Kids:
A few hours ago, I landed in Los Angeles, turned on my phone, and confirmed what you already know. Sony Pictures Television is replacing me as showrunner on Community, with two seasoned fellows that I’m sure are quite nice - actually, I have it on good authority they’re quite nice, because…
TIP
Girls prefer a guy who will burst into tears at the slightest provocation. A man needs to be shy, nervous to the point of physical shaking, and able to pee himself so vigorously that strangers stop what they’re doing and point. THEM’S THE FACTS, FELLERS
17, I’m on the left.
No idea why I tweet —OTHER THAN TO MAKE MORTAL ENEMIES— but I’m pretty sure it isn’t to jumpstart a career in comedy. No work could be as fun as the stuff me and my buddies filmed every summer, and no fame as grand as hearing about VHS copies-of-VHS copies of our movies being passed around schools that we didn’t even attend.
I was a comedy lord. Of course I still am, just more cantankerous, and depressed, probably because I have about 5 fewer girlfriends than the long-haired John in that photo.
Duh
AND YES I KNOW THE GREEN AREA OF THAT MAP IS MEXICO. WHAT YOU DIDN’T KNOW IS THAT “MEXICO” IS BASICALLY DIRT THAT FLOATS ON TOP OF A BIG SEA. YOU CAN SWIM UNDER MEXICO, HOW DO YOU THINK THE MAYANS INFILTRATE OUR BORDERS?
THEY HAVE GILLS, GOD DAMMIT.
“MAP MEME”
I have visited nowhere in the world besides these areas of the oceans. Underwater. AND I NEVER EVEN BROKE THE SURFACE.
Nature
Not everything I write here is twitter commentary I delete the next day once it’s aired out because you gotta keep it light. If you stop having fun with the stuff you dream up, what’s the point? Anyway, when I get goin’ with my real pals over a drink, we have a quality time in the joke department. We do fine; nothing gets missed.
By the way my mother has cancer. I just remembered this:
I’m living at home. I wake up. I discover a note taped to the front door. In the big Sharpie letters of my mother’s handwriting, it instructs us all to “be quiet on the front porch” for the sake of a dove that’s made a nest in one of the hanging plants. I go outside and look around. I don’t see anything. And then I do: between the yellow and pink flowers, from the bright green depths of the plant, I see the bird’s two black eyes. It stares at me; I stare at it. And that’s sorta like where we are with my mother’s cancer.
