Bobby Pins

"'Bobby Pins' was simply obsessed with accessories: their jingle-jangle always lifted her spirits."

Nathaniel

"It might not be my heart," Nathaniel said. "It's just a goldfish. But it'll keep growing as long as we give it space and time."

I was surprised to find a card of Nathaniel hanging on a friend's wall. She told me Nathaniel was her favorite character because, as she put it, "The goldfish really is his heart."

Proctologist

"Dr. Harry Hershey--the jogging proctologist."

Glenn

"Refusing to be pigeonholed as an effect intellectual, Glenn ventures out to the courts."

Glenn does not want to be pigeonholed as an effete intellectual, but he is one (you can tell from the mis-matching socks).

Gladys

"Gladys pauses in her window shopping to remember who she is."

Every once in a while I used to go to Atlantic City and stay at an inexpensive hotel. If you haven't gone I very highly recommend it. For I have never encountered a place which more vividly displays the utter vanity of human existence. On one side the Vast Ocean, stretching off into infinity; on the other, a boardwalk decked out with all manner of shops, selling all manner of crap, and, of course, the humming, jingling casinos and their hypnotized patrons.

During mornings I'd sit outside and watch people drift up and down the boardwalk. I often saw women who looked a lot like this...standing in front of windows and staring on with expressions that seemed both absent and reflective.

Lanza the Futon Saleman

"Lanza the futon salesman prefers not to be bothered by anyone, at any time, under any conditions, whatsoever."

This man used to work on Broadway, South of Houston, "selling" futons. I put "selling" in scare quotes because he didn't really do anything to sell them. When my wife and I walked into his store, he just stood there staring at us like we were interlopers. I asked him if he could help us find a futon and he just gestured at the futons and said, "There's the futons." We left his store and bought a futon at the futon store across the street. I'm not sure I like the name "futon."

Mile-o-Minute Mitchy

"Mile-o-minute Mitchy explains how he hopes his new poodle-do will save his act from going to the dogs!!!"

Here are the beginnings of Mitchy's stand-up routine...

Hey y'all! How'ya all doin' t'night? Good? Good. Laughin' a lot? Yeah? That's good. You know what they say? A laugh a day keeps the doctor away. That is to say (raise a knowing finger), as long as you are not in stitches!

Yeah, yeah. Whoah, it's good to be back here in New York. M'wife and I actually had to leave the Big Apple. Yeah... Oh, no, we didn't move to Orange County. But then again, how can you compare? After all, we are talking about apples and oranges!

Oh, yeah. Movin'. It's hard, boy. I've had to leave some good friends. I had one good friend. Great Guy. "Book" I called him. Why you ask? Good question. Well, I'd ask him a question, he always knew the answer. I'm telling yah this guy knew friggin' everything. But then tragedy struck. Ouch! (grab stomach), he had to get his appendix out. (Raise index fingers of each hand and smile). But here's the good news. He still has his table of contents!

Ooh yeah. Big changes. But heck, at least I got to bring my dog. Yeah, how many o'you out there have dogs? Man's best friend! Right? Yeah, I had a dog once. "Bones" I called him. Why you ask? Oh, what an inquisitive audience we got tonight! Well, I called him Bones because he loved bones. Jesus, one day he ate so many bones he started to resemble an umbrella (make umbrella shape with hands)... And it wasn't even raining!!! (Make rain with fingers)

Yeah, Yeah. So as I was saying, m'wife and I left the Big Apple and moved to the Berkshires. Oh! I know what you're thinking! How can a guy like me get his rocks off in da' sticks? Well, I'll tell you: I hit the lanes. Oh yeah, you're thinking, bowlin's any Joe's sport, right?! (now reach with your right hand into your invisible holster, and take out your hand shaped as a gun pointing at the audience). Not so fast Sundance! (now blow on the end of the barrel, and replace pistol to holster). As a matter of fact, bowlin's a rough sport. You gotta think about it: if you can't roll a strike, the best you can hope for is da-spare!!!

Oh, I get it. You don't like my material! Oh re-e-e-a-a-lly? Well lemme tell yah something, Einstein. It ain't easy coming up with a good joke. There are three components: an idea, a buildup and a punchline. Well, we all know ideas are a dime a dozen. A buildup? Ah (stick your elbows out and move them up and down like you're pushing your way through a crowd)--it takes a lil' elbow grease. But a punchline can be harder'a come by than a pop in the Sahara!

Speaking of the Sahara, I've been doin' a little travelin' lately. And boy, I gotta tell yah, what's with these stewardesses, right? Last week I was on a plane to Boca Raton, stewardess comes along, says: "Excuse me sir, are you hungry?" Well, I said, as a matter of fact I am. "Oh?" she says, "well what would you like to eat?" Well, I said, what may I ask do you have? "Well," she says, "we have Yoplait." Oh really! I said, well lemme tell you something, lady, I don't even WRITE plays, let alone EAT EM!!!

Yeah yeah. It's true, of late I have been trying to expand my horizons. So I figured I'd learn French and go to France. Birthplace of impressionism. Or is that just my impression? Gotcha!
So anyhow, I've been taking French. Night school. Great class. My professor--oooh, what a number! M'amour. Ma chere, right? But, boy she can be tough. Jeez, just the other day she made me step up to the board and move my vowels in front of the whole class. I guess you could say I made a stink!

Yeah, yeah...I suppose I've always been a bit of an over-achiever. Heck, I'll never forget my third grade teacher, Mr. Johnson--fluffy hair, pencil mustache. Heck, one day he told us to hit the books...I took up karate!!! (make karate chop hand and pretend to chop a pile of books). Ha-a-a-y-y-y-a-a!

And don't even get me started about girls... Jeez, in highschool they called me the human compas. You get the picture. Irony was, every time a girl came around, I'd lose my sense of direction! So there I was, bumping into lamp posts, falling into garbage cans... I guess you could say I learned the hard way!!