All I have to do is pretend I never knew him

So I was supposed to do some comedy tomorrow, some PAID comedy, but it seems that not all will be going to plan.
I don’t really like mentioning a whole lot about race on this site, because, well, few people enjoy and understand that my unique brand of Shockingly Offensive Comedy is intertwined with a deep love and sense of equality over all races, except for Cubans, because I’ve seen Brett with a blade. And don’t even get me started on saying hello to his little friend.
But I will say this: I was supposed to do a “show” in the “North Side” to a bunch of people who usually get their comedy from “BET.”
The “booker” for this show was a local comedian much like “Chris Rock,” and Felicia and I were likely to be the only “white people” “there.”
I hadn’t gotten a call from this particular booker, and I was getting worried, because I didn’t technically know where in the North Side this was, and how much of my bling-bling I should leave at home.
Well, I left my concerns on the voicemail of another lad who was to do this show with us, and I got a call a few hours later explaining why the booker had taken so long to get back to me.
Because he’s in jail.
JAIL. What the hell is this?
I was also supposed to call my other friend Billy Heyward to tell him the show was canceled, but I couldn’t because he lives in his CAR.
I-Is this my life?
And if so, shouldn’t I be getting some sort of Welfare check and alimony from my baby daddy? And shopping a lot more at Big Lots? And wearing mu-mus?
Well, I was a little upset, because that means one less weekend I have to freak out and drive somewhere on the spur of the moment.
I thought about driving to Baltimore to visit my dear friend Joe and drop a few bucks for an appearance at Otakon, but unannounced visits are pushy and not my style.
I thought about driving to the nearest beach with a good book and my PS2 and finding a hotel room, but I’d rather have the extra day there, since I only found out that I wasn’t gonna be working after sitting around in my pajamas all of Friday, then going to see M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village, or as I call it, Suck-Suckity SuckFest 2004.
Come ON, M! I keep lobbing it up all slow-pitch and underhanded, and you just keep whiffing.
So, instead of doing all those fun and exciting things, I basically searched for porn all night on my computer, cleaned up this site a bit, and kept telling myself “This is the LAST backlogged Photoshop Phriday you’re reading, THEN it’s off to play video games!”
But I am a dirty, dirty liar, and video games will have to wait until tomorrow.
Also, I plan to see Anchorman, and if it’s as good as people keep telling me, I am in for a treat. If, on the other hand, I have built it up in my HEAD that it’s going to be as good as people keep telling me, YOU are in for another awful metaphor about movies not being as good as I hope them to be.
Lobbing? Whiffing? I think I’m part retarded.

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