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1 Day, 5 Jokes Daily Recap: Wednesday, October 23, 2013 by Laura Mannino

Too busy getting fancy baptized to keep up with today’s news? Fear not, here was today:

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A White House national security staffer was fired today for writing inappropriate tweets under the anonymous handle @natsecwonk. It took 22 months for the Obama Administration to figure out the identity of the tweeter so I’m sure the health insurance website will get fixed real fast just in time for your cancer to start becoming a “problem.”

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A 33-year-old man spent over $100,000 over the course of five years on plastic surgery to look like Justin Bieber.  He will now spend his “Jesus Year” hearing “Jesus! You did what?”

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Apple announced the new iPad Air yesterday.  It’s 25% thinner than the previous iPad so you can look 25% less an asshole when taking photos with it.

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Kanye West and Kim Kardashian became engaged on Monday.  Kanye rented out AT&T Park  where the San Francisco Giants to propose to Kim. He wanted to propose in a place that was just as empty as the sentiment.

Today’s “Who Wore It Best?” Showdown!

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Letter to the Old Black Man Riding a Horse Down Hollywood Boulevard

First of all, BALLER.

Second of all, let me introduce myself.  I’m Rebecca Leib.  I’m a writer.  You may know me from such publications as Art Ltd., Beautiful/Decay and-

wait.

You’re riding a horse. 

Fuck it. 

The first thing I noticed about you was your sheer height.  You see, not many people ride horses around these parts.  I’m pretty sure you are cognizant of that, unless you are insane.  So, who knows?  It would not be the first time I openly admired a person who is categorically insane, but it would be the first time that I did so and said person was in command of a 2,000 pound animal. So, kudos to you!

By your dreadlocks and your homeless-yet-equestrian-appropriate garb, you seem like the kind of guy who likes to be comfortable, but also take risks. 

I admire that. 

There is a thin line between looking like a Rastafarian crossing guard mountee and a Goodwill discard pile, and I’d say you were skirting that line but for your impeccably-kept saddle.  Where did you get such a nice, English-style saddle?  Saddles will run you a couple thousand dollars, and judging by the thickness of your facial hair and your minimum attention to dental hygiene, I would say that you perhaps could not afford such a grandiose expenditure.

…Did you kill a man and take his saddle?

I’m sorry if I sound assumptive.  I don’t mean to judge your life, your lifestyle, or how you wish to be perceived by the wide array of sex shop workers and patrons on this street. 

I surely don’t mean to call you insane, unless you are that. So…are you insane?  Are you a prophet from some book in the New Testament that I wouldn’t have recognized because I’m a dirty, dirty Atheistic Jew? 

I mean, I assume you are religious, from the backpack you’re wearing and the gigantic cross dangling out of it.  

But again- maybe I’m just being assumptive.  I don’t mean to be.  In a world where fucking apeshit crazy people on horseback and super, hypersexy comediennes in flannel could be friends, by god, WE WOULD BE.  But for now,  you have inspired me.  I leave you with some famous poetry modified to fit in with my life from one of my favorite hobbies, modifying famous poetry to fit in with my life.

This one’s Robert Frost.  You may know of him, or perhaps you are carrying around something of his in your dirty backpack?

"Stopping by Hollywood on a Smoggy Evening." By Robert Frost BUT ALSO AND REBECCA LEIB

Whose limo dispatch buildings these are I think I know.   
His house is in Franklin Village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his limo dispatch buildings fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the Loteria and Trader Joe’s  
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and Trannies Trannies Trannies.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I P90X,   
And miles to go before I P90X.
You’re Welcome.
Rebecca

Tuesday Meditations: Martin Luther Day

Hey Senors and Senoritas,

Just back from a fucking awesome weekend, and naturally I’m a little bummed to get back to work.  THANKFULLY-One of my favorite holidays was yesterday, Martin Luther Day! 

Look- his name was painted into the piece! Ingenious!

It was super exciting because  I could reflect upon the fast and impacting changes Martin Luther made on our society, culture and religious views.  He was such an important man to so many people-  protesting injustices with rousing oratori and volumes of writing on civil  and religious inequality. 

I don’t watch a lot of television on Martin Luther day. I get out my copy of the 95 Theses and write a letter to Johan Tetzel, or some years I vary my shit and write a letter directly to Pope Leo X or Charles V! 

I would share these letters, but my thoughts on this shit are extremely personal. 

After a light lunch of chowder,  I’ll switch it up and read some Erasmus, but then I usually get a little worked up and have to nap.  After napping,  I’ll translate books n’ bits of the old testament to keep up on my verses (I prefer Numbers!).

Sometimes I sneak a peek at the television, and it’s good to know that the world seems to appreciate the impact on social justice that Luther had on history. 

Hell- we get a day off for this shit!

I concluded my day with looking at printing presses on craigslist, saying some nasty shit about the Jews and singing twilight hymnals while I slowly simulate apoplectic stroke. 

LOOK:

I know some of you may not celebrate Martin Luther day like I do, but I got pretty burned simulating the sensations of heat and cauterization that come with a properly apoplectic stroke.  So, I ask this of you:  please don’t judge me by the color of my skin, but by the content of my character, ok?

You’re Welcome.

Rebecca

Tuesday Meditations: Resolutions Can Suck A Dick

Hey assholes-

Hope you had a swell new years!  I was pretty fucked up, but I distinctly remember bandaging a bloody wound and a sweaty ex getting in the way of my game.  Or was I bandaging a sweaty ex and a bloody wound was getting in the way of my game? Fucked if I know. I love drugs! 


But, gentle readers, that’s neither here nor there. I know you know I know that you know people who always make a lame-ass list of shit they’re going to change for the new year, and then the never fucking do it.  You know, they want to loose 15 lbs or find love or take better care of themselves. 

Well, I want to stay EXACTLY THE SAME. 

And, I want to do it HARDER. 

Here’s a list of Leib’s patented* Non-Resolutions, or shit I ain’t gonna change for fucking nobody, myself included:

*patent pending

1.  My ears.  They ain’t pierced.  And know what? I have enough of your grandma’s clip-ons off of Ebay to last me a lifetime.  The next time you see me in a line at Claire’s will be to get a tiara for your kids’ BABY PARTY, and I’ll be laughing all the way to the register.

2. Dating assholes.  You know what? Dating assholes who manipulate me is one of the THINGS I FUCKING DO BEST.  If I didn’t date assholes, I wouldn’t be setting an example for the likes of young, smart, funny teenagers everywhere, who eagerly hope for a partner who treats them right, listens to their opinions and respects their minds, bodies and souls. 

3.Lying.  FUCK YOU!  Of COURSE I’M DONE DATING ASSHOLES!  I have SHITLOADS of self-worth, and any dude who doesn’t want to date this Coors-lite filled, Rite-Aid loving Piece of Awesome can suck on A FAT RESOLUTION.

4. Drinking lots and lots and lots of Coors Lites. Why quit the one thing I love?

5.  Smoking tons and tons of weed. Why quit that other one thing I love?

So, that’s kind of it.  Oh, yeah, except for this gallery of leather newsboy hats:

You’re welcome,

Rebecca

Tuesday Meditations: The Power of LATER

Hey f*ckfaces,  sorry this posting is late.  You see,  I’ve been doing sh*t like arranging interviews with THIS GUY:

http://www.davidwygant.com/

But probably more f*cking notably, MY FUTURE EX BOYFRIEND:

In between doing important sh*t, my new-agey Aunt  told to read this book, entitled THE POWER OF NOW.

I was skeptical at first. Next, I was disgusted. Then, intrigued. Then, back to skeptical.

The Power of Now is a book of advice in living in the moment, and uses lots of vague words witch-doctor words like “energy,” “confluence” and “healthy relationships.”

Then, I thought:  I have some advice to share that won’t cost you 12.95 on a Borders clearance rack.  YEP- THESE NUGGETS OF WISDOM ARE HOT OFF THE PRESSES, AND ABSOLUTELY FREE*

*for now. 


Here’s shit I’ve learned in the past, say, 2 weeks.  Just off the TOP OF MY GODD*MNED HEAD!:

-If your local Rite Aid is out of Coors Lights, go Tecate Light.  Same cheapness and same Rite Aid Discount

-If someone tells you more than 2 times that they’re a “nice guy,” they’re probably a complete asshole. Double Rite Aid points if they use “really nice guy.”

-If a nice guy at Rite Aid tells you to buy the expensive loofah, do it.  Your back won’t wash itself and it’s worth the investment.

 -Rite Aid guys don’t make a lot of money, so if one has a perpetual fountain in their bedroom, something is up

-Tecate Light cans don’t crush well on perpetual fountains

-Run

JESUS CHRIST, I COULD DO THIS FOR A LIVING. In fact, I just might.  Now, I have to go to some crazy important sh*t, I love you all. 

You’re Welcome,

Rebecca

Next week:  How I stopped an “OCCUPY WILTON” protest in my own ½ bathroom. 


THE WORLD IS A F*CKING TERRIBLE PLACE. Also, does anybody know how to work this iPad?

http://saysomethingfunnybitch.tumblr.com/rebeccaleib

Tuesday Meditations: Welcome to the Clan, Drink Ninjas

Hey motherfuckers-  I bet you’re pretty flummoxed that my column is on a Monday and not a Tuesday, as promised by my actions as well as the title of this column.  I bet y’all are quizzically murmuring to yourselves in your dark, cavernous, tastefully decorated rooms wondering, “Is she crazy?” 

Short answer: Yes. 

The long answer: Also yes. 

You see, I’m reporting from Wisconsin (as  often I do) and by the grace of god (and drunk) go I.  Why have I been perpetually wasted for the past 48 hours?  Well,  an old fisherman once told me, when Leibs get hitched, shit goes down.  And that fucking fisherman is CORRECT.  My cousin got married this weekend, so NATURALLY a lot of drunk, Jewwy angst was let loose on the sleepy, God-fearing town of Carmel, Indiana, where my cousin’s bride is from.

Carmel, Indiana Not Actually Pictured Here

Day 1

I get in on a red eye to Wisconsin around 8 am, grab two bloody marys at the airport (2 fucking fifty? It would be a crime if I DIDN’T) and get picked up by my parents.  I’m wedged between my uncle and my unshowered brother so naturally I have to drink a little bit more from my tin flask I smuggled through in my carry-on.  We drive through the beautiful, flat fall countryside and I keep my buzz going by smoking some weed behind the Panda Express at the O’Hare Oasis during a pit stop.  When we get to the hotel, I grab a drink at the hotel bar,  take a five minute refresh nap, kiss my grandmother on the forehead and get back to drinking at the rehearsal dinner, where we let the slow shitface boil.  My brothers and cousins are in full fucking force,  drinking through the meal,  closing the open bar and setting the Renaissance Inn’s countertop on fire.  The bartender is WEEPING.  Fifteen of us get kicked out of the hotel bar after shattering a Dale Chiluly Glass sculpture and go outside to break into a Cheer Squad Bus.

We steal 13 bag lunches from the bus and pass out in our respective hotel rooms, covered in Cheez-it dust. 

Day 2

Wake up and work out after a breakfast of 2 jagerbombs and a Diet Sprite.  My parents are shopping or some shit.  After lots of dirty looks from the night before,  we gather together and go- to a local bar by the Steak N’ Shake to take the edge off with Whiskey Sours and about 15 jugs of flirtini (champagne, vodka, schnapps, seven up).  After they run out of Flirtini mix and after one of my cousins fills an ashtray with her own vomit,  we leave for pictures. 

Then, the wedding.

After the wedding we huff some glue we found in an adjacent skatepark and get some sweet apps.  I’m not super hungry because I’ve done a couple of lines with the bride of another wedding staying at the Renaissance, but I can’t say no to mac n’ cheese on bread.  Everbody’s all up ON MY NUTS about why I’m 28 and when’s my wedding date,  and I understand this question because I’m awesome,  but I let everyone know  in the form of a heartfelt,  BOMB-ASS TOAST that I mean business and that  THAT IT WILL TAKE A VERY SPECIAL MAN WHO CAN HARNESS THIS POWERFUL, SEXUAL ENERGY. Still, the 21 year old bartender will do for tonight,  and after 30 jack and cokes the dance floor becomes MAKEOUT CITY, population WEEPING BARTENDER. 

I can’t do the makeoutz for long because my grandmother needs to use the restroom, so I escort her there and on our way back we run into a herd of deer who implore us to take more jagerbombs.  Of course, I never do Jagers without my bros, so THE LEIBS start drinking these FUCKING BEASTS RIGHT BACK INTO THEIR MOIST, LEAVY HOLES.  And we don’t stop there- after making sure every Indiana woodland creature SHOWS SOME GODDAMNED RESPECT,  the least drunk of us decide to take a small hanger jet BACK TO THE STEAK N’ SHAKE.  Naturally, I feel uncomfortable driving under the influence but my second cousin takes the wheel and though she’s an unsteady flier she gets us up but then we CRASH INTO THE WEDDING RECEPTION HALL.  Good thing for us,  we don’t ruin the wedding because though the shitty Indiana reception hall gets decimated, everyone is okay and we find 3 million dollars worth of  UNTOUCHED GOLD buried beneath. 

In short, welcome to our family, Libby. 


I’m exhausted. I need a drink.

You’re Welcome,

Rebecca

Beezy’s Bagina Bonologue: ‘Random B*tchy Thoughts to get you through Friday’ by Bekah Tripp

*Hey Lady at Ross with a kid in her cart that’s screaming for 5 minutes straight, I would love nothing more than for your offspring to shut their mouth so I can consider which $7.99 ill fitting shirt to purchase.  Since you seem to be oblivious to the high pitch sound which is emanating from your spawn’s pie hole, I will help you out.  I will count to 30…if the yelling hasn’t stopped…I will walk over to your kid….and smack it in the face.  I will not do this to harm the child, I will do this to educate.  I shall take no pleasure in it.  I will also follow that smack, with a smack to your face.  That I will take pleasure in.

(FOLLOW UP.  THE SCREAMING STOPPED AND I WAS NOT FORCED TO EXACT MY WILL, WHICH ULTIMATELY, WOULD HAVE LED TO MY ARREST)

*Hey cat named Boo, I know I just wrote about you last week and so you felt it necessary to pull some stunt that would get you noticed again this week….all I can say is, well played kitty…cause it worked.  Kitten, we need to have a chat about the times that you think it’s appropriate to spew nasty hairballs from your tummy onto the floor.  4:30 am, next to my head…..NOT THE PLACE.  Not only was it the nastiest hacking sound I’ve ever heard but it was also….disgusting, filthy and wrong on at least 10 levels.  I feel bad that you felt bad but I feel worse for me.  This is one of those times when cats suck the big one.  Please stop cleaning yourself in an attempt to prevent this situation from happening again.

*Hey Justin Bieber….I could give a sh*t whether you cut your hair or get a tattoo of Usher on your *ss.  Be quiet.  You look like Ellen Degeneres now, by the by.

*Hey crazy, emotionally unstable kid at the Tiki Bar I’m at…..maybe don’t drink so much.  You have become a burden to everyone around you.  No one will ever go out to drink with you again.  You are now ‘that guy’.    You are crying (yea…he cried and no…I didn’t care) and asking people to cover your tab cause you have no cash….you’re a lobotomy away from Charlie Sheen.  LOCK IT UP!

*Hey Weather….what the f*ck??????

*Hey Readers….prepare yourself…this isn’t a bitchy thought….I dig you.  Thanks for reading every week.   

 

'Tuesday Meditations: NEVER SAY NEVER' by Rebecca Leib

So I was out and f*cking about at the Justin Bieber Movie, Never Say Never tonight.  Yeah, I saw it.  Why? Because I’m f*cking open-minded, especially when I’m not driving.  Okay, I’m not open-minded. But I like the internet! BUT IT WAS GOOD.  I would have sex with him, and that wouldn’t be a f*cking stretch because,  f*ck, I’m still in my 20s.   Right? That’s like a ten-year or probably less than ten year age difference, but I prefer not to date myself.  Let’s just say I’m totally f*ckable, in a timeless way.   

Look, I know I’ve hated on Bieber in the past, but look at those moves!  He was like a tiny lesbian Usher. Was that joke made before? I hope not because I’m about to tweet it. And once you tweet, you can’t delete the tweet because believe me, I’ve tried, it doesn’t work.   

Know what’s weird? Nobody ever said Never to him.  I THINK THAT’S IRONIC.  Shit, he was drumming and making Youtube movies in eutero.   THAT KID IS TALENTED.  I mean it.  The 13 year old girls and twinks next to me MEANT IT.  Know what else is weird? Half a bottle of wine goes down fast in a theatre. Also, the arclight made me buy two boxes of milk duds and finish them before the credits.  Now, how is that fair?  

Man, that Justin Bieber loves his segway.  Yeah, he rides a segway. Also, he’s a f*cking REGULAR PRANKSTER.  He PLAYS PRANKS, on the 30’something CREW MEMBERS FOR HIS TOUR!  Like waking them up when they are napping and pumping hand soap on them? That must make them feel like a million bucks!  But HEY, WHO CAN SAY NO TO A JOB AND FREE COLD CUTS?  

ADD!   

Also, Bieber loves his oddly attractive mom.  And, Jesus. Also,  the disturbing part of the film was when he brought one creaming-her-pants, conventionally attractive 12 year old onstage, caressed her cheek, and gave her a dozen roses before pushing her offstage into the murderous, prepubescent hungry masses.  Who wouldn’t want to see this movie? It’s SO F*CKING GOOD.  It’s in 3D!   

ADD 3D!  

Justin Bieber’s hand almost touched me. It was the 3d, plus the 3 Coors lights I brought with me to the theatre. And no, I’m not sharing.  

Okay, these are just the highlights.  I’ll let you see it for yourself. I hope you like the color purple, and the mood, inspiring.  

On to other news:  

My roommate, Sarah feels bad when I leave my contact cases out, but really she shouldn’t.  Know why?  Because all sorts of gross shit gets on my hands, and into my eyes. Like one time, I put my brother’s contacts into my eyes because our contact cases were fucking right next to each other. Doubly misleading is his contact case was purple, and mine was white. I thought mine was the more feminine color, purple.  But, it was my brother’s. And f*cking mashed my brothers’ gross contact lenses into my eyes. So, that’s that.   

But she also really shouldn’t worry, because I’ve put f*cking nastiness into my eye sockets.  Like, when you’re done giving some dude a handjob and your hand’s super gross and you take your contacts out to go to bed,  but really you’re just putting semen hands all over your contacts. And you’re gumming up your contacts the next day with HUMAN SEMEN. 
 

Anyhow, the lesson is never say never.  Because shit can happen, like international stardom or semen eyeballs.   
 

You’re welcome, 

Rebecca

Rebecca Leib can be seen this week in:

hosting and improvising at Mustaches & Mai Tais,  Thursday March 3rd from 9-11 pm at The Palace Restaurant
http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=115033811904644&index=1

improvising with Classy, at 8:30 Friday, March 4th at 8:30 pm in the DCT
http://west.ioimprov.com/io/teams/52

and improvising again with Classy, at 10 pm in the Second City Thunderdome! 
http://www.secondcity.com/performances/detail/342/

'Tuesday Meditations*: Justin Bieber' by Rebecca Leib

Just a Reminder:  Justin Bieber is a piece of shit.   
 

Hey everyone, I’ve been out of town and I’m a little jet lagged, so let me remind you why Justin Bieber is a piece of shit: 

  1. He’s Canadian
  2. His lesbian helmet hair
  3. He is what people (if teenagers and tweens can be called people) find “attractive,” “sexy,” and “wanted.”
  4. He mimics rappers.

 
 
 
 

Oh yeah, and his music is Drano to my ears.  I hope he retires from whatever he does that can only loosely be called music to be a rice farmer, or maybe a human rolling pin.  
 

You’re Welcome. 

Rebecca

* Due purely to the fault of the editor at large- Tuesday Meditations is on Wednesday this week.  It was not Ms. Leib’s fault.  She is a responsible, charismatic, work horse. 

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