The Picture of Dorian Block

 

If it were only the other way! 

If only it were I who were always young and there were to be a painting of me that would grow old. (Alright, so in my case if it were I who was aways 75-years-old and there were to be a painting of me that would grow as old as Rupert Murdoch, only without the array of young wives.)

For that I would give everything, including my Mike Schmidt Philadelphia Phillies No. 20 jersey. 

And so it was that I, Dorian Block, sought to secure a talented artist to paint a portrait of me which - while I myself aged not one whit further - would transform itself over time into a likeness of William Shatner but minus the deceased furry woodland creature atop his head. 

I thereupon attempted a search via the Google and through its auspices shortly located a painter named Basil Wayward and arranged in prompt order a meeting at his studio.                

"Mr. Wayward," I inquired, "can you undertake the art of portraiture with the express purpose of rendering a painting of my humble self to assist me in stemming the onrushing tide of aging?"  

"Holy crap, do you ever talk like a Victorian novel!" he replied. "But yes, I can do that."

"Do you have any references, Mr. Wayward?"

"You are familiar with the actor Paul Rudd?"

"Of course," I said.

"In his attic is a portrait of Mr. Rudd that looks exactly like Keith Richards."

          

"You're hired, sir," I exclaimed, "you're so damn hired!" 

And on the morrow I began the process of sitting for my age-defying portrait  with Mr. Wayward. True, I was a little disappointed to discover that Mr. Wayward's  specialties were finger painting and paint by numbers and but hey, what ya gonna do?  And yet Mr. Wayward began painting in earnest and in no small manner due to The Importance of Being Ernest, the painting began to take shape.

Within several weeks Mr. Wayward completed his handiwork and presented it to me with the words "I think, kind sir, The Picture of Dorian Block may very well be my masterpiece," and I graciously accepted the image of my 75- year-old self and squired it home to ensconce firmly and securely in my attic. 

Soon, however, an unexpected happenstance resulted. Freed from the ravages of time, my personality, inclinations, and behavior began to metamorphosize, and within scant order my life became a maelstrom of depravity and sin!

I had sexual relations with the entire East Coast staff of A Place for Mom, 

I found myself lying, cheating, and stealing in all my personal and business relationships including a bald-faced lie to Tom Selleck that the procuring of a reverse mortgage was indeed "the best thing I've ever done, without a doubt," and

I engaged in a sordid array of interpersonal acts so reprehensible that not even Sling would have let me do that!

As the years flew by, I felt my humanity slipping away and darkness enveloping my soul.  And what of the painting?  

Finally one day, racked with guilt and remorse, I  tore into the attic to witness what foul reality my now highly advanced age and profligate wickedness had visited upon the canvas that Basil Wayward had painted lo those many years ago!

And what I saw was, what I saw was....

Wow.  

Looks like this was Basil's masterpiece, after all.

Y'know, I think I can milk me a few more years of depravity out of it, without a doubt!

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Top Ten Signs You're At A Lousy Comedy Open Mic

 

Yep, here's my curated list of

Top Ten Signs You're At A Lousy Comedy Open Mic

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Number 10)

The Open Mic is in "The Jeff Foxworthy/Larry the Cable Guy Comedy Club."

Number 9)

There is a "One Drink" Minimum and a "One Rotten Tomato" Minimum.

Number 8)

The audience consists exclusively of people who think LIMU Emu and Doug are hilarious. 

Number 7)

The Host Introduces You as "The Sporadically Funny ___"

Number 6)

When They Shine a Light at You at 4 Minutes, a Big Brawny Guy Appears and Says "It'll Go Much Better For You If You Cooperate, Rocco!"

Number 5)

During Your Set, Even the Crickets Get Up and Leave the Building.  

Number 4)

The Host Makes a Point of Mentioning that You're the Guy Who Had Sex with the Biggest, Meanest Comic's Little Sister, Even Though You Didn't.

Number 3)

As You Leave the Stage After Your Set is Over, the Wah-Wah Sound Plays.

Number 2)

Instead of Saying "Give it up for Perry!" the Host Says "Give It Up, Perry!" 

And the Number One Sign You're at a Lousy Comedy Open Mic:

The Host is Stephen Miller.

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And the Number One Sign that Perry is Kinda Old:

He Still Thinks Top Ten Lists are a Thing.

"The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named" Twelve Years Later

 

I can tell she gets it.  

Only The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named for

her. 

It was over 12 years ago that I coined the term "The-Discount-That-Must Not-Be-Named."   

Why?

"Okay, sir," says the cashier behind the class booth at the Bryn Mawr Film Institute," that will be eleven dollars with the Senior Discount." 

“Thank you,” I reply.

To which she adds" ... you addle-pated, wrinkled, washed-out, past-tensed, decrepit, detestable travesty of a human being."

"Well, umm, I kind of resent the ‘washed out’ part of what you said,” I stammer. 

"Senior Discount ticket, sir? There’s seating up front," says the ticket taker inside the theater.

“Thank you,” I reply.

“To which he adds …” hopefully up front you’ll be able to hear at least some of the movie, you addle-pated, wrinkled, washed-out, past-tensed, decrepit, detestable travesty of a human being."

""Well, umm, I kind of resent the ‘detestable travesty of a human being’ part of what you said," I stammer.

Now let’s replay all of the above with The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.  

Okay, sir," says the cashier behind the class booth at the Bryn Mawr Film Institute," that will be eleven dollars with The-Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Thank you,” I say.

To which she adds “Please enjoy the show.”

"Discount-That-Must-Not-Be-Named ticket, sir? There’s seating up front," says the ticket taker inside the theater.

“Thank you,” I say.

To which he adds “Please enjoy the show.”

Now to be fair, Senior wasn’t always a four letter 6 letter word. It was once devised as the politically correct replacement for words like Elderly.

And as the later 20th Century stand-in for those words, it has performed admirably, especially for members of the Greatest Generation who received more of their greatly deserved due when regarded as respected seniors, not out-to-pasture elderly.

But now it’s more than time for Senior and its even more insidious buzzkill of a cousin Senior Citizen to also go the way of elderly and its kin. And I wouldn’t mind if sassy, feisty, and spry also join the ranks of those misbegotten objectionable adjectives as well.

With The-Discount-That-Must-Not-be-Named all pernicious mindsets about Boomers and Pre-Boomers are forever extinguished.  After all, we're not "seniors” at all; we're regular folk, like everyone else, who just happen to be a little older.

So why not join me and start using the The-Discount-That-Must-Not-be-Named yourself?

 One day when it truly catches on, it will change the world.

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Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

 

Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

"I used to be suffering from any one of a half dozen chronic diseases.  But then my doctor prescribed Placebo and now I'm feeling great!

Or maybe I'm not.

Or maybe I'm already dead."

 Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

Placebo costs you almost nothing.  Because it's nothing but sugar, ragweed, and a little bit of Red Dye No.3 for coloring. (That's the red die that's been banned for serious health reasons.) Placebo is perfect for folks who have a shitty Medicare Advantage Plan with super high deductibles or absolutely no health insurance whatsoever!

Placebo is not for everyone. Depression and anxiety may result if one day you realize that all along you could have been taking real medicine that might have actually helped you get better. Don't take Placebo if you're allergic to Red Dye No.3 or if you've caught on to us!  

In clinical trials using Placebo and a placebo, over 75% of participants had the same result, and not a good one with Placebo or the placebo. The other 25%, well, maybe they just lucked out. WTF!

"With Placebo, I'm talking my life into my own hands.  And I've even lost a little weight, because I'm literally wasting away." 

Oh, Oh, Oh Placebo!

Ask your doctor about Placebo. 

 And hopefully he has the same level of scruples as the doctor who used to prescribe Quaaludes for Perry in the 70's.

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