Comedy?

[champagne1982]

Hang on. It's somewhere on my hard drive. I'll come back and edit this post and paste it here. (Damn it's a crap piece of writing, too, but I don't really mind).

But stop that smirking!

Ugh. Talk about crap...

Disco Inferno

I fell into a soggy sponge cake,
A poet's dark vision of hell
When I turned around I couldn't help but sniff
A horrid, burning smell.

What set light to the fuel
Causing this black, oily smoke?
Did the glitter ball cast brilliant sparks
Igniting the chest of a hairy bloke?

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

Flamboyant twists and vibrant twirls,
Tight, pastel pants draw girlish eyes
To his lean, masculine hips,
And taut, muscular thighs.

Desire burns as the music throbs
Could the cake be ruined in the rain?
Will the chains catch in a chest dark with hair
Bringing hot, torrid, post-disco pain?

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

With a grind of his hips and gleaming smile
His cherry picking fingers up in the air,
He enflames his girl's passions
With his macho flare.

She moves, a shadow of darkened grace,
Her black satin dress a subdued foil
Against his bright plummage, dowdy,
Lest the glare of the peacock she spoil.

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

Look at the denizens of this smoky pit
So powerfully entranced!
'Twas the devil's conception, this place
Where demonic Hustlers danced.

Full of sex and drugs and pounding bass,
Is Satan's Fiery Disco,
Taunting them with bright, flashing lights
Come dance for eternity in this inferno.

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

 

[Angeline]

Great topic, Ange. Here's another moustache poem (better than mine in dirty 30 I think).

You'd do a comedy challenge. Be good at it, too. I've heard you get very narrative and do voices--you know what I mean.

Ugh. Talk about crap...

Disco Inferno

I fell into a soggy sponge cake,
A poet's dark vision of hell
When I turned around I couldn't help but sniff
A horrid, burning smell.

What set light to the fuel
Causing this black, oily smoke?
Did the glitter ball cast brilliant sparks
Igniting the chest of a hairy bloke?

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

Flamboyant twists and vibrant twirls,
Tight, pastel pants draw girlish eyes
To his lean, masculine hips,
And taut, muscular thighs.

Desire burns as the music throbs
Could the cake be ruined in the rain?
Will the chains catch in a chest dark with hair
Bringing hot, torrid, post-disco pain?

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

With a grind of his hips and gleaming smile
His cherry picking fingers up in the air,
He enflames his girl's passions
With his macho flare.

She moves, a shadow of darkened grace,
Her black satin dress a subdued foil
Against his bright plummage, dowdy,
Lest the glare of the peacock she spoil.

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

Look at the denizens of this smoky pit
So powerfully entranced!
'Twas the devil's conception, this place
Where demonic Hustlers danced.

Full of sex and drugs and pounding bass,
Is Satan's Fiery Disco,
Taunting them with bright, flashing lights
Come dance for eternity in this inferno.

His golden medallions nestling cozily there,
Amidst polyester folds and wiry, black hair.

Champ I think you and I can agree that we've both written so much silliness and seriousnous and crap and gold here over the years that we've both really improved from the sheer quantity of it all.

 

[butters]

Sigh. I can't find the zombie one. But I wrote this one for the same challenge:

Back in the day when we were young and lithe
we danced like mad to turn the beat around
spoon up the nose, lucite heels, spandex blithe
now we limp, wheeze, groan--

Hey! Turn down the sound!

What's that up my nose? A lil Vasiline
My left nostril's been fucked since eighty-four
Slow that boogie down, this old disco queen
has hips that don't move so good anymore.

My brickhouse done crumbled like cheap plywood.
I used to be young but now I'm learnin
When you're out late not eating like you should,
your heart and feet will be burnin, burnin

Damn I used to be one glittering fox.
Whadja say sonny? Oh. Make mine Maalox.

ha
those were the days

 

[butters]

You'd do a comedy challenge. Be good at it, too. I've heard you get very narrative and do voices--you know what I mean.



Champ I think you and I can agree that we've both written so much silliness and seriousnous and crap and gold here over the years that we've both really improved from the sheer quantity of it all.

this is a good thing for all writers to remember - we all turn out some doozies, and the nuggets are mixed in with all the dross. but keep at it and we improve. eventually

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Since we're purging - here's my totally awful contribution to "comedy".

The Joke

I can't recall when I first heard
of Bernie's friend, Michelle.
He's been my pal for ages now,
I know him very well,

but, anyway, this friend of his,
she's in some TV show
with lots of cops and nasty guys
and blood and guts, y’know.

She told him that, on certain days,
as all the cameras run,
the actors get undressed and then
they have some raunchy fun.

He asked her if he could join in,
she made it sound so great.
She said. "Why not, just turn up nude."
Old Bernie couldn't wait.

That Friday night he made his move;
he took a taxi there.
He wore a long and fitted coat
so no one saw him bare.

Inside the place he whipped it off
and waited for the crew.
When they arrived and saw him there,
his kneecaps turning blue,

they laughed out loud at Michelle's joke
which made poor Bernie blush.
He stood and glared at everyone
amidst a deathly hush

but soon he saw the funny side
and couldn't hide his smile.
He took his coat and put it on,
he did it with such style.

Poor Bernie was quite unprepared
for Michelle's type of joke
but all in all it worked out well,
he's such a lucky bloke,

they fell in love and took the plunge.
So here's the happy end,
it took this joke to make a wife
of Michelle, Bernie's friend.

 

[butters]

aw, that's funny and cute!

 

[butters]

think 3 blind mice

egg fried rice, egg fried rice
see how he cums
see how he cums
it wasn't much of a chinese shop
but he had such a way with his bold young cock
she almost forgave him for burning the wok
and egg
fried
rice

 

[butters]

and this ... the limericks get done on the spur of the moment more.

undercover agents


when I checked out his pen
it seemed out of ink
so i started to twist
screwing its barrel

he took it from me
warned me it might expel
unexpectedly spill
said he didn't want stains
on the shag pile

no, really, he said
don't shake it that way
it'll squirt up the walls
let everyone know we were spies

suck it and see
see if it will leak
invisible ink
we can write with

trust me
he said
my word is my bond

 

[Angeline]

this is a good thing for all writers to remember - we all turn out some doozies, and the nuggets are mixed in with all the dross. but keep at it and we improve. eventually

Wow look at how I spelled that: seriousnous. That's what driving 2,500 miles in less than two weeks will do, I guess.

 

[EroticOrogeny]

Great topic, Ange. Here's another moustache poem (better than mine in dirty 30 I think).

Quite funny (as are several poems posted here).
I've never had his problem. I've had mine since graduating high school (ancient dress code). And the beard, too - came once my sideburns crept all the way down. Now its trimmed instead of growing however it wanted.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Well if we're going with downright awful I give you this .......

When your washings in the mud again
or you face your greatest fear,
take comfort in a cuddle
with a kind old teddy bear.
You can tell him all your troubles
or even shed a tear
and all he wants is to love you
and always to be there.
So if you're seven or seventy
take a teddy to your heart,
for however young or old you are
it's never too late to start.

 

[Angeline]

Yay you all suck! Just like me!

 

[CharleyH]

Yay you all suck! Just like me!

Oh, I can do parody, and I do it well! I know my inner comedienne. Do you know yours?

 

[Angeline]

Oh, I can do parody, and I do it well! I know my inner comedienne. Do you know yours?

Yes and she sounds frighteningly like Joan Rivers.

 

[butters]

Yes and she sounds frighteningly like Joan Rivers.

but does she sell the same kack jewellery as appearing on QVC?

 

[CharleyH]

Yes and she sounds frighteningly like Joan Rivers.

lol - you're funny.

 

[Angeline]

lol - you're funny.

The funny part is you think I'm joking.

 

[CharleyH]

The funny part is you think I'm joking.

ROFLOL!

 

[hmmnmm]

This is not poetry. And maybe it isn't even funny. But it's something I yanked out of something else I've been working on off and on. It's about my favorite flavor to play with.

------------------
Gerald Jergens knew his word choice fell far short of the optimum for any dialogue specimen. But he could not know that the invisible, very tiny, on-location script-feeder assigned to him that day, had just spilled coffee, leaving Gerald Jergens the task of coming up with his own dialogue, and it was only because Paul happened at that moment to be paying more attention to his new project than to the dialogue Gerald Jergens momentarily wrestled, to notice that at one microsecond juncture Gerald Jergens considered using the word 'finesse' instead of 'fineness.'


Just then, silence ensued. Silence like a being, or a rubbery whirlwind. So heavily did the mysteriously rubbery silence ensue that it approached the definition of tangible and it was, to boot, practically naked, wearing no more than a flimsy scarf woven only for effect; emitted a scent of reverence, meaning unstained floral.

The on-location script-feeder had no causative hand in the silence, even though Gerald Jergens's script-feeder was still tending to his spilt coffee, because it only took a few adjustments and he could do both: mop the spilt coffee while feeding Gerald Jergens a few lines, even if they would be short.

No. The cause of the silence was the invisible and very tiny on-location director. A simple hand signal told the script-feeders to lift their digital fingers from the buttons. And when the very tiny on-location director felt that the silence had built enough tension, he made a twirling or swirling motion, and the script-feeders returned their fingers to their buttons.
-------------------------

 

[CharleyH]

I couldn't find a good site specific to comedy writing, but real life is too priceless to pass up. Please check out this site, Ang ... talk about gold at the end of the rainbow!

Sample: http://www.lamebook.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/rocked-out.png

 

[butters]

I couldn't find a good site specific to comedy writing, but real life is too priceless to pass up. Please check out this site, Ang ... talk about gold at the end of the rainbow!

Sample: http://www.lamebook.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/rocked-out.png

ahaahhahahahahahahahahaha

comedy gold!

 

[CharleyH]

ahaahhahahahahahahahahaha

comedy gold!

LOL, I can tell you are about to become just as addicted to lamebook.com as I became this morning! Is there a group for us, yet?

Question? Is comedy a guilty pleasure?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

gone googling .....

 

[butters]

LOL, I can tell you are about to become just as addicted to lamebook.com as I became this morning! Is there a group for us, yet?

Question? Is comedy a guilty pleasure?

i'm gonna add it to bookmarks. and if not, there no doubt will be.

only if you're a quaker

 

[annaswirls]

are they on youtube yet?

I don't know if this is on topic, but a few months ago me and my buddy decided we were going to write and perform in a late 80's, early 90's sitcom. The jokes we wrote were full of that laugh track cheese factor, ala Perfect Strangers. We filmed four 6-8 minutes episodes. I like writing jokes and scenes, the downfall of our program was probably the fact that we were shit actors.