Jan Brewer: Witchy Woman

I’m back, bitches!

What, you don’t believe in reincarnation? Oh, you’ll vote for a presidential candidate who believes in magic underwear, but you don’t believe that I can come back in a different form? Well, guess again. I don’t need the Brothers Grimm to tell my story anymore. I have the mainstream media telling my crazy antics everyday. Or the ‘lame stream’ media. I got that one from that ho, Sarah Palin. I love that bitch. She cracks me up.

I know what you’re thinking. I look nothing like Charlize Theron. Who does? She is all CGI. By the way, thanks for that, Universal. Perfect casting. I’ve always seen myself as the fairest of them all and finally you made a movie where Snow White wasn’t such hot stuff. I mean, am I supposed to be threatened by that Twilight twerp? Puhleeze. I sent the Huntsman out after her just for shits and giggles.

So yeah, I’m not exactly a looker these days. Some say withered troll, but that would be inaccurate. (You’re thinking of Rumplestiltskin). I could blame it on the arid Arizona climate, but truthfully, I get my gorgeous looks from other people’s unhappiness and lately Congress and the Supreme Court are being a big fucking pain in my ass.

In the olden days, I could just exile a bunch of dwarves to the forest and hope the wolves would eat them. Now I have to try to pass laws so that the little people, sorry, poor brown immigrants, stay on their side of the fence. And people have the nerve to say I’m a witch? First of all, it’s Witch with a capital ‘W’.  Or just “W”. I borrowed that. And second of all, I’m just keeping the Kingdom safe! It’s for your own good. Those people take our jobs and our babies. They fuck up our lawns and spit in our food! You know those people have diseases and they cast spells, right? Not as good as my book of spells. I call it government red tape. It costs lots of money and eats up lots of time. It’s the dungeon of democracy.

I’ve been noticing the crow’s feet really beginning to spread the past few weeks with all this Obamacare nonsense. I’ve been doing everything I can to put a stop to health care. Starting with the Gays. If there’s one thing I can’t stand is happy people, and the Gay people have happy right there in their name. The nerve! And now they want to have their “partners” be covered in their health plan? Well, I immediately concocted a 500-page potion that would put an end to this practice. No unmarried partners will have health coverage. Especially not the happiest ones. No one is going to be happy if I’m not! Ugh, I can feel my pruny face shrivel just thinking about it! The bill keeps getting overturned but that won’t stop me. I will find a way. Their love for each other makes my hate stronger. And my strength makes my will greater. My evil will prevail! It has to. I can’t deal with having this leatherface for very much longer.

If we are going to force health care on everyone then there is a simple remedy I think both Republicans and Democrats can agree on. Everyone knows an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Apples. Delicious apples. Yes, I know I’m reaching into my old bag of tricks here, but when pressed up against a wall, a sorceress goes to her best. Phew. I’m already starting to feel younger. Sans Botox! Now if we can just start chopping down the trees and piping in the oil, I’ll look airbrushed in no time.

I’ve got all the time in the world, bitches. Insert witchy cackle here.

Packing My Bags For Canada

Goddamned Obama. Goddamned Supreme Court!

Who do they think they are forcing me to have health care when I don’t want it? That’s it. I’m packing my bags and moving to Canada. I’m really doing it this time too. I know I’ve said I would do it before, like when they gave the gay people rights.

But I have had it up to here! Here is about as high as 12 stacked cans of Schlitz beer and a couple of Spam cans on top. But you get the idea. I think some body needs to sit ole Barkacki down and have a little talk with him and tell him that America ain’t a socialism regime like the one he came from. (ED: Hawaii is one of the 50 states).

We don’t want the government telling us that we gotta go to the hospital if we, say, attach a set of jumper cables to our nipples and turn on the ignition just to see what happens. That’s our own goddamn business! And now the women are gonna be wanting check ups every damn time they miss a period or something happens down there.

That’s why I’m moving to Canada. They aren’t a crazy socialist country like Obama is trying to turn the U.S. of A into. (ED: They are far more socialist than we are). First of all, look at their lawmen. They still ride horses and carry guns, the way it should be. If our cops still acted like goddamned cowboys instead of sitting in donut shops all day long, you think kids would be eating bath salts and gnawing each other’s faces? No! They’d see those Mountie red jackets and those horses and they’d show some respect!

Secondly, they drink beer there. Noneathem froufroutini stuff you see on the cable shows. They drink beer and lots of beer, like the real people here do. You like to get your beer on here and people whine at you that you got a problem. “Stop hitting people,” they jaw at you. “Don’t drive when you’re like that,” “You can’t go to work when you drink beer in the morning,” “You’re not supposed to operate a forklift after having so many beers.” SO much jawing! In Canada, that’s just called enjoying your beer! It’s a national beverage that is made to be enjoyed. Amirite? (ED: You are not right. All the above is called alcoholism in Canada, too.)

Canada is pretty awesome. They won’t force their socialized medicine down my throat. (ED: Canada has a socialized health care system. This is getting tiring.) And I won’t have to pay for someone elses medicine either. If someone’s gonna die, that’s their business. Amirite? Plus in Canada, they’ve got lots of maple syrup if I want pancakes and I do love me some pancakes. And at least in Canada, they speak ENGLISH! (ED: … and French. Oh boy.)

Man, I just HATE America right now. It’s such a mess. And it’s all Obama’s fault! That’s why I’m moving to Canada. But I’ll tell you what. If Romney wins in November? I might come back. He could repeal this Obamacare business and come up with a real healthcare plan. You can bet on that. (ED: We give up).

I Love Black People

I am not a racist. I have black people in my family. My aunt is married to a black man and he was invited to my sister’s wedding. Yes, I know that I am not my sister, but I would totally invite him to my wedding.

A lot of times black people just assume that I am racist. One reason is the way I look. I am pale white with blue eyes and flaxen blonde hair. I’m a Nellie Olsen looking motherfucker. If it were Prairie times, I have slave-owner written all over me. The second reason is I’m from Boston, apparently the racist capital of America. Forget the Bible belt, if you mention you’re from Boston and have a last name starting with a Celtic prefix, you might as well be wearing a hood. I try to tell people I come from the Kennedy part of Boston, not the Marky Mark part of Boston, but that just seems to make things worse.

I have black friends. I have a black director and black co-stars. I have even dined with the esteemed Baratunde Thurston, author of How To Be Black. We sat at the W Hotel’s Spike Lee table! I realize I’m name-dropping black people names and maybe that’s just desperate ways to get you to think that I’m not racist. Here are some more: My favorite indie actor is Don Cheadle. My favorite baseball player is David ‘Big Papi ‘ Ortiz. My favorite basketball player is Paul Pierce. My favorite football player was Asante Samuel until he defected to the Eagles. My favorite teacher could have been black if my University had hired any. That one’s not on me.

I don’t know how much more I can make it clear to you that I’m not racist. I like black people as much as I could like ANY human being. I mean I’m not much of a people person in general. As far as people go, some of the black ones I’ve met have been pretty great. I feel like maybe all this groveling is maybe sounding a bit racist but whatever I can do to convince you. You see, the other night I flinched.

I was booked on a performance with four other amazing performers at Comedy Central. Another performer that night was a wonderful and hilarious gentleman, an African American who did a piece on how white women are crazy, especially the ones he dated, and sometimes a little racist.

I, personally, had a bitchy tidal wave of a week filled with a disappointing dickbag, a hit-and-run car smash up, and pet cancer. I had to pull deep inside my good ole Scot stoicism that solders a steely shield and holds in the tears that come out every 200 years, like Brigadoon. That rock hard badassery got me through the show and helped me kick some ass.

In the swirl of the after party, I finally had a second to reflect on my horrible week and I got lost in my head for a moment. I felt a tap on my shoulder and I hunched my shoulders a bit. I turned around and saw it was the black guy from my show. Oh no! Not the black guy. Anybody but the black guy! He’s gonna think I’m racist and that I flinched because he is black. Sure enough…

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you…”

I could have told him I didn’t know that it was him. Or that he had startled me. Or that my week had been like a piñata stuffed with human waste that had burst everywhere. I could have told him that.

But instead I made it worse:

“I have a bad shoulder.”

“You have a bad shoulder? Oh, it’s like THAT. That’s a new one. I’ve got to write that one down.”

“No really! I fell hiking!”

The fact was I did have a bad shoulder. I am a clumsy fool. But I’m no racist.

I asked him if I could give him a hug. He begrudgingly agreed. I took a running start and gave him a massive bear hug. It lasted so long that most people around us began to get uncomfortable. I think I would have given him a blowjob if it would sort out race relations. Hell, I think I would have given white guilt head to anyone in Affirmative Action at that moment just to smooth things out. For someone who doesn’t like most people, I sure do want everyone to get along.

You know what this means. I’m definitely going to have to vote for Obama again. That should prove to you that I’m not racist. I do love having a black president. I just really wish he wasn’t a Muslim.

Serato Is Not A Pasta – DJ Intervention Starts Now

I’ve written many times before about the difference between a legit DJ and the hobbyists who like the idea of having their playlist heard on a Friday night for a little cash in their pocket.

If it’s true that ‘Anyone Can Play Guitar’ then it’s even more true that anyone can DJ, especially when you can download Serato for free…but forget beat matching. That rarely even enters into the equation anymore. In today’s club scene a dilettante can get paid four or five thousand dollars and show up with their i pod just because they fucked someone famous and the promoter thinks thats cool and bitchin and shit.

OK, the novelty of seeing the cast of Gossip Girl fumble around with a mixer might be an initial draw but then what? I’ll tell you what. If it’s a nightclub with a dance floor, the real DJ has to come in and save their ass and make sure there’s actual music playing.

Now, not all venues have to have banging house tunes. Many bars and clubs these days want a lo fi, bring-your-own-stuff-to-spin atmosphere, and that’s cool. But the difference is: no one is being paid obnoxious amounts of money for something they downloaded off itunes a few hours before.

I’ve been hired to spin at certain clubs around Los Angeles, mainly because I know music. I’ve been asked to spin records (yes, I use vinyl) in between bands performing at venues…and even though I have been on air at a few different radio stations, I don’t really consider myself a working DJ. On air personality? Yes. A DJ? Not really.

Do I love to search for records? Sure. I like to go to Counterpoint and flea markets. I’ll drag boyfriends and family members to vintage shops and dusty record bins while on vacation until they beg me to stop. However, I don’t make special crate digging trips to Japan or Israel or Brazil like Pete Rock or Cut Chemist do, for the SOLE PURPOSE of collecting rare records. That is LOVE of the craft. That is why those guys should be hired to do the job.

Pete Rock crate digging for vinyl gold

And then some dick promoter is going to pay Peaches Geldof a shit ton of money to “DJ” their party?

When I see the amount of hard work someone like DJ Z Trip or Rhettmatic has put into their careers, only to see some trust fund kid with a chip on his shoulder and a personal paparazzo by his side, breeze by and get flown all over the world for 5 and 6 figure gigs…when I’ve seen that same trust fund fucker literally plug his i pod in at a venue and then walk away from the DJ booth to pose for pictures and pound drinks…it infuriates me for the hard working DJs out there.

Z Trip's first love

I’m not saying that not every celebrity sucks at DJing. Carlos D from Interpol has been DJing for years and only uses vinyl. It seems to me he has a real love for it and puts a lot of time and energy into it. Therein lies the difference. Are you in it because you love it? Or are you doing it for the photo op? Cause most of us can tell, you know.

Club owners: Stop paying good money for shitty product. You want the cast of Twilight to DJ your party? Fine. Don’t pay them. They’re not DJs. Give them a bottle of Grey Goose and set them up in a booth in the corner. You can take a photo of them standing near the DJ booth for the starfucker page on your website and leave the DJing to someone with chops.

Festival bookers: Really? Six figures for a DJ who’s crap?  We’re not that high. Stop it.

Last fall, after another night where Z Trip had to follow another “DJ” train wreck, he took to twitter and ranted which I have to admit, I egged on and on. Our tweets ultimately gave me the idea for this film…this is part one of an ongoing series of DJ INTERVENTION.

If you like it, pass it on to all of your friends who may need some help. We know you’re out there and we want you to get the help you deserve…

Or you can vote for it here on Funny Or Die:

DJ Intervention, Part 1 – watch more funny videos

Part Two to come soon!!

Funny People…For Reals – SF SketchFest Delivers Comedy For Connoisseurs

The 9th annual SF Sketchfest is wrapping up today, spanning three weeks of laugh-o-lympics, led by a mix of the top name comedians and under the radar funny people who are just about to break.

I attended the festival this year as both an audience member and a participant.

Opening night at the SF Mezzanine featured a blistering performance from Neil Hamburger (O my stars, don’t get on his bad side), just off his tour with Pucifer. Hamburger was opening up for Tim and Eric’s band, Pusswhip Bang Bang.

backstage for Pusswhip Bang Bang

The audience at the Mezzanine were excited to see their nerdy Adult Swim heroes come out in spandex and sing bad seventies and eighties throwbacks but it was a bit of a let down as Tenacious D, and many other bands (Knights of Monte Carlo, Trainwreck, etc.) do musical band parody better. Anyone hoping for comedy bits or films mixed in with the songs went home disappointed.

Over at the Purple Onion, I performed in Joke-E-Oke, a show put on by  funnyman Harmon Leon and produced by Showtime’s Green Room host, Paul Provenza. Joke-E-Oke is a cool blend between game show and improv styled roast, where contestants have to get up onstage and perform stand up bits from legendary comedians. As they perform, they are judged, and heckled, by a panel of judges. The final round is a Don Rickles-off of ‘Yo Momma’ type insults until one person stands as the king of comedy.

Harmon led us into madness as the host for the evening with guest judges Paul Provenza, Mark Pitta and Rick Overton. Rick was also one of the featured comedians on the Joke-E-Oke wheel which was quite daunting. You don’t want to have to ape the judge. Imitation may be the highest form of flattery but it’s difficult when the subject could be making fun of you to your face.

Harmon at the Purple Onion

I was picked to go on first and I got Chris Rock as my Joke-E-Oke comedian to parrot. Which was perfect because though I may be a white girl, I think those that know me will agree – everything about my demeanor screams Chris Rock.

Ali Rock

Chris Rock

The evening progressed and I kept advancing to the next round. I made it into the final round opposite audience favorite Kozumi, who did an AMAZING Sam Kinison. It was tough having to insult her to her face, but I summoned up my inner bitch. In fact, I just imagined I was back in LA and it came quite naturally. Luckily we were both crowned as champs.

with Rick Overton, Robin Williams and Kozumi at Joke-E-Oke

Joke-E-Oke was being filmed as a pilot and will be coming soon to a TV network near you. If you love stand up comedy, you will love this show.

The festival had an amazing cross section of panel discussions (Reno 911 cast, Mystery Science 3000 cast), sketch and improv shows (Upright Citizens Brigade, Whitest Kids U’ Know), artists in discussion (Weird Al Yankovic in discussion with Chris Hardwick) cabaret shows, podcasts, a tribute to Conan O’Brien (which was canceled when he was understandably unable to attend) and lots of stand up. Only in this environment could you see author Dave Eggers mixing with Nina Gordon from Veruca Salt. Or having to make a decision on whether to go to see Dana Gould, Rob Huebel or Dick Cavett!

Dick Cavett

I was able to catch political live wire Jamie Kilstein at the Punch Line. He did a great bit about that included political comedy a bit on corporate music, labels and MTV which is something I’ve been talking about here for a while. I highly recommend him.

Jamie Kilstein

What was to come next really knocked me out of my seat. I see live shows so often that I am rarely moved anymore. I’m like the Anna Wintour of live entertainment – you won’t get much of a reaction out of me. I’m so focused on the event and I’m so in ‘work’ mode that I’m rarely caught up in the emotion of the song/joke/dance, etc.

Enter Reggie Watts. Holy hell! Reggie, a former musician in the 90′s, does a comedy act which involves using pedals, loops and beats and…voices. He uses all these different accents and voices and moves in and out of them so seamlessly that it’s nearly impossibly to figure out which is his own. And it’s all very stream of consciousness…I was on the edge of my seat. I was fascinated. I really can’t remember the last time a performer showed me something that caused me to stare, slack jawed. Reggie Watts. Get ready for him.

Reggie Watts

Oh San Francisco, I love you. I love the crazy graffiti murder hotel room I stayed in.

I love the weird signs and window dressings warning people walking by.

And I loved Sketchfest. My only complaint with the festival is that there was so much comedy and I was unable to see it all. The festival ran January 14th – February 2nd. If you live in San Francisco, that’s got to be the greatest gift ever…the super bowl of cutting edge comedy for twenty days in your own back yard. If like me, you were visiting, performing and then leaving, it was sad to say goodbye to so many good shows. Luckily I do live in LA and I am in close proximity to some pretty crazy geniuses.

Maybe there will be a festival of this caliber closer to me. Or maybe the television networks will get smart and put more comedy on the air.

Until then, Sketchfest is entirely worth the trip.

Kozumi doing Eddie Murphy at Joke-E-Oke:

Slippery When Wet

Imagine a world where nothing was prohibited. We have so many rules, so many people telling us what we can and can’t do. Doesn’t it just magnetize us towards the very thing we are being kept from?

There was a time when drinking was illegal all together. It didn’t really prevent it – it just led to bathtub moonshine, speakeasies, and a lot of crime. Thanks god we are now permitted to poison ourselves if we so choose.

And in celebration of that right, that’s exactly what I did.

Downtown Los Angeles became a prohibition busting pub crawl on December 5th. Celebrating the 75th year since our country repealed the prohibition laws, bars such as The Edison, plus Cedd Moses’s 7 Grand, The Golden Gopher, The Broadway Bar and the new Coles offered 75 cent drinks. Those who didn’t feel like standing in the bread line could fill up on grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup at depression era prices.

7 Grand, a dark bar that resembles a library owned by a wealthy man with a taxidermy fetish, was home to the Dewars Repeal Party. When we arrived, several 1930′s styled gangsters marched outside with picket signs bearing slogans such as Repeal Prohibition! Tonight, their protests garnered instant results.

Upon entering, patrons were handed feather boas or fedoras to help transport them back to 1933. Pins were handed out emblazoned with the slogan ‘Stay Wet!’ As if we needed prompting. At the bar, mixologists were slinging ‘old fashioneds’ and ‘sidecars’.

model molls

Rony Alwin had his photo booth set up for patrons to knock back a whole bottle of Dewars or perhaps just primp and flirt in their flapper attire.

Rony and his photobooth

Bryan Chenault booked an evening of various entertainers, including comedian Blaine Capatch as the party’s host. Blaine, an old Mr. Show compatriot of mine, steered the evening, starting with a stand up performance by Morgan Murphy.

Morgan Murphy and Blaine Capatch

Bryan has a delicious snack

The night was also peppered with several rounds of burlesque dancers, including a rather titilating performance by Lily Von Schtupp who poured shots of whiskey from the nipples of her bustier. Talk about mother’s milk.

Mother's milk

In between acts, DJs Chris Holmes and Daisy O’Dell kept it old school on the decks with some 30′s era chart toppers. The musical act of the evening was indie band Foreign Born, whose tepid folksy rock prompted some on the patio to dub them Snorin Born. Luckily the revelrers didn’t allow that to slow them down.

Chris Holmes and Daisy O'Dell

But the true high light of the night was the whiskey that flowed freely.

DJ Dirty Dave & Ali On The Air in Rony's photobooth

The more Dewars that was poured, the more the people poured into the bar, jamming it with hipsters dressed like the swing crew from the musical Chicago. As the night wore on, the patrons began to do the drunken weave, trying to stand upright without falling over. 7 Grand was certainly slippery when wet.

TC Conroy and I held court at a table in the back room with a bunch of jaunty gentlemen, when we noticed trays of delicious mac and cheese were being brought out. Hallelujah! Kudos to Dewars and 7 Grand for dreaming up the perfect hang over special and bringing it out just in time to sober up before the ride home.

Ali On The Air & TC Conroy holding court

TC surreptitiously grabbed a plate for our table and began to spoon out some cinco de maco, when suddenly the staff opened the double doors revealing hundreds of hungry, hungry hipsters. TC’s eyes widened as a stampede of drunks ran towards her like bloodthirsty zombies. In seconds the room was packed in a cheesy orgy. I give props to T for risking her life for us and even more so for returning to our table unscathed…and with a full plate of cheesy goodness.

As the night drew to a close, I teetered towards the exit, cursing my food and drink intake for the day: two cups of coffee, a salad, about eleventy Dewars drinks and a plate of macaroni and cheese. I didn’t have to celebrate the Repeal of prohibition so hard. After all, it’s been seventy five years since it happened and I’ve been legally drinking for twenty some odd years. But what’s a girl in a feather headrdess and faux fur stole to do? I am only one woman and cannot fight the tide of change…or an open bar. My only option? To stay wet.

The America Dream – my essay in a new book!

Last year I wrote an essay on the Hollywood dream for my friend Harmon Leon, and now it’s being published in his new book American Dream.

It’s been recommended by Howard Stern, jimmy Kimmel, and other funny folk.

The book is out on October 6th, but you can pre-order your copy NOW on Amazon.

Amazon. com: The American Dream:
http://www. amazon. com/American-Dream-Immigrant-Christian-Believers/dp/1568583524/ref=pd_bbs_sr_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1221242315&sr=8-2

I’m pretty excited as Harmon is an excellent writer and very funny comedian. I’m honored to be sharing page space with him.

Join the Ali Empire before I get too expensive for you…order now!

More publishings from me soon.

xoxo
Ali