TWITTER

Since I have been very busy in Comedy and at my pencil/poop pushing day job, I figured I would sync my Twitter account with my blog. If you’re too cool for school to sign up for Twitter, then check out all of my updates here!

Performance Schedule

For those of you that think I only perform on the nights that you are able to come to a show, I got effin news for you! I perform (non-felatiatory) shows every night. I don’t advertise every show I’m on, because frankly I’d rather no one know that I’m playing a Laundry Mat or a gas station in front of six toothless teenagers flicking Nickles at me. And I don’t even get to keep the fuckin Nickels. They take them back and flick again. It’s a good thing all those little fuckers are quick to drop their trousers because otherwise, I’d be really backed up. WITH CUM. IN MY TESTICLES. Ugh.

Anyway, I HATE the schedule on comedysoapbox.com (on the right of your screen.) It takes forever to fill in, and I just don’t have the motivation. I did however, just create a myspace account. Admittedly, I’ve seen actual kids I know from high school that are suffering from Downs Syndrome have more exciting and better kept pages, but fuck them - I have to work. On this page you’ll see a “Full Schedule” or at least the one I’m willing to put out at this time. All big shows are certainly on it, and I hope to see a few of you come out to a show that I don’t have to make a Facebook invite for. Uh Oh, I just made a reference to both major Social Networking sites in one post. Are they going to each unleash their sexual predators on me until I side with the ones that give the best fist?!? One could only hope. For my schedule, please click here.

HOLY SHIT..I still have a blog.

I know, I know. I fucking suck. I’ve been working like a corporate helmet tickler for far too long now. I have seemingly lost touch with the 6 people who have been by my side throughout this sky rocketing career of mine- you all, THE FANS! HAHA, I should be kicked in the shitter with a lead boot tip for even insinuating that people read this for entertainment, and not to feel better about themselves. Regardless, I realize that now is the time to jump back on the horse and continue to ride this AIDS ridden Philly till she tuckers out and defecates through her eyeballs. In other words - THE MTFF BLOG IS BACK CRACKA’S!

Some Quick updates on me personally - I know you all must have heard what happened in that gray Lamborghini I rented with my girlfriend a few weeks ago. I just want you all to know that what you’ve read or heard so far is completely just the beginning. The details will astound you. Case in point; people are jumping to the conclusion that this was a spur of the moment “lapse in judgement.” FALSE - this was a well thought out plan that actually took me months to cultivate. No one seems to mention the fact that the bruises on Ri-Cunt’s forehead make her look like she’s becoming the devil. (Tactical Marketing move on my part! Tee Hee)

*Spoiler Alert* This was assault with an organic deadly weapon. In this case, I wanted it to be different. I didn’t want to be lumped in with the Ike’s and Tommy Lee’s. I wanted to change the game. No more apologies, no more brief choke outs that only leave a mild emotional scar. I went above and beyond. I had my penis head galvanized in steel. With this added weight and ability to reek havoc upon impact, I was swinging my meat like an Ankylosaurus. More Deets to come Peeps, I swearsies.

In other News, I heard John Travolta crashed one of his Jetts. Oh no I’m sorry, I mean his son just died. (I can’t take credit for that joke. I’d love to, but I can’t. That goes to Ryan Johnson, a comedian friend of mine who is pretty stankin’ talented himself.)

Another For Your Viewing Pleasure..

Here is a pic of me at my last show at Eastville Comedy Club. Since the back drop was tiling, I decided that the room looked a little too much like my bathroom to remain clothed. I’m trying to post the video up on here, but till then…just friend me on Facebook and you’ll be able to check it out!

2009

Hey all (who are actually still reading this after a few weeks of nothing.) I’m incredibly sorry for my lax performance on this blog, and for my constant excuses regarding my performance. Just take solace in the fact that this isn’t my only area of performance I need to make excuses for. It’s been a pretty crazy few weeks, and I’m packing my schedule with as many shows as possible. I’m only listing a few, because I’m not too keen on all of you watching my Donkey Extravanganza before it’s completely ready. You can tell I’m out of practice with my writing because I have yet to even crack a smile at what I’ve gotten down. I suck.

I need to make this short, because my tyrannical boss is literally standing behind me with a giant Vat of lube, and a really sinister smile on his face. Picture Captain Hook (with a dildo extremity) meets Marv from Sin City. Annyway, I have two really GREAT shows coming up. I’m playing an awesome Cabaret Club/Comedy Bar this Friday January 16th. Here is the information.

BOB DIBUONO: MTV’s “TRL”, SPIKE TV, E! Entertainment , FOX’S “RED EYE”, Jim Bruer Unleashed on Sirius Satellite Radio
http://bobdibuono.com/

When you check in - please let the host know who you are there to see.

For Your Viewing Pleasure.

Happy Hannukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa and anything else made up..Enjoy

*New Product Alert 5!!*

Hey folks, I’d like to introduce you to Simroid. “Simroid, a robotic dental patient with an eerily realistic appearance, has been spotted at the 2007 International Robot Exhibition in Tokyo. Designed primarily as a training tool for dentists, the fembot patient can follow spoken instructions, closely monitor a dentist’s performance during mock treatments, and react in a human-like way to mouth pain. Because Simroid’s realistic appearance and behavior motivate people to treat her like a human being, as opposed to an object, she helps dental trainees learn how to better communicate with patients.”

Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t dentistry have the highest rate of sexual assaults while patients are under anesthesia? If that’s the case, does this doll have a “no no spot” detector, which further teaches dental students where they can put their knees when they’re perched and face fucking their unconscious patients? If this thing is as good as they say it is, and it should be for the cost, then this should be a full service doll. It should not only help the Doctor’s ability to detect cavities and incessantly grope with minimal awareness, but the doll should also be able to perform manically ambitious blow jobs on the students when they did a good job. Hey, gold stars and smiley faces don’t mean shit in 2008-2009, it’s time for progressive thinking and real positive reinforcement. CHANGE!

Update and *New Product Alert 4*

Hey All. I know its been a while, but I’ve been super busy with both Stand Up and the job that I do for fun - Fellating men in high powered positions that control my yearly income. It’s been a hell of a few weeks. Thanks to everybody for checking out my new video. I appreciate all the comments, notes, naked pictures and handy offers and requests. I swear I won’t rest until I toss each and every one of your salads. The Friar’s Club reps had a lot of really great things to say as well. I’d post them, but then I’d come off as a fucking ego-maniacal asshole for writing that they thought I was “the funniest and strongest comedian of the evening. I would love to see Mike on television. Great stage presence, great material and he engaged the crowd. I also believe he received the best reactions from the audience, which says a lot, because it was a tough crowd. I think if he continues to deliver strong material he could really go a long way.” Good thing I’m not that big of a prick..

The real reason I have come out of hibernation is because I have come across quite a few New Products that certainly cater to my lifestyle. The first product is EQM - The Erectile Quality Monitor.

“Once you obtain an erection via your stimuli of choice, simply place the head of the penis against the pressure sensor of the device and apply pressure towards the body for a count of 5 seconds or until the penis inflects (bends). At this point a reading will flash on one of the LED indicator lights, reflecting the quality of that erection. Use this same method each time you test to help ensure accurate results.”

I’m really glad to see that this machine doesn’t prejudice against stumuli, because I get hard from a bevy of catalysts. My cock has swelled at the sight of the back of a grandmother’s neck because it resembled a loosey goose vagene. I’m just trying to figure out what good can possibly come of this. Yes, a high score will boost ones self esteem, but what happens when 10 good scores in a row hit a rough patch. One day your testing your poker, and it scores a green instead of the highest blue. The insecurity breaches your subconscious and then the scores continue to decline. Pretty soon your cock has dissipated quicker than Anne Hache’s taste for pussy. At this point you’ve gone from a Rockstar dong to a paraplegics. Regardless, it doesn’t really matter to me, because I’ve recently pronounced my cock legally dead.

Comic Strip Live - Friar’s Audition

Here’s my set from the Friar’s audtion at Comic Strip Live on 12/6/08. Be sure to rate it on youtube, and pass it on to your friends if you like it.

Friar’s Club

This Saturday I have an audition in front of The Friar’s Club as well as a top production/management company in NYC. I’m pretty excited for the opportunity, especially since the material performed by Friar’s alone and at their Roasts is extremely dirty, chauvinistic, ultra-gay and right up my alley. If I pass this audition I can be selected to perform in a web-broad casted competition “So You Think You Can Roast?” The winner of that will become a Friar, and perform in a real deal Holyfield roast on TV. I’m definitely not saying this to brag, because I honestly haven’t shit solid since I found out about this. I’m pretty nervous but I think I have a solid bit of material going into the competition. We were all told that we needed a few jokes about celebrities going in considering that it was a roast type of setting. I of course have taken this to a new level. However, last night when I performed my new joke for the first time it BOMBED - and I mean fucking awfully. I thought this joke was gonna be my meal ticket out of this hell hole of a life I’ve created for myself, but nope, looks like I’ll be drinking homeless semen Slurpies for a while to come. I guess I’m really no better than the ass gaskets that come up to me on a regular basis pitching their brilliant ideas.

I’m still wrestling with the idea to perform it or not, and being that the show is this Saturday I only have two nights and probably 2-4 shows to work it out. It goes against my better judgment to do this but here is the joke, and please feel free to tell me if it sucks.

[I walk on stage normally and immediately address the crowd in one of the worst Jerry Seinfeld impersonations ever. I wish I could say its on purpose, but the fact that it sucks almost makes it funnier (or not)]

“What’s the deeeaal with still born babies?? They’re slimy…they’re gooey….yet they taste nothing like gummy bears!… What do you do with them after? Do you throw them out? Do you put them in that little needle receptacle bin in the Doctors office? I mean, they’re too big to flush…I’m STUMPEEDD!!! And why do they call them still born? Because they’re still born even though they’re DEAD?!?!?”

I love the joke, and think it can work very well. But I’ve certainly been wrong before. Please comment and let a motha fucka know. Also there are many more jokes I will be performing, so if you were planning on coming please still do because I obviously need the support.

Saturday December 6th, at Comic Strip Live (Between 81st and 82nd on 2nd AVE) Get there at 5:15pm, show starts 5:30 SHARP. (It’s an audition so that’s legit.)

Update

Hey guys. I know I’ve been slackin’ hard core with the blog and I have very good reasons for that. I’ve been given a lot more responsibility at work, so my day is basically jam packed with ball tickling and prostate pounding. I have my first free minute now in over a week, and I’m sure it will be interrupted and this post will come out like shit.

I definitely want to say thank you to everyone who came to the Night Before Thanksgiving show. It was a great show (besides the last two minutes of my set.) I’ll explain.

I came onto the stage and immediately told the crowd that their raucous cheering had just made me wet (while showing them my embarrassingly sweaty under arm.) I then asked, “girls have you ever been horny, and think you’re getting really wet..then you pull down your underwear and it turned out to be a miscarriage?”

**Surprisingly Big Laugh**

“That was my tester joke for you fucks. I’m not sure who passed or failed, because I’m uncertain how you’re supposed to react to that. It’s weird because a few nights ago I told that same joke and the crowd basically responded exactly like all of you…except this one lady in the front row was just…(I start nodding in agreement)”

**Big Laugh again. I’m coasting.**

I get more into my act which included Dakota Fanning rape references, and blowing black guys..typical ass hole banter from this guy. After about 8 minutes I tell one of my jokes, that’s only mildly offensive. After the punch line, I hear laughs and a lone and slightly quiet “booo.” Surprisingly I’ve never been booed before so this intrigued me. I asked “did someone just boo?? who the fuck was that?” This 40 year old executive cunt raises her bull-dyke Madonna arm that looked like it could’ve been featured in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s “Pumping Iron” documentary, and meekly said “me.” I said, “couldn’t you come up with something better and actually give me something to respond to instead of sounding like you have downsyndrome with just boooooo.” Not the best come back in the world, but should have elicited some kind of response from the bitch.

Her response…”boooo.” I lost it. “You fucking stupid cunt. *expletive expletive expletive CUNT expletive* I don’t remember what I said, and I wouldn’t even try to re-create it because I’d probably try to make it funnier than it was. It was not funny, and not a single person (including my 18 friends) laughed, which I now find hysterical in hind sight. I did two more jokes including a jab at my father, because this woman just got me fired up enough to mention the prick. Those jokes garnered genuine laughter from the friends section of the audience, and nervous giggles from those that thought I was gonna actually step off the stage and curb stomp that chick while cream pie-ing her ass. I left on “(pointing angrily at the woman) thanks for ruining my night cunt, I’m out.”

I walked off the stage and went directly outside for a much needed cigarette. My girlfriend, whose glazed over face settled me down a little kept slurring to me “you were great baby, seriously great. You should go back on and do more. That’s buuulshit. (As if she hadn’t told me 4 times in a row prior) You were great baby, go back on.” She’s awesome. So I’m outside smoking a cigarette and the female comedian who went on before me and blew worse than a teen with braces, tells me, “you know that woman you yelled at is my boss.” First of all, why the fuck would I know anything about this hacky comedienne’s shitty life. And second, that probably would’ve made me lay into her more for managing such a shitty worker/comedienne on top of how shitty she is personally. I say, “well your boss is a fucking cunt, be sure to pass that message to her.” She walked away disheartened (after my Ukrainian friend, without being provoked, creeped her out by kissing her hand.) The rest of the night continued in a haze of Long Island Iced Tea’s and general pre-Thanksgiving debauchery.

This show was taped, as well as a few candid drunk as fuck interviews, including my rendition of Jerry Seinfeld doing still born baby jokes. I will post it all on the site when ready. Special thanks to putanginaka for putting that together.

My Tummy.

As usual, Sunday Funday turned into smoke, over eat and regret it on Monday. I have been mud-butting like a mamma jamma today and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. I really don’t know about anyone else, but my diet certainly affects the color(s) of my dookie. I usually have a very rich brown that resembles Oprah’s chocolate skin complexion. It’s quite nice, and it’s incredibly easy to shape into a make shift candy bar for practical jokes. I also get the dark green poops quite a bit as well. I have no idea what causes these spinach shits, but it’s pretty unnerving to wipe, take a look (cause I always gotta see what’s cooking in my colon) and see that I might be turning into a Ninja Turtle. Today’s shit could possibly be the most troublesome. It was BLACK. When I say black, I mean like the bottom of a Well black. This scares me, because I ate all bright multi colored foods yesterday, and it strengthens my suspicion that I am definitely becoming pure evil.

On a better note, I made my first successful miscarriage joke this weekend, and the Giants are 10-1. All will be perfect when my shit goes back to Oprah, and away from Wesley Snipes.

Bombing.

Bombing is a special side effect of comedy. When I first started Stand Up, there was literally nothing I feared more than getting up on stage and having strangers look at me like I’m the Anti-Christ after I made an off colored joke. Now it’s almost funnier for me to bomb than to do well. I get a pretty big kick out of playing in front of a group of seniors that aren’t quite ready for “I think Big Bird’s Abortion would be the most delicious omelet ever.” Not the best joke, but definitely something that should garner some sort of response. But as soon as someone who loves being offended hears the word “abortion,” they’re up in arms and ready to throw a fit, not realizing that I was talking about a 6 foot yellow fuckin’ pigeon puppet.

Last night I was booked for a “College Night” themed show featuring this booking company’s “best college comedians in NYC.” I’ll ignore the outright lie on the billing and focus on the good stuff. All 16 of the people (I won’t even call them an audience) that attended this show, were 45 years old and up. Now unless they marketed this at Hunter Midnight Janitorial College, I’m not entirely sure why these wrinkly douche helmet’s showed up. If they were just old, but ready for comedy I would have nothing to say. But as soon as the MC (I mean Master of Ceremonies, I’m not douchey enough YET to talk in the 3rd person) stepped onto the stage, these people literally looked as though they were receiving the results of their colonoscopy. The MC was on for 7 minutes of death. He was pretty funny, but the audience sucked every bit of life out of him. I’m pretty sure he even splooged all the kiddies out of his soft weenie. It was a nightmare. The first comedian stepped up and did even worse. This guy prefaced so many of his premises with, “and this isn’t even a joke, I’m just saying…” that i wanted to bury the back end of a hammer into his cunt. He lasted a solid 5 and a half minutes.

About midway through “not even a joke” boy, the MC comes up to me and goes “bro good news man…umm we’re gonna give you 15 minutes instead of the initial 8 you were supposed to get, so uhh good luck.” I look at him with all of the disgust I could muster and said, “thanks man…yeah I was looking for a way to make myself cry and masturbate simultaneously tonight.” He laughed, so at least I got one under my belt for the night.

Knowing that an audience is not your key demographic, usually causes comedians to expand their repertoire and really work on different topics to reach broader audiences. Not this guy. The MC announced me exactly like I asked. “This next comedian can be found in old folks homes suckling from the morphine drip…ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mike Cannon!!” Minimal Applause, plenty of “what the fuck” looks. I get up on stage and announce “come on bring some fuckin energy, this is a comedy club not an AIDS clinic.” More WTF looks. (Pointing to a skinny guy) “It looks like this guy is wasting away so I’m sure you just had your monthly check in with the doc huh??”

Nothing. Let’s get gross.

I started doing jokes that weren’t even in my act. I was just ranting and raving about hanging outside of pre-schools waiting for the kickball to roll near my truck, so I could snatch an unsuspecting kid and mount their young supple ass. There was a nice black couple sitting up front who actually laughed at a few of my remarks. Not for long. I asked them if they’re married. They said no, so I immediately start touching on their still active sex life. I asked the woman how big her man’s dick is. He laughs, she cringes. I said “wow his chocolate cock is that big that even the mere mention of it makes you shutter in pain?? Buddy whip that crusty looking thing out. Have any of you white people seen a black cock? It is THE UGLIEST THING EVER! It just constantly looks like its been dipped in shit and then rolled around in mud.” Okay I just lost my only allies.

I continued to do a few of my actual jokes that fared well with the other comedians but predictably awful with the crowd I just ostracized. The incredible thing is I made 15 minutes! That is a HUGE accomplishment in that type of atmosphere. To make sure these labia majora’s never forget my name, I left them with Mud Tickle Fag Finder, and tried to get a really angry guy to smell my fingers. He wouldn’t.

Kranky Karl

My friend KrankyKarl is impossibly in love with his dog Merry. He acquired this dog from an animal shelter, so like most K-9’s in that facility, it lacks many social graces. It incessantly jumps on anybody who dares visit the Karl sanctuary, and basically runs around non stop like a Meth addict the entire time people are over there. Kranky was kind enough to write a belittling expose on my life and exactly why I suck in our fantasy football site, so I decided to take this one step further and attack his Achilles heel in a public forum. Here is my rendition of Merry-Karl’s Biography.

Once upon a time, in an alley littered with syringes, bloody tissues and anal warts, a puppy was born. From the moment this mongrel slid its way out of its mothers mangled doggy twat, one could see that this was no ordinary pup. With extreme determination and vigor, this shitty dog shook off the remaining placenta that covered its body and casually asked its mother, “who is my daddy?” “I don’t know” said the mother, “but that motha fucka was hung like a horse and made yo mama’s ass CLAP!” “Weird,” said the pup as it wandered out of its mothers vision just as she was belting off her forearm. It was obvious from this point on that the newly born puppy was on its own. Mom was too deep in the H game to turn back now. Plus she had a solid bartering service going with the local drug dealer. 4 sloppy beejes a week for the dealer, and a few pumps in her balloon knot, allowed mommy dearest to stay high for days.

The pup continued to roam the streets with no real direction. It recognized the difference between right and wrong, but had too much of an affinity towards jumping on top of every human in sight to stay out of trouble for long. Two years and many lipstick adventures later, the pup found itself in a facility for other troubled doggy youths. One leisurely day as the dog was rummaging through its own cornhole, its nose picked up an impossibly potent weed smell. The dog was first shocked that its nose still worked, considering all of the blow it has done, and then continued to look around for the source of this intoxicating aroma. Finally the dog discovered where the smell came from. It rushed over to a man who was on his lunch break, eating a bowl of pasta, drinking a Bud heavy and smoking a cigarette at the same time. This amazed the dog, so it had to investigate further. As it shimmied its meek body towards this top heavy human being, it noticed something out of this world. This man had what appeared to be two beach balls nestled in a hammock inside of his jeans. (Kranky’s balls are notoriously HUGE. He is a big fan of pulling them out, gripping them from the base and screaming “Frog Eyes!”) The dog immediately sprung into action and buried its nose in the man’s crotch while grunting and breathing heavily. Instincts kicked in, and the dog was hit with the urge to beg the man for drugs. That feeling quickly washed over with the gentle graze of the man’s hands, which felt like they had been put through a meat grinder and then freeze dried felt new and extraordinary. The two struck up a quick bond, which resulted in thousands of talks over cigarettes, shared sandwiches and little wet kisses that the man would refer to as “shhhh, just one more.”

The man decided to “rescue” this dog and bring him home to meet his family. The dog quickly felt at home as it soon realized that it could reek plenty of havoc with minimal discipline yet plenty of “shhh, just one more’s” from the man. The man named his dog MERRY, because that’s how she made his pee pee feel, and the two have been living in isolated bliss ever since.

New Look, Same Shitty Kid.

As some of you know, I recently failed an eye exam quicker than an AIDS test. My vision is so awful, that it’s usually not until I’m done blowing a guy, that I realize I didn’t just go down on my girlfriend. I’m not entirely sure if that’s so much a knock on me, or if it’s just saying my girlfriend has a giant clit. (She loves that joke.) Regardless, I picked out new glasses and I currently look like an uglier version of Jermaine from Flight of The Conchords. They’re quite a step in the emo direction for my overall look. To make sure they were authentic, I tried them on with women’s jeans, and cried till my mascara ran. I looked pretty depressed. They’re perfect.

Confession.

I certainly realize that my stories usually make me look like I am one of the following: an asshole, a chauvinist, a homophobe, a homosexual, a racist, an AIDS patient, an alcoholic, or the closest to the truth - an impotent d-bag. These are all “characters” that I’ve established through my stories and I hope that you’ve all enjoyed my absurd umm fabrications. This morning something happened to me that I, for some reason, feel compelled to share. I really don’t know how or why I have zero shame and continue to publish these stories. I suppose I think of you all as family. Then again, if i was a real Cannon, I wouldn’t share this, I’d just ditch you guys and adopt a new one. Like father, like…..FUCK.

Anyway, this morning I woke up in a fog to my shitty cell phone alarm that almost makes me revert back to my days as a cutter. If i ever go to a concert and hear Mozart’s “Ode To Joy,” I’m going to pierce that conductor’s rectum with his baton. I daintily sauntered into my bathroom past my black female roommate, who unsuccessfully tried to ignore my obvious erection. With my eyes still half shut, I grabbed my toothbrush and my tube of paste. Midway through the brushing I noticed my Crest Toothpaste had apparently gone sour. I grabbed the tube to check the expiration date. Much to my horror, I realize that it was not toothpaste at all, but my roommates VAGISIL! JESUS. CUNTSUCKING. CHRIST. I quickly scrambled through my medicine cabinet to find my mouth wash and the real toothpaste. I suddenly realize that the entire thing was FILLED with Vagisil and other pussy creams. What the fuck is this girl’s problem? Does she literally bake loafs of bread with her yeast infections? Seriously take a pill, or wipe down all of the homeless men’s schmegma filled cocks before you let them inside of you. I couldn’t find anything to get the taste out of my mouth so I just drank a cup of water and headed to work.

This is easily one of the most disgusting things that has ever happened to me, but like everything else in my life, I’m trying to make the best of it. I figure if worse comes to worst, and my filth ever takes its delayed effect on my girlfriend, I can save her money and the trip to CVS. I’ll just go down on her right then and there and spit some medicine right up in her.

TWINS

The Retard-Bot looks exactly like actrees Azura SKye. She’s from 28 Days starring Sandra Bullock, as well as a few others. I’m honestly having trouble figuring out which one looks more retarded in this picture.

**New FUCKING Product Alert 3!!!**

Holy shit, this is the best invention ever. “Say hello to Keiko. She’s the world’s first robot with Down Syndrome. She’s designed to help doctors diagnose people who come into the ER with a bad case of the Downs by answering their questions and responding to touch.” Unbelievable. I can’t even begin to comprehend the technology behind this thing. Did they manufacture a chip that serves as an extra number 21 chromosome to put in this robot? And if so, that’s fucked up. This robot was once normal and they literally injected it with Tardness. Someone should stand up for robot rights. I guess one of the positives is that by making them drool and excrete feces all over themselves, us humans are crushing any chance of a future attack by robots. WE HAVE THE CURE TO D-DAY MOTHER FUCKAS! Arnold rest assured. We no longer need your naked body and sauced up muscles beamed to Earth, because all we have to do is put a little downy juice in these robot’s WD-40 and BOOM, safe as can be. I also have a slight problem with the aesthetics of this design. Real retards look more like this:

The robot pictured above, is the Cindy Crawford of retards. She’s friggin’ hot. If she has retarded Artificial Intelligence than she’s perfect. She’s smart enough to pick up on sexual tendencies. She’s hot enough to sustain an erection. And she’s retarded enough to fall for my promises, or not know how to cry for help.

Landmark Moment.

Every boy experiences moments in his life that inevitably shape the man he will become. Each of these “events” that occur leave a subtle mark, although there are a select few that are unequivocally more important. The first time you get into a fist fight, the first time you drive a car, your first sexual encounter, your first sip of beer, your first sip of beer while driving a car into a family’s house, and your first sexual mishap amongst others. This story will vividly describe my first time masturbating.

Like most twelve year olds, I thought I knew it all. I had my whole life planned out. I’d finish up middle school with college basketball coaches following me around with bags of cash. I’d be on the cover of Sports Illustrated by the time I was 17, and right after that, I’d fuck the prom queen - or my hottest teacher - I hadn’t decided yet. (I watched a lot of Spike Lee Joints.) But I was reaching that pivotal age. The age where my armpits would no longer be bare, my dick would no longer look like a cocktail weenie left out for 2 days after the Superbowl, and my voice would deepen to at least the point of my older sisters. I wasn’t asking for much, I just didn’t want to sound like screeching tires anymore.

My mom was becoming increasingly aware of my changes. Mostly because of the number of skanky tweeny bopper vixens calling the house, as well as my jump from infant small to Adult Schlong in Athletic support gear. So of course, as most mothers do, she started to worry. With that worry came the puberty books. Visions of genitals haven’t been that available to me since my days as an Alter Boy. Pages upon pages of penis’ that looked nothing like mine. I was beginning to think mine wasn’t a penis at all, maybe just the remnants of my umbilical cord. What a sick fuckin’ joke that would be, yet it would make perfect sense. It was while reading these books that I made the most startling discovery of my life. Don’t laugh, but I had a few misconceptions about masturbation. I was convinced that once you tooled around with it for a few seconds and got it hard - Mission Accomplished! I had no idea that I was supposed to spout off like old faithful. I would usually just do a little polishing and sit back and look with slight admiration. How was that not the entire point? Could it actually get better than marveling at your own inadequacies? Apparently it could.

The book was believable yes, but I had to get confirmation from the only source a sixth grader could really trust, my friend. In German class (Yes, I took German as a language) the next day, I decided to let my friend KrankyKarl in on the secrets behind buffing helmet. Turns out, he had as much of a clue about spilling seed as I did. “You keep going? Ahh man, how fuckin’ long is that gonna take me?” If you knew KrankyKarl and his trademark belligerence, that response was typical. So we chatted and we both came to the agreement that I would be the Neil Armstrong to his Buzz Aldron. I would take that one small step for puberty, and one giant leap for our sex lives.

That night I set off to do what I had only previously pictured my father doing. At 7pm I voluntarily went to bed, which should have tipped my mom off right away. I locked my bedroom door, grabbed my puberty books, put on a sweat band just in case, placed a red Gatorade (Michael Jordan’s favorite) on my night-stand, and prepared for hand to cock combat. Once my head hit the pillow, a dark realization struck me. I HAD NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK TO DO. I had zero clue what the protocol was for masturbating, let alone any sort of technique. In hindsight, I guess the reason I didn’t really know how my own cock worked was because I was too busy flipping to the female sections of those books. Even as a little asshole twelve year old, the fur burger peaked my interest. You think moms knew there was a plethora of beaver in the back of those books? Of course they did. Women have been fighting tooth and nail for those sections to be added forever. No more clueless men when they reach down into the abyss for the first time. Just read “What’s Happening to my Body.”

Anyway, I digress.

With no real clue, but a heart full of determination, I started moving my hand and doing what I thought was masturbating. It was not. For a visual, I basically looked like an autistic kitten batting a ball of yarn back and forth.

This was not working. After 20 tireless minutes of work, I did what every other man in my situation would’ve done. I fell asleep with my cock in my hands. I woke up 30 minutes later, with the door to my room open, and my dog licking my hand. (Which was still on my cock.) Either my dog is a Velociraptor, or somebody found me in a pretty precarious position. Whatever, I wasn’t letting this deter me from my goal. With my dogs lick serving as a necessary stimulus I went back to work. 15 minutes later and I was finally getting into the groove. I started feeling an interesting sensation. It felt like I was going to sneeze and fart at the same time. Suddenly I let out a guttural moan and a whitish clear liquid shot from my dick head. I DID IT! I FUCKING CAME! Little did I know, but the past hour would forever shape my life and what I would do when I was bored from then on. When I told KrankyKarl the next day, he went right home and did the deed himself. The day after that we high-fived, and I’m pretty sure I felt something splash on my lip.

A week later I’m walking through my living room, when I noticed my mother and father were watching TV. Instead of watching whatever Antique show they were watching, I kept walking into their room to watch their TV. I heard my mom say “**AssHat** go talk to him.” I’m thinking “What the fuckity fuck.” My dad follows me into their room and has the following conversation with me.

AH -”Uh uh, you know, uh, we all do it…uh..we all do it.”

Me - “What are you talking about AssHat.”

AH - “You know..we all do it..but uhh..start using tissue please, and not your mother’s towels. You’re turning them into crusty stone.”

Me - “…………..”

AH - “So yeah, just use tissues..uh, I use tissues, everyone does…no more towels.”

Me- “Wow……..”

Facebook.

With my blog doing fairly well, and my material getting out to a few strangers and not just my friends, I’ve been receiving an elevated amount of anonymous friend requests on Facebook. This could have something to do with the steady migration of sex offenders from Myspace to Facebook, but I’m going to remain blissfully ignorant and imagine that it’s my growing fame instead. This has proven to be both exciting yet emotionally taxing. A variety of thoughts cross my mind each and every time I receive one of these requests. For example, when an excruciatingly obese girl friends me I think, “oh no, I’m going to be a father…” or “that’s the bitch that stole my nuggets and threw me into McDonald’s Play Place last night.” I usually still accept, because she’s lucky I found a tired little boy in the ball pit who had no energy to fight off my advances. When a well dressed fellow friends me I think, “I hope I gloved up..” or “I wonder if he’d barter his jacket for a salad tossing.” The only time when I’m completely at a loss is when family, particularly those that I’m not necessarily close to, decide to reach out to me. Don’t get me wrong I love at least half of my family. However, considering things that I have experienced including devious methods used to get in contact with me in the past, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder and piecing together some sort of conspiracy that has my dad behind these out of left field friend requests. Although my extreme paranoia leaves me with little mental rest, I have come to the conclusion that mainly these outreaches do not have insidious intentions - mainly, I’m insane.

This Week.

Sorry friends for the inconsistencies of my posting this week. Believe it or not I’ve been extremely busy at real work, AKA blow job camp, and I’ve been preparing for a multitude of shows this week and next. Tonight I’m playing at Sage Theater at 10pm. It’s ten bucks at the door if you mention my name, and NO drink minimum. Cheap price for a lot of really good comedians.  Sage Theater is located at 711 Seventh Avenue, 2nd floor Between 47th & 48th Street if you’re interested. I promise I’ll get back on track soon enough. For your enjoyment here is a picture of me as Jesus, looking down on every woman using the toilet at that exact moment.

A moment of empathy..

I actually feel bad for John McCain. This man has been an unbelievable American, and has certainly served his country in unimaginable ways. He’s lived a life rich with adventure, drama and happiness. However, he fell short of the presidency and as a result he fell short of completing his Bucket List. Here’s to America developing some kind of anti-aging chip so we can give Johnny “My arms can only go so high” McCain another shot at the belt. I heard Linda Hogan was looking to dump her son’s 19 year old best friend, and move into politics. BOOM there’s your running mate.

My Shitty Dad.

As most of you know, my dad sucks. I won’t get too much into the personal reasons right now, but considering we’re definitely in a politically themed day, I’ll touch on his ideals. **Asshat** Cannon was born as the oldest son of 8 children to a working class Irish Catholic family. I won’t get too deep for fear of a libel charge, but Douchebag McGee definitely had a liberal social, economic and political life growing up and well into his 20s and 30s. Being a [terrible emotionless] actor, he was filled with passion and progressive ideals that I look at in fondness even to this day. After his dream was crushed by countless casting directors, and producers that wouldn’t accept a toothy blow job, **Asshat** moved on to the corporate world. Since his transition to the perfect stress free life of a Stock Broker, Poppa Facial Taster has turned a complete 180 and has extended his worthless opinion to the right. He has taken every word that his co-workers, who are easily 20 years his junior, are saying as gospel. These extremist right wing, white collared bigots (who I’ve actually met so I’m speaking honestly) have completely infiltrated his psyche to the point where he doesn’t have an original thought anymore. As I’ve said before, he used to continuously send me articles “proving global warming does not exist.” No - not that global warming was not caused by humans, but just seriously doesn’t exist in the slightest bit.  Really gripping material! He also tried to make a case for why George Bush is a fantastic president, who just got a bad rap. There’s really no reason for me to be sharing any of this, but I’m just merely laying the setting for the text message I just sent him. Now that I’ve laid out an impossible build up for this mediocre look into my wit, here it goes:

“Sit on a banana for Obama you fuckin’ Loser” - As I’m re-reading that, I definitely thought it was initially a lot better than it really is. Whatever. I MISS MY DADDDDYYYYY!!

YES.

Today was a historic day. I finally woke up and jerked off before the shower, so I could clean myself off with water instead of sloppily dabbing at it with my work shirt. YES I CAN! In unrelated news, Barack Obama was elected President of The United States last night. I couldn’t be happier that this spook (I say that in the fondest way possible) got elected. Hooray equality! Hooray democracy! Hooray rims on the landing gear of Air Force One! I want an over-under on how many times bigot losers call The White House, “The Black House” over the next 4 years. My guess is 30 million, and they’ll think it gets funnier every time. Oh fucking Christ - It’s the Black House!! I didn’t get it until now, cause he’s a NOG! HAHAHAHAHA

Halloween 2008

My brain is functioning as fast as a downy in quicksand, but I feel like I need to share my weekend with all of you. Those of you with a social life know, this weekend was Halloween. It was the first Halloween that I have experienced in New York City, and it has definitely left an impression on me. There are quite a few parts to this story, but I will try my best to remember everything. Also, certain words need to be omitted and replaced with “friendlier” words for reasons that you better pick up on immediately.

My Costume: My entire wardrobe consisted of items that were my girlfriends clothes from the 7th and 8th grades, and have since been relegated to the “costume bin” she keeps at her mother’s house. That just shows what kind of skinny, little pooter boy body I have at the age of 23. I wore leather snake skin pants that I couldn’t quite zipper up. I had to literally wedge my claustrophobic cock into my ass crack for the pants to stay at my waist. Granted my ass looked AMAZING, but my dick looked so diminished that I had to stuff 4 pairs of socks in the pants to bring my self esteem back up. It quickly shot back down to low, when I realized I just stuffed 4 pairs of socks in my pants to give the allusion that I have a penis. I wore a sparkly silver halter-top, a bedazzled jacket, orange sunglasses, and a long blond wig with cat ears at the top. I was initially going for Tranny Rockstar, but was quickly given the name “Tranny Magical Mr. Mistoffelees” from the Broadway Musical “Cats.” Here is a picture for your personal enjoyment.

Friday: I basically started shaking with anticipation to booze around noon on Friday. By 1pm, I was Michael J. Fox on a jack hammer and was quickly realizing that I may have a problem. Whatever, October 31st is certainly not the day to figure out your life, it’s the day to thoroughly ruin it. I got off work and immediately bought an 18 pack of beer that I started drinking before I even got into my girlfriend’s apartment to officially pre-game. I was drinking heavily as 8 pm rolled around. One of my “friends” owed me a special treat, because the last gift he gave me was bunk and didn’t go into effect at all. He decided to make it up to me by giving me a freebie on Halloween. It didn’t take him much time to know the way into my heart. I ingest the “Euphoric Flintstones Vitamin,” and continue to drink. 45 minutes later, I’m in my costume and feeling the effects of the alcohol and the baby deliciousness I just ate. I’m dancing around like a fruit at a cock bar, and then It dawns on me that I could be in an even crazier state of mind. I remembered the small amount of “Magical Shit Plant” that I have in my drawer, and quickly scarfed two “hats.” (If you don’t realize what I’m talking about at this point, please insert a pistol into your rectum , aim it towards the front, and blow your reproductive organ straight off your body.) The beer disappeared quickly at the pre-game, so as a group, the 6 of us took separate taxi’s downtown to a party my friends from work were throwing. To answer your question - Yes, I actually thought that going to a party completely saturated with co-workers was a good idea. The cab ride was uneventful besides the fact that EVERYTHING was kicking in hard core at this point. I was seeing crazy trails, as well as visuals that either weren’t really there or far more exaggerated in my head. Everybody from work was already there, and the place was pretty packed. What happened at the party is pretty hazy considering I started out with Gin n’ Tonics until they ran out of gin, and then moved to Jack Daniels. It was open bar after all. The Bartender didn’t like it when I reminded her like 15 times that because it was an open bar, I didn’t need to tip her for shit. Apparently I told 3 of my co-workers that they are my “real best friend.” I was very adamant that I was not “just drunk,” but genuinely loved each and every one of them. I think they may have seen the hole in my claim when I told a taxi driver the same thing, and I started speaking in other tongues. The rest of the night is yet another black hole in my memory. We got back to my girlfriends apartment and the next thing I know it was morning. It wasn’t just any morning though, because I had done something new. This is something I had never done before. I woke up in a giant puddle of piss. ON MY GIRLFRIEND’S BED! This was no regular little splooge of piss. This fucking puddle had a current going through it. I swear I almost got dragged deeper by the under-toe. Hooray for Tide. (Pun intended)

Saturday: After swimming to the foot of the bed, I went to the bathroom to pretend to put on different underwear. Being dry, but still covered in a secret made me feel very powerful all day. I did the typical morning hangover cure, and then proceeded to sit down and watch some TV. Halfway through DVR’ed episodes of Project Runway, I remembered that I still had a healthy amount of “Magical Shit Plant” left. I rescued my girlfriend from her watery grave, and immediately fed them to her as well. The rest of the day was unbelievable. Anyone who says they’ve had a bad time on these things needs to seriously get a grip mentally. I am the furthest thing from being emotionally stable or even generally sane, but both times that I’ve done them has been the best two days of my life. We mainly stayed in for the intense part of the adventure. We laid on the once soiled bed (we gave it a half assed cleaning) and continuously claimed that it felt like “laying on a cloud from Mario-Cart.” I swear to god I had the closest thing to a spiritual moment that I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t believe in religion, and my thoughts on God are undecided at the moment, but the next two hours of ridiculous conversation and melting images brought a feeling of elation that I have never experienced in my life. We grew restless of the apartment, and decided we needed to go exploring. My girlfriend claimed her trip was over, but mine was definitely still underway. The city looked like a single growing organism, moving in ridiculous shifts that almost seemed synchronized. It was surreal. We sat in a dimly lit, but very hip sushi bar. The lighting served as a cool ambiance, but other than that the restaurant was just above mediocre. As we were leaving, we made the decision to go to the 12:45 am show at Comedy Cellar which is my favorite comedy club in NYC for one reason. Jim Norton and the rest of my favorite working comedians call that venue their home club. I was hoping to see anybody I would recognize, but figured the Cellar would be a great time regardless so I called and made reservations. We went back to the apartment momentarily to refuel, and then were on our way. The show was really great. The crowd was relatively tame for such a juiced up show time and night, but the comedians were all awesome. Robert Kelly had an amazing set, as did Dave Attell. Another one of my favorite comedians Mike Destefano, came on and crushed. He mercilessly ripped the crowd for either not understanding a premise, or just being borderline retarded enough to come to a late night Saturday show expecting to see fluff humor. This was all well and good but then I totally shit the bed after the show. We were walking down the street, and I see JIM NORTON and DAVE ATTELL standing and bullshitting outside the club. These are two of my top 3 favorite Comedians and I was totally star struck. I was kinda drunk, and definitely coming down from everything else so I was just high enough to be absurdly awkward. I approached Jim Norton as if he was Brad Pitt. My eyes were bulged out and I’m pretty sure my erection showed through the snake skin pants I still had on. I’m just kidding, I was wearing jeans but I definitely had an identifiable boner. As I sauntered up behind Jim and Dave with a cloth full of chloroform, all of the sudden I became bashful and nervous. I veered quick left and basically power walked the rest of the way down the street, away from my heroes. I FUCKING SUCK. I wish I could tell you that I regained confidence, turned around and planted a kiss on Jim Norton’s hairless pucker, but I didn’t. I walked to the subway with my tail between my legs and a head full of regret. I really can’t get over how much I suck.

Sunday: Sunday was totally laid back. I just chilled, drank a few beers and watched the Giants bend over a defenseless Dallas Cowboys. It was like watching a strong bum rape a 90 year old woman in a dark corner of Central Park. It was just a little less fulfilling.

The best part is that I’ve finally had a great Halloween! I’ve finally got something besides grocery shopping for Cucumbers to look forward to every year.