The crazy monkey theory of comedy

Comedy is a crazy monkey that lives inside your brain. The funny stuff the monkey comes up with always happens "now." The rational brain says, "Hey. That's some funny shit, monkey!" and writes it down. But there was always a time when you thought of the joke for the first time -- when the joke was funny and fresh to YOU. That's where funny comes from.

Good improv comics are in touch with that. You know. Their inner crazy monkey. Bad improv comics fake spontaneity.

The crazy monkey theory explains much.

First, the crazy monkey doesn't want to work for monkey. If you say, "Listen, you !@#$ monkey. I need some material that'll really !@@#$ sell" -- the monkey responds by baring his teeth, going "EEEEEEEEE!" and throwing a big wad of feces in your face.

The crazy monkey ain't into work-for-hire. He works when he wants to work. He's funny when he wants to be funny. He doesn't give a crap about your schedule, ego or debt obligations.

In fact, the crazy monkey likes to do his thing at exactly the wrong moment. Somebody says, "Hey, you're a funny guy! Do something funny!" A circle of gawkers surround you waiting for the hilarity to come. At that point, you got nothing, nada, squat. You're as funny as a !@#$ computer manual.

But, let's say you're in CHURCH. You're showing your due respects to God Himself. Ah, now THAT'S when the crazy monkey starts generating great material. Eeeee, eeee. What if the communion wine had Ex-Lax in it? Eeee, eeee. What if all those people coming out of communion were on a big conveyor belt? Eeeeeeeee. You ever notice how communion resembles those animal treats the Trainer gives Shamu? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

And then you start snickering. The person next to you on the pew starts snickering. You let fly with an enormous, stained glass window-rattling fart. The entire church starts laughing. You'll have to change religions.

The crazy monkey has won.

Dr. Monster

My name is Dr. Monster,

I live below the streets.

Nasty, nasty is my fame

My vengeance is complete.

“Man must know his place,” they say.

“To play God would be a sin.”

“Some doors weren’t meant to open.”

Fuck that! I kick them in.

My name is Dr. Monster,

I am a man of science.

I can cause horrific pain

With a common home appliance.

"Experiments on beasts are cruel,"

So the folks at PETA say.

I really quite agree, you know.

That’s why you’re in this cage.

My name is Dr. Monster,

I’m a man of many parts.

I harvest them from Chinese slaves,

Kidneys, lungs and hearts.

Sixteen nuns burst into flame.

A cow was disemboweled.

Some “journalist” could well be next.

Best spike that story now.

My name is Dr. Monster,

I’m not as bad as people say.

I have no enemies at all,

Not alive, at anyway.

Yes, go ahead and laugh at me!

You may think I’m funny.

Soon, I’ll be coming up for you.

We’ll see who laughs then, sonny.

Zombie Lane

(to the tune of Paul McCartney's "Penny Lane")

Zombie Lane there is a zombie ripping arms apart

And eating brains from every head that he has known

And all the people who are too slow

Become lunch, you know

On the corner is a banker with a motorcar

The zombie children sink their teeth into his back

He wasn’t ready for their attack

Now he screams in pain

Very strange

Zombie Lane is in my ears and in my eyes

There beneath the radiated skies

I sit, and try to stay alive

In Zombie Lane there is a fireman raising up his axe

Against the undead stalking figure of the Queen

“Sorry, mum” -- and snick!

Her head goes bouncing

Off his clean machine

Well, it used to be

Zombie Lane is in my ears and in my eyes

Walking corpses eating entrails just like pies

What a rude surprise

Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout

A pretty nurse has got Bruce Campbell’s chainsaw on her side

The flying limbs form quite a pile

She is full of pride

Zombie Lane the barber cuts his throat disgustingly

Before the zombie horde can get to him

Then the fireman rushes in

“Sorry dad,” he says

Then he runs away

It’s a lousy day

Zombie Lane is in my ears and in my eyes

There beneath the radiated skies

I sit, and try to stay alive

Zombie Lane is in my ears and in my eyes

I stand beneath the radiated skies

I refuse to die

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo Song

(to the tune of Led Zeppelin's 'Immigrant Song')

A-ah-ahh-ah, ah-ah-ahh-ah!

She comes from the land of Ikea stores,

Bergman films and polluted fiords.

Advertising gods! Go sell this chick to new fans …..

Movies out the ass! Video games! Action figures!

Can you say ka-ching?

Cyberpunk, smokes too much …

Dragon tattoo from her neck down to her tush!

Ah-ah-ahh-ah, ah-ah-ahh-ah!

She comes from a land that’s too freaking cold,

Never ever smiles, got a tortured soul.

She’s so fine, she’ll break your spine,

And debug your Unix code before the night is through.

Fanboys love that she’s bisexual too!

Why stop with just three movies? It ain’t that big a chore!

Our only goal will be to sell some more!

She set her dad on fire, killed Nazis and rapists too

It’s too bad the author’s dead—we owe all our cash to you!

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

Ahh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

Chumps and rumors of chumps

"And it shall come to pass that a chump with a slide rule will predict the Second Coming. And lo, many shall be the chumps that believe in him, yet though he be wrong again and again, like unto Charlie Brown with the football, they shall trust unto him, for the land will be thick with chumps in those days, even beyond measure."
                                                                                                -- First Evasions, Chapter 11, Verse 1

Pedophilia epidemic explained

Back in the 1960s, Pope Paul VI wanted more foot doctors in the Catholic Church to help with the throbbing, fungus-ridden feet of missionaries in tropical countries. He told his advisors to take out full-page ads in Podiatrist Magazine proclaiming "PRIESTS WANTED. WE NEED YOUR SKILLS!" Sadly, they misunderstood his order ...

... and placed the ad in the wrong magazine.

Osama in the Water Song

(to the tune of Harry Nilsson's "Cocoanut")

Osama took a bullet, yeah he caught it in the eye

A Moe Green special, now where we dump this guy?

You put Osama in the water, just dump him in the drink.

Put Osama in the water, ain’t got time to think.

They dumped his ass in the ocean, he sank below the brine.

The sailors on the deck all cheered and said, “Well ain’t that fine?”

Reporters said, "Hey, what’s the hurry? They’ll all think that it’s a fake.

Who gave the freaking order to deep-six this here sheik?”

Obama said, “Hey man, ease up, you’re just a little bit too late.

He was stinking in the sun and could not escape his fate.”

"Now let me get this straight …

You dumped Osama in the water, just plopped him in the drink.

Put Osama in the water, and you did not stop to think.

Dumped his ass in the ocean, he sank below the brine."

Obama said, “Best think ahead son. We can’t afford a shrine.”

Reporters said, "Obama. They’re gonna say that it’s a fake.

Conspiracy theory crazies, you know, they all will belly ache.

Like UFOs and Hitler’s skull, we’ll deal with this for years."

Obama scowled and said, “I know. You’d best dry up your tears.

I put Osama in the water, just dumped him in the drink.

Put Osama in the water; ain’t had time to think.

Dumped his ass in the ocean; he sank below the brine.

He’s a freaking supervillain – and his name’s too close to mine.”