Tag Archives: Comedy Magazine

Transcending The Holidays: A Bonus Digital Issue

Last week, we promised we would return in a big way and here it is:

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A Free Digital Bonus Issue to kick off the new year!

Click the picture or the words above to download it (they’ll both do the trick).

This issue features our introspective In/Out list for 2015, and you wouldn’t want to start the year without knowing what’s hot and what’s not. You’ll also find junk mail dug up after the holidays, theatre reviews and the five commandments for attending comedy shows. This issue features an incredible interview with Alex Koll (stand up comic and a founding member of The Business) and so much more. Give it a download, tell your friends, download it on your friend’s computers without telling them and then pick up a subscription. The next issue hits the printers in March, but we’ll have plenty more content right here on the web until then.

 

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Announcing The Annual 11

It’s very possible that many of you have begun speculating whether or not The Annual would go on, it had been a while since issue 10. It even seemed as though the month of September had been skipped in it’s entirety. However, The Annual is back baby!

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Coming October 21st, our Oct/Nov spectacular hits virtual store shelves and will then be mailed straight to your physical door! This issue features fall fashion tips, halloween costume ideas, an interview with Emily Heller, tributes to Joan Rivers and Robin Williams and so much more. It’s a bimonthly comedic extravaganza that you won’t want to miss! Click here to preorder your copy!

This issue features material from:

Parker Benbow, Isabel Duarte, Amber George, Hannah Gutman, Briana Haynie, David Luna, Andrew Michaels, Buddy Purucker, and Steve Younkins!

Editor-In-Chief:

Kevin Cole

Editor-At-Large:

Emily Perper

Justin Roiland [Part 1]

On the first evening our conversation was scheduled for, I was scrambling to get organized. Let’s not make this a pattern, David. This man has created one of the most outstanding and exceptional animated series of the year, so let’s show some respect.

To my luck and disappointment, I discovered I was not alone in my lack of preparedness. The gentleman I was set to speak with needed to reschedule.

A week passed. I was greeted by a familiar voice. Perhaps I had heard it before on Gravity Falls, Adventure Time, or most recently on Rick and Morty, or perhaps it was familiar because he and I are merely aspects of a single, timeless organism made up of all the motion and energy in the multiverse. No matter. The host of this temporary flesh vessel was none other than the great…

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David Luna: How often do you draw?

Justin Roiland: Not as much as I used to. I always say I need to be drawing more than I do. I go through periods where I’ll spend full days drawing for weeks at a time, and then I just won’t draw for months and months and months. When I’m working on Rick and Morty, the drawing is mainly characters or scenarios that I’m drawing on the dry erase board to illustrate or reinforce a pitch or an idea or a character or whatever. The thing I don’t do often enough is comics—just freestyle, freeform, even if they’re bad. I used to keep idea/sketchbooks constantly. It’s kind of sad because the digital world has sort of completely taken over that. Like now I have Evernote on my phone, and then I’ve got my Cintique, and I’ve been just drawing stuff on the dry erase board and then taking pictures of it on my phone.

DL: A lot of people involved with Farscape have had guest appearances on Rick and Morty. Are there people you’ve tried to get on the show but couldn’t? And if you could have absolutely anybody’s voice to your disposal, who would you want on your show?

JR: Season 1, we tried to get David Bowie. It was a very pie in the sky, very unlikely thing, but we were like, “You can never be told no if you don’t ask.” And that didn’t happen, obviously. We got very lucky with Season 1. For the most part, everybody we really wanted ended up coming through and happening. Going into Season 2, again David Bowie; we’re going to try again. I would love to have him do a voice.

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Now that we’ve aired and people are familiar with the show, it’s going to be really interesting to see what kind of leverage that gives us when it comes to casting guest voices in Season 2. The thing that’s always cool to think about is what people am I a fan of that I could get to meet as a result of casting. There’s a lot of musicians that I would love to meet. That world has always been the most distant to me. I don’t go to concerts a lot, so I have all these bands I love, but that musicians’ world just seems so foreign and far away. I’m probably going cast some people from Battlestar; I love the idea of casting people from like awesome sci-fi shows, or just TV shows in general that I love, and, if possible, doing them in pairs. We have an episode coming up with Virginia Hey and Claudia Black, and they literally talk to each other and they’re together as characters in this episode, and it’s just so cool because I’m the biggest Farscape fan.

And in regard to the high school kids, I love casting Degrassi kids. As we continue to expand and develop other high school-centric characters, I’m going to keep going back to Degrassi because I love that show so much. Like, I love it ironically. It’s so bad, but I just love how bad it is. And it’s like one of my favorite things ever. It’s just appalling how one-dimensional some of the shit is on that show. I love that no one is calling them out or giving them notes. They just fucking write their scripts and shoot it—who gives a shit—and it does well, thank God. I want to be 70 years old and still see that show going. If they cancel that show I’m going to be so heartbroken. There’s such a sea of talent that has come out of that—good, bad and otherwise.

Continue reading Justin Roiland [Part 1]

Dreams are for Poor Planners

Lily Fryburg

Dreams are for poor planners. Why? Because people who have lofty goals are not planning their lives well. They’re not taking the time to see that their aspirations are not feasible. Allow me to elaborate.

When I was in kindergarten, we were assigned a project of creating a puppet version of our future selves pursuing a career of some sort. Then, I thought that a coffee can torso and brown yarn hair sported by a lab coat and stethoscope were right on target. You see, even though I still believe that I would make a great doctor, harsh reality says otherwise. I don’t recall a single thing I learned in 7th grade about the body. Not even something simple, such as that there are three types of muscle. Yes, I had to look that up to use it as an example. Since elementary school, I have sucked at science like a five year old sucks a popsicle when it’s 90 degrees outside.

If I had continued with my conceived pre-med track to success, chaos would have ensued. Good thing I didn’t give a dime about my future career. Correction: that’s a bad thing because now I want to be an artist. To most people that means, “I want to be broke.” It’s true, I do. You all nailed it on the head. What was I talking about? Oh, right, science. We must always have realistic goals. President Obama dreamed that one day he would rule Mars (A Source). Look how short he fell of his dreams. Mickey Mouse dreamed of equality for female cartoon characters and, man, was he wrong. Sarah Palin dreamed of being VP, a television reality star, and a domineering huntress. Well, scratch that last example. I guess some dreams do come true. But she’s not exactly the greatest planner, so we’ll consider her an anomaly.

We shouldn’t dream. Nor should we imagine anything for our future selves because we’re probably wrong about our potential and there’s absolutely no hope for change.

I’m an optimist, for the record.

But I’m not a doctor. I can only pretend to be one. And that, folks, makes me a fraud. Don’t be like me. Don’t dream. Settle. It’ll make you a star planner.

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Nico’s Drink of the Month: Pink Panties

Pink Panties

Ingredients:
1 (12 fluid oz.) can frozen pink lemonade concentrate
12 fluid oz. gin
1/2 cup vanilla ice cream
1/2 cup frozen strawberries
1 cup crushed ice

Directions:
In a blender, combine pink lemonade, gin, ice cream, strawberries and ice. Blend until smooth. Pour into glasses and serve.

Here’s another one:
1 package frozen pink lemonade concentrate
1 cup Canadian Mist® whisky
1 cup water
1/2 container whipped cream

Directions:
Combine all ingredients in a blender with half a cup of crushed ice. Blend until smooth. Serve in a tall glass.

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“Walk Through This Bathroom with me”

   Recently I visited my family in northern Wisconsin, and I was invited by my cousin to join her and her friends out to the bar. As a city dweller visiting a country town, going to a country bar seemed pretty cool, yet aberrant. So we head out to this bar called “Poor Folks”—the location of which I’m still unawares. All I know is we were driving down a street and all of a sudden trees were everywhere, and then we arrived. We walk into the bar, and the place is packed with locals from around the town. The bar is painted in all yellow, and the entire ceiling is covered with George Jones albums with modern country music blaring in the background. My cousin introduces me to the bar owner and a few of the bartenders; afterwards, we find a table to sit at and begin drinking. The night goes on, and so do the rounds of beer. I tell my cousin I’ll be right back and head for the restroom.

It takes some time to get from one end to the other of the fully packed bar, all while trying to hold it in and find my sense of balance.  So I walk up to the bathroom door and open it. I take a step towards where I think the toilet might be, and I hear a woman’s gasp. I look up and see a girl sitting there with her pants down. She looks at me and immediately grabs for her pants. I turn around and walk right out as fast as I can. I wait outside the restroom, and soon she walks out. She said was so sorry; the girl’s bathroom was being used.  I said it’s no problem and laugh. I went into the bathroom and noticed there was no lock on the door even though it was a single bathroom with only a urinal and a toilet next to each other. So I take a leak, and as I was taking a leak, a drunken man walked in and rushed to the toilet next to me and took off his pants and sat down. I don’t even know if I was done taking a leak—all I know is I zipped up my pants and said “Nope.” I walk out of the bathroom and walk up to the bar to get a drink, so I could forget the drunken man’s rear end.  I get to the bar and notice all the bartenders are different. I recognize one of them— the same girl I walked in on was a bartender. She notices me and walks up to me, smiling, saying, “Once again, I’m so sorry.” I say, “Please believe me: If it was the other way around, you probably would have fainted.”

Nicolas Contreras

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Sponge Bath

Nurse Jiggy

People ask me all the time what it’s like being a male nurse.  Sure, traditionally we have come to expect women to perform this role.  For the most part, they do it very well. They provide kisses on boo-boos (I apologize in advance for the use of technical medical terminology).  They can single-handedly change a diaper, whether on an infant or elderly man, faster than a locomotive on nitro boosters.  They provide tenderness and support at the most critical moments of life and death. In fact, when modern nursing was founded in the mid-19th century, women of every walk of life, including prostitutes, were encouraged to become nurses.  You see, women know exactly how to care for others in their most desperate moments.  Woman are not afraid to touch parts of the body most people won’t go near when they know it’s to help them relieve pain or stress.  However, in recent years the nursing profession has changed.  Men are now stepping into these once female-dominant roles and making a major impact.  Men are finding themselves in all sorts of positions (stay with me, I’m still talking about nursing).  Men can change diapers, give hugs when needed, and insert a urinary catheter into man or woman if it will help relieve bladder tension.  Men are not even below assisting in the delivery of babies, even if it means getting elbows-deep into vaginas.  (On a side note, during my schooling, I was privileged to see a few vaginal births and let me say that I have a newfound appreciation for the female genitalia.  I always understood that it had other purposes than to simply fulfill my basic needs.  It’s both magnificent and monstrous.  But I’m getting off topic.)

Being a male nurse exposes me to a world most men don’t get to see, and for many reasons this is not necessarily a bad thing.  See, I work the night shift just three days a week.  It’s a pretty sweet deal because it means each week I have off more days than I’m working.  I make decent money; however, some would say that we are underpaid.  And there are many reasons I would agree with this, but we don’t do this for the money. Even though I’m on my feet most of the time, incessantly running from patient room to patient room medicating and re-medicating, the shifts go by rather quickly.  By the way, did I mention that I’m the only male nurse on my unit at night?  This is both a plus and negative.  Women love having male nurses on the floor.  We help pull patients up in beds with very little effort.  We intervene when elderly, confused patients are being combative.  And as the one male nurse on night shift, we are useful as punching bags for the times our female colleagues are having relationship problems, which is most of the time.  What other job allows a man to work around a ton of beautiful, bossy women for 12 hours at a time who are all coincidentally on their period at the same time?  But once again, I digress.

The best part of being a male nurse is that we get to give sponge baths to our patients. Anyway, these are not real sponge baths.  They are more like baths in the bed.  We bring a wet washcloth with soap and sometimes warm water.  This mostly depends on how nice you have been to us whether we wait for the faucet water to warm up or not.  Oh, I know what you’re thinking.  I’ve seen the all that glamorous porn where the male patient is in bed agonizing over his ailment and the female nurse, or depending on what type of porn you’re into, the male nurse comes into the patient’s room and . . . BOING (queue the brown-chicken-brown-cow music in the background).  The point is I have never given a gorgeous female patient a bath.  Usually the younger the patient, the sicker they are.  Now, morbidly obese women, that’s a different story.  I’m not going to get into that at this juncture.  Another tangent for another time.

Typically it’s your mid-50-year-old men who think they are too sick to reach their own groin or wipe their own ass.  These are usually guys who have been admitted for pancreatitis or just had the gallbladder taken out . . . or worse!  They are post-operative for an emergency appendectomy.  Men are the biggest babies when they’re sick.  But I’m a professional.  I will happily go get you that Percocet or Vicodin you need to soothe your pain, but there’s no way I’m washing your member, pal.  This isn’t the Hilton, and I’m not your hospital escort service.  I’m a male nurse . . . a murse.  Look, I’m not above bathing someone who is incapable, like some of the elderly or a paraplegic.  I think it’s fundamentally important for the recovery process.  But there is no way I’m washing a guy who can easily use the clicker to call me into the room.  I say, if you can reach your own penis, you can wash it yourself.  I’ll hand you the washcloth with soap but that’s as far as I’m going.  Heck, I’ll even tell you a story about Hansel and Gretel if we have time.  Maybe next time you call me in for a sponge bath, I’ll come in with a urinary catheter and an enema instead.  We’ll assume you need help voiding and a good colon cleanse as well while we are at it.

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Bon Chance: Chapter 1- What May Suffice for a Beginning

Bon Chance
Miguel Castro

“All that we see or seem/ is but a dream within a dream.”
-Edgar Allen Poe

1
What May Suffice for a Beginning

Since I left the Society fifteen years ago, I had almost forgotten about it. I moved to Malibu, California where I made a career for myself as Rex Rod, an acclaimed male porn star, famous for his physical and intellectual endowment. I was the star of “Indiana Bones and the Lubricious Cave.” I secured the role by summarizing Sumerian mythology for slack-jawed producers and scriptwriters. The impression was indelible. “Damn it, Charles! He fucks like a horse and reads like a nerd.” Soon I monopolized the horny-professor/scientist niche. Now I live in a gorgeous ocean-front condo with supermodels. I make a lot of money and do what I want. God bless America.

Given my success, is it any wonder I forgot about the Society? I was sure I’d never to hear from them again. Until last night, that is.

I was sitting in my living room, getting ready to masturbate, when the front door burst open in a cloud of splinters. I tried to clean a glob of KY from my wrist but was blinded by a flash of light. “Recite the Holy Names!” boomed two voices through the glare—one male and one female. As the explosive light faded, my eyes refocused on two cowled figures standing across the coffee table. I was confused, but I recalled their command and coughed up the Holy Names peremptorily, like a guilty child answering an authority figure.
“Whiskey, Testicles, Pentacles, Cthulhu!”

There ensued a tense silence. For a moment, the two figures continued to confront me with the same pompous ceremonial affectation. But slowly, with an almost deliberate sense of anticipation, they bowed their heads and lowered their hoods—looking up to meet my gaze in a final dramatic gesture. I recognized them instantly: Frater Marduk Sunshitter and Sister Elektra Penis-Envy. And as they figure prominently in this story, I think I should venture general descriptions of these Magi.

Frater Marduk Sunshitter is the wisest member of the Society. He is, as such, older in appearance and slouches under the weight of three hundred Magickal degrees. When asked for further elucidation upon his characteristically cryptic answers, he strokes his long white beard and stares into infinite space. Therein lies his wisdom.

Sister Elektra Penis-Envy is a woman who, despite the prevailing masculine hierarchy of Western Magickal systems, forced her way into ranks of hitherto gender-exclusive societies. Some claim that she fucked her way to the top, and may have even consorted with Aleister Crowley, albeit in astral form. Others claim that she organized a number of women’s coalitions and the ACLU lobby the Secret Chiefs.

Without hesitation, they apprised the situation at hand.

“Frater Thule has escaped before his time,” Marduk said, “and with a terrible secret, I’m afraid.  After the confirmation of his last degree, Thule was granted access to Formula XXXL-1, which allows the magus to assume the shape of any physical object. However, the procedure also makes the magus susceptible to erection, and depending on the girth, the penis will assume a corresponding degree of visibility.”

“Imagine a floating penis,” Elektra said, licking her lips.

“Yes,” Marduk said, “and if that penis were to be touched by anyone else, the Magus would then appear whole, resulting in fear first, inquiry second, and finally the gradual dissolution of our societies and further occultation of the occult.”

Marduk stroked his beard.

“And how am I supposed to help?” I said.

“Given your former membership in the Society,” Marduk said, “you are not in a position to underestimate the importance or reality of this situation. Moreover, you will lead us to Frater Thule.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“No, but where he might be. It just so happens that Frater Thule, while in use of said formula, will naturally gravitate towards exponential pools of sexual energy, i.e., porn sets. It is a built-in failsafe in the formula to keep anyone from abusing his power. And as a porn star, you have unlimited access to these pools, giving us a greater chance of finding Frater Thule.”

“In return for your service,” Elektra said, “the Society is ready to give you a million dollars and, if you like, readmission to the order with the highest degree. I myself will perform in the sacramental titty-fuck.”
None of this came to me as a surprise. The world of the occult is rife with power struggles, ridiculous scenarios, and such profound buffoonery the layman will never understand. Willing or not, I had to help, because I’m already part of the story.

Bon Chance Chapter 2

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