The last couple weeks I've been watching old premieres of Saturday Night Live. Thankfully they replay such things on various channels which is why I occasionally get moderately caught up with this supposed icon of pop culture.
The host for the evening was Dane Cook. Yippee. I’m actually a pretty big fan. His dry, deadpan humor combined with his masterful grasp of physical comedy is reminiscent of the great John Ritter. The thing is, for the first five minutes of his super lengthy opening monologue, all I could think was a) he is much funnier than this, he's off his game today, and b) did no one tell him his shirt’s too tight? Because he wasn’t really that funny and his hips kept moving in strange quasi-flamboyant movements. Plus, and I know I’ve mentioned this already, his shirt was too tight. As in so tight I could tell he’d laid off the crunches the past few weeks and maybe it was time to go up a waist size in jeans. Which sucks for him because he’s not a chubby man. He’s not even a super flabby man. But when your shirt is 87% spandex with a little cotton thrown in to dull down the sheen, you have to be very secure in the fact that you’ve spent a lot of time in the gym or you’ve got a personal assistant who doubles as your emergency liposuctionist.
I was getting ready to change the channel because MY GOD this was the longest opening monologue I have ever seen on SNL and I could be doing important things like lint rolling my ironing board. I hadn’t managed to crack a smile through the opening act of politically correct holiday celebrations and my Cook chap was certainly not tickling my fancy or my funny bone. But then he started his next bit and I stopped my finger from pressing the channel change because, well, I wanted to see where he would take this.
The host for the evening was Dane Cook. Yippee. I’m actually a pretty big fan. His dry, deadpan humor combined with his masterful grasp of physical comedy is reminiscent of the great John Ritter. The thing is, for the first five minutes of his super lengthy opening monologue, all I could think was a) he is much funnier than this, he's off his game today, and b) did no one tell him his shirt’s too tight? Because he wasn’t really that funny and his hips kept moving in strange quasi-flamboyant movements. Plus, and I know I’ve mentioned this already, his shirt was too tight. As in so tight I could tell he’d laid off the crunches the past few weeks and maybe it was time to go up a waist size in jeans. Which sucks for him because he’s not a chubby man. He’s not even a super flabby man. But when your shirt is 87% spandex with a little cotton thrown in to dull down the sheen, you have to be very secure in the fact that you’ve spent a lot of time in the gym or you’ve got a personal assistant who doubles as your emergency liposuctionist.
I was getting ready to change the channel because MY GOD this was the longest opening monologue I have ever seen on SNL and I could be doing important things like lint rolling my ironing board. I hadn’t managed to crack a smile through the opening act of politically correct holiday celebrations and my Cook chap was certainly not tickling my fancy or my funny bone. But then he started his next bit and I stopped my finger from pressing the channel change because, well, I wanted to see where he would take this.
He launched into a bit about erections and I mentally rolled my eyes because I totally expected him to go with the beaten-to-death (no pun intended) joke surrounding those pills that help men get their thingee up and the ensuing joke about “if you have an erection lasting four or more hours...” Funny the first time and, if I’m really honest, funny the five-hundreth time, but still not funny for a renowned comedian to add in their act.
But he took it in a totally different direction, not mentioning the thingee-lifting hydraulic pills but instead talking about a really dandy stiffy he’d had one day while making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Don’t ask me what I found so funny about a PB&J stiffy but it kind of made me snort a little. Noticing a can of cashews he pops the top and places a delicately curved and salted nut right on the tip, pulls back his member and flings the unsuspecting cashew towards his head where he catches the nut between his pearly whites. At this point I’m actually laughing out loud because This Man Be Crazy.
Cut to commercial and my laughter dies down. I think this situation through. And then it fully dawns on me that Dane Cook has admitted on national television that he ATE A CASHEW FLUNG FROM THE TIP OF HIS PENIS. I’m still finding the situation amusing but am now very concerned about his personal hygiene. This also gives the term "salted nuts" a whole new meaning to me.
It's difficult to avoid the visual, huh?
6 comments:
Man. I wonder how much he practiced that? AND how much he was distracted during practice and forgot he was practicing and just was like...
hey...I got a minute...
:)
And yep, I just pictured it! :)
Hiya, I just found your blog through Caratunk girl and I believe I'm going to spend the day sneak reading all your posts at work. Love it!
I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be thinking about that for the REST OF THE DAY! You had me laughing! Makes me want to go wash his hands..and man parts! HAHAHA!
And that is precisely why I love Dane Cook. A man who is not afraid to eat a cashew off his penis and tell the world about it is the definition of courage. Hilarious!
The other thing that is hysterical about this is what exactly it was about that peanut butter sandwich that made him sport the Woodrow... I mean, was he thinking, "I would love to pretend to be Iggy Pop and smear this all over my body?" It just goes to show you—as if you did not already know—that men can sport an erection at just about any inopportune moment.
You women have it SO easy. Ha!
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