them writing in the next time I am written up in the Gawker. He can say I forced him into a bubble bath after a rain storm. 

Love 

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

877-buy-book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Available on Amazon as a paperback and ebook

Available through Barnes and Noble online in hardback and on Nook

A Ride on the Short Bus

Yesterday I had an adventure. Yes, only one of those adventures only I could have. My boss called and asked if I could do a Marilyn Monroe telegram. I said sure. Since the New Year it has been slow, and of course I would take any work I could get aside from working outside in the bitter Artic zone known as my home city. I figured this telegram would be open and shut. But then my boss added a side note. He cleared his throat and explained-because this was probably a first for him-“The lady wanted me to tell you in case he acts a certain way, etc. April, bottom line is, he likes pretty girls, loves Marilyn Monroe-“ My boss than took a pause trying to search for words to sensitively convey what he wanted to say. He is progressive, he is liberal, he has a good heart and cares for his customers. Finally he blurted out, “What I am trying to say is that he’s retarded!”

My mouth hung open.

Retarded.

Touched.Special.Room down the hall with two teachers.

 Bad jokes at recess.

Mongoloid , the old term used and not so politically correct and actually insulting to Asians. Apparently one of my great cousins was what they referred to as a Mongoloid. He died very young as they often did in those days. But wow. Yes, I got the point. This was going to be an experience.

On my way there I just marveled at how my life could turn into one big adventure at the drop of a hat. There I was, minding my own business and now I was delivering to a man with a touch of the Down’s. I had never done a show for someone who was mentally impaired before. I did puppet shows for people in nursing homes so senile they not only thought my figure was real but begged my puppet to rescue them. I did puppet shows for people with Autism who took special liking to the puppets, and even signed my sweater. But singing for a mentally disable individual. Would he be able to understand this?

I couldn’t help but think of Sarah Palin, the adversary of career women everywhere. The one who carried her baby to term knowing he had Down’s, but then named him Trig. She named him after a class he will never take in school. How cruel is that?

I expounded on all my adventures with the word retarded. It was a favorite insult in elementary school. So much so that we flung it at each other any chance we got. Finally during a music class when our teacher explained it meant to slow down, we were out of control with laughter. We asked her why music had to be so retarded. Well she then explained her sister in law was carrying a Down’s Baby and miscarried, and the term was derogatory and hurt. So Derrick White asked her , “Miss, why are you being so retarded?” We all laughed and he was sent to the principal. But he had a point. This woman was retarded. Good call Derrick.

In high school my brother Wendell was on the football team. The water boy, or more aptly known as the team manager, was usually a kid with Down’s. Most of the time, by high school folks had calmed down with their insults towards those with special needs. However, every once in a while there was a dust up. To their credit, the football players had the back of the team manager as sort of a group of impromptu body guards if anything were to happen. Some of the football players took a barb at the team manager from time to time, but never anything mean. Sure, the team manager may have been a retard but he was their retard. And that retard was one of a band of brothers. He was connected. I call that a stroke of retarded genius.

The supermarket I worked in often employed people with mental disabilities. Most of the time they were hard workers who stayed under the radar. However, one of the more infamous ones was named Mikey. One manager used to send him to do returns. Mikey would stop at the bakery on his runs to try to discreetly grab a jelly donut from the case. Using his stealth, he was on the look out to make sure he never got caught. However, Mikey had an IQ of about 30. Translated, he didn’t understand jelly donuts all look a certain way. So Mikey would sample all the donuts until striking gold. However, if a donut was just another piece of coal back in the case it would go. Customers began to complain about the half eaten donuts in the cases. An investigation was conducted and Mikey was caught on camera. They fired him. However, the story does not end there. Mikey went to the union, lawyered up, and sued the store for lots of money for discrimination and wrongful firing based on a disability. Mikey never has to work again-doing better than all of us. Another stroke of retarded genius.

Sometimes, however, the people with the Down’s can get you when you least suspect it. My brother Wendell was once visiting Super Cuts, a discount barber shop when he was in college. Not known for their technique and originality, they nonetheless got the job done for the male living on a discount budget. Wendell was studying, playing football, and needed a quick cut. Well when Wendell climbed in the chair he noticed his barber was talking oddly and looked a little strange. Half way through the cut Wendell realize his barber had Down’s Syndrome. However it was too late to bail. When Wendell finished his cut he had a mix between a helmet head with a touch of mullet with a large chunk missing in the back. The barber was well aware that he had the Down’s. Wendell was not. What does that say about my brother? I suppose you get what you pay for. But it is also a testament to the little retarded barber doing the best he could with what he had to earn a living, kudos on him for working hard.

I walked into the place where I was to sing and immediately was greeted by a man with Down’s Syndrome who answered the door. I took a breath. While I have nothing against those who have the Down’s, I had to brace myself because I was about to be outnumbered. I told myself all retard jokes and references were to stop from this point forward. No barbs at people who wear Disney fanny packs. There would be none of that. Walking into the office, I was greeted by the contact who was a nice African American lady. She took me up to my changing room.

On our way to the elevator a resident, an older woman who obviously was Down’s as well, snuck up behind her and pulled her snow cap. “Boo, I got your hat.” She stated. My contact smiled gently. I suppose they are used to the eccentric antics of the mentally challenged residents, forever frozen in the innocent childlike state. In a way it was charming they had that sort of relationship, but it took me off guard. I would never get away with that. But then again, being mentally retarded does have it’s perks sometimes-you can get away with anything.

As I changed I felt a wave of trepidation. This was either going to be the best delivery ever or the worst idea in the history of all singing telegrams. As I changed I took a breath. I was going to treat Mr. Michael, my recipient, like any other delivery I decided. If he was going to go to sleep or eat paint or anything crazy I could cut it short.

About fifteen minutes later, Mr. Michael was showered and ready for dinner. I was taken to the man, sitting in the dining hall amongst his friends. All had Down’s, all went to school on the short bus when they were young. I walked over to Michael and some of the others in the dining hall-other residents-signaled the others to be quiet. In a very first grade way they screamed, “SHHHH!!!” Not realizing they were actually making more noise, it is the thought that counts, right? Within seconds they were quiet though, so perhaps they understand each other better than we could ever imagine in our so called normal world.

Mr. Michael himself blushed as soon as he saw me. He asked if he could kiss me. I had never had a recipient be so straight forward, so I rolled with it and let him kiss me on the cheek. He wore a professional wrestling shirt and had on a championship belt. The Hulk had long since retired, and Mr. Michael was tough enough. Part of me was taken aback that they let him wear the pro-wrestling motif so freely in the home. I could never get away with that. On the flipside, as I said, there is a certain freedom that comes with being retarded. You can do whatever the hell you want. As he blushed during my routine the outfit ready for Hulk-o-mania became rather endearing. He was sweet, gentle, and kind. He was Michael. And move over Judah Freidlander, this was the true world champion.

The staff graciously recorded the whole thing, and the residents sat in attention. At the end I got them to join me in “Happy Birthday.” They seemed to enjoy singing “Happy Birthday” to their friend. It was sweet to see these people, inviting me so openly into their community. This was their home, and this was their world. So it was different than the normal world that I called my home. In a way it was better because they seemed kinder and gentler to each other. By the time I finished I had forgotten that I was performing for a bunch of people who had Down’s Syndrome. They were like any other audience: sweet, warm, and appreciative.

The staff said I was wonderful and asked for business cards when I left. I was glad everyone liked it. Actually, it was a blessing to be reminded of how I can brighten up a person’s day no matter who they are. That felt really good. It’s a kind reminder that we are all in this together no matter what our functional levels are.

As I made my way to the train I remembered a special needs bell choir I once saw perform at a church. I was ready for this to be the Olympiad of Tune Terror, however they surprised me by being melodious and had a wonderful energy that I don’t see often in orchestras with normies. It’s because as normies we take our ability to be normal functioning for granted, and often don’t work up to our potential because we have a lot to work with and waste our energy doing stupid things.

They on the other hand, well, they need to put all their energy into just trying to be normal functioning, and therefore surprise us and teach us something.

Perhaps they are the prophetic visitors and we need to listen to them from time to time. Perhaps we all need a ride on the short bus once in a great while to teach us humility and kindness as well as gratitude.

Or maybe this whole blog entry has been simply me just being retarded.

Love

April

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

877-Buy-Book

www.buybooksontheweb.com

Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon

Portion of proceeds go to benefit the children of Sandy Hook Elementary School 

Winners of the Week

1. The Students at Sandy Hook. They are returning to school today after one of the worst blood baths in the history of the nation. These people have shown resolve, strength, and many of the children not just tremendous maturity but courage. I am so glad that they are back to school today, even if it is at a different site. They are picking up the pieces and they are putting one foot in front of the other. I know it isn't easy but it is life. It's not about what you want but what you need to do. These young people are learning that lesson. My heart and my prayers are with them today.

2. Miss Universe. Olivia Culpo has just moved to New York and is looking for love. Beautiful and outgoing, it is easy to hate her. However, she is using her time constructively not just for college but also to champion causes such as HIV/AIDS Awareness. Over the years I have known several people who are poz, and while it no longer kills the way it once did because of medical research, the stigma like a scarlet letter remains. Not to mention there is a myth in the straight world that we cannot get AIDS. Lie. Good for her. Love you Livi!

3. JJ Watt. This dude is one of my favorites. This defensive end for the Houston Texans has fascinated me since I first saw him beat the living snot without struggle against the Jets. Not only is he big, but he is quick, a rare combo in football. I read more about this young man and during his time at his first college he felt directionless and dropped out. After delivering pizzas for a bit he had an encounter with a fan and that changed him mind. Back in college he was and off to Wisconsin he went to play. Now he is a huge star with Houston and is only getting bigger. Off the field he is a star as well. A true role model, he has not broken the law or fathered any children out of wedlock. Not to mention Mr. Watt took time out of his busy schedule to travel to Sandy Hook to play a game of football with the children there to ease the mind off of the hell that has been their December. In a time in their lives that they will want to forget, he will be the memory they want to keep. Good on you JJ Watt for showing us what it is to be a true MVP. (Not to mention he is HAWT!!!!, oh-rhymes with Watt).

Love April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
877-Buy-Book
www.buybooksontheweb.com
Available as a paperback and ebook on Amazon
Portion of proceeds go to the victims of the Sandy Hook Shooting

Losers of the Week

Well the votes are in and these two have taken the cake. As in the assholes are stinking up the place by being themselves. What I mean is these two morons personify losers.

1. John Boehner. Says, his name sounds like Boner, I just wish Beavis and Butthead were here to rip this creep a new one. It's bad enough that he doesn't like women, gays or other people of color. But after a while you get used to that. But this is today's complaint with King John. There was supposed to be a 60 million dollar bill to help Sandy Victims in places like Breezy Point, The Rockaways, Staten Island and parts of Jersey. Well Bone-head was going to vote to pass it, but then he threw a hissy fit about not getting his way with the fiscal cliff and basically has done everything in his power to make sure those who need aid have to wait. Yes, the Sandy vics who have no homes and are living in trailers in this freezing cold begging FEMA for heat and dependent on space heaters have to wait. All because Johnny from Ohio didn't get his way. I would say he needs to go to hell, but that would be too nice a place. Rather, I hope they let him loose in Breezy Point where former fire fighters, many who may have voted on the conservative side in the past mind you, can beat the living breathing shit out of this waste of flesh. You stabbed New York in the back Mr. Boehner, and now I am crucifying you on my blog. I already didn't like you but now I hate you. Happy New Year, Dickhead.

King John eats beef and potatoes while the people of Queens, Staten Island, and New Jersey Starve. 

2. Fantasia Barrino. I shouldn't be surprised that this former American Idol winner, songstress, adultress, all around stupid ass, and breeding lump makes the list. But yes she does. Fantasia is not known for her brains, and while some rave about her vocal chops I want to deck her in the mouth everytime she sings one of her God awful songs because to me she is just awful. Well Ms. Syphilis did a Donna Summer and went on an anti-gay rant on twitter. Basically she said that people were doing all the things that they shouldn't do in the Bible (a book rewritten and re-edited by some very creative storytellers) and they were legalizing weed and gays were getting married. Wait a minute? You just alienated most of the people that voted for you on American Idol you dumb cow. They stood by you when you cried the blues of being a teen slut who popped out a little baby and helped you win on TV. So your career which was basically fading into obscurity is now over. Then she wants to talk about the Bible. Let's take Fantasia's inventory shall we? She had a child out of wedlock-a no no. Then she committed adultry-another no no and that one is actually listed in the Ten Commandments. Finally, she had a child with this man and he still is not technically divorced-another big no to the no to the NO NO! Later she took it down and said it was "taken out of context." Yeah, Rick Santorum tried the same thing. Anyway, luckily her career is starting to take a down turn and she is rapidly fading into obscurity. Now because the suicide attempt didn't take, lets hope she does a Ruben Studdard and just goes away and no one asks questions. She is certainly gaining the weight. But rest assured Fantasia is a cunt, after all, that seems to be the muscle she uses on her body most ;)

She who is without sin shall cast the first stone you ignorant hole

April Brucker is Not Impressed With You

Today I was walking down the street in my lil white fur when a car stopped to ask me where I got it from. They were two strapping young men. I had a session to record my audio book and my sound engineer had been moving apartments so he was running late. He has been my friend since freshmen year acting studio. It wasn't a problem. I know he is going to give me a good product.

Anyway, I stop to talk to these guys part out of just whatever and they asked me where I got my coat. So they introduce themselves as Nick and Amadeus. Well then as we are talking Amadeus tells me he is a guitarist. I asked him if he is any good. He is named after a famous composer. Anyway, he says, "Yeah, this is me playing." So he turns up this seventies sounding guitar track. I am like, oh pretty good. I asked if that was actually him, impressed. He says no, it was the Grateful Dead, whatever.

I had to laugh. Men are such morons when it comes to getting laid. At least he had the decency to come clean. Well we chatted some more and I gave him my digits and then off I was to meet Archie, my sound engineer buddy.

So anyway, Amadeus and I ended up texting.

This is how it went.

Amadeus: Wondering how soft your rabbit fur coat is. Mmmmm, what is under it?

Me: Wouldn't you like to know.

Translated, this is a loser horny male and this could only get entertaining. I have a feeling he does not get much action and that will soon reveal itself.

Amadeus: I sure would sexsy. Too bad I have to bring this car up to Vermont to see my grandparents tomorrow.

Does your grandmother know you are being so fresh. I didnt respond back. Kill it before it goes any further. 

Amadeus: Would you like to see something long and hard?

Oh like a ruler? I take it you don't have one. From the way you misspelled sexy it seems you didn't spend much time in school.

I didn't reply and I thought that would kill it. Oh no. Instead, he decides he has got to up his game and he sends me a picture of his dick. YES HE SENT ME A DICK PIC. What am I supposed to do? Look at it and just decide to randomly get on my knees and service him? Should I rip my clothes off and let him pound me, stranger who is driving his grandparents car? Stranger with dorky hipster glasses and no muscle mass? I would just as soon let a prison pen pal do that, at least I know they are hot.

I take a second look at the dick pic. It is not even a hot dick pic. The thing looks a little skinny and sickly. Not to mention very veiny and a little on the small side. And the tip looks too much like a mushroom. I wanted to write back, "I realize you want to nickname your penis Sylvester Stalone, but it is more like Tom Cruise on Scientology: Little, annoying, and weird."

Seriously, what was the purpose of that? Was that to impress me.

Well Amadeus, I have news for you. McKayla Maroney was not impressed at the Olympics and went so far to show the world how she felt when she won the silver metal. And Amadeus, you will not be rocking me tonight because April Brucker is not impressed with you.

AMADICKUS!

Love
April
I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
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