Tag Archives: Matt Lee

Synopsis of The New Pixar Movie

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Matt Lee

A French actress, a frog and a demon walk into a bar. The bar is a strip club. The strippers are dead fish. The French actress punches herself in the nose and orders 15 glasses of the good stuff. The bartender is playing some violent video game and not paying attention at all. The demon is speaking Latin or something. The frog, he’s just hoppin’ around, not a care in the world. The ladies love the nonchalant frog. Some Japanese businessmen are in a corner booth stuffing dollar bills into dead fish g-strings. The frog gets too drunk and falls over the bar, knocking into the shelf with all the bottles. Everyone in the bar gets down on the ground and starts licking up spilled spirits. The bartender is having difficulty defeating the Level Four boss. The French actress asks for a light. The whole bar goes up in flames. The frog’s stomach bursts from the heat. The dead fish smell good. The Japanese businessmen summon several different parts, which assemble into a giant fighting robot. The robot is fighting the fire. He’s just punching and smashing the hell out of it. The Japanese businessmen are cheering, even though they’re on fire. The bartender finally manages to beat the Level Four boss as the TV melts into a puddle of plastic and glass. A priest, a rabbi and a black guy burst in. They’re each dual-wielding fire extinguishers. The fire is subdued in no time. The bartender buys a round of drinks for everybody. The frog is trying to scoop his guts back into his open belly. The giant fighting robot is way too drunk. He pukes on the dead fish and takes his pants off before he passes out. Buzz Lightyear flies in through the window with a raging erection. He cock-slaps the demon. A portal to hell opens and Buzz Lightyear puts his boner into the inferno. He takes a leak and extinguishes all the hellfire. The demon is pissed, but he admits that was pretty cool. Rapturous applause from all followed by more drinks. The priest, rabbi and black guy officiate the same sex marriage of Buzz Lightyear and the giant fighting robot. The bartender cries. Roll credits.

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The Annual #10 Arrives in One Week!



On July 31st The Annual #10 will (finally) arrive, just in time for it to still be considered a July/August issue. This issue is jam packed with material from your favorite Annual writers and a new interview with Sara Benincasa. This issue contains (but is not limited to) up to the minute Bill Murray tracking, a glimpse at an upcoming Pixar movie*, a look into Craigslist, an in-depth breakdown of mystery Doritos flavors, illustrated Campfire stories and so much more! Side effects may include stubbed toes, broken hearts and a realization of one’s own mortality, so preorder The Annual #10 today!

*Upcomins pixar movie in the satirical sense. Pixar movie detailed is in no way being produced by Pixar. We mention this, because Disney is known to be sticklers for their copyrights.

Obama’s New Guidelines for the NSA

Earlier this week it was announced that President Obama had sent a letter to the NSA proposing changes which considered to be “reasonable goals.” In the interest of maintaining transparency The Annual has come into possession of said proposal through a series of wire taps and we would now like to share it with the American public.

Gen. Alexander,

I hope you don’t mind if I call you Keith, perhaps General Keith, I’m not sure which I like best. In the past year, your department has come under increased public scrutiny thanks to noted war criminal Edward Snowden. Still, I believe we must change things to show that we’re doing some good for the nation. Here are my very reasonable goals for NSA in 2014:

  • Give all Americans a courtesy call prior to phone tapping, that way they’re aware that the NSA is listening to their every word.
  • Convert every mirror into two-way mirrors.
  • Consider sending complimentary fruit baskets to unhappy Americans in order to smooth things over.
  • For the love of God, limit the tap time on sex lines. Those bastards are still charging us.
  • Establish a backup plan for the backup plan when lines are down. Cups with string have to be proven ineffective.
  • Remove toilet-cams from all government buildings and fast food restaurants.
  • If you hear a man speaking with a “girly man” voice, it is your duty to inform him. Refer him to the James Earl Jones hotline.
  • The Hills Have Eyes themed decorations for all newly constructed NSA surveillance buildings.
  • Literally installing the eyes of traitors to the US in various hills, that way the public will know we’re serious.
  • Agents need to stop telling people that NSA stands for “Non-Stop America.”
  • Send out ads that correspond to what people have been talking about, people like targeted advertisements.
  • Send out letters detailing out poor grammar and choices, while providing information for local ESL classes.
  • New complimentary Birthday, Engagement, Anniversary, New born, New Job, New car, Pet Birthday, Sympathy For Your Plant Dying, Congrats On Getting That Stye Removed, Congrats For Completing One Year of Therapy; Here’s To The Next Twenty, Yeah That Amazon Customer Service Rep Was A Complete Dick, and I’m Sorry Your Mom Keeps Calling Asking Why The TV Isn’t Working cards.
  • Convert all insects into listening devices. AKA: Bugs

Seems simple enough. Increasingly covert and 100% serious. I’m not talking about reinventing the shoe phone here. Just some simple improvements for 2014.

HAGS (Have A Great Summer)

-President Barack H. Obama

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Letter composed by:

Parker Benbow, Kevin Cole, Lily Fryburg, Briana Haynie, Matt Lee, Andrew Michaels, Emily Perper, Scott Travers

The Annual Live (ep. 1) NOW ONLINE!

The Annual Live took the Maryland Ensemble stage earlier this month and it is now ready to be viewed in it’s entirety!

Join The Annual Live as co-host Karli Cole decides it’s time to call it quits, move to Italy and take up with the Vatican, leaving her brother and remaining co-host Kevin Cole and the rest of The Annual staff to give her a fitting send off. Meanwhile the fate of The Annual Live hangs in balance as studio execs debate how well the show will hold its own without her. It’s a final farewell that brings forth the cross between The Larry Sanders Show and Sonny and Cher that no one asked for! So look forward to sketches, musical performances, and a special appearance from the Laugh Station crew!

Written and Directed by:

Kevin Cole

Stripper Sketch:

Andrew Michaels

Fast Food Award Show:

Briana Haynie

Opening Monologue:

Kevin Cole | Scott Travers | Andrew Michaels

Laugh Station:

Matt Lee | Brian Artusio

Special Musical Guest:

Faceless Ones


Lisa Burl | Kevin Cole | Karli Cole | Colleen Kelly

Matt Lee | David Luna | Andrew Michaels | Scott Travers

(As themselves)


David Luna | Buddy Purucker

Stage Manager:

Geoff Huntoon

Laugh Station visits The Annual Live

The Annual Live Episode #1 featured special guest Laugh Station. Their upcoming show, Laugh Station: Flux! runs this weekend (July 26th and 27th at 9pm) at the Maryland Ensemble Theatre! Check out this clip of their performance and the interview that followed, then head over to marylandensemble.org and purchase your ticket to this outrageous show!

Laugh Station: Matt Lee
Hosts: Kevin & Karli Cole
Video: Alex Richardson
Edited by: Kevin Cole
Opening Animation: David Luna & Buddy Purucker

Time Master design: Joe Colliver

Hip-hop beat: Joe Colliver and Trevor Marin

PSA- Laugh Station: Flux 7/26-7/27

LSFlux _ Jack Colliver and Matt Lee 2

The Maryland Ensemble Theatre  is proud to present another installment of the surreal, blood soaked, beer drenched, sci-fi horror extravaganza that is the Laugh Station series. The deranged exploits of the Laugh Station crew continue in Episode Seven: Flux!After failing to raise enough money to pay back Federation Creditors, the intrepid comedy explorers decide to bend the fourth dimension so that things turn out their way. Little do they realize the irreversible side effects of time travel, let alone the knife-wielding alien stalker who’s hot on their trail. Only the wise/insane, old Time Master holds the key to their survival… now, if they could just sober up in time for curtain call! The surreal, mind-altering, sci-fi/comedy series returns this summer, with a special guest appearance from DC-based comedian, Mikael Johnson! If you enjoy breast milk, Sylvia Plath, telethons, schpace schnapps, The BodyguardWWF and/or cannabis smoking robots, then this one is for you!

The Laugh Station series is written and directed by Matt Lee and  co-written with Jack Colliver, both of which are staff writers here at The Annual. The show also features Annual staff members Lisa Burl, Kevin Cole, Courtney McLaughlin and James McGarvey performing alongside Brian Artusio, Joe Colliver, Joe Jalette, Mikael Johnson, Trevor Marin,  and Bailey Sterling.  All original music is by Joe Colliver, Mak Kennedy and Trevor Marin.

Maryland Ensemble Theatre will present Laugh Station: Flux as part of its MET-X series, created to expand the collective horizons of the MET ensemble and its audience. Performances are July 26 & 27 at 9pm at Maryland Ensemble Theatre (31 W Patrick St. Frederick) located in the historic FSK Hotel.  Tickets are $11.50 (includes all ticketing fees) and may be purchased by phone at (301) 694-4744, online at marylandensemble.org, or in person at the MET box office. Laugh Station: Flux is intended for mature audiences only.


Matthew Lee

My girlfriend, George Washington, took me to her grandmother’s house to meet her family after we had been together for just a month.  I agreed, on the terms that she would let me ride her prized cherry wood motorcycle, which she never let anyone touch. She told me we had a deal, provided that after the meeting, her grandmother approved of my character. Although I despised familial gatherings, I knew I was charming, especially toward older women, and I desperately wanted to feel the wind dry out my eyeballs going thirty over the speed limit on that pristine machine. This knowledge propelled me to pull out all the stops and win over George Washington’s grandmother at all costs.

George Washington was much taller than I was. Once, she told me that my slight height was what first turned her on. She was tired of dating guys who stood a head above her, stooping down with bent necks just to give her a goodnight kiss. What first attracted me to George Washington was her thick jaw and tightly wound, white colored ponytail.  That, and she tended to wear thigh-high motorcycle boots to bed, which I regarded very much as a plus.

On the evening we were to meet her folks I had my best suit pressed, my hair cut, my beard shaved off, and my teeth whitened at the dentist’s, and I jogged six miles, after losing count doing push-ups. My diet during the weeks prior to our visit had resulted in noticeable weight loss, so I guess there is something to be said for eating strictly grapefruit for a month straight. I stared at the mirror one last time before we left and felt satisfied with my appearance. I felt ready to meet Grandma Washington.

We arrived later than planned, so I was already impatient by the time I walked through the door. Upon entering, I was hit with a smell of stale bread so powerful I sneezed a dozen times, thrashing about the room and knocking knickknacks off shelves as the force of the mucus exiting my nose rocked my entire body. George Washington didn’t seem to notice and helped herself to some shrimp cocktail.

Her father, Buck, seemed to like me okay because I had a firm handshake, developed from hours of practicing with my personal collection of life-sized, large-handed dolls. Her mother and I hit it off immediately, and I could see that the apple did not fall far from the tree, at least as far as the size of George Washington’s ass was concerned.  Side by side, they were nearly identical, and I became hypnotized for a moment just staring at the pair. In bright red mom jeans, Mrs. Washington’s behind resembled a maraschino cherry, and I grew thirsty for childish beverages. Mr. Washington caught me staring and winked lewdly.

Grandma Washington came out from the kitchen at last, where she had been preparing the family dinner feverishly. I gave her my best smile as I took her little old raisin hand and prayed she’d notice my teeth. I commented that the food smelled absolutely mouthwatering and that, if the house were a painting, it should be hung in a museum. We continued to exchange pleasantries, and I felt I was winning her over, most likely due to the Coyote Brand Cologne I had purchased to wear for this occasion especially.

Sit down, sit down, dinner is almost ready, Grandma Washington said.

She led us to the living room, where there were couches for sitting while we waited for the food to finish. I remarked aloud that the pillows on the couch were absurdly comfortable, and Mr. Washington explained they were stuffed with the remains of executed banking executives, the softest material known to man.

So, tell us, boy, what do you do for a living?

I thought you’d never ask, Sir. I make gourmet cigarettes.  Handcrafted. Care to try one?

Ah, now there’s a young man with some get up and go!  An artisan, a smokesmith, yes. Let’s have one!

Who taught you the trade? asked Mrs. Washington.

My father, ma’am. I learned from the best. Let me show you one I’ve been working on.

I pulled out a cigarette and said, Anybody got a light?

At that precise moment, Grandma Washington came in and announced that dinner was on the table.

Mother, would you be so kind as to provide our guest with a light for his handmade cigarette? asked Mr. Washington, adding, We’re all eager to try it.

Without missing a beat, Grandma Washington started rubbing her fingers together so hard that they started to spark, producing a flame that flickered out from her thumb, and then the cigarette was ready to come alive.

That’s a neat trick, Grandma. Remember when you used to light our hair on fire when we were kids? If we misbehaved or used a naughty word? George Washington asked, laughing.

How could I ever forget?  And if you don’t get to the table while our meal is still hot, I’ll be forced to do it again.

On the table was a spread of old leather and shoe polish that looked absolutely delicious. Without waiting for the blessing, I dove in with my fork, devouring plateful after plateful of the stuff. Grandma Washington could cook, that was for sure. I shoveled on the praise, exalting the woman’s work in the kitchen, declaring she was an angel in an apron with a refined palette for seasoning. After I’d made her blush, I was certain that I had won her favor and would be riding home in triumph on that wet dream, the cherry wood motorcycle.

Mr. Washington looked suddenly concerned and said he smelled charcoal burning, worried he might be missing a company barbeque. I insisted what he smelled was the distinct aroma emitted from my handmade cigarette.  It was then to my horror that I realized in my haste to eat, I had left the cigarette still burning on the armrest of the sofa.  I dashed to the living room with a pitcher of water to douse it, but by then I was too late. The room was ablaze.

Screaming, I ran back into the dining room and told everyone that I hoped they had paid attention during the fire drills at school because now it was happening for real. Single file, they all walked, not ran, to the nearest emergency exit and neatly descended the fire escape to freedom. I was just about to go out the window myself, when looking down below I saw that Grandma Washington was not with the group.  A-ha!  Here was the chance to truly prove myself, to win her favor once and for all. I would save her frail old body from being consumed by the flames.

I could hardly see through the smoke as I rushed back to save her. I burned my hand quite badly on a doorknob and could feel the blisters rising up, and it HURT. But I didn’t have time to worry about blisters. Through the haze, I could just barely make out Grandma Washington, putting away the leftovers into tupperware containers for safekeeping in the fridge. She noticed me screaming and flailing my arms about.

This refrigerator is fireproof, she said, These leftovers will keep at least another week.

And that was the last I saw of her before the floor gave out.  She fell straight through, along with the remainder of dinner. What a waste!  At the last possible moment, as I felt the floor around me begin to crumble, I leapt into the open refrigerator and slammed the door shut.  I could feel it tumbling down into the inferno, but I was pleasantly cool the whole time and even helped myself to some cake, which I assumed Grandma Washington had been saving for dessert.

When the fridge settled, I kicked open the door and heaved myself out onto my feet.  I looked around me. The house was leveled, nothing but a smoking pile of ash and debris.

My girlfriend, George Washington, was nowhere to be seen and neither were her parents. Perhaps the fire got them or they had escaped on foot; I never learned what happened to them either way.

The motorcycle vanished along with them, and for that I shed a solitary tear. I reconciled this loss in my heart and snapped out of my despair just long enough to hail a cab off the street back into the city.

Do you care if I smoke in here? I asked the cab driver as I pulled out a handmade cigarette and snapped my fingers together.

A shame I couldn’t have stayed longer, I muttered as I smoked.

Why I Fucked George Washington originally appeared in The Annual #2! Purchase your copy today!

Full Circle Story #3

Scan8 1

Matt Lee

Artist: Ed Ramsburg

He lay before me on the cold steel table, a middle-aged man, gray, slightly balding, strong jawline.  He’s nude, besides a white sheet folded over his lower half.  I begin the procedure.  With a bone saw I cut through his ribs GZZZZZZRRRRRWWWW!  His two lungs, also gray and slightly balding, are now exposed. Gently, using a scalpel with great precision, I cut the thin membrane of his lungs to take a peek. Hmmm …I reach my hands down in there. Squishy.  Olives. Green olives I hold in my hands. Suddenly the man’s eyes pop open, and he lifts his head to speak.

“Waiter! Where’s my Goddamned martini?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Right away. Nurse! Where’s his Goddamned martini?”

The nurse silently hands me the drink. I hold it in front of the man’s face.

“Here you are, sir.”

The man stares at his dry martini.

“What’s the matter, sir?”

“Goddammit!” he shouts.

“Where’s my olive?”

I pick one up out of his open chest and drop it in the drink.

“Care to start a tab, sir?”

Full Circle Story originally appeared in The Annual #002, order your copy today!