Cab Story

Cabdrivers are a blase lot. When you are, effectively, another urban background element, the riffraff tend to 'act out'; unconscious of your existence as a human. With the same concern for the opinion of you as a witness as the very trees and sidewalks merit, these miscreants rob, shoot, slap, slug, and otherwise manhandle their hapless victims.

The title of this, my first Cab Story, is a phrase that has two distinct and relatively opposite meanings to Taxiphilologists. Actually the 'greenpea' , our word for a beginner cab driver, would come into the drivers' room all enthused about witnessing some wondrous denial of our status as thinking entities, being so mild on the scale as to not interest old time cabbies who would chuckle knowingly, or scream at the demons that chewed on his neurons, and ignore the teller. Then, seven hellish years of driving later, the now apparently ripe pea would arrive at the lot and confront the old-timer's card game with " Have I got a Cab Story for you". This latter would of course be so outrageous as to bestir the 350 pound lout who had bitchslapped Sean Penn for his third gay tantrum or rolled Mary Tyler Moore when she was loaded on 'Ludes and Dago Red.

Well have I got a got a CAB STORY for you: Short and quick version

I got a call at an apartment on the second floor balcony level. The party inside quieted after I knocked. The footsteps of the respondent thumped toward me and the light faded in the peephole. I assumed he would tell the others and some end would occur. After some moments the party resumed and I waited a decent period and re-knocked. The answer this time involved a head peeking around the door and asking "Cabdriver?"

I answered him and he and two other headbangers filed out and we quietly rode off. The heavy metal tee-shirts and half grown bangs and slack jaws just screamed "Beavis" squared.

I asked the ringleader what the problem was about coming out the first time. He looked right and left at his peeps And said haltingly " Well...uh...well... we are high on acid and when I looked out and saw John Candy I thought I was hallucinating".

I have millions of stories like that and will milk them when the well runs dry. I wrote the first 80% of this while laughing hysterically. I hope I have as much fun writing these columns as I haven't had elsewise in life. Spread the word. I have had seven 4 minute appearances at open-mike-comedy at The Comedy Underground in Pioneer Square, in old time Seattle. I had only two jokes fall flat and they were mildly non-PC. I still think they were funny and nontroubling-I am an Objectivist and this philosophy denies any validity to collectivism. Have a Happy Thanksgiving and Spread the Word. and remember folks-Acme Humor is the Acme of Humor!

I come out as a humorist.

Hi and welcome to my new and improved blog-Acme Humor Company is dedicated to making you laugh, so if I hear any chortling I will be nonplussed. I was never the class clown-I was the class lion tamer. Our class clowns-all nineteen -were killed when their Geo burst into flames. I have been called a no-class clown but I won't mention that.
Humor is no laughing matter-people get hurt when you tell a joke and then find out that their name really is Johnny Fuckerfaster. We in the biz are there because we are too lazy to do real work and we want to collect every car we ever heard of like Jay Leno does. He actually was a very good mechanic before he became a 5 hour a week joker. He went from about $500 a week for forty hours of grease and broken nails and listening for the whir and thump that meant somebody's Volvo wouldn't Volv and now makes about $500 a second cracking jokes in a suit.
Someday I want to get paid for making fun of the dorks and douchebags that currently make my life a living hell. Especially that asshole who laughs at me...wait a minute...I want lots of people to laugh at me. Ain't irony a bitch! If nobody laughs at you you are considered grave or dour-or Chevy Chase. If a few laugh at you then you are a dork or a douchebag. If millions laugh at you then you get to fart through silk and fly your own 747.
The best thing about writing is that I can do it while wearing my favorite footsie pajamas and a particolored cockring. Let's try that at the nearest motorcycle clubhouse! Ever seen a guy get stuffed into the distal end of a Harley exhaust pipe? When they do it and use K-Y jelly it is a token of admiration. If they use jalapeno jelly you might want to avoid their company for a bit. If you want to be funny it is easy-being funny and getting paid is the hard part. I never had anybody hand me cash for cracking jokes, but that will end soon-I am dying of cancer. Of the humerus(rimshot). But humorously folks, keep reading this blog and I will select somebody in the future to receive oodles of cash from advertisers and sponsors and agents and impresarios-and I'll give you a clue-IT WON'T BE YOU.