Comedian Ari Shaffir

Hooters Sucks

There was a time when I got really excited when I got to go to a Hooters Restaurant. I remember wanting to catch any glimpse of cleavage and the waitresses there always had it in abundance. And those leggings they wore! Whoa! They stretched the entire length of the leg and made their legs seem as tan and smooth as humanly possible. It’s kind of like what Batman did for his physical performance, they did to their legs.

But years passed by and I’ve fucked a lot of women. Some ugly, some hot. And more importantly, I’ve watched a TON of porn. It’s free on the internet now. No more driving down to the adult bookstore, or going into the back room at Erol’s Video where you had to push apart the beads as quietly as possible so no one saw you go back there. And then waiting till there was no line at the counter before placing your pornographic videos on the counter so the clerk can look at you like the degenerate you are. Now you just click a button that promises a robot that you’re over 18 years old and you can find all the porn you want right on your laptop. Redtube and Youporn are my sites of choice. You might have your own favorites. What I like to do, is load up a bunch of choice clips and then rest my laptop on my chest, as I reach around it to play with myself, all the while trying not to move to much to keep from waking up the girl sleeping to my left. The headphones I got from American Airlines keep her from waking up when some country farmgirl gets impaled on her neighbor’s cock. Then I just shut the laptop, throw the inside out sock to the ground and fall asleep.

With porn I can choose between amateur stuff, black on white (meh), blow jobs, milf (usually gross, but sometimes awesome), white on black (totally not interested), bondage, barely legal, big boobs, creampies (no thanks), foot fetish (not interested), anal, Asian, 70’s, pissing (not hot, but interesting), Latina, Lesbian (what’s the point), squirting, and a whole bunch of others I don’t have the energy to think up. Then you can also pretty much pick out any room of the house and you can find internet clips of two people fucking in it. And that includes an awesome one in a garage I once saw, and one on a roof that wasn’t bad.

And then with all that swirling in my head on a nightly and afternoonly basis, you’re going to send me to Hooters to get worked up? Are you kidding. It’s a bunch of chicks in orange shorts and white tank tops not fucking. They don’t even make fuck noises. All they do is get my damn order wrong until they finally manage to deliver wings that are way too breaded and never spicy enough. There’s an 8 year old boy sitting over there with his mommy and daddy. And you want me to care about some vapid chick moving from his table to mine because she drew a heart over her name and wrote it on a piece of paper when I sat down with my golf buddies? Kill yourself.

Fuck you, Hooters, you fake strip club.

They’re all idiots.

Here’s the deal. When some random stranger lets you down it’s not the biggest deal in the world. When a friend disappoints you, it’s way worse. Here’s why.

Everybody sucks to a degree. People you know and love as well as people you don’t. After you’ve spent some time on this earth, you’ll start to gravitate towards certain people. It’s pretty random that you’ve ended up gravitating towards the people you now considered friends and loved ones. But once you’ve ingrained someone in your life, you tend to give them the benefit of the doubt on almost all things. When they’re heartbroken, it always seems like it’s the other person’s fault. When they get too drunk, it’s funny, not repulsive. I had a girlfriend once who was as rude to wait staff as I’ve ever seen anyone. And she was a waitress herself. I don’t know how I convinced myself it was OK but because I loved her, I managed to ignore the fact that she was a cunt. That’s what endearment is all about. Seeing the best in your flawed loved ones.

But when someone you don’t know acts abhorrently towards a waiter or waitress, you get angry and wonder if they act that way because they’re compensating for their white trash upbringing. When a stranger gets drunk and starts acting like a retard, it’s not funny or cute. It’s annoying. When some random person gets their heart broken, you tend to see the situation with an unbiased eye and you can pretty evenly tell (knowing all the facts) who was to blame.

So you usually see the good in your friends. Even when their behavior is not up to par. I have a friend named David Taylor who most everyone else describes as one of the biggest assholes in America. That may or may not be true (I haven’t met all the other leading assholes), but regardless, he’s my friend, and I usually negatively judge the person of the day who is accusing David of being what he almost certainly is. “They’re being weak.” “They started a fight they couldn’t finish.” “They’re misinterpreting his lack of facial expression and social skills.” My other theories on life dictate that if many, many, many people have the same independently derived observations, it is almost certainly true. But because we’re friends, my views on David have been positively clouded. If I didn’t know him, I would probably see what everyone is talking about. It’s kind of the same as when a mother tries to defend her murderer son. Nobody likes a murderer, but since the mother loves her child, she looks past a little killing. Now that I think about it, I could see a lot of people justifying the behavior of a murderer if David Taylor was the one killed. You really have no idea just how many people hate this guy. It’s kind of amazing. But my point is, even with all that, he’s still my buddy, and I still see the best in him. David is just one of the people I’ve invited into my life. Almost all of them are douche bags in some way or other, but I can barely ever see it because I have connected with them on an almost kindred level. They are friends.

The problem with trusting a friend, is that once they’ve betrayed that trust, you no longer see them with those rose colored glasses any more. Their negative behavior is judged for exactly what it is. Their neutral behavior is no longer viewed as a positive. And because you know them so well, it’s tough for them to only show a good side of themselves. You’ll know what they’re not showing you.

And it’s all because you of that one broken trust. That’s the moment that starts you judging them differently. It’s not the same as when you get angry. It’s deeper. When you get angry, you still love the person you’re angry with. When a trust is broken, you start questioning yourself as to why you invited them into your life in the first place, or why they’re still in your life. So you end up losing not only the thing with which you trusted them, but the actual friend as well.

It’s kind of like not leaving money in your car. Because if your car ever gets stolen, then you lose your money, too. It’s better to just lose one. It’s the same advice I used to give for people picking a college roommate. Don’t live with a buddy. You’re inevitably going to fight about roommate stuff no matter with whom you live, so you may as well just fight with a stranger and have your buddy live next door so you can talk to him about it.

My overall point or advice is, just don’t trust your friends. It’s not worth it. Most people aren’t very trustworthy to begin with. They lie to you. They lie to themselves. They justify and bargain and convince themselves of any number of details in order to help them look out for themselves rather than look out for you and your interests. You only have so much trust to give out, it’s better to place yours in the hands of a stranger. Trust people who, if they ever break it, won’t cost you a friendship.

I feel like writing one, but I can’t think of anything to write about. So please help me come up with a topic. Obviously anything I write about will be filthy and probably a bit cynical. There’s little I can do about that. But I’ll leave the rest up to you. And if anybody gives me a good idea, I’ll dedicate my blog to you. That’s worth exactly nothing.

That is all.

P.S. Pussy, fart, God doesn’t care about you, period blood.

I have a theory that insomnia doesn’t apply to me because I never have to wake up for anything. I sleep when I’m tired and I wake up when I’m done being tired. On Friday of last week, I woke up at 7:45 pm. Well, really I woke up at 7pm, but then I went back to sleep for another 45 minutes. I had slept for 11 hours. I guess that’s what I needed that “night.” And then when I finally did get up, I got up quick, because I had a set at the Improv at 8:20. So I nearly overslept the 12 minutes of work I actually had to do that day.

GOD I love being a stand up comedian!

In my feeble mind, here’s how I think most people’s days begin.

You wake up at 7:10 then hit snooze and sleep till 7:19. Get up; shave; shower; brush your teeth; take your Propecia for your male pattern baldness; take your Adapin, Nardil, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, and Ludiomil for your crippling depression; roll on your Old Spice High Endurance Red Zone Solid Anti-Perspirant Deodorant with the Mountain Rush scent; get dressed in your acceptable but unimpressive work outfit; get in the car which you purchased only after weeks were spent trying to figure out which make and model would most impress the girl you were interested in at the time based on your limited budget, but within 6 months you stopped even thinking about which type of car you drive and it blends into the earth tone fabric of your life, until you get hit by a drunk and have to get a different car to impress a different girl, this time with the inadequate insurance settlement, as your downpayment; then you drive to McDonalds for McGriddle, hashbrowns, and a medium coffee, which you consume in the car during the 40 minute commute while listening to whatever local morning DJ replaced Howard Stern in your life since he switched to pay radio; and pull in to the work parking lot at 8:53 am.

As you wait for the elevator, Tim Johnson or Jim Thompson (you can never remember) walks up holding his own coffee.

“(yawn) Good morning,” you say.

“(yawn) Good monring, Bill” he responds. He’s been calling you Bill for the last 6 months for some reason. Asshole can’t even bother learning your name.

“(yawn) Do anything fun last night?” you ask.

“(yawn) No. You?” he asks back doing that nervous laugh thing people do when there’s nothing funny to laugh at but they’re too uncomfortable not to fill their sentence with any emotion.

“(yawn) Just watched the game a little.” you answer.

“”(yawn) Yeah, I watched till the 6th inning then I had to get some shut-eye.” he says as he chuckles again.

“(yawn) 4th inning for me, and then…” You let the sentence trail off because the elevator has arrived, saving you from any more time spent connecting with this human.

You ride up together in silence. Tim/Jim and Not Bill. Both staring at the floors changing while thinking about exactly nothing until the doors open on 6 and you both step out.

“”(yawn) Have a good one” He beat you to it.

“(yawn) You too, buddy” you say as you walk in the opposite direction, making sure to hurry to your desk to actually start working before 9:00 so you can say you started on time when you get caught fucking off and talking to your “real” work friends at 10:15.

That’s pretty much what I think my life would be without stand up comedy. So you’ll excuse me if I don’t care that everyone calls me a degenerate for consistently waking up in the pm hours. It’s now 10:39 in the morning. I haven’t slept yet. I’m almost tired. I’m gonna watch episode 13 of season 2 of the Sopranos. I never watched an episode and now I’m gonna watch all 6 seasons in 2 months. Then i’ll probably sleep for a while. Then I have to wake up for a poker tournament at 6:30.

Anyway, so the point of all this was to say that just because I can’t fall asleep doesn’t mean I’m an insomniac.

HEY, HEY, YOU, YOU, I DON’T LIKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND! NO WAY, NO WAY, I THINK YOU NEED A NEW ONE! HEY, HEY, YOU, YOU, I COULD BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND! HEY, HEY, YOU, YOU, I KNOW THAT YOU LIKE ME! NO WAY, NOW WAY, YOU KNOW IT’S NOT A SECRET! HEY, HEY, YOU, YOU, I WANT TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!

I don’t care if I’m not supposed to like it. It’s fucking good. And it’s not the first time. I liked that Skater Boi song from 5 years ago.

And you know what else? Pink! is fucking sweet. That song from Charlie’s Angels where the video was everybody doing motocross was a good Goddamn song. And that slow one where that little girl was lip syncing was fucking rad too. Oh! also, the one about how everybody is trying to get her to be a dumb chick or something. That one was awesome. I even remember liking her first song when she still had pink hair and she was trying to pretend she was black.

Look, these songs were probably written by a group of ugly, middle aged Jews with no voices. It’s no different than most of the shit from the 60’s. Somebody with talent wrote a song, and then they gave it to a hot slut, and it became a hit. (Come to think of it, I know female comics with pretty similar stories. Except replace “hot” with “hot for a comic” and “slut” with “slut” and there you have it.)

So don’t beat yourself up for singing along with a really catchy anthem only to find out that it was written by a retard. Just sit back and enjoy the song. They didn’t steal their songs, their Jew managers bought them from a team of really talented Jew writers and Jew musicians (or Jewsicians). So support the surprisingly decent hits of Avril, Pink, and yes, even that first Paris Hilton song was pretty good if you didn’t know it was her. Admit it.

Here’s the deal. If you refuse to admit some of these songs aren’t bad, you’re worse than the Nazis.

If you have any stories about how Carlos Mencia stole a joke, please send them to me. Send me a message with the subject, “Carlos Stole” or something like that. Tel me the story, and tell me if you don’t want me to include your name and I’ll make sure you’re kept anonymous.

I want to compile a list of people and bits who were raided by the world’s number one joke pirate. Make your voice heard. Be as detailed as possible and I’ll edit it down to something usable.

But don’t send it from fake accounts because I usually don’t read those.

Let’s do it comics. He normally skates by hoping that anyone accusing him of thievery will not know other people’s material or enough of Mencia’s material in order to catch him. If we have a list, I doubt he’ll be able to claim parallel thinking or “I did that joke first” about all of that material.

Every once in a while you learn something about yourself.

I just heard what sounded like my downstairs neighbors having an escalating argument that began getting violent. When I was younger I always told myself that I’d do whatever it takes to stop a man who hits a woman. And here was a chance to prove it to my childhood self. But it also could have just been the TV that was turned up too loud at their apartment.

So I turned on my TV and started trying to look for an episode of Law and Order or something where a husband was beating his wife. I told myself that if I found the TV show then I wouldn’t have to call the cops, but I think I was really looking for the TV show because it seemed like a pretty good program for 3:00 in the afternoon. And even if I couldn’t find anything, I probably still wouldn’t call the cops because, to be honest with myself, I generally just don’t get involved. But I would turn my TV off and start listening to the fight because I’m a voyeur, and a full on wife beating is pretty interesting fodder for eavesdropping.

So I guess what I learned is that there is yet another thing from my childhood that I don’t believe in any more.

Look for other blogs about the time I stopped keeping kosher, when I gave up on quitting masturbation, and about driving drunk.

If I ever met myself as a child, he’d be very disappointed, but he’d also be happy that I’m getting laid, and he’d be hurt because I’m going to smack him.

I know I don’t like them. But why? There are a few that are ok, but the really overly Italian ones make me want to stab someone with a cannoli.

What is it about a Brooklyn style man that gets me so worked up? Oh yeah, they’re repugnant. I’m not talking about all Italians. I’m only talking about the ones who take waaaay to much pride in their Italian heritage, which is something they were born into and have done nothing to achieve. Not that you’d want to achieve such a horrible accent and lack of culture. They’re the reason the rest of the world hates America and the the rest of America hates New York.

If the terrorists really wanted to do some damage, they would just airdrop 10,000 guineas into Times Square and wait for the city to bury itself under a mountain of exposed chest hair, sausige, clearly false claims of mafia connections, and 98 dollar suits from Men’s Warehouse.

If anyone can help me understand a little better why I hate them so much, I’d love to hear it.

If you’re ever in Palm Beach, Florida, do yourself a favor and make a stop at Cheetah. It’s by far the worst strip club I’ve ever patronized.

Forget about the fact that it’s tiny and cramped because of all the beer gutted rednecks there who are trying to fill void in their sex lives instead of filling in the voids in their teeth. Instead focus on the strippers, the majority of whom are so overweight as to seem six months pregnant or more. Let me emphasize this again. I’m not saying “There were a lot of fat strippers.” No. The majority of them were bigger than most of my guy friends.

Plus there were 2 winners (that I saw) who were over 45. Either that, or they were in their mid thirties, but time had ravaged their once mediocre faces.

Where does all your stripper money go? Clearly not towards fake boobs, braces or liposuction. I’m thinking a lot might go towards crank and and crank related paraphernalia.

These people need a good Jewish business manager.

Then even more horrific was a girl (who looked like she was a sophomore in high school) giving a guy a hand job in the middle of the showroom. I watched that for a good 20 minutes through a mirror so the guy didn’t catch me looking. When he was done he thanked her and pulled a cigar out from a ziplock bag and walked away. There wasn’t even any money exchanged. When I talked to her later (I have a void in my life that can only be filled by talking to the dregs of society) I found out that it was her first day and nobody had briefed her on what you’re supposed to do. She said she was 18 and graduated high school a month prior. I almost asked her if college was in the works for her, but I decided that might be in poor taste.