Paul Shotwell's Happy Hour

One Essay a Week. Grammar errors guaranteed.
"I should order these for the swingers party next Saturday."
#CaptionThatPhoto

"I should order these for the swingers party next Saturday."

#CaptionThatPhoto

"Weeeeeeeeeeeee!"
#CaptionThatPhoto

"Weeeeeeeeeeeee!"

#CaptionThatPhoto

Part 1 of my ongoing series of the useless hotel room chair.
The black and white filter means it’s art.

Part 1 of my ongoing series of the useless hotel room chair.

The black and white filter means it’s art.

Traveling

Destinations are different - airport terminals and hotels are variations on the same theme.

I’m doing a fair amount of traveling in January and will be updating this blog with patterns and jokes of course.


Humor is important to keeping one’s sanity while traveling.

Drop the Mic

A year ago today, I was at a bar. I was able to witness something so rare that makes I started a journal then decided to give it up two weeks later because I’m not a sea captain and have twitter. Like the the green flash at sunset. Like hearing Bob Ross curse. It was magical.

I saw a yodeler finish his performance, then drop the mic.

Let’s back up and describe this man, he was aggressively a virgin. He had never seen a nipple in person or on his phone screen. His dead ancestors were happy that he had a brother so the blood line could continue. He was such a virgin he yodeled.

And he’d taken all his sexual energy that men naturally have to chase women for their whole lives and moved it from his crotch to his heart where his Yodeling passion lied.

He was damn good at it too. Out of the three yodels I’ve heard in my life he was easily top 1.

BTW, he was white. If you couldn’t assume that, you haven’t been apart of our culture for too long. Yodeling is a white only activity - much like being bummed about the first high five missing and attempting another,  

Yeah, so he finished up his “Yodeleyheeoooing” and then stares out into the audience with conviction like a king from a fantasy novel he recently read and screamed in a high pitch voice, “Who will challenge me to a yodel off.” 

Which probably sounded better in his head.

And surprisingly no one stood up because no one at that bar woke up thinking, “shit, I didn’t get that bit part in the Riccola commercial wonder if I could best a virgin in a yodel off to lift my spirits.”

To this stunned, awkward silence He finished his yodeling and thought no man could do better with this microphone, so he’ll dirty it. Our yodeler held out the mic with a steady hand but then disaster struck and he paused. It went from “FUCK YOU” to “Am I allowed to?”. He hesitated. WHICH YOU CAN”T DO. Dropping the mic is a raw, passionate move that has to be met with unwavering confidence much like cumming during sex. You can’t cum on the out stroke during sex. It looks bad for everyone unless you’re in space and can propel yourself backwards. No you must be confident and cum on the in stroke. Stare her in the eyes. Grimace a little. But our aggressively virgin yodeler didn’t know that.

But all was not lost. He joined a long list of white people that day in ruining things that black people originally made awesome.

I heard Yeezus wept. The HOVA consoled him. Aziz Ansari was there for no particular reason.

 

The Red Screen of Death.

The Red Screen of Death.

Immortality

This is my favorite book by Milan Kundera. The narrative is admirable, the prose calming, the philosophy developed. A book that can’t be made into a movie. It’s a type of story telling that only works on the page.

Here are a selection of my favorite quotes.

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Death and Dying

Humans enjoy death but hate dying.

It’s a murder mystery, not a missing handkerchief mystery. “It was hidden with a candelabra in the kitchen by colonel mustard.”

If I do well in comedy, I kill. I murder. I destroy. It’s a war on stage and the if I get a standing ovation, I don’t just make the audience raise to their feet. I raze the audience with my humor. Doubled over, running up and down the aisles like napalm strikes over Vietnam. Laughter without a sound looks awfully close to collapse.

But I digress.

Humans enjoy death but hate dying.

And we’re on the perfect planet to have that view. 99.99% of all species which have existed on earth have gone extinct. Mother Earth is more of a Mistress Earth. Hippies who call her Gaia are in some strange dominatrix relationship where the rest of us have to suffer through crystal-deodorant body odor and white people dread locks.

Native Americans were vaunted for using all parts of the animal. Nothing was left to waste. They never figured out oil.

Our society is based off that black blood of the gaia. Fossil fuels. Plastics. We are necromancers powering society off millions of year old death. We don’t just use all parts of an animal, we even use their destruction! Burn oil. It’s green!

My body is made of carbon. It’s a heartwarming thought that there is a possibility that under the right conditions and given millions of years, I could power someone’s vehicle in a shitty morning commute. Ah, I hope they’re stuck in traffic listening to Daft Punk.

That’s right, Daft Punk will still be playing on the car radio.

The Crying of Lot 49

Thomas Pynchon’s shortest book, was a fascinating conspiratorial read. Although only 150 pages, it is jam packed with depth. It feels like a book form of the Doctor’s Tardis - it’s bigger on the inside.

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Here are a selection of quotes I enjoyed.

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King of the Jungle

Pool Hall Junkies is a movie watched for one pivotal speech.

You sit through the poor acting, the “HUSTLER” shirt, and the uninspired plot to hear Christopher Walken deliver the, “Did you see the one about liOns?” speech. (Capitalized “O” added for Walken accuracy.)

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Honestly, the hour and twenty wait is well worth it to finally hear Mr. Walken discuss his opinions on nature documentaries. (The image of Christopher in a La - Z - Boy with chip crumbs on his chest watching PBS and debating about “dOnating” is well, hilarious.)

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