I have been planning for quite some time to write an explosive final entry to put a cap on this blog once and for all. This is it. Don’t worry, my witticisms and musings will continue to appear on your screen, through my comments on Lara, Rhett and Nisse’s blog, and Josh’s if he ever writes. I also vaguely maintain a blog with my friend where we review movies, and movie-like dreams we have. Furthermore, I was going to use this final entry to trumpet my new blog, which is registered, in which I was going to review music from my particular vantage point: as an obsessive lyrics-listener with a meager ability to appreciate actual music, in a world of perfectly smart people who could care less whether they are listening to something clever or pointlessly selected words exclaimed at varying pitches in order to create a musical experience. I feel dumb posting a blank blog which I may never get around to, so just keep your eyes out, okay?

Anyway, it was time to finish this blog. Rhett stopped writing regularly, and my blog persona’s disgust with Nisse’s blog persona overtaken Nisse’s own blog persona in terms of pointless repetition. So I had been crafting in my head a final entry. And then, I had been crafting it on Word. The Word document containing most of what follows has been open on my computer for three days. As my blog became less pithy and inspired, a 50 word limit became a 100 word limit, disregarded about as quickly as Rhett’s promise to post daily. This entry is 1,731 words long.

I was waiting for a particularly clever connection between a Rhett entry and a Nisse entry to serve as a springboard for a heart-felt goodbye to this mockery and my Bad Comedy experience in general. Plus, I am way too busy wallowing in a pool of self-pity and denial about my continuing inability to find the sort of respectable 9-5 job which Rhett and Nisse exist to piss on and delegitimize. I thought my blog persona was pretty revolutionary: an incendiary, funny comedian, looking down on “artist” types from his world of regular old Macalester aspirations. Now that I’m failing so bad at realizing the aspirations piece, the whole thing is sort of unraveling.

So I was waiting for an entry. It could have been Rhett’s Transformers entry. I loved that movie, for the same reasons as Nisse. Whatever. It might have been Nisse’s archetypes entry, but I didn’t even know where to start on that motherfucker. Why does he think that his bizarre attitudes and affected crudeness will make a good experiment in drama education? They will not. I had theater teachers who put us in amorphous scenes based on their unfocused fantasies, and we were just confused. What do you take us kids for anyway? We just want to be in High School Musical.

But then, Rhett proclaimed my blog dead. I have been preempted and I can feel the cold dagger of obsolescence thrust between my digital ribs. I can finally, 10 hours later, commiserate with those facebook update fiends who thought for too long about their Michael Jackson tribute comment as the less thoughtful or quicker witted crashed my newsfeed in a stampede of irony and honest shock.

Touche. You each have defeated me in your own special way. Nisse’s last entry was finally something fresh, an old attitude about some as-of-yet undiscussed activities that he’s up to. I liked it. But it still found a way to mention suicide (the most gratingly stupid and inappropriate part of his blog) in an aside as pointless as a group of sexy teen hackers with a world-saving audio file which will never really matter.

We are all Transformers. Every day our bodies are fleshy robots, slowly contorting themselves from our first form to our final. I had a very touching, if creepy, dream last night about having a first child who was named “Alfonso” against my will, but then seeing him fourteen years later, with his siblings, in sepia tone and with braces. Babies are more than meets the eye. They are teenagers, and ultimately the elderly, in disguise. Much like Transformers, not one of our lives have ever contained a coherent blockbuster plot, and Rhett and Nisse are warriors in a crusade to prove this to us, even as their incessantly typing fingers shift imperceptibly from one form to another. Perhaps they will one day be old people. Or maybe they’ll turn into fleshy approximations of cars who speak in snippits of radio chatter, or in canned ghetto jive. Would that really be so surprising?

In honor of our Transformers-esque lives, lacking in scripted continuity, here are a random assortment of things which are true:

–         When I first read Rhett’s short script entitled “By The Way, This Is Set In Suburban Connecticut,” I believed that it was the smartest comedy I had ever encountered.

–         I don’t, as it turns out, encounter much comedy.

–         I don’t, as it turns out, encounter much comedy. I don’t go see comedians or rent movies in the comedy genre, and I’ve seen roughly three episodes of each of the following shows: Curb Your Enthusiasm, 30 Rock, The Office, Arrested Development. I’ve seen roughly one episode of Seinfeld.

–         I don’t, as it has been stated twice before, encounter much comedy. My involvement in Bad Comedy was something of a fluke, the work/fault of Will Howell. When I watch Curb Your Enthusiasm, I laugh out loud at the awkwardness out of a strange sense of joyless duty since I forced my friends to laugh at such awkwardness and worse for four years.

Okay, and here are some more. This is like the part when Megan Fox with her half-exposed torso opens the trunk of the voyeur-car in slow motion:

–         Bad Comedy was the only outlet for my creative energies during college. Except the time that I wrote a short screenplay about zombies. (I really, really like to talk about that, by the way, if you have any interest). I wrote in this blog for a little while in a desperate attempt to replace that part of my life.

–         It turns out making fun of two people on a daily basis isn’t creatively fulfilling.

–         I don’t really know Rhett and Nisse that well, but I look up to both of them in different ways and my blog was in part an attempt to fool others (primarily members of Bad Comedy) that I had known them better.

–         I bet some of Rhett and Nisse’s friends were fooled. I was sort of fooled. I bet Hannah Wydeven wasn’t fooled. Does she read these things?

This next part is either like the voiceover at the end of the first Transformers, or else it’s just something that Rhett did in his blog once and I liked. Here are my predictions for 10 years:

–         10 years from now, Rhett will have found a way to make everyone read his work before they see it. Obviously, he will not actually make everyone read his work before they see it. But he will find a way to write something, and I’m not even sure if it will be comedy, which people will truly feel “in on” without having to read twice with stage directions in text. This will be a great moment for the following reasons:

  • Because I thought that Rhett’s short script entitled “By The Way, This Is Set In Suburban Connecticut” was the smartest comedy I had ever encountered,
  • Because the audience was dead silent throughout its performance,
  • And because I never found Rhett’s work that funny once he was in a different comedy troupe.

–         When Rhett discovers this new method:

  • Humans around the world will weep thankful tears of blood as they watch his play/movie/television show in rapt lovehunger.
  • There will be no need for anyone to lean in close to him at a cast party, drunk, and tell him that they think he is a genius.

–         In the next 10 years, Nisse will become uncomfortably comfortable with himself. Or perhaps, he will become more comfortably uncomfortable with himself. At any rate, he will take a cue from every interview ever with the Larry Davids of the world (like the one I just read in the Boston Globe), in which journalists are endlessly amused to report that Larry David is just a normal, relaxed guy and he isn’t actually that funny. Nisse will become less vigilant about his well-crafted convictions and neuroses. He will lay down his self-character, whether it’s called H2$ or “Tim” in Autobio. He will get boring. He will get married. He will then have the more measured brilliance of a career comedian, if he so chooses. Or else a series of disturbing and highly scripted murders will cause him to return to the practice of mathematics for the good of humanity.

–         Kanye’s dapper aesthetic will, as Rhett has predicted, dominate rap. T-Pain, however, will not enjoy Rhett’s projected late-career success. Sadly, he’ll just burn out and disappear. He can’t last, right? I mean, as soon as Rhett began waxing comedic about T-Pain, T-Pain did it better. He was On a Boat. He did this. And most importantly, this. Now they’re all pretty funny, but what’s left of “T-Pain” when he’s done? The ultimately self-dissected artist? A one-joke pony whose joke and whose self are indistinguishable?

–         Late 90’s retro will definitely be in. Guys will try to bulk up, shave their heads and get tattoos on the backs of their necks. They will wear voluminous camo shorts and rasp loudly into microphones with absurd, masculine self-confidence. Nisse will no longer have to pretend to fret about whether a more sensitive male archetype is still a tool of gender oppression in order to increase his chances with smart, liberal girls.

–         Bad Comedy will have long since performed its last comedy show, and shall have transitioned into a chartered organization for blogging and commenting on one another’s blogs.

Predictions for fifteen years later:

–         A few graduates previously in Bad Comedy, the reasonably well-liked campus blogging org, will decide to stage a comedic performance. Soon, a few members still attending Mac will do likewise. Others in the troupe will scoff at them, or not see the performances at all. The “performers” will continue undaunted. Then, some day, the entire troupe will catch on, subsequent org charters will slowly come to represent a dramatic turn towards sketch comedy in favor of blogging.

–         The organization will still exist primarily to provide an opportunity for people like me to get drunk, lean in close and proclaim people like Rhett to be geniuses. In turn, younger drunks will reciprocate this action to people like me.

–         These future-folk, with their hand-held blogging machines, with their retro-90’s wallet chains and frosted tips, future-folk with no recollection of an artist named T-Pain, will share with me a common feeling – that this first-year’s inebriated proclamation of my greatness was one of the sweetest, most affirming moments of my life.

Sparks fly!!

June 11, 2009

Wowee! What a blog rivalry!

First, Nisse blames Rhett’s general greater-Boston-y homeland for getting him lost.

In retaliation, Rhett insults Nisse’s old stats mentor, who was an advisor for Numb3rs.

Then they both decide to gang up against a favorite target, women.

Nisse on women: “They can’t drive.”

Rhett on women: Their successfully selling drugs is “improbable.”

Ben on women: “I can’t drive either.”

Lies.

June 6, 2009

Nisse lies when he tries to suggest that eliciting pity is not a factor in his crude behavioral concoction which calculatedly gets him what he wants with surprising regularity.

Rhett lies to us about how often he’s going to post and then makes up for it by posting on the weekends, making his blog sub-heading a lie once again.

I can’t update this thing every day a) because I stopped caring and b) because Rhett doesn’t. On that topic, he asks us to note the change in his blog’s subheading. This inspired me to alter my “about” section with some carefully placed strikethroughs, mostly because I don’t know how to change my blog’s subheading.

Nisse’s blog entry is titled “fanfare.” Is that because of a recent comedy show called “a fanfare of delights?” If so, I plan to sue him for plagiary. If not, here’s a story: I was recently told that I spoke very clearly in my sleep, as I am wont to do, exclaiming in a disapproving tone that “San Francisco is a fanfare of Truman.” San Francisco comes from the fact that I’m moving there. The strucutre of the sentence comes from the previously mentioned comedy show. Truman remains to be solved? Do I mean President Truman, Truman Capote or the Truman Show? Feel free to weigh in in the comments section.

Nisse gave a poll which failed to ask which aspect of his blog was the most repetative, un-funny-offensive, off-the-mark and unconvincing, the answer to which is faux contemplation of suicide.  He also failed to realize that he spent time around me in college and I think Twilight is pretty sweet.

Rhett sifts digit fig throe  fakes ewe peg bowie  pie turbo pew  neo  power ‘n out, but he at least proves that sometimes over-the-top off-color ravings are funnier when they come from nowhere as opposed to from an established character.

uh

May 28, 2009

whatever

Typos

May 24, 2009

Nisse wrote “cliche” when he meant “cliched.” Cliche is, contrary to popular belief, only the noun, as in: “umbrellas are A CLICHE.” Or else “ugh. Umbrellas. cliched” okay? god.

Rhett writes this abonomation of a setence:

“Naturally Gambit decides that the best way to accessorize workout clothes is giant chrome: chrome boots with no discernible fastening mechanism, to his diamond-patterned giant chrome necklace/collarbone-cozy, to his purely decorative chrome belt (which was apparently some kind of jock strap in his earlier appearances based on the above picture).”

Seriously, guys, proofread. okay?

May 21, 2009

Nisse doesn’t know why he feels like ranting about marriage. The reason, of course, is that his life is unsatisfying and however much venom he spits at old people, he’s just getting older and uncomfortable with his own discomfort. A certain urgency in Nisse’s nihilism has left his blog entries over fifty entries, and we get the feeling that H2$ is diverging from real-life Nisse and becoming staler because of it.

So, instead, I’m going to start comparing Rhett’s blog to Nisse’s joke blog.

Oh. he stopped writing that. It was just a short-lived attempt to make some cute girl on the internet think that he had a multi-faceted internet presence.

I will from now on compare Rhett’s blog to Nisse’s comments on Lara’s blog.

Nisse uses science to prove that coffee must be refrigerated all day before ice can be added lest the ice melt. Rhett uses science to begin developing theories of future-prediction. His best theory: the unavoidableness of backlash – in 2017 Kanye’s dapper-rap will have taken over, by 2020, it will be ridiculed and torn to pieces by the sort of gangster aesthetic it had just barely transcended.

…so they kept posting while my parents were in town and I didn’t get to ridicule them in a timely fashion. Now, I am going to invert their posts and compare the two posts each has made since the 15th in a chronologically wacky order.

First sub-topic: R+N are afraid of what people think of them.

Nisse feels self-conscious about his freshman sunglasses douchebaggery and calls his self-consciousness laziness. Rhett feels self-conscious about how the potentially cute boy/girl tracking his credit card expenditures is judging the four years of dildos he bought for Bad Comedy.

Second topic: N+R have ulterior motives

Rhett writes a review of a local show, but also mentions Omega Wolf. We assume that his motive is to make Omega Wolf seem like a vital part of MN theater.  Nisse writes about Jazzy Jeff and slips in his second boob-comment in a row, more vulgar than in his previous entry. We assume that he is developing the multimedia supplement to his so-called gauntlet and his comments are aimed at conditioning a particular reader.

May 15, 2009

Rhett defends the watchmen.  Nisse defends his hobo clothes. Nisse then fishes around for someone to give him a new cane. Rhett fishes around for someone to tell him how to stay current in his own insular ironic world of men’s formal wear and hip hop appreciation. I honestly think it’s not that Rhett’s particular brand of cool has become particularly outdated, but rather that it hasn’t changed in the five years I’ve known him and his perseverence strikes me as faliure to adapt. I have to conclude that the onslaught of modern media has caused my brain to be a fucked-apart dead thing when people aren’t constantly swapping trends.