TWO FAKE NEWS BITS

A new CNN survey reveals that 85% of the nation's teen boys have watched "too many porn scenes to count" on the internet. At that age, I don't think I even knew that if you turned a calculator with the number 58,008 on it upside down, you could almost read the word "BOOBS."

+++++++

A blind study conducted at five major American universities this week showed that bartenders showing cleavage could expect tips up to 12% higher than their less provocatively dressed counterparts, and that each cup size could add another 6-8%. In contrast, male bartenders who exposed thong underwear when they bent over were all promptly fired.

Hey, Chicago: "Buscemi & Friends CD-Release Party" happens Wed, 4/28, @ The Annoyance!

Come celebrate the release of my new Rooftop Comedy CD, "Palpable"!

Tickets for the Wed, 4/28, 8PM show are just $7 ... or ... for $12 ... you get YOUR OWN COPY OF "PALPABLE" AT THE SHOW! Buy show tix here.

Recorded in December 2009 to a PACKED Lincoln Lodge house, the album captures an unedited, rip-roaring hour of me at my most me-ness. It really, really came out well.

You can now order yours on iTunes as well.

Rounding out an amazing bill at the legendary (and extremely comfortable) Annoyance (4830 N. Broadway) ...

--> 2nd City superstar ABBY MCENANY,
--> stand-up comets JAMES FRITZ and KEN BARNARD,
--> Annoyance legends MARK SUTTON and MARZ TIMMS, and ...
--> the infamous ACCOUNTANTS OF HOMELAND SECURITY.

Old pals BETH STELLING and the PUTERBAUGH SISTERS host!

IF YOU LOVE ME YOU WILL COME!!!

My RoofTop Comedy Album "Palpable" Is ABOUT TO DROP!!!!

HUGELY exciting news -- my Rooftop Comedy album, "Palpable," is about to drop. I can't tell you how excited I am about this. Rooftop was an early supporter and flew me to their inaugural "Rooftop Aspen Comedy Fest" in 2008, then proposed this album, which they produced and are about to distribute. Here's me on their site, which is the freaking best comedy Web site on the internet.

You simply MUST acquire it. Rooftop engineers captured a full hour of my best stuff before a mobbed Lincoln Lodge crowd in Chicago, and it sounds amazing. Here's the link to get your copy on iTunes.

Honestly. This is a benchmark in my career, and you won't believe how good it sounds.

Stay tuned, goons, for word on how to get your hot little hands on it.

ROASTING PEEPS: AN EASTER LESSON

I took my niece Sausagella and her brother Dominic camping last spring, and I brought Easter Peeps marshmallow chicks and skewered them so the kids could roast 'em over the fire. And I had my buddy Ernie hide behind my pickup truck and throw his voice so it sounded like the Peeps were Joan of Arc ... "Nooooooooooo! Nooooooo! I'm stabbed and buuuuuuuuuuuuurning! I'm dyyyyyyyyyyyyyyying! Peeeeeeeep! Peeeeeeeeeep! PEEP PEEP PEEP!!!!!" to indicate the suffering and the sacrifice of death that's necessary before we can have bunnies and new life and a risen Christ.

Sure, the message is pretty confusing, especially since Sausagella and Dominic were crying hysterically at this point and Ernie slammed his thumb in the passenger door of my Dodge and was crying even louder than the kids were.

But I think they learned an important lesson. Sin always ends in hell fire.

Oh I forgot to tell you something important about how I made it all a morality lesson. Before all this happened I staged a little puppet-show scene in which the Peeps chicks had premarital sex, which was why they had to pay.

So yeah. I guess I'm a natural teacher.

The Way I Approach Your Table ...

I approach you adroitly, my long, lithe torso slinking and angling expertly up to your table. I seem to be pouring myself like an oil-spill, like an ermine, into the totality of your proximity, so near in so many places that you don't know whether to whelp or cough.

From behind my back I produce (1) two lilacs planted in soil in pots for you to take home and smell later as you remember this moment, (2) a silver tray full of salted, brownish, head-on herring, and 3) an ill-engineered, laughably awkward love-seat-style double-Champagne flute (both partakers have to drink exactly the same amount for the same duration at challenging bents of our bodies, and my GOD this thing is BEGGING to shatter) that's nevertheless obscenely foxy, if only for its kinky excess.

My shirt is really something, too. You can't even figure it out, let alone get over it. It's black, but somehow shiny and cut SO languidly yet tautly over my masculine, lean, powerful upper body. My wrists are turned at the perfect degree for presaged lovemaking. How do I DO that? And -- what's that? You detect a VERY expensive precious-metal WATCH occasionally peeking out beneath my left sleeve. Oh my!

And what's that cologne? OMG! It's ... Gucci Pour Homme II, isn't it? My GOD. How enTRANCing.

Then it only gets worse / better. You look into my brown eyes and really, REALLY are almost in hysterics at just how unashamedly seductive and charming they are, containing as they do pools of such MIRTH and MISCHIEF and WARMTH and DEPTH and NAUGHTINESS (adjacent, equally full pools, of course). Goodness! Those eyes must get you in TROUBLE, you think with a sudden, crushing wave of jealousy.

But it's All About You in this moment. You have my Full Attention as I deftly cup Herring Corpse Number One into your mouth and drink us both a preliminary Champagne-quaff. The fish-vintage is intoxicating -- Sweden, December 2009, salted then shipped straight to my table and into your eager mouth! Oh heavens! HEAVENS!

Then .. what's THIS? Robert has somehow magically extricated your cashmere cream-colored winter-unitard underwear-stocking-onesie thing up / down / out / through the back / ankle openings of your jeans! How in HELL did he do THAT?!?!

But you're swimming now. You've gone under with lust, desire, and salt-fish. Your wits and presence are but a memory, regrettable and comical in the rearview mirror of your rapidly unraveling evening.

GOODNESS!